Chapter 121

“That flimsy piece of paper could land you in jail,” I tell her.

“There’s no need for that,” Amber says. “I just want to talk.”

“What is there to talk about?” I ask. “You’ve won. Miles and I are nothing to each other anymore. Please just leave me alone.”

Amber crosses her arms. “This isn’t the end. It’s not just about Miles anymore.”

“What is it then?” I ask, almost afraid to know.

“I saw you here with Hugo. You must have your hooks in him as well. Here, with you, drinking in the middle of the afternoon on a workday,” Amber says.

“So what?” I snap, tired of her games.

“I want my job back,” Amber says. “You have pull with Hugo. Put in a good word for me, and I won’t release the other photos. The ones that actually show Miles’s face.”

Maybe I’m already a little tipsy. Or maybe, as this is now the second time I’m being accosted in a women’s restroom today, I’m at my wit’s end.

Either way, the level of care I have for anything Amber says or threatens is at an all-time low.

I’m tired of being shoved around, of being told what I better do or not to, to keep everyone else happy.

When do I start making my own decisions?

“I don’t think you do have other photos,” I say.

That surprises Amber, who straightens, seemingly taken aback.

“If you had better photos, you would have used those against me in the first place,” I say.

“Maybe I originally wanted to protect Miles,” she counters, even as she shifts on her feet, clearly uncomfortable. I’ve caught her and we both know it.

“I don’t buy it,” I say. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Walking away from her, I head into one of the stalls.

Amber continues pacing by the sinks, like she’s waiting for me to come out.

“If you aren’t gone by the time I come out of this stall, I’m calling the police,” I call through the door. “I’m done playing games with you, Amber.”

“You are such a bitch,” Amber grumbles. “What do these men keep seeing in you?”

Then, her loud footsteps disappeared out the door. Finally, I relaxed with a sigh.

When I return to my table with Hugo, I’m even more shaken. I know I handled things correctly with Amber, but I’m still unnerved by the whole experience.

I really want to just go home.

“What happened?” Hugo asks as soon as I sit down.

“Amber was in the bathroom,” I say, and continue on, telling him everything that transpired.

His face grows impossibly darker. “Let me drive you home,” he says. He stands from the table and walks to the bar to pay for our check. He returns a moment later.

“Thank you,” I tell him.

He shakes his head. “I keep leading you into danger.”

He couldn’t possibly think any of this is his fault? He couldn’t know Amber was here. And he wasn’t the one who took pictures of Miles and me in that bathroom. However he tries to twist it, none of this is his fault.

I’m too tired to argue though. Instead, I just shake my head at him slowly and hope he understands.

Hugo drives me home in silence. When we reach my house, I thank him again and hop out of the car.

Garnar is out front watering the lawn. When he sees me exit Hugo’s car, he drops the hose.

“Do you need me to stay?” Hugo asks, likely seeing Garnar’s outrage as plainly as I do.

“No,” I tell him. “That will only make things worse. Thank you for everything, Hugo. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

Hugo nods, his eyes still on Garnar. I close the passenger door and turn to face my ex-husband. Slowly, Hugo drives away behind me.

I want to walk past Garnar without speaking to him, but he’s standing very near the front door. Short of sneaking around back and crawling through a window, there’s no real way to avoid an altercation here.

I can’t wait until I move into my own house.

As expected, when I get near enough, Garnar grumbles, “Already hopping to a different man. You really are a whore, aren’t you, Esther?”

“Don’t say that to me,” I say. “This one is just a friend.”

“Sure. Like I believe that.”

“You don’t have to believe it,” I snap. “You just have to respect me.”

Garnar scoffs. “Why should I?”

“For Iris and Violet,” I remind him.

We’ve been doing so well co-parenting lately, even with our differences. We haven’t argued in front of the girls. We generally keep to ourselves when we aren’t with them, and when we are, we keep topics to safer things, like what the girls did at school today or how the weather is.

For him to bring up these old arguments sends me right back to the moment I realized our decline. This man has never been a good husband to me – at least not genuinely. But I don’t need that from him anymore.

If either of our daughters hear him talking like he presently is, though, I’ll never forgive him.

Iris ran away because of our fighting. We cannot push her like that again.

Garnar’s face scrunches up a little at my reminder. He huffs out a hard exhale as he glances away. “Whatever.”

It’s not an apology by a long-shot, but it is an indicator he is willing to be civil once more. So I continue walking into the house.

What a day.

It’s later in the afternoon by now. The girls are already home from school, doing their homework in the kitchen. Before I go to see them, I duck into the bathroom to quickly shower away the day, as well as brush the alcohol off of my teeth and breath.

Even standing under the hot water, it takes a long time for me to feel clean again. The way Mr. George looked at me… Like I was a piece of meat… Like I owed him something.

I wonder if I’ll ever feel clean again.

When I’m as clean as I feel I can be at the moment, I change into my loungepants and a t-shirt and head out to spend the evening with my daughters.

The next morning, I’m startled awake by Iris pushing on my shoulder. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I ask her, “What is it honey?”

As my vision clears, I see the pale fear in her face. That wakes me up even further. Immediately, I jolt upright in my bed.

“People are outside…” she says.

Glancing at my bedside clock. It’s about 5:30 in the morning. Strange.

“Stay here by the bed,” I tell her then push myself out of bed. I cross my room to where one of the windows faces the front of the house. Slowly, I put two fingers between the venetian blinds, then pull them apart to peek through.

I’m not sure what I expected. A prowler? The newspaper delivery person? A silver alert, where a confused elderly person was lost?

I did not expect to see the street lined with news vans, their camera crews setting up lights and shots toward this house.

“What the…?”

Suddenly, a photographer stands up, very near the window and takes a picture of me, the flash stinging my eyes.

“She’s here!” the photographer shouts.