Page 16 of Beautiful Deceit
Jude walks up to me.
"What did I miss?" Jude asks, looking between me and Anna.
"Nothing I want to relive. Let's gets this interview done”.
Chapter 5
I'd forgotten about the flowers, until I got home. Once alone with my worries and few distractions, I am flooded. I open my laptop and perform a quick search of his name. The same results that have been my only link to the past, pop up. There’s no new information. Every time I get brave enough to check on him, I am met with these results.
I clear the search bar and stare at the blinking dot. It takes a few long seconds before I gather the nerve to type in the next name. My name, Charlotte Brawley.
The first link is to a news report regarding my mom’s accident. I’ve read through the article a few times, it was published about a week after her death. It gives a brief summary of her life, details about the accident, and information about her funeral arrangements.
I spin around, away from my laptop. Looking for anything to distract me, but that’s what I’ve been doing for years. I need to stop living in denial and address the past.
Maybe then, I won't be so paranoid. I'd be able to go to the bar when Jude invites me. I’d have relationships, so when Jess asks my opinion on hers, I could offer better advice. I’d be able to have a life, rather than safety nets.
Determined, I turn back to the small desk and pull up the website for the city he works. He’s still listed as the Sheriff. I breathe a sigh of relief. I get my confirmation. He isn’t here. It is just a coincidence. There isn't much else I can do to convince myself it wasn't him, so I close the browser and open up Facebook.
I've been going back and forth on how I should handle what happened earlier today with Beau. I can either ignore the way Anna acted and hope he stops by sometime, which I don't see happening, or I can message him and apologize for her behavior, and my part in not responding in his defense, before he left.
I decide to message him, even though he didn't respond to my last message. I don't think it could make things worse.
Beau,please accept my sincerest apologies on behalf of my employee
That makesme sounds like a two-hundred-year-old stodgy bag.
Delete, delete, delete.
Beau,I'm so sorry Anna acted like a teenaged tramp and literally threw herself at you.
Yeah,that's not going to work either.
Delete, delete, delete.
Beau,I'm sorry for Anna's behavior, and I'm sorry I didn't do something about it before you left. She acted poorly, and I hope it doesn't affect your opinion of the store. Thanks for being my guinea pig. Sam
That'll have to do.If I keep trying, it'll only get worse. I hit send and close my laptop. I turn on the TV just to hear the noise and grab a book I started yesterday.
I wake early Saturday morning to my phone ringing. Zoe, my weekend sales person, can't work today. Her daughter is sick, and she doesn't have anyone else to take care of her.
I assure her it's fine and wish Maggie a quick recovery, letting her know I'll make sure tomorrow's covered too. I hang up, intent on getting up, but end up falling back asleep.
I'ma few minutes late opening the store, but no one is around to notice. Neil shows up about five minutes later.
When he sees it's me instead of Zoe, he looks sheepish, "Sorry Sam, won't happen again." He busies himself cleaning the already spotless tables.
I roll my eyes at his disheveled appearance, he looks like he was out partying late last night. Neil is George's grandson; he's studying engineering. He should have gotten his degree two years ago but likes to party more than he likes school. The only reason he works here is because his parents refuse to pay his tuition unless he works. I think this is the only job he can find with so few hours.
Zoe hasn't said anything about him slacking, but she probably wouldn't. I guess I need to put another sign up. I'm thinking of adding another person during the week to work the register. I should talk to Jude. Maybe Molly might like to pick up more hours on the weekends.
By six I'm starving, so I order dinner for Neil and me from the Chinese restaurant up the block.
"I'll be right back, Neil," I say before walking out the door.
Even though it’s early September, I'm sweating in my cropped cardigan and tank top by the time I make it to the restaurant.
Mrs. Wong is standing at the podium, looking fresh as a daisy with her sleek black bob and bright red lips. She greets me by my last name and says, “Your order will be right up.”
