Chapter 26
Lark
The conservatory is my favorite room in the country club. It’s bright and airy, especially in summer when the flowers are blooming. I’ve been running mad trying to keep these ladies’ mimosas on an endless tap, but now I need to refill their tea glasses since the food is about to be served.
I drift from one table to the next, overhearing things that aren’t meant for outsiders.
Most of it I don’t even catch as my thoughts are still in bed with Harbor.
We didn’t have time this morning, but I’m still craving the feel of him inside me—the stretch, the fullness, the deepest of connections with him.
I even crave the ache that reminded me of him the next day.
Two women sit alone off to one side, the other guests at the table currently floating around like butterflies visiting their friends.
“She’s having to deal with her son’s antics again,” says a lady in an expensive pink suit. Everyone’s clothes look way out of my budget, but hers is detailed with pearls that are probably real.
The other lady is demure in nature compared to the woman seated next to her. Dressed in all black, her deep brown hair has a distinctly defined streak of silver, and her face is commanded by overly arched, thin eyebrows. She says, “She’s such a sweetheart and doesn’t deserve this trouble.”
I top off the iced tea glasses, weaving in and out of the tables at the Ladies Who Lunch crowd. I’m still clueless as to what exactly this club is about. All I hear is a bunch of sniping-with-a-smile comments and gossip spreading faster than a wildfire in heavy winds.
I’ve come to expect certain behavior from a few “ladies” I recognize from other events I’ve worked. And a few are always polite. Even now, they’re not enjoying the gossip but talk more about fashion and traveling, their kids, and the gifts their husbands bought them.
“Delta has her hands full with the youngest male Westcott.” I’m drawn to the conversation when I hear Harbor’s mother’s name and his last name.
The woman picks the glass up just before I’m going to refill it and sips the remaining tea.
Normally, that would be no big deal, but the way she eyes me over the crystal makes me think she did that on purpose.
I roll my eyes. If it makes her happy to have us peons waiting on her, whatever.
It’s not worth expending my energy on trivial things.
I also don’t mind hanging around a little longer to hear the rumors they’re spreading about the Westcotts. I refill her gossiping cohort’s glass, slowly, as she says, “My Tiffy says he’s quite the playboy on campus.”
“Did I mishear somewhere that Tiffy and he briefly dated?” She finally sets her glass back down on the white-clothed table, then clears her throat and coughs to get my attention. When I look at her, she taps the rim of the crystal.
When I first started working for Larry, those kinds of behaviors used to drive me bonkers.
Over time, I’ve realized it’s not personal.
It’s not about me at all. It’s about how they feel about themselves.
They’re desperate to find someone “less than” so they can sit on their DIY pedestal to look down on.
“They did.” She leans in and whispers, “Very briefly. He broke her heart after a few dates.”
The snootier of the two doesn’t bother to whisper at all when she says, “I overheard on the tennis courts that it was a one and done.” Reaching out to her friend, she consoles her. “Poor Tiff.”
The other lady still appears confused. “What does one and done mean?”
Snooty poos-poos her with a wave of her hand. “I have no idea, honey, but he’s trouble like his older brother if you ask me. Something I do know is that Harbor Westcott has been sneaking around with some floozy downtown.”
Floozy? My head jerks back. Did they just call me a tramp? Or worse?
“Ech.” Disgust covers both of their faces as Tiff’s mom leans back and adjusts her napkin. “He’ll get the deviance out of his system and settle down soon enough.”
My heart starts thumping in my chest as bile rises in my throat. Feeling sick, I notice my hands shake, and my head starts to spin as fast as my thoughts. I grab the chair to keep my balance, but my hand is slapped away.
“What are you doing?” Snooty is glaring at me. “Are you going to refill my glass, or do I need to get your manager?”
Still caught up in the insults, I’d forgotten the tea pitcher in my hand. I reach forward, listening to the ice shake against the metal. As if I’m nothing, they ignore me as I begin to break down.
Tiffy’s mom says, “I hear he’s going to be a doctor. His past deeds won’t matter once he earns his PhD and finds a nice girl from Point Estates to marry.”
“I’ve always said boys need to sow their seeds to become men. Better now than after they’re married.” They nod in unison.
I fill the glass, and just as I’m pulling myself together, Snooty says, “As for the girl, hopefully he doesn’t get her pregnant. I hear she’s a vile creature.” Leaning in again, she whispers, “Likes to make a show of their sexual relationship.”
The other woman gasps, throwing her hand over her heart. “Poor Delta.”
“We can only hope he doesn’t fall in love.” Too late, bitches. “You remember how that whole thing worked out for the Jen—”
“Sh!” They share a look, a secret exchanged.
Shaking her head, she tsks and lowers her voice even more. “Her parents were heartbroken when she fell pregnant.”
“Just awful. I’ll tell you, though, if they didn’t have so much money, the Westcotts would be run out of The Pointe because of those boys just like they were.” Who’s they? “I bet her husband cheats.”
I clip the foot of her chair with my shoe, and the pitcher rattles in my hand.
But I just about catch myself before I spill any tea, unlike what they’ve been doing.
But sometimes an opportunity presents itself, and waiting for karma takes too long.
The pitcher falls from my hand, hitting the floor, and splashes from the top opening . . . right onto to the bitch’s skirt.
Not expecting it to work as well as it did, I gasp this time, throwing my hand over my mouth to hide my grin.
They both lurch from their seats. Tiff’s mom has tea splattered over her pale pink skirt.
But the other woman is covered in the dark liquid.
The perfectly coiffed streak she probably spent too much time taming into place is now wild and intermingling with the darker strands.
Other than their screeches, the entire room is silent and watching, but no one makes any effort to help them.
Larry runs out of the kitchen, passing Dane, who’s laughing his ass off. Larry asks, “What happened? What happened, ladies?”
Brushing her hair and streak aside, the woman’s nose goes straight into the air. “This girl just spilled a pitcher of tea all over me.” Her daggering eyes are intense, but I wear my anger like armor protecting me.
He yells for Dane to bring towels as he tries to help with the napkins that fell from their laps. She reaches down and grabs her handbag. “This bag costs more than your business, Larry. You’re going to pay for it if it’s ruined.”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Bensimone.” Larry scrambles to pat it dry but also glances at me. “Don’t just stand there. Help.” He keeps profusely apologizing, but I can’t bring myself to do it. They’re awful people and don’t deserve an ounce of my respect.
The worst of the two women points and starts yelling at me. “Why are you standing there like an idiot? This bag is worth more than your life.”
Through the chaos of the cleanup, I look at the turquoise bag, the one that’s apparently worth more than my life. I can’t be around these people. Not caring a damn anymore, I walk away.
Larry says, “Where are you going? Get back here.”
I walk toward Dane, who’s walking, not bothering to run, with his arms full of towels. Our eyes connect, and I may be wrong, but I detect a note of respect. Just as we pass each other, under his breath, he says, “Way to stick it to ’em.” After our conversation earlier, I’ll take it.
Untying my apron, I then push through the service door of the conservatory.
Larry says, “You’re fired,” but his words are cut off when the door swings back.
I pull my phone from the pocket and dump the apron on an empty rack in the kitchen, never breaking my stride as I head through the service entrance to the delivery area.
Remorse doesn’t hit, and neither does fear.
I have a right to be treated with respect even if I screw up.
And whether I technically screwed up remains to be seen.
I take a deep breath. Although the days are chilly, there’s still sunshine.
I soak it in and start walking. It’s only a handful of miles to the edge of town.
I can take the trail sandwiched between the lake and the highway and use the walk to clear my head.
Wearing tights and still heated from offense, I’m not worried about getting cold.
By the third mile, I didn’t take my work shoes into consideration.
They’re great when you’re standing around all day, but they’re not made for hiking.
I come to a favored spot of daredevils, and others who just like a great view.
I’ve been to Devil’s Edge a few times over the years, but I’ve never gotten close enough to the edge to verify if the legends are true—do the gray walls of the cliff sparkle like diamonds in the sun?
Since I’ll probably never be in a boat to know, I decide to rest closer to the edge and hope to find out.
With my legs dangling over the side of a jagged cliff, I take my shoes off and rub my feet.
I should be more worried about paying my bills and how I’m going to get by.
But the names I was called and the gossip about the Westcotts are still spinning in my mind.
I can’t believe those women. They’re callous at best and hate-filled at worst.
Just awful.
My phone buzzes, so I pull it from the pocket of my short skirt to see a text from Harbor: How’s the country club crowd?
I smile and then look out over the massive lake. I can barely make out the other side, giving me a sense of my size in this world. It’s good to feel the greatness of nature. I wish Harbor was here with me to experience this.
I reply: Truth? They’re horrible people.
Harbor texts: I already knew that.
Texting, I take a deep breath: I guess you do.
I pause with my fingers over the screen.
It’s not that I don’t want to tell him what happened or how I quit.
I just worry that I’ll upset him over something he doesn’t need to be bothered with.
But with love comes honesty, so I type: I quit today.
Larry fired me. I’m not sure. Either way, I’m no longer employed.
My phone rings.
Grinning, I answer, “You don’t have to worry, Harbor. I’m fine. Maybe it hasn’t set in yet, but I’ll survive.” The line crackles, and I dumbly look around like I can find the source of the bad connection.
He says, “That’s a big deal, baby. Are you alright?”
“I’m okay. I really am.” The sun is high in the sky, just gone noon, reflecting off the top of the water.
The day is warming up nicely, and the walk probably helped to get my blood flowing. Look at me handling being unemployed in such a healthy manner. He asks, “Where are you now?”
A shift causes my hose to snag. “Dammit.” The run takes off the length of my leg, and I know these tights are goners.
“Lark, where are you?”
“I’m taking a break to rest at Devil’s Edge.”
There’s a pause and then another crackle that has me checking the screen to make sure we’re still connected. Then he asks, “Why are you there?” Like the phone, his tone has a gravel to it. “How did you get there?”
It has the hairs on the back of my neck rising from the seriousness. “I walked from the country club.”
“Lark, Devil’s Edge has been closed for the past two years.” He sounds almost breathless as he moves about. The sound of a door squeals in the background. Knowing him, he’ll rush to my rescue. Since my feet hurt, I wouldn’t be upset.
I look around for signs but don’t see any. “No, it’s not. I’m sitting right here.”
“Get to the road. Now.” The shock of his demand has my breath stalled in my chest. “And don’t go near the cliffs. Do you hear me, Lark?”
He makes me nervous, like it’s life or death. I say, “Calm down, babe,” but I still gather my legs onto the rock beside me and start to push away to get up.
“I’m on my way.”
Not even a crackle is heard when the phone goes silent, so I bring it down to look at the screen again. This time the call is lost. Or did he hang up on me?
Rolling my eyes, I have no idea why he’s so upset. Although scoring a ride back works to my benefit. It shouldn’t take him long, maybe ten minutes max. I bend down to look at the run in my tights. Damn. These were my best ones, too.
I stand around and then lean against a tree, but my feet still hurt even after slipping my shoes back on.
I’m sure Harbor’s hitting every red light, putting him in a worse mood than he already sounded like he was in.
Not that Beacon has many lights, but I almost expected him to drive Cullen-style, pulling up with a skid.
I’m a little disappointed.
I laugh as I sit down with my legs dangling over the edge again. It’s far more dangerous for me to stand on the side of the road than to lie here with my arms wide and eyes closed, basking in the blue sky and warmth of the day.
It’s also more enjoyable.
“Lark!” Pebbles fly toward me as he runs in my direction.
Sitting up, I smile when I see Harbor running toward me, slowing when he gets close. “Hey there,” I say, but then terror fills my insides when I get a better look at his face. I look over my shoulder to make sure nothing’s there because it makes no sense why he looks like he just saw a ghost.