Page 12 of Bountiful
“Goodbye, Dave,” she saidsoftly.
“See you in a few days,” I reminded her, and she just shookherhead.
Then I let myself out into the Vermont summer night, where frogs were singing theirstrangesong.
ChapterFive
Zara
Damn you,Dave Barrier. Or Carrier?Whatever your name was, get out of mybrain.
It was Tuesday night, and I was working behind the bar. Like always. But thoughts of his wolfish grin kept invadingmymind.
I’d indulged in our tryst because I’d imagined we’d never see each other again. And everything about the encounter had been thrilling and perfect—right up until he’d uttered that nonsense about coming backagain.
And now my stupid little heart waswaitingfor him. I kept glancing at the door every time it opened, wondering if he’d walkthroughit.
God.Damn.It.
Like every girl, one of my life goals was to avoid becoming my mother. And while my mom had many admirable traits, she’d spent decades of her life just like this—waiting for a man to walk through the door. She’d had five kids with my father—a guy who showed up in town when he felt like it and then disappeared for months atatime.
My mother had never given up on him, though. Never asked for a divorce. Never stopped hoping he’d show up and tell us we meant the worldtohim.
Spoiler alert: heneverdid.
So every time I found myself watching the door for a man, I wanted to kick myself. I knew from experience that men had very short attention spans when it came to women. When Dave had said, “I’ll see you next week,” what I’d heard was, “Thanks for thegoodtime.”
“Hey, can you make frozendrinks?”
I looked up to see that two women had taken seats at the bar. The one who’d inquired about my skills with the blender was unfamiliar to me. But her companion was not. Jill Sullivan and I had once been close. If by “close” you meant the sort of friends who were always in competition, and who were always trying to undermine theother.
Jill had been the rich, fashionable one. I had been the sexy, adventurous one. I’d craved her clothes and her car and her giant bedroom. She’d craved my confidence and my twinbrother.
Neither of us got what wewanted.
“Hi, Jill,” I said. We were grownups now, right? Old wounds shouldn’thauntme.
Besides, Jill didn’t look so hot. She had red eyes and splotchy skin. Furthermore, (and this wasn’t just me being catty) she’d put on quite a few pounds since I’d seen her last. I felt an unexpected tug of sympathy for the girl who had battered my self-esteem during oursenioryear.
“Hey,” she said, then took a deep, steadying breath. If I wasn’t mistaken, she’d been recentlycrying.
“What can I get youladies?”
“I would kill for a frozen margarita,” herfriendsaid.
“That won’t be necessary,” I saidsmoothly. “Salt?”
She shookherhead.
“And for you?” I laid a coaster in frontofJill.
She sniffed. “What do people drink the night after they walk in on their husband banging the nanny intheirbed?”
“Oh, shit,” Ibreathed.
Jill just turned her eyes skyward. “That was even harder to say out loud than I expected ittobe.”
“I think you should drink whatever sounds good,” I say. “Especially if it’s something he neverliked.”
