Lie, Lie Again(93)
Seconds passed, and a car darted in front of them, forcing Chris to slam on his brakes as the light ahead turned from yellow to red. He blared the horn, but cross traffic had started into the intersection, and he was forced to stop.
She exhaled. “Will you please stop driving like that? I’m literally going to vomit.”
He whipped a glance at her. “I’m done, okay? Give me a freaking break already! This isn’t how I wanted this weekend to go.” He banged the steering wheel with his fist. “But I get it. We’re done.”
“Yeah.” She worried her bottom lip, wondering what words she could use to make him understand. It’s not you. It’s me, she wanted to say. But the truth was, nothing she could say would help him understand. She pressed her cheek against the cool window and touched a finger to the puffy bandage.
He pulled into her driveway but didn’t turn off the engine. “I guess this is it. See you later.” He turned to her. “Or not.”
“I—”
“Just go. Can you grab your bag?”
Without a word, she hoisted her bag from the back seat and quietly shut the car door. She looked to the Taylors’ apartment, wishing Brandon would rush outside to help her. Just as she was imagining him wrapping his arms around her, Embry appeared in her mind, comforting her too. She lugged her bag up to her apartment. Alone.
The bartender slid a tumbler of scotch across the bar, and Jonathan lifted it to his nose, breathing in the smoky goodness. He sipped the amber liquid, savoring the immediate calm it produced.
Next to him, a man in dark jeans and an expensive white dress shirt adorned with silver cuff links lifted his glass. “Cheers.” He drained it in one swig.
“Celebrating?” Jonathan asked, nodding at the empty tumbler.
The man pushed it toward the back of the bar and held up a hand, beckoning the bartender. “One more. Vodka neat.” Turning to Jonathan, he said, “Opposite. The jaws of defeat snatched what should’ve been an easy victory.” He raised a bushy gray eyebrow. “I got outbid on a condo development. Sucks.”
Well, well. The night was already looking up, and he hadn’t even met a nice young gal yet. “Sorry to hear that.” He sipped his drink slowly, contemplating how to play this. “The real estate world is a wild game.”
“That it is. You in it?”
Jonathan raised his glass to eye level, assessing the rich color as though it were more important than what he was about to say. “I just listed my apartment complex. It’s on Mockingbird Lane. Prime real estate.”
“No shit.”
The bartender delivered a fresh drink, and the man thanked him with a nod.
Jonathan shrugged. No big deal that I own prime real estate. “I’ve had a few developers express interest. It currently houses four bungalow apartments on a twenty-thousand-square-foot parcel. Could be great for someone who wants to tear the place down and build up.”
“Do you have a card on you?”
Shit. He’d been meaning to make some up. He patted his shirt pocket and frowned. “I usually keep a few here. You interested in seeing the property?”
“Why not? This could be my lucky day after all. Cheers once again.” They clinked glasses and finished their drinks. “Can I swing by tomorrow night around six or seven?”
“How about six thirty?” He slipped his phone from his pocket. “What’s your number? I’ll text you the address. I’m Jonathan Fisher, by the way.”
“Frank Overland.” They shook hands, and he rattled off his number. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Monday, March 20
When Riki had fallen into bed last night, sleep had come quickly, but dreams tossed through her mind all night. She was trying to run through the snow, but her boots sank deeper and deeper with each step. She’d eventually tugged them off and tossed them behind her, breaking into a run again. With each step, the snow sparkled and transformed into warm sand.
And now it was Monday morning, and as she walked to the head of school’s office, it felt like she was sinking into quicksand.
Ms. Hammacher’s assistant greeted her with a stoic gaze. But as she led her to the office, she patted her shoulder and whispered, “Good luck in there.”
She stepped inside, and her breath caught in her chest. Ms. Hammacher sat behind her desk, and four chairs in a semicircle were occupied next to it. She looked from one person to the next: Principal Rosenkrantz, Mr. and Mrs. Johanson, and Mrs. Trainor. A lone chair sat opposite theirs.
Ms. Hammacher motioned to it. “Please have a seat.”
Riki sat, the feeling that she was facing a firing squad pounding through her. She was thankful she’d worn a turtleneck sweater to hide her wound, because her neck was certainly turning red and blotchy. “Thank you for giving me the opportunity to explain.”
Ms. Hammacher raised a brow while the occupants of the other chairs shifted eagerly, like they were ready to pounce. “We have had some lengthy conversations over the weekend, Miss McFarlan. As you know, the families seated here today sit on the board of directors at Ocean Avenue in addition to being parents of students in your class. Their concerns as both members of our board and as parents are warranted. Ocean Avenue has a long history of quality education. We rely on our teachers to set a positive example. That being said, the list of complaints you’ve received in your short time here is staggering. How would you respond to that?”