27. Iris
27
IRIS
The fall air bites at my cheeks as I leave town hall, the early scent of fallen leaves hanging in the evening breeze. The restaurant is close enough that I can walk, and just as Jodi warned me, there are yard signs placed squarely on every corner like weeds sprouting overnight.
She didn't warn me about his campaign slogan: "Joey Moore. A legacy of tradition and values."
Yikes, that hits right in the feels.
The other book club members are seated around a large table near the back when I arrive. Each of them stands to give me a hug. My friends are like a lifeline, tethering me to a version of myself that doesn’t always have to be alone.
"So you've all seen Joey's signs," I say as I take the last empty seat.
"How are you doing?" Sadie asks, sympathy in her gentle eyes.
"We're going to campaign the shit out of this election," Avah adds, saving me from answering. "But let's get you a margarita first."
"Do you need a campaign manager?" Molly leans across the table. "I can do that for you."
Sadie pats the redhead's arm. "You don't have any political experience, but you do have a flower farm and high-energy twins to manage."
"I'll figure it out if Iris needs me," Molly answers without hesitation.
And that's when something cracks open inside me.
The invisible weight I've been holding for so many years is suddenly too much to keep inside any longer. My jaw clenches, and I swallow, trying to pretend the moment will pass if I ignore it. The same way I've been ignoring my fear and loneliness.
But these women are all-in, and the support—their love—wraps around me like a blanket. The understanding that it's okay to let someone else carry a little of the weight releases the tight knot of emotion inside me. And with it, comes the tears. Tears I’ve been holding back for years.
It's the first time I've cried since childhood, when my mom weaponized her tears to manipulate and guilt Nick and me into going along with whatever outcome she wanted. I don't see crying as a weakness in others, but I taught myself to hold it all in because I didn't want to be like her.
Just my luck that the floodgates decide to open in the middle of a Mexican restaurant, and I'm powerless to stop it. Tears roll down my face faster than I can wipe them away.
I laugh to cover up how exposed this makes me feel as Sadie hands me a napkin. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me."
"Tears aren't wrong." Taylor loops an arm around my shoulder. "We've got you, Iris."
"You're allowed to feel," Sloane reminds me, her voice steady and warm.
The more I try to pull it together, the harder the tears fall. But Sloane isn't wrong. There's something cathartic about letting myself fall apart, no matter how much it scares me.
The other women seem to take it in stride.
Molly dips a chip in the salsa bowl. "I sometimes cry so hard I hyperventilate."
"When I cry, I get the hiccups," Taylor reveals.
"My dad didn't believe in tears," Avah tells the group. "I tried so hard to hold them back when my childhood dog died, I ended up puking all over his favorite shoes." The edge of her full mouth curves slightly. "Which made me feel a little better."
"I don't want to cry," I say, even as I continue blubbering.
"You're a pretty crier," Sadie observes.
Taylor nods. "Which is not fair at all. My entire face turns bright red."
"I've seen you cry," Sloane confirms, pointing a chip at our favorite librarian. "You also get this weird, pinched look like you're sucking on a lemon."
"That's going to be my sign." Taylor nods and squeezes my shoulder. "When I meet someone who thinks I'm adorable when I cry, I'll know I've met my soulmate."
"Girl, that's a terrible benchmark." Molly shakes her head. "Trust me. Men hate it when women cry. I was super emotional when I was pregnant with the twins, and Teddy couldn't take it."
"Ian can take it," Sadie counters. "He's a crier himself."
That comment makes me laugh through my tears. "You aren't going to convince us that Ian Barlowe is a crier."
"I'm not kidding. He was highly offended that I don't watch football, which meant I've never seen a Super Bowl commercial. We went back and watched a highlight reel of the most emotional ads, and it turned him into a blubbering mess. His brother is even worse."
"Sign me up to wipe away Felix Barlowe's tears," Molly says with a dreamy sigh.
The conversation swirls around me while Taylor keeps an arm around me and Sloane pats my thigh at regular intervals. None of the women make a big deal about my tears or push me to talk or get over whatever is bothering me. They just let me cry while they wait, like they'll wait forever. And I realize that for all my fears about them only wanting to be around me because Sloane insists, they are truly my friends, prickly edges be damned.
I don't know how long it takes before my emotions are under control again. As if by magic, the moment I wipe my last tear away, a waitress arrives at the table and places a margarita in front of me.
"Thank you."
She nods. "I'll have the nachos and quesadillas y'all ordered out in a sec. Mayor Dixon, I want to say that I honor tradition and appreciate your opponent's dedication to... well, from what I can tell so far, he's devoted to seeing his name flashed all over the town."
"No doubt," Sloane murmurs.
"I'm a single mother," Regan—based on her name tag—continues. "I have a son who struggles with reading. Well, Jonah struggles with a lot of things since his dad left. Because you support the literacy programs at the library, he's gotten the extra help he needs. It's improved his behavior in school, and homework isn't such a fight. If there's anything to be grateful for, it's not fighting with my eight-year-old every night."
"Amen, sister," Molly agrees.
Regan flashes a smile. "I just want you to know I appreciate what you've done since you took office. As far as I'm concerned, you stand for the right kind of values. Also, the churros are on the house tonight."
I return her smile. "Churros might be the best medicine after a rough day. Thank you."
She nods and heads back toward the kitchen.
"Did you all pay her?" I demand with a laugh when she's gone, grabbing a napkin to blow my nose.
"No." Taylor shakes her head. "But it would have been a heck of an idea."
"She's right, you know," Sloane tells me, "and so is Molly. We'll all pitch in to help, Iris. We can campaign Joey Moore into the ground."
I take a sip of margarita and let the cold liquid ease the burn in my throat.
"That's the thing." I keep my gaze on the salted rim of my drink. "Do I want to open myself up to that kind of scrutiny? Joey could dredge up things I've spent years trying to forget. How can I stand in front of the town and talk about integrity and trust when I come from a family that broke both? I've tried my best, but maybe it's time to cut my losses."
"Sweetheart, no." Avah shakes her head and tucks a strand of glossy hair behind one ear. "You shouldn't be held responsible for the mistakes your mom and your brother made. If we were each accountable for the wrongdoings of our family, we'd all be in jail right now."
There's a beat of stunned silence at the table, and Avah wrinkles her button nose. "Okay, maybe it's just my family that gets on the wrong side of the law at that level, but most of us would be rocking in the corner or screaming into a pillow."
Everyone nods and murmurs words of agreement, but it feels like a four-hundred-pound gorilla is sitting on my chest. He stares into my eyes, daring me to be honest with these women. As much as I appreciate their support, if they only like the do-no-wrong version, what kind of friendship is that?
As scary as it is to say the words aloud, I force myself to begin. "It's not just what my mom and brother did. I'm my own biggest liability."
The waitress returns with a plate of chicken nachos and cheese quesadillas. She places them in the middle of the table, along with six appetizer plates. Her hand is barely out of the way before Sloane grabs one, drops a triangle of quesadilla and a large scoop of guacamole on it, and places it in front of me.
"You don't need to feed me like I'm a child," I tell her.
"I know how you get when stressed," she counters. "You forget to eat. Did you eat today?"
"Does an extra dollop of vanilla creamer in my fourth cup of coffee count?"
Taylor gives my shoulder another squeeze before removing her arm. "Take a bite before you tell us whatever you're about to tell us."
Everyone else nods in agreement.
"I'd rather say it first. Otherwise, I might add public puking to my current humiliation. But please eat while I'm talking. If your mouths are full, at least your jaws will be less likely to drop at my bombshell."
"I love a bombshell," Molly says as she scoops a heap of nachos onto a plate. "Is anybody else watching the latest season of Castle of Love ? Boris, who is supposed to be the heir to a European principality, was just revealed as a phony by the real heir, Mikhail, who showed up at the castle to win back Maria, his childhood sweetheart he lost touch with after his family was forced to flee their homeland."
"Slow the reality roll." Avah waves a hand in front of Molly's face. "I'm not knocking your TV choices, because we've all got our guilty pleasures, but our girl Iris is about to share something real, and you're blathering about fake drama."
"I don't think it's fake." Molly looks genuinely disturbed, then offers me a wan smile. "I'm also not trying to steal your thunder. I just figured in the realm of misery loves company, you might like to know there are other people dealing with bombshells."
"Eat your nachos, Mol," Avah orders.
"I appreciate hearing about Boris and Mikhail," I tell her with a soft laugh. "I wish my confession involved true love and redemption. Instead, I play the part of the villain—or at least the fool—in this story.” I take a deep breath and just blurt it out. “I had an affair with a married man." The words taste bitter coming out, laced with the shame I tried to bury.
Five pairs of eyes lock on me.
"After everything that happened with your mother?" Sloane asks, sounding confused and, if I'm being honest, disappointed.
"It's not an excuse," I continue, "but he told me they were legally separated, only staying in the marriage for political reasons."
"Then he lied and deceived you, which isn't your fault," Sadie says, always wanting to give people the benefit of the doubt.
She has the kindest heart of any person I've ever met. Maybe it’s because she spends most of her time with animals and not people. Is it too late to change my career path to veterinary medicine? Except I'm allergic.
"Political reasons," Sloane repeats. If anyone realizes the man I'm talking about, it's my best friend. "Who was it?" Based on her flat tone, she already knows the answer.
"Robert Wilhelm," I say quietly.
"The governor of Minnesota?" Molly practically shouts, and Avah elbows her hard.
"Not so loud."
Molly's big green eyes go even wider. "This could be an episode of Castle of Love . Maybe we'll call it Politics of Love ."
"No." I shake my head and offer her a weak smile. "Not love. We're calling it Iris being a fool because Robert and his wife are not separated, legally or otherwise. I know that because?—"
"She had a baby last year," Taylor says. "I remember seeing a clip of them on one of those Sunday morning news shows. The perfect political family, a potential Camelot for a new generation."
I choke out a laugh. The reference to the lore surrounding John F. Kennedy and his beautiful wife, Jackie, is ironic, given what we now know about the former president's wandering eye.
"Yes, well, good luck to her," I mutter. "I shouldn't have believed him, and it's humiliating enough to be part of something so sordid. But the worst part is knowing I'm exactly the kind of woman my mother was."
"Your mother went after married men for sport," Sloane points out. "You aren't the same."
"It doesn't feel that way." I draw in a deep breath. "After watching her sneak around with a string of boyfriends, I should have known better when Robert told me we had to keep things quiet because they were still working through the dissolution. I should never have believed him, but I did. His wife found out and confronted me with a picture of her unborn baby's sonogram, along with photos of her other two children and their happy family." I sniff and wipe under my eyes. "The one I was going to destroy if I didn't walk away. So I came here thinking I could lick my wounds and start over. I never expected Homer Moore to die, or to be appointed interim mayor when he did."
"Of course you didn't," Sadie agrees.
"I won't say I didn't appreciate the opportunity." I blow my nose again. "It felt like something good was coming from the worst moment of my life. But if Joey does any digging, he'll find out."
"He's not going to find out. This is Skylark. Nobody digs that hard," Molly assures me.
Avah nods. "Besides, you've got so much lukewarm tea thanks to your family, I doubt he's going to be looking that hard at you."
"The one benefit of your reputation of being a rigid stick-in-the-mud," Sadie tells me with a slight grimace, "is no one's going to guess you could have done anything like that."
"But I did do it," I say, devastated. I brace myself for the judgment I've been drowning in ever since Dana Wilhelm came to see me.
Instead, I feel Sloane's hand on my leg again, steady and firm. "You wouldn't have if you'd known," she insists.
I appreciate her confidence in me, and while it's true, my heart doesn't feel like it absolves me of my wrongdoing. I caused a stranger the type of pain I swore I would never be a part of, in any circumstance.
"The bottom line is, you have to decide what you want," Avah says in the silence that follows. "And know we've got your back in whatever way you need."
"I love you guys," I whisper as the tears threaten again. Just like I feared, they might never end now that they've started.
"But you have to decide fast," Sloane cautions. "If Joey gains momentum, you might not be able to stop him."
"If he discovers my secret, I definitely won't."
"You made a mistake," Molly insists, and I finally get the nerve to look around the table. But my friends aren't glaring at me with anger or disgust. Just understanding.
The fear that I'm just like my mother—that no matter how hard I try, I'll hurt someone and end up alone—finally starts to fade, maybe this time for good. Because I’ve shown my friends the worst parts of me—and they’ve stayed anyway.
I raise my margarita in a toast to this incredible group of women. "No matter what happens, I appreciate knowing I have you all in my corner. No campaign win could be more satisfying than that."
"Good speech," Avah says, holding up her glass and toasting me in return. "Hopefully, you'll give an even better one on election night."
I take another sip, feeling both weighted and free at once. I've been drowning in a shame I didn't know how to shake, and now that the secret is out and my friends are still on my side, I'm lighter. Yet, I’m still heavy because I can't take back what happened, no matter how much I want to.
The combination is disconcerting—like I can't catch my balance. But their faith in me, even knowing my shameful truth, makes me believe there's hope. Maybe I can trust myself to do more. To be more than I thought I could. And at this moment, that hope is enough.