Chapter 23
After Owen’s confession,my body switches to autopilot as my brain struggles to process what he said. I walk into the bathroom without actually experiencing it. I’m a ghost floating along behind my body.
All of my internal sensors are blaring, and the old familiar feeling, the urgent need to run, takes over. I have to get myself out of this situation. Leave people before they leave me. That’s what I’m supposed to do here to keep myself safe. It’s what I’m good at.
But I can’t. I’m stuck. I’m stuck until the end of the weekend. And then…
“It might be a good idea to let Owen in on those ghosts from your past. It might help both of you make it through this.”
Kiera’s words come back to me, magnifying my guilt. I’ve had so many chances to open up to him, but I haven’t taken them.
I need to tell him about my mom and dad. Tell him what I’m afraid of. That the thought of actually committing myself to someone for longer than a few months is terrifying to me. I can’t keep relationships for longer than a few months because I’m broken.
What about Kiera?You’ve kept her as a friend. You’re learning.
But that’s not the same. I didn’t keep Kiera, she kept me. She literally wouldn’t let me run away.
Maybe Owen will keep you too. Maybe…
No. Owen deserves better than that. He shouldn’t have to work so hard to hold on to someone. He deserves someone who wants to stay. Someone who’s not a flight risk. He deserves someone better than me.
I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror as I wash my hands. I would love to splash some of the cool water on my face, but I’m certain that would ruin my makeup and make my eyes all red, and then I’d have more questions to answer, not less.
A toilet flushes behind me, and an overly tan woman emerges from a stall, stumbling a bit even though she’s not wearing heels. She gathers her thick, jet-black hair over her shoulder before washing her hands, and a flicker of recognition passes through me. Do I…do I know her somehow? She looks to be in her late forties, early fifties with crows feet at the corners of her hazel eyes. Her lips are thin, and when she smiles, they reveal teeth that are a little too bright against her skin. I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s definitely something familiar about her face.
“Hello,” she says. Probably because I’m staring so hard.
I avert my eyes and get more soap, washing my hands again just to have a reason to stick around longer. “Hi, sorry for staring. You just look really familiar to me, and I was trying to figure out if I know you, but what are the odds of that happening, right?”
The woman laughs way louder than the situation warrants. Am I really that funny? “Yeah, what are the odds, right? I mean, you don’t look familiar to me, but maybe I have one of those faces?”
“Maybe…”
I watch as she dries her hands then leans closer to the mirror, inspecting her face. She reaches up and pulls the skin at the edge of her cheeks then her forehead, scrunching and unscrunching her forehead. Something she sees must seem funny to her because she giggles again. That’s when I notice her dilated pupils.
Oooh, she’s drunk. Or, at the very least, tipsy.
“Is this your first time in Vail?” she asks, a little too loudly.
“Yep. First time in Colorado, actually. What about you?” Do I know her from one of my previous jobs somehow? A random acquaintance coworker? I’ve had so many jobs, it’s definitely possible. This isbugging me.
She finishes inspecting the elasticity of her skin and reaches into her clutch, then starts reapplying her mauve lipstick. I pretend I’m inspecting too so I can keep this conversation going a little longer.
“Oh, I’ve been coming for a few years now.” She waves a hand through the air. The tip of her lipstick hits the mirror, and she curses, rubbing at the little spot, which only makes it smudge worse.
I probably don’t know her from a job. She’d recognize me too, and she already said I don’t look familiar. Maybe I’ve seen her around the resort already and didn’t realize it. Or could she possibly be a celebrity? Someone who hasn’t been in anything big, but with a few speaking parts?
“Are you from the South?” she asks, giving up on the mirror smudge. “Kind of sounds like you’ve got an accent.”
I nod, trying not to get too distracted from the conversation. “South Carolina.” I’m kind of surprised she noticed an accent at all. I feel like mine is so light compared to so many other Southerners.
“No way!” Her eyes go big, and she leans toward me against the bathroom counter. “That’s where my daughter lives.”
Oooh, so maybe I know her daughter and that’s why she looks so familiar. It would make sense. The tune of It’s a Small World starts playing in my head. Great. I’ll be humming myself to sleep with that song tonight.
The woman goes on. “She moved there last year to work for some tech company, but she won’t be there much longer.”
I’m like a dog whose ears perk up at the word “walk.”
“Really? Do you remember what the company was called?”
“Oh, gosh, I don’t know. Ensure or Emanate or something?” She waves her hand around. “It started with an E, I think. They deal with 3D printers.”
I nearly slip and bang my forehead against the mirror. “O-oh. Wow. Um, that’s pretty cool.” That’s what I say out loud anyway. In my head, my thoughts are zooming at breakneck speed, jumping to all the conclusions.
Could she mean Em3rge? What would the odds be of that? She said her daughter lived in South Carolina, but she didn’t say where in South Carolina. It could be another company that works with 3D printers. One that starts with an E. That’s possible, right?
But maybe that’s why I recognize her. She looks like someone I work with. That’s the most plausible reason. I sift through the women I know from work, trying to place their images next to this woman’s face. No one immediately comes to mind, and I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.
If that is true and her daughter works at Em3rge, so what? I’ve probably met her and she’s a perfectly nice, respectable person. A person who doesn’t plan on working there much longer…
Why does that part make me the most worried of all?
“Emerge!” The woman spears her lipstick into the air triumphantly. “That’s the name of the company: Emerge.” She giggles again as she flies her lipstick through the air like it’s an airplane, capping it, and flying it into her clutch again.
My eyes go wide. “Oh? Um, and why won’t she be working there much longer?”
“Shhhh.” She puts her finger to her lips, shushing me so loudly and forcefully, some spit escapes her mouth. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that. Shhhh. Not supposed to tell anybody.” She giggles again.
“Why wouldn’t you be allowed to tell anyone where your daughter works?”
“Because it’s all a big secret,” she whispers. She sighs and starts backing out of the bathroom, stumbling a couple more times on her way out. “Don’t tell anyone I told you,” she says, smiling through her extremely white teeth. “I’ve gotta get back to my dinner party. Have a nice night!”
“You too.” And then she’s gone, leaving a knot of dread lodged in my gut.
I have to tell Owen.
This is my one and only thought as I drift out of the bathroom and through the restaurant until I recognize the back of his head. He’s sitting at a large, round table decorated with a fine linen tablecloth, tiny tea lights, and sprigs of greenery.
“Here she is, at last,” Fred announces. He’s sitting opposite Owen with Carlotta at his side and almost a dozen other faces I’ve never seen before around him. Except one. One face, I recognize immediately.
Sitting right beside my empty seat is the tipsy woman from the bathroom. She turns to look up at me and glitches. It’s as if she is a robot and someone jammed their finger on her power off button. She goes still, eyes wide, smile frozen on her face, one hand halfway through adjusting her thick, dark hair. Then, just as suddenly, she comes back to life. Her smile changes into something big, fake, and almost scary. Then she turns away, reaches for her water glass, and practically chugs the entire thing.
And oh. My. Gosh. If that isn’t a confirmation to my queasy gut that something is very wrong with this situation, I don’t know what is.
For half a second, I consider confronting her, speaking directly to her, and demanding why, exactly, her daughter does not plan on working at Em3rge much longer. But cowardice wins out. I can’t say anything like that to her. Not here. Not now. Certainly not without having anything concrete to go off of. I need more information. And I need to let Owen know my suspicions.
“Sorry I’m late.” I try to force a natural smile, but my insides are churning.
Owen stands, pulls my chair out for me, then leans in, giving me a kiss on my cheek that I wish I could focus on.
“Is everything okay?” he murmurs against my ear. “You look troubled.”
I hate and love that he notices this. “Yeah, I’m—”
“So, you must be the famous girlfriend we’ve heard so much about,” says a balding man sitting next to Fred.
Famous? My cheeks warm as I realize everyone’s attention is on me. This is the worst. I was only fifty-percent looking forward to this dinner because, hello, Owen in a suit at a fancy restaurant? That alone is worth the price of admission. But now all this? It’s too much.
“Yes,” says another woman. “Fred talks highly of you. He says he couldn’t ask for a better daughter-in-law if he’d picked one out himself.”
“Daughter-in-law?” My gaze darts to Owen, whose cheeks are flushed, a glass of water perched on the edge of his bottom lip like he forgot what he was doing. “We’re not—”
“Oh, we know that,” the balding man says, waving. “Fred’s excited, that’s all. According to him, Owen hasn’t dated in years. Almost lost hope.”
I add my nervous chuckle to the chorus of laughs that go up around me. Owen’s warm hand finds my thigh and gives it a gentle squeeze. I can read the subtext behind that squeeze without needing to look at him: I’m sooo sorry about this.
I take his hand and squeeze it back.
“Anthony,” Owen says when the laughter dies, “you can’t leave us hanging. Come on, what happened with the ski instructor?”
An overweight man launches into what must be the middle of a story he’d been telling before I got there, and I seize the chance to grab my menu and hide myself behind it.
“Owen,” I whisper, leaning closer to him, “who is this woman sitting beside me?”
His gaze flicks to her. “If I remember right, her name is Linda. The blond, Adam Sandler-look-alike she’s sitting next to is Craig, one of my dad’s work friends. I think she’s his third wife. They got married last year. Why?”
I don’t answer, worrying my lip instead until Owen’s arm goes around my shoulders and his fingers graze my cheek, pulling my gaze to his.
“Juniper,” he says, eyes dark and intense, “what’s wrong?”
“Well, um, nothing’s wrong per se, and it might be nothing or maybe a weird coincidence, but I kind of met Linda in the women’s bathroom just now.”
Owen nods, his thumb moving in slow, calming circles against my shoulder.
“She was kind of drunk, and we started chatting. Long story short, she told me she has a daughter who works at Em3rge. She said her daughter doesn’t plan on working there much longer, and then she shushed me and told me not to tell because it was supposed to be a secret. Then, when we saw each other just now, she totally freaked out. Do you think—I mean, is it crazy to think her daughter might be the one leaking information?”
“I don’t know…” Owen’s jaw is clenched and his thumb stops moving on my shoulder. “Hold on, let me see if I can figure out her daughter’s name.”
Owen leans away from me to tap the shoulder of the woman beside him. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but it looks like he asks her one simple question, and the woman starts unloading on him. It takes a bit before he turns back to me.
“Linda’s daughter is Breanna Scheuler.”
“Breanna?” I can picture Breanna immediately. She works in our IT department, and now that I think about it, it’s a wonder I didn’t peg her as Linda’s daughter right away. I can definitely see the resemblance. “She wasn’t one of the people we originally suspected. Do you think it could be a coincidence?”
Owen doesn’t answer right away. “It might, but the way Linda keeps looking at us makes me think otherwise.”
I chance a look at Linda and immediately regret it. She’s glaring at me like I killed her puppy. Almost as soon as we make eye contact though, she turns her whole body away from me and toward her husband.
“Could she be in on it?” I whisper.
“I don’t know.”
“Is there any way we can find out for sure?”
Owen removes his arm from around my shoulders and pinches the bridge of his nose, thinking. “I’ll see if I can get Craig to tell me.”
“How?”
“By getting him drunk.”
“What? Owen, I don’t know if—”
“No, sorry. I didn’t mean I would be the one getting him drunk. He’ll get himself drunk. Every year after the big fancy dinner my dad puts on, he and ‘the boys’ head to the bar for more drinking and catching up. I usually avoid that scene at all costs, but this time, I’ll go and see if I can get any information out of Craig while he’s liquored up.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I glance over at Craig, who also doesn’t look too happy. “What if he’s in on whatever’s going on too?”
Owen shakes his head. “That’s what I’m worried about. Craig’s known my dad for over twenty years, but they had a falling out last year over some business thing. I thought they worked it out, but… We better just see what we can find out before we make any accusations.”
“Okay.”
The waiter comes at that moment and takes orders, and then Owen and I don’t get much of a chance to talk since everyone at the table starts grilling us about how we met, how long we’ve been going out, and other equally boring and uncomfortable questions.
I wish the topic of conversation would switch to anything else until Fred starts to talk about his favorite sales stories. They’re a little cringe-worthy to listen to, to be honest. He brags about how the company or individual he was trying to sell to had absolutely no intention of buying his product, but then, thanks to Fred’s scare tactics or some schmoozing, he convinced them to buy anyway.
After each story, Fred throws up his hand and taps on his empty glass, which is promptly refilled. It’s obviously unpleasant for Owen too, as he looks about ready to jump across the table and strangle his dad at any second. We’re both hanging on to this night for dear life, waiting for it to be over. Through drinks, appetizers, and the main course, it’s like The Fred Show as he regales us with one story after another, his little work buddies hanging on to every word.
How could they possibly plan on going out to drink more after this?
I am way past sick of it, so when my phone rings toward the end of the meal, I jump at the chance to escape the table, especially because it’s from the only other person I care to hear from right now besides Kiera.
“Hi, Dad,” I say, walking through the restaurant for a little privacy. The fact that he called me adds a little bit of cheer into my mood. His call could not have been better timed.
“Hey, Junebug. It’s good to hear your voice.”
“It’s good to hear yours too. I’d kind of rather see your face though, to be honest.”
When Dad speaks again, I hear the smile in his words. “That’s exactly why I’m calling. You gonna be in town on Monday?”
“Wait, what? Seriously? I thought you weren’t going to be back for another week?”
“That was the plan, but things change. How about we meet at our usual spot for lunch? One o’clock work for you?”
“I think I can swing it.”
Normally, I take my lunch break a little earlier than that, but Owen won’t mind if I—
My thoughts stall.
Owen. Should I…should I tell my dad about Owen? The thought hadn’t occurred to me before. The two of them feel like they live in completely different worlds in my head. I’ve never introduced my dad to any of my boyfriends in the past, I’ve barely talked to him about any of them, but with Owen, it feels like maybe I should.
Apprehension swirls in my belly as Dad’s familiar words come back to me as if he were saying them right now.
“Leave people before they leave you.”
Would he be disappointed that I’m dating someone seriously? Wait, am I dating someone seriously?
“When I’m with you, I feel like I want to try. I’m still really afraid I’ll mess this up, but I want to try.”
That’s what Owen said a short while ago. Words that freaked me out at first, but now…maybe I want to try too, for longer than just this weekend. And Dad will understand that. He worries, but he’ll be happy that I’m happy.
“Also,” I say, holding my breath, “I might want you to meet someone.”
There’s the slightest pause on the other end of the phone. “Oh? And who would this someone be?”
“Um, you know, a guy.”
Another pause, this one longer than the first. “I’d love to meet anyone you bring with you. Listen, sweetie, I’ve got to run. I’ll see you Monday, alright?”
“Okay. Bye, Dad. Love you.”
After hanging up, I take a few more moments to myself, standing by a potted bird-of-paradise. A waiter approaches me to see if I need something, but I wave him off.
There’s so much going on. Between Owen, my dad, and the mole, I can barely keep it all from crashing together inside me.
Fear coils in my belly.
“I’m not running away,” I tell myself. “One thing at a time. Just get through one thing at a time.” And the next thing I have to get through is this stupid dinner.
Sounds simple enough, but when I get back to the table, it’s clear something’s wrong. There’s a distinct tension, and Owen is scowling. His fists are curled and his jaw is clenched, blazing eyes set on his father.
“She wassa conniving, manipulative harpy from th’ beginning.” Fred’s words are slurred. His eyes are bright. I lost count of how many glasses of wine he had, but it’s obvious he’s over his limit. “I was too lovesick ta see it.”
I grimace and place a hand on Owen’s arm as I sit. He doesn’t seem to notice.
“You’re better off without her,” says one of his friends, clapping him on the back.
“Thatssright, I am.” Fred lifts his empty glass, then looks inside it as if surprised at its lack of contents. “You know what else?”
“Dad,” Owen warns, voice low. I reach over, sliding my hand on top of his, but it doesn’t make a difference. He’s shaking now, but his dad either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
“She had the nerve to blame me for her affair. Said I drove her to it. Can’t even take responsibility for her own actions, the little—”
His language degrades into a string of slurs and cuss words until Owen snaps. He stands abruptly, his chair clattering to the floor behind him.