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“She said she had a photo.”
“And did you see the photo? No. Then why the hell do you believe her?” I can’t tell him the truth. No one must know, but I have to explain. “The photo is of me outside with her husband leaning over me. He came on to me. I told him to fuck off. Unfortunately, one of her so-called friends saw us outside, took a photo, and sent it to her. I did not sleep with him. I’ve never slept with him.” The lies come too easily, but I have no choice.
Gianni remains by the door, his face a whirl of anger and disbelief. I’m not sure if he can see through the lies or sees the truth, but either way, I have to get out of the office before my rage turns into tears.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to get my head looked at.” I move over to the door. I expect him to stand his ground. I expect him to shout at me or argue more, so when he steps aside and lets go of the handle, I want to punch him.
I walk through the door, my jacket bundled in my arms with my bag and car keys. Lewis is standing behind the counter, no doubt having heard every word, so I leave with a parting comment.
“And thanks for your fucking concern.”
My feet take me quickly to my car, and I practically throw myself in. I shouldn’t have spoken to Gianni that way, but he started it. I’d never have dreamed of talking to an employer like that, but Gianni brings out the worst in me. I slam my fists against the steering wheel, the whole afternoon morphing into some bizarre reality television show.
I’ve told so many lies.
I’m not going to the hospital. I hate hospitals. My physical injuries are superficial. They’ll heal. I wonder if the rest of me will.
I’m not going to the police, either.
What would I say? How could I possibly explain any of this without telling the truth?
I drive home before any more lies fall from my mouth.
ChapterFourteen
Gianni has been at the coffee shop to run things for the last several days while Piero cares for his wife and new baby, and I’m not sure how I’ve gotten through it. He won’t look at or speak to me. He will stand three feet from me, the smell of him reminding me of the touch of his hand against my face, yet to him, I’m invisible. I’ve endured his presence as he hauled boxes of stock from the shop into the stockroom with sweat gleaming on his brow and pooling on the back of his shirt. I’ve survived while he’s sat at a table, tapping away on his laptop, his fingers brushing the stubble on his chin. But he hasn’t even raised his head in my direction.
The atmosphere is emotionally draining to the point where everyone else seems to have noticed. Lewis hasn’t asked what happened in the parking lot, which surprises me. I thought he would have wanted to join forces as it appears he must have an ally in me. But Lewis, it seems, has his own problems. He’s drained, more so than normal, and has a slight shake to his hand as he moves cups and plates, little telltale signs something is rattling him. I figure it must be Gianni’s continual presence.
Casey couldn’t care less what’s going on in my life, which leaves Faith, who seems to know something is amiss. I’d love to confide in her. When the tension was almost unbearable, I nearly caved, but the thought of lying to her makes me shudder. She’ll know. Of all people, Faith will pick the fact from the fiction, and I’ll be left looking like a monster. I need at least one person at work who likes me.
Frank has called a couple of times, and I’ve been tempted to tell him what’s going on, but he’ll only worry and want to come home. I don’t want him to think I can’t handle being alone in the house. I need to deal with this like a grown-up and stop running to my brother for help. He has his own life to live, and I don’t want him to think history is repeating itself.
And then there is Gianni. I haven’t realized how desperate I am for his attention. It is almost painful. The lack of contact, the fact he said so many things, and his opinion of me changed grind away at me. Every time I close my eyes, he’s there, the sneer on his lips as he tells me exactly what he thinks of me—you disgust me.
To release myself from his torment, I’ve tried to focus on doing my job, but this is almost impossible when Gianni and I share the same air space.
And then there is Carl. The incident with Cora has shaken me. What has Carl been up to? Will she show up again? She knows where I live—my apartment and my parents’ house—so what will be her next move? I’m living on a knife-edge, my skin pressing against the blade, the cut about to rupture.
* * *
Gianni arrived after opening this morning, and I’m on the early shift with Faith. He’s wild, even in his crisp suit and pressed pants. His hair is disheveled, and his stubble is longer than normal. He’s gunning for someone before even deciding what the problem is.
I did not sleep well last night. This has become a regular occurrence since my encounter with Cora. Sleep deprivation and Gianni’s presence mean I’m teetering dangerously on the edge of a nervous breakdown as I battle the morning barrage of equally grumpy customers.
As the rush subsides, the coffee shop settles into its natural quiet. Gianni emerges from the office, laptop tucked under his arm as he heads to his favorite table by the window. He prefers to work in the shop when it is quiet. Lewis thinks this is just one of his many mind games. He sits and pretends to work while really spying on us all. I have to agree with Lewis. We’re being watched. I try not to look. The pull of him is strong, but not as strong as the silence that has bound us since the encounter with Cora.
I disgust him.
He’s settled into his chair, laptop open, firing it up to look over whatever business he’s attending to. I take the opportunity to go into the office. He’s only been in the same room as me for thirty seconds, and I already need to get away from him. The false pretense of applying some hand cream is all I need to excuse myself.
Leaving the shop floor, I exhale, the atmosphere instantly lifting. I pad over to my locker, pulling my makeup bag from inside as I find my favorite hand cream. Rubbing the creamy vanilla scent into my hands, I spot a stack of pay stubs on the desk. I riffle through them, finding my own at the bottom of the pile. I tear open the envelope.
A small feeling wells in the pit of my stomach as I pass my hand over the smooth white paper. The fact Gianni must have touched it less than a few minutes ago is enough to make me catch my breath. I push the paper from my vision, trying to focus on the beige wall of the office as I inhale deeply. What’s wrong with me? Why am I acting like a woman in mourning? Why do I feel like I’ve lost something I never truly had in the first place?
I scan the page to bring myself back to reality, but as my eyes clear, I notice my closing balance is much less than it should be. I pull the paper closer, squinting at the numbers to find the error. But all I can see is a jumble of numbers. I need to know what the problem is, so I go back to my locker and pull out my bag. I dig underneath my makeup bag, purse, and keys before finding last month’s crumpled pay stub. I open it and place it on the desk next to my new one.
Much like a game of spot the difference, I scan the two documents, my eyes darting between them to find the error.
