Lie, Lie Again(36)
The man nodded. “Thanks. He’s a great kid.” He set the phone on the table and spoke to the child. Surprise, surprise. Well, at least she had done some good today. Maybe that would make up for hurling the jar of jam to the floor, though it had felt undeniably satisfying to break something. Great, in fact. Maybe she was on to an idea here. She could open a newfangled type of recreation center where members would gear up with helmets and padding. As part of the membership, they’d be given a giant bucket of rocks, the kind that crack and break, that they could chuck at a concrete wall. She closed her eyes and imagined the place. Companies could have retreats and trainings there. Maybe even holiday parties. It would become all the rage. She laughed at her pun, unintended as it was.
A server arrived at her table with a warm blueberry muffin, the butter and jam on the side, exactly as she’d ordered it, along with a vanilla latte. A heart was swirled into the foam. How sweet. Must not have been made by the girl who took her order, or there would have been a slash down the middle. Sylvia picked up her knife and drew a zigzag down the center of the heart.
Cutting the muffin into two halves, she spread a healthy dollop of butter on each side, allowing it to melt into the bread. Then she added a thick layer of strawberry jam and took a bite. She closed her eyes again, this time to savor the deliciousness. Warm blueberry muffins would definitely be served at her rec center. God, she was on a roll! She could call it the Wreck Center—a place for the emotionally wrecked. She could already see the waiting list. It would be pages long.
As she sipped her latte, she contemplated how she would spend the rest of her day. A trip to the mall was in order. She needed a special gift for a special little guy. Hunter. How could Hugh say his own son was a Pomeranian? He’d even laughed about it. And then he’d said Lily was the crazy one. A sick individual, indeed. He wouldn’t like what Sylvia had planned. But really, he should’ve known that playing with someone’s emotions like that was dangerous. But alas, it was a risk he’d chosen to take. He’d started this game, but she would finish it.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Riki tucked herself into Chris’s warm body and listened to the rain drum the ground outside. The gentle beat soothed her mind.
She sighed contentedly and ran a hand along his forearm. From his steady breathing, she knew he was still sleeping. How she wished her body would allow her to sleep in. But now her brain was booting up, and seconds later, it was humming at full speed as her to-do list started taking shape. She slipped out from under Chris’s arm and tiptoed across the room to the bathroom. After washing her face and brushing her teeth, she wound her hair up in a messy bun and padded to the kitchen to make coffee. It was ten—early for a Sunday morning—but not too early to text Brandon about the pilot. She knew he worked the breakfast shift on Sundays. Embry had complained about it openly, lamenting the fact that her family couldn’t go to church together.
Hey Brandon! I wanted to let you know I met the assistant to a writer/producer who’s doing a pilot called Baggage last night. It’s set in Louisiana, and they’re currently casting! She said you can have your agent send her your headshot and résumé, and she’ll get it to the casting office. Let me know if you’re interested, and I’ll send you her number. Say hi to Embry and the kids. :)
She hit “Send” and set her phone aside, ignoring the desperate little voice that wanted her to hold the phone in her hands and watch for his reply. Instead, she grabbed the tote that she’d abandoned by the door on Friday afternoon.
She woke her laptop and began scrolling through her emails. Only three relating to the little green man had rolled in. That wasn’t so bad. The first one was from Mrs. Trainor.
Dear Miss McFarlan,
Thank you for excusing Darcy from the project. However, I think you’ve created a bigger problem. Now you are asking us to tell our children to LIE to the other kids in class. I really don’t mean to harp on this, but you’re putting me in a very uncomfortable position. If we can’t get this resolved, I’m going to have to take this to Principal Rosenkrantz.
With best wishes for a positive resolution,
Cassandra Trainor
What the hell? These parents were such a pain. Why couldn’t they just let her do her job? She tapped the tabletop with her pen, thinking about how she would respond, when Chris wandered from her room looking dazed. He planted his hands on the back of the sofa and shook his head. “Damn. Why’d you get up before noon? It’s Sunday.”
“The rain woke me, so I figured I might as well get some work done. I made coffee if you want some.”
“Nah.” He stretched his arms above his head and yawned. “I need more than just coffee. Do you want to hit Millie’s Diner?”
No, no, I do not, she thought. She hated the bacon-y smell of diners. The stench clung to her hair and seeped into her skin, making it feel like she’d bathed in grease. To top it off, there was no escaping the syrup. Sticky droplets sat on the table or hid on the menus, waiting to attack her. Diners were swarming with germs, and she avoided them at all costs. “I’m not up for a big breakfast, but thanks. And I really need to work today. Some of the parents are all bent because I asked the kids to make leprechaun traps. Like that’s a crime.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No. It’s irritating.”