Page 18 of Zenith
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Isnuckout of the apartment the next day, avoiding Rivers entirely.
I was not ready to face him after what had happened, and I was certainly not up for another attempt at swaying my resolve. Instead of lingering, I went to the pub and readied myself for my shift.
The Gossiping Shrew had fast become my escape, the work satisfying my idle hands and calming my chaotic mind. I had no time to ponder my past, present, or future when the night got under way. There were many tasks to attend to, and they came in quick succession, leaving no time to breathe, let alone pine.
Adele had taken it upon herself to become my best friend and spent many hours telling me of her riotous adventures in travel, men, and more men. If she wanted someone, she made it happen without any fuss. She was quite beautiful, and her accent was extremely helpful in her seductions. She seemed to be able to separate the notions of love and lust quite successfully, and I found myself jealous of her modern sense of adventure.
I suppose I was old-fashioned when it came to these things. I wanted love, and nothing less would satisfy me. Perhaps it was too much to ask.
“Rivers isn’t here tonight,” Adele said, nodding toward the empty stool.
I shrugged and focused my attention on the soiled glassware I’d collected, ensuring each pint was stacked correctly before I loaded them into the dishwasher. I was aware she was watching me with fascination, most likely attempting to unravel my quiet demeanor.
“I suppose he’s painting some grand design,” she mused wistfully. “Every so often, he buries himself in his work, and we don’t see him for weeks. When he resurfaces, it is with a monstrous canvas and some gallery showing he wants us all to fawn over.” She laughed and rolled her eyes. It must be a regular occurrence.
I smiled, allowing some of my tenseness to flow away. “Yes, I think he is.”
Turning back to my task, I began placing the last row of glasses into the rack. It would be quite heavy to carry out to the dishwasher, but I had been working on my upper body strength since the attack, and my chest did not bother me at all now. All was normal, and I was strong in the physical sense.
Turning my gaze outward, I watched the comings and goings of the pub and felt a surge of hope. Things were looking up, weren’t they? Slowly but surely, I would find my way again. I just had to keep a tight hold on my resolve.
I watched a group of men shout passionately at the television, which was playing a football game, and laughed softly to myself. That was when my eye was drawn further still, caught by the sight of a tall man wearing a suit and tie, his hair short all over, his jaw coated in unkempt stubble. He turned, and I was overcome with a sense of foreboding so strong it was as if a ghost had passed straight through me.
Edward.
My heart twisted, and my breath hitched, panic overtaking my senses, and the glass I was holding slipped through my fingers and crashed to the floor. It splintered into a thousand pieces, and I jumped, my heart feeling as though it had stopped altogether.
I knew he was searching for me, Mr. Briggs had confirmed my suspicions, but how had he found me here? I’d been so careful… There was no trail…
I stared at the man again but instantly recognized my folly. It was not Edward at all but merely someone who looked similar. My fevered mind was playing tricks, my longing and despair conjuring his ghost before me.
Adele was serving a customer near the scene of my broken glass, and she looked at me with narrowed eyes, then across the room and back before she handed the customer their change. Then she reached under the counter for the dustpan and offered it to me. I plucked it from her fingers, knelt, and began hastily sweeping up the jagged shards.
“Watch your fingers there, Jane,” she said.
Rising to my feet, I smiled thinly, my heart galloping as fast as a thousand purebred racehorses on the home stretch of a race.
Turning, I dropped the whole contents of my shaking hands into the bin—dustpan and all—and pushed into the storeroom before I fell to pieces in front of everyone. If I showed my weakness, then they would begin to suspect my predicament. No one could know.
Leaning against the shelving, my hand resting upon a cardboard box full of serviettes, I wrestled with my heaving emotions, attempting to shove them back into the box I’d locked them in the day I’d left Thornfield.What had I done?
“Jane, what’s wrong?”
I glanced up at Adele, who’d followed me to the storeroom, and began to panic even more.
“Nothing,” I muttered, my head swimming. “Nothing at all.”
“That is a lie, and you know it,” she said, placing her palm against my forehead. “You are having a panic attack. Come.” She forced me to sit on a box and to place my head on my knees. “Take some deep breaths. Take all the time you need.”
I did as she said and focused on my breathing, my heart pounding frantically in my chest. Soon, it began to slow, and my head stopped swimming.
“Better, no?” Adele patted me on the back. “Do you want to explain it to me?”
Straightening up, I stared at her, not knowing what to say or do. I could not tell her anything. It was too twisted a tale, too heartbreaking, and much too melancholy to regale her soaring spirit with. What a wretched creature I’d become!
“I know that look in your eyes,” she said kindly. “You’re hiding from someone.”
