5. Iris
5
IRIS
I walk into the back entrance of Cover to Cover fifteen minutes before seven, our regular book club time. I had Sadie drop me home after the run-in with Jake because I needed to fix my face, as my mom would say, before returning to the office. To make sure no one could see the toll this morning took on my heart.
I’m normally one of the first to arrive at our meetings. Tonight, the five other members are already seated around the large oak table Sloane—the founder of our Cool Girl Book Club—uses for meetings, classes, and other events.
I stifle a groan as the conversation stalls and five pairs of eyes turn to me. “I’m fine. No need for an intervention or whatever this is. Everything’s fine.”
Maybe if I say the words over and over, I’ll believe them.
“How about a glass of sangria?” Single mom Molly McAllister points to the pitcher sitting next to a bowl of chips in the center of the table.
“Sure,” I say with a laugh. “One glass might help me improve on fine. But only one. The way this day is going, chances are I’ll end up with a DUI if I even sniff a second glass.”
“I’ll drive you home,” Sloane offers, and I swallow back the emotion that threatens to choke me. Any of these women would give me a ride, just like Sadie did earlier.
But Sloane is my best friend in the group. In the world, actually. She’s the first real friend I made in my life back when I spent that one fateful summer in Skylark.
Now she’s thin and pale, her head wrapped in a thick scarf to cover the fact that we shaved her head months ago after the chemo left her mahogany waves falling out in chunks. But her sky-blue eyes are bright and filled with affection as she winks at me.
I hate that my friend battling cancer still feels like I’m the one who needs to be taken care of. I love that she’s so willing to step up to support me, but I should be helping her feel better, not the other way around. It’s what this whole bucket list challenge is about.
“One is plenty,” I assure her, taking the plastic wine glass Molly hands me. “Really, I’m fine. Today was no big deal. A small setback, but I’ll figure out how to fund the important programs while keeping the town’s reputation intact.”
“We’ll get to town business in a minute,” Avah Harris says. “First, let’s talk about you and the hot stranger having it out on Main Street.” With a slender build and an effortlessly chic sense of style, Avah seems like she’d be more at home in a sleek urban setting than in a quaint town nestled in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains.
I shoot a glance at Sadie, who shakes her head. “They didn’t hear anything from me.” I believe her. Sadie is one of the kindest and most loyal people I know.
“I heard it from Susanna Monroe at the bakery.” Avah rolls her blue eyes, clearly annoyed at having to elaborate on her request. Patience isn’t one of her strong suits. “You know how Suze loves gossip, and she said customers were glued to the front window like they were watching a reality show brawl.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” I insist, but swallow back another groan. I’m not only not fun, now I’m going to have a reputation for making a fool of myself in public. Just what voters want from their mayor.
“Who was it?” Sloane asks, genuinely curious.
“Somebody I used to know.”
She holds up the front edge of the scarf. “You have to give the bald cancer patient all the details when she asks.”
I choke out a laugh then take a long sip of the sangria, hoping it will calm me. I don’t want to rehash my run-in with Jake, especially with Sloane. “Are you seriously going to use cancer as an arm-twisting tactic?”
“I’m absolutely using cancer.” She points to the empty seat across from her. “Its advantages are few and far between, but manipulation, coercion, and outright getting my way are perks that cannot be ignored.”
Molly, ever the peacemaker, leans over and hugs her. “So that you know, we’ll let you have your way even after you kick cancer’s ass.”
“I’m going to hold you to that. But right now, Madame Interim Mayor, spill those type-A guts.”
I lower myself into the chair next to Taylor Maxwell, local librarian and most reserved of our friend group. “It was Jake Byrne. He’s in town visiting his grandfather.”
Sloane’s full mouth thins. “Jake’s back?” She’s the only one who understands what this means to me—to my heart.
“A guy who loves his grandpa.” Avah taps her chest. “That gets me right in the feels. Bonus that he’s hot.”
“Why were you arguing and how do you know him?” Taylor asks quietly. “His name doesn’t ring a bell.”
Taylor, Sadie, and Avah are the three Skylark natives of our group. They might have heard of Jake—or the hot gossip that punctuated his short summer in Skylark—but his family used their influence and buckets of cash to quiet the potential scandal.
Except Jake wasn’t the only one involved that night, and the aftermath wrecked my brother’s life as surely as if a tornado had touched down in our midst.
“He and Nick were friends in high school,” I say, careful to keep any emotion out of my voice. “Today he was driving like an idiot and almost ran me over.”
“That’s not the whole story,” Sloane says, her voice almost a whisper.
This is why I don’t make friends. When people know you, particularly your weaknesses, they have the power to hurt you. Sloane would never—at least not on purpose—but Jake Byrne is another story.
I vowed to stop giving away my power a long time ago. And when I’ve mis-stepped on that promise to myself, it comes back to bite me. Every single time.
Still, I trust these women. So I take a deep breath, and with an encouraging nod from Sloane, try to explain the story of Jake and me without revealing the damage knowing him did to my heart.
“Jake came to stay with his grandpa for a few months right after Mom moved us to Skylark.”
“The summer before senior year of high school,” Sloane adds.
I nod. “He and my twin had a bromance from the jump. Two charming party boys looking for trouble.” I roll my shoulders when I feel them hiking up to my ears, then continue, “They found more than their share.”
Sadie reaches out and places her hand on my arm. “What kind of trouble?”
“It was stupid stuff. Breaking into the country club after hours to use the hot tub. Borrowing Jake’s grandfather’s Porsche to go joyriding on the two-lane highways outside of town.”
Avah scoffs. “I’m guessing they didn’t ask permission to borrow the Porsche.”
I nod. “Correct.”
“Kids still race on those roads,” Molly says, “even though the sheriff’s office sets up regular speed traps out there. We can hear the engines on summer nights. Someone’s going to get killed.”
Since moving to Skylark with her twins after her husband’s death, Molly has lived with her mother-in-law on a small farm outside town. Her eyes widen as she makes the connection. “Oh, crap. Was it that kind of accident?”
“No one was killed.” I grip the edge of the table like it can ground me. “They picked up a trio of college coeds in town for the rodeo. Lots of partying and even more alcohol. Someone had the brilliant idea to go drag racing after the barn dance ended.”
“Alcohol and good decisions are somewhat mutually exclusive,” Taylor murmurs.
“More than somewhat in this case. A deer ran across the road, and the driver swerved to avoid it. Ended up losing control and rolling the car several times before smacking into the cattle fence bordering the highway.”
“I vaguely remember hearing about that.” Avah frowns. “But no one had details.”
“Because Jake’s family handled the situation.” I use aggressive air quotes around the word handled.
“You said the driver lost control.” Molly leans forward. “Who was driving—Jake or your brother?”
A familiar wave of anger washes over me, hot and ugly like it was right after the incident. You’d think time would diminish my emotions. It heals all wounds, right? But not all wrongs.
“The official line was that Nick was behind the wheel.” I blow out a long breath. “We found out later Jake had been driving, but his dad convinced my brother to take the fall.”
A chorus of disbelieving gasps greets my revelation.
“He can’t do that,” Avah insists.
“Oh, he did it.” I shake my head. “I confronted Nick, but he claimed he couldn’t remember who was driving, so it might have been him.”
“Did you talk to Jake?” Sadie asks. “Were the two of you close like him and Nick?”
“Not like that,” I say carefully, keeping my gaze away from Sloane’s.
She knows the truth about my feelings for Jake Byrne, and I can’t bear to see that truth reflected in her blue eyes. “But I did demand the truth. He refused to confirm or deny anything. Totally shut me out, and by then it didn’t matter.”
“Why?” Taylor whispers.
I release my grasp on the table when my fingers start to ache. “Both of them were facing serious consequences, Nick especially. That’s when the Byrnes worked their magic .” More air quotes. “Jake’s grandfather handled the cops and the girls’ families. His dad stepped in and arranged for them to spend the rest of the summer—a month—at one of those wilderness camps for troubled teens. I hated the idea of Nick being sent away, but Jake’s dad made it seem like there was no other choice.”
Molly shakes her head. “What did your mom think?”
I force a smile like this part doesn’t bother me anymore, even though the ramifications are still turning up like a bad penny. “She was so distraught by the whole thing she felt the need to take comfort in the arms of Skylark’s very married mayor.”
“Pew, pew,” Avah whispers.
“It was devastating in more than one way,” Sloane tells the group.
“All the ways,” I agree. “I don’t care what Jake and Nick said or refused to say. My brother got a bum deal because we didn’t have the money to pay for our scandals to go away.”
“So not exactly a happy reunion for you and Jake,” Avah says.
That’s putting it mildly. “He still can’t drive for shit, but the rest of it is water under the bridge.”
Sadie refills her cup and offers the pitcher to me, but I shake my head. “How does your brother feel about Jake and the Byrne family?”
“He won’t talk about it.” I wrap my arms around my stomach like that can protect me from the memories that have haunted me since that night. “He had a rough time at camp. I don’t think he and Jake stayed in touch, not with how Nick spiraled after that summer. And I haven’t given Jake Byrne another thought until I just about lost my kneecaps to his truck’s bumper.”
Avah hums a sound of disbelief but doesn’t call me out on the lie. They all must know I’m telling one.
I drain the last few drops of my sangria, hoping the alcohol will warm the chill in my veins.
Taylor drapes an arm around my shoulder. “Okay, now that we’ve established that Jake Byrne is a total piece of shit, do you want to talk about this morning at the mayor’s office?”
Another laugh bubbles up inside me, this one more resigned than forced. “Long story short, my lovely assistant threw me under the bus with the Community Spirit Committee. But I have a plan for managing that, and it involves the bucket list.”
Sloane grins. “The bucket list can solve everything.”
Avah rolls her eyes. “You’re giving Kristen Quinn way too much credit.”
Avah is the most skeptical that The Year of Losing It —the book club selection that inspired Sloane to start this bucket list challenge—is anything more than a montage of superficial clichés and Pinterest-level wisdom. But she’s going along with the program for Sloane’s benefit. Just like the rest of us.
“Are you going to make training with you for an ultramarathon part of Jodi’s job description?” Molly winks at me.
I’d tentatively mentioned participating in one of Colorado’s popular endurance races as my bucket list challenge. “She deserves that kind of torture, but no.”
I pull the book that has inspired all of this bucket list talk out of my bag. “On page one-thirty-four, Quinn says, ‘When we allow ourselves to embrace joy, laughter, and play, we recharge our minds and hearts. It makes us more resilient, creative, and open to life’s challenges. Fun isn’t a distraction. It’s a strategy for living boldly.’”
“She’s right,” Sloane murmurs.
“I hope so.” I close the book again. “Because for my bucket list challenge,” I announce with a flourish like I’m revealing the showcase showdown prize on The Price is Right , “I’m going to have fun. And as my challenge, I am signing up for an ultramarathon.”
A mix of anticipation and nerves makes my heartbeat riot against my ribcage, and I scan my friends’ faces, waiting for the cheers or support I’d anticipated—well, hoped—they’d give me. Instead, an awkward silence greets my words, punctuated by only a few exchanged glances that sting worse than outright disapproval.
They don’t get it, and why should they? No one—not even Sloane—knows the depth of my hatred for that word. Fun .
Molly finally speaks, her cautious tone making me feel even smaller. “Are you sure a marathon counts as a fun challenge?”
“You guys don’t have to understand.” Heat rises up the back of my neck. “Or approve. I’m doing this for me.”
But that doesn’t stop the hollow ache from settling in my chest, a reminder that I’m always the one who doesn’t quite belong. Doing life wrong.
Why can’t I be like everyone else instead of the odd puzzle piece in a box full of perfect fits?