Lie, Lie Again(100)
Embry fixed a stern look on her. “It’s okay to vent. Us moms have to be able to let off steam in a safe place. Goodness knows we need stockpiles of patience stored up to deal with each and every cry or tantrum. You haven’t hit the meltdown stage yet, but taking care of babies and toddlers requires fortitude. It’s exhausting. There’s no way around it.”
Lily’s eyes became glossy with tears, and she dipped her head. Embry waited, knowing all too well the tumultuous effects of postpartum hormones. But as Lily’s shoulders began to shake, worry rushed in. Something wasn’t right. “Is he making you feel bad about yourself? Is that what this is about?”
She nodded. “Sometimes I wonder if he’s starting to hate me.”
“Oh, honey,” she said, patting her arm. She couldn’t say it would get better, because at this point, she wasn’t sure how bad it was. It could be that her husband was being verbally abusive. Oh, how she hated that word. It was so ugly and accusatory. Not a term to be used lightly.
Looking up, she said, “And Hugh seemed angry that Sylvia stopped by, which is so weird.” She traced a line along the table with her finger before continuing. “He says she’s a big drama queen.”
“Oh, dear, I wouldn’t call her a drama queen. She honestly doesn’t talk about her personal life much, but she’s always very contained and together.”
“Don’t tell her I said anything. Please.”
“Of course not. And know that you can confide in me at any time. We really do need to stick together. Maybe it would help your husband to understand if you leave the baby with him for an entire Saturday. Let him see for himself how much time he has to sit around and do nothing.”
Lily offered a feeble smile. “That would be nice.” She stood. “I really should go. It’s getting late. Thank you for having me. And I’m sorry for blathering on.”
“You don’t need to apologize, okay?” Embry said gently. “We should do this again. We can have weekly tea.”
“I’d like that.”
“It’s settled. Monday afternoons are good for me. Maybe around four thirty again? I call it the ‘witching hour,’” she said with a laugh. “All of us are cranky by then, so any distraction is welcome!”
“Next Monday is great. Thanks, Embry.”
As the door closed behind Lily, Embry waited, unmoving. Her instincts were talking to her loud and clear. Lily was in more distress than she’d let on. Something about her situation just didn’t feel right.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The drive took longer than usual thanks to some inconsiderate drivers who were probably still hungover from a weekend filled with green beer. Sylvia didn’t mind, though. No amount of horn honking could ruin her mood. After analyzing the situation, she’d decided it was a stroke of luck that Sarah had asked out Sal. Nothing said fun like a little healthy competition. Well, maybe the competition was more pathetic, less healthy, but it was there nonetheless.
She finally turned into the shopping center parking lot and found a spot smack in the middle of it, equidistant between the grocery store and the coffee shop. It was a gamble to assume they’d end up here, but she was banking on Sal wanting to be as close to his ex’s house as possible so he could pick up his daughter on time. And it worked well for Sylvia, because this was her neighborhood. Her coffee shop. It couldn’t be considered unusual for her to be here at all. The one rogue possibility was that Sal would’ve offered to let Sarah pick the place. But then again, knowing Sarah, she’d defer to him. The poor thing probably had a hard time deciding which sock to put on first.
She zipped her hoodie to just below her cleavage, leaving a tiny peek available. A twentysomething guy pushing a train of shopping carts rolled slowly toward her. He smiled as he passed and gave her a look that said, Yeah, I know my job sucks. She chuckled as she made her way to the coffee shop. His life surely didn’t suck as bad as Hugh’s.
But no time to dwell on him. She needed a moment to clear her head and imagine all possible scenarios. Preparation was key. She’d checked the time as she parked and noted it was five thirty. If Sal and Sarah planned to meet directly after work, chances were good that they’d agreed to meet around then.
This could be all for naught, but she had a feeling she was onto something. Sarah had no game, no mystery.
By the time she opened the coffee-shop door, her plan was solidified. A damn bell rang as she entered, and she tipped her head toward her phone as though concentrating on a text. She’d forgotten about the stupid bell. Strike one against her.
But the music was loud enough to blot out the noise. She snuck a subtle look to her left, scanning the tables. No sign of them. She tightened her grip on her phone and moved to the counter, doing a sweeping glance of the right side of the café.
Well, holy hell in a handbasket.
At a two-top pushed up against a window sat her targets. It was almost like she had visualized them so clearly, she’d manifested their appearance. Well, not really. Not realistically. The idea of manifesting anything was nothing more than a way for needy people to have something on which to focus their attention. Children were said to be better at it than adults, and if there was any truth to that at all, her dad would’ve rolled up in his blue Chevy, parked it, and walked in a straight, sober line to the tiny apartment, his arms loaded with groceries. She had never wished for anything so hard.