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I close my eyes against the memory of the day he found out I was pregnant. The delight on his face. Not because he was excited to be a father.
It was because he’d found a new way to manipulate me.
“Are you okay?” Zara’s voice breaks through my thoughts, and I open my eyes.
I fix a smile on my face. “I’m fine, thanks. What is it you wanted to ask me?”
A woman walks past us and wishes Zara a good day without pausing a beat.
Zara responds with a quick answering wave and turns back to me. “Troy mentioned he invited you to our weekly game night.”
At his name, a shudder shimmies up my spine, but I can’t put a finger on the reason for it. Uncertainty? Caution? An emotion I don’t want to admit to? “He did.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about coming. I promise you, it’s a lot of fun.”
I flash her an apologetic smile, my decision unswayable. “Thanks, but I’ve got plans.” The same plans I’ve had every night this week, but with the addition of reading Angelique’s journal.
“Are you sure? Simone, Emily, Avery, and I would love to have you join us.”
“Why? You don’t even know me.” The words come out in a near whisper, hope and wariness flickering to life. Zara is offering something I haven’t experienced in a long time—an escape from perpetual loneliness. Friendship.
But I was tricked and hurt too many times in prison. Given a glimpse of friendship only for it to be snatched away. I can’t risk that happening again. I won’t.
“Because I like you, and you seem like someone we’d want to be friends with.” Zara shrugs as if she can’t imagine any other reason. “Emily and Simone are sitting by the window. I’m taking my break now. You might as well join us. Then you can see for yourself we aren’t all that scary.”
“Okay.” Doubt hangs from the word, and I draw it out, but Zara doesn’t appear to notice.
I order a strawberry-kiwi fizzy water from the girl working the counter. Zara grabs a coffee and leads me to a table where two white women our age are sitting. She introduces them to me.
“You can call me Jess,” I tell them.
Both women are pretty like Zara. Emily’s blond hair brushes her shoulders and is several shades lighter than mine. The sunlight shining through the window next to Simone has turned her hair reddish brown. So different from the golden-brown hue of my natural color.
Their gazes flick to the worst of my scars. They don’t wince in sympathy or pity or even seem relieved the scars don’t mar their faces. But that doesn’t keep my self-esteem from slapping me like cold seaweed.
Zara sits beside Emily, and I take the empty chair next to Simone. I put my shopping bag on the floor by my feet.
“So what brings you to Maple Ridge?” Simone’s smile is as warm and friendly as Zara’s, and the tension I didn’t realize I was clinging to eases from my shoulders. “My husband told me you bought Iris Bromfield’s old house.”
Damn. How many people already know that?
Oh, who am I kidding? Probably everyone in Maple Ridge. Small town and all.
Hopefully, that’s all they know about me.
“I recently got out of a bad relationship. So I bought the house. I figured the renovations will keep me busy for a while and be a great distraction.” And if I’m lucky, I’ll be so exhausted, it will keep the nightmares away. I won’t wake up gasping for air. “And I’ll also be looking for a job soon,” I add, not wanting to admit I tried to get a job at Little Wonders last week.
Zara sits up a little straighter. “What kind of job?”
“I’m not sure. Something local.” That doesn’t require a car for me to get to.
“One of my employees had to quit the other day to look after her grandmother in Portland. I don’t suppose you have any experience working in a kitchen, do you?”
“I do, actually.” Three years of working in the prison kitchen, to be exact, but I don’t want to explain that to Zara.
“Can you start Monday morning?”
I blink, waiting for her to remember to ask for references. She doesn’t. And after a beat, I swaddle myself in relief. I won’t need to contact my brother-in-law, Craig, after all to see if he and his wife will be references. “Monday would be perfect.”
