Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
AMELIA
In Mirabelle’s passenger seat, Amelia eyed the clock.
Twenty-five minutes ago, Mirabelle claimed their jaunt would take them down the road.
She measured distance like Amelia’s mom, though.
“Down the road” could mean the next street over or halfway across town.
For Mirabelle, it meant just outside Las Vegas where her friend owned a boutique.
Ten miles back, a detour led them off the highway and onto a back road.
Mirabelle almost missed it and would’ve blithely blown past the end of the world, but Amelia had pointed out the signs and hollered that they better heed the warning.
Mirabelle had laughed like a bell and took the detour as if she knew all along.
“You alright?” she asked Amelia. “You’ve been quiet.”
“I’m fine,” Amelia said, a detour of her own because there was nothing insightful to say.
“I know what happened between you and Emory last night. If you want to talk about it—”
“There’s nothing to talk about. He made that clear.”
Emory’s empirical argument had been flawless and left no room for rebuttal. He’d neatly tidied up his heartbreak while Amelia’s pillow soaked up tears throughout a sleepless night. Done and dusted, that was the end.
“This is a lot farther than you said. You’re sure Emory is okay with this?”
Mirabelle flicked off the radio. Big black sunglasses obscured her eyes, but her lips pursed with prickly affront.
“I told you he was. I don’t need his permission for everything I do. Besides, Thomas is with us.”
Amelia peered out the rear window at Thomas’s sedan behind them. She’d already discerned the strata of Emory’s trust—those who had his ear, his heart, his suspicion. Thomas had been with Emory at Richard’s party. Surely, that meant he belonged in the trusted cadre of reliable men.
“You know Em took care of things, right?” Mirabelle asked. “While you two were together, he dealt with the rat. Does that bother you?”
Mirabelle took off her sunglasses and glanced at Amelia.
The woman had clearly choked on her share of bitter pills and seemed to relish administering the same hard medicine to others.
Amelia had no illusions left to shatter, though, so she shrugged, far less scandalized than Mirabelle might’ve hoped.
“Makes sense he’d want revenge.”
“I meant that he handled business while he was with you. These men will whisper sweet nothings one minute then order an execution the next.”
Amelia didn’t respond. She’d gnawed on that morsel until her stomach ached.
It wasn’t what she saw of Emory that concerned her, but what she couldn’t see.
He lived in plain sight, but the eclipse came with phone calls taken in the hall and meetings in the basement lounge.
If she wanted the man, she’d have to accept the chief.
Off the highway, Mirabelle navigated the streets of a tiny desert town where shops and restaurants dotted the main drag. They parked in front of a storefront with a sign reading “La Boheme” in vibrant Tiffany glass.
Mirabelle’s friend, Natalie, met them at the door. A sapphire chiffon dress overwhelmed her petite frame, but the gold chain around her waist accentuated an hourglass figure. Like Mirabelle, every detail of her appearance was polished.
“You must be Amelia,” Natalie said and offered her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You as well. I feel underdressed.” Amelia stared down at her cut-off shorts, a raglan shirt, and blue Chuck Taylors. The outfit served for the advertised purpose—a quick trip down the road to pick up a dress.
Natalie dismissed the comment with a wave. “Oh please. You look gorgeous. I’d be right there with you if it wasn’t for this.”
She gestured to the boutique. The place hearkened back to the muted delicacy and floral femininity of the art nouveau era.
Everything was lush in its beauty, soft and swirling in its lines, right down to the patterned wallpaper and antique furniture displaying the merchandise.
With leather and lace, gossamer and denim, it was a mashup of vintage pieces and modern staples.
Mirabelle plopped down on a velvet settee and beckoned Amelia with a pat. Natalie settled in a wingback chair across from them.
“What’s with Rambo?” she asked and jutted a thumb at Thomas standing watch by the door.
“Shit’s been a little hot and heavy lately,” Mirabelle said rather seriously but quickly diverted with a red-lipped smile. “Enough of that. Tell me everything. We need to catch up.”
Per usual, she expertly dodged the darkness and steered toward levity. Amelia didn’t know if the quality was worthy of admiration or concern.
The afternoon wore on as they tried on clothes that smelled of vanilla and incense.
Mirabelle and Natalie giggled over gossip and inside jokes.
That was the point of the outing, Amelia realized, as a lightness returned to Mirabelle.
It wasn’t about the dress, but a reminder that an ordinary world existed with normal people living mundane lives.
For Amelia, the excursion into normalcy only made her more aware of life carrying on without her in it. Outside, even the desert sky she’d grown accustomed to looked different and she felt lost again. I want to go home, she thought. Whether her home or Emory’s, she didn’t know anymore.
After a while, they reached a natural end, the perfect time to say goodbye and head back. Instead, Mirabelle ordered food from a Thai restaurant up the street, and the conversation continued with small talk over a meal too late to be lunch but too early for dinner.
“Tell me again how you two met,” Natalie said with curious eyes roving between Amelia and Mirabelle. “You both breezed past that part.”
Amelia cleared her throat and answered with purposeful ambiguity. “Through Emory.”
“And how did you meet him?”
Mirabelle glanced at Amelia, a quiet cue to tread carefully. Deflecting would only get her so far, though. If she and Emory had any kind of future, they’d have to tell the tale with either an adapted truth or coordinated lie.
“I met him at a party. I saw him across the room and hoped he might talk to me.”
With her chin resting in her hand, Natalie grinned. “Did he?”
“Sort of. He got pulled away. We both did. Later that night, he helped me out of a tough situation. I’m incredibly grateful to him.”
Though technically the truth, the retelling still tasted like a lie. Amelia’s gratitude came well after simmering hatred. It was a wonder they’d ever come that far and a tragedy they might go no further.
“You seem more than grateful,” Natalie said and twirled noodles around her fork. “Smitten, more like. Are you two together?”
Amelia shook her head. “It ended before it truly began.”
Arms crossed, Natalie eased back to evaluate Amelia. A pillar of sunlight stretched across the floral rug between them.
“I can see it. You and Emory have very similar energy. You’re both old souls. I hope it works out between you two.”
The ache in Amelia’s chest returned. She’d received that same gesture after past breakups.
With the best of intentions, it twisted the knife as sad eyes consoled with the same words on repeat: “I’m sorry, Amelia.
You’ll find someone else.” Beneath the charitable sympathy was a mountain of pity. Poor Amelia, the lovelorn little fool.
The shop phone trilled behind the counter. Natalie pushed from the floor and pointed at Mirabelle.
“Now, if only we could find you someone. This girl has been single forever.”
Natalie fluttered off to answer the phone.
Mirabelle dug into her curry but refused Amelia’s stare.
If the tables were turned, Mirabelle would have plenty to say.
She liked to spout faux enlightenment in pithy quotes probably scavenged from Instagram.
“Live your truth” was one of them. Mirabelle treated her truth like a dirty secret and lived in fear of its discovery.
“My freshman year of college, I was with this guy,” Amelia said. “He was my first serious relationship, first love.”
“That’s sweet,” Mirabelle replied with a half-hearted smile.
“Well, that’s the thing. It wasn’t sweet.
He was a lot older than me and more experienced in just about everything.
He used that to his advantage and was awful to me.
Of course, it never starts that way. It’s like quicksand.
You sink a bit each day. By the time you realize the trouble you’re in, you feel powerless to pull yourself out and ashamed to ask for help. ”
Amelia glanced at Natalie with the phone pressed to her ear, eagerly nodding as she scribbled on a scrap of paper.
“I withheld a lot from my best friend. I think I was afraid to hear the truth, so I suffered and I sank, and no one really knew.”
Amelia had never relayed the story so succinctly before. She’d only ever vented it in pieces, so no one had the full narrative, only her. Mirabelle didn’t know that, though, so she looked flustered and perhaps even slightly embarrassed on Amelia’s behalf.
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” she said and neatly packaged up her unfinished lunch. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Miri, you know why. I hope Jack is good to you. You deserve a good man.”
Mirabelle’s cheeks flushed almost the same love-bitten red as her lips. With a deep breath, she smoothed down the lace overlay of her skirt.
“Does Emory know about Jack?”
“Not from me.”
“You cannot tell him,” she insisted with requisite fear of her mercurial man, one who’d hang his failures on her. “Jack will lose his shit if you do.”
“My loyalty isn’t to Jack, and I won’t keep secrets from Emory. Why can’t you just tell him? He probably already suspects something.”
“It’s complicated, and Emory wouldn’t understand. Jack knows every facet of me; the ones I hide, the ones I’m certain are hard to love. It’s hard to walk away from someone who sees you so completely.”
Amelia nodded sympathetically but knew damn well men like Jack liked to keep their women broken. The lies he must’ve told to crush a woman as vibrant as Mirabelle.
“My first night here, you told me I wasn’t alone,” Amelia said and reached for Mirabelle’s hand. “Neither are you.”
“You’re a good girl.” Mirabelle closed her eyes that glistened with tears and pulled her hand away. “I’m sorry, Amelia.”
“For what?”
With a sigh, Mirabelle scrubbed her palms over her face. “Fuck. I feel like I’m losing it. Can’t sleep. Can’t eat. I just want to feel normal.”
Mirabelle knuckled away the tears before they fell and exhaled a shaky breath through pursed lips.
“I said something to Emory yesterday before Gio’s funeral,” she confessed. “I told him I wasn’t sure if you two were right for each other and that he should let you go.”
Amelia stared at Mirabelle, certain there was something else, an admission that she’d gotten it all wrong.
It didn’t come. Instead, cumbersome silence grew between them as Amelia nursed the sting of what felt like betrayal.
Then again, Mirabelle divided her loyalties in unequal parts.
She was Amelia’s friend, yes, but Emory’s sister first.
“Why would you tell him that?” Amelia asked.
Mirabelle responded with a pitiful shrug. The thoughtless interference was worse than deliberate meddling. At least then, Mirabelle could claim good intentions, that she only wanted what was best for Emory. She’d instead done the cruel bidding of others, mindlessly and without question.
“If it’s what you think, then stand by it,” Amelia insisted.
“It’s not what I think.”
“It’s what Jack thinks.” Arms folded and cheeks burning, Amelia sat back in a huff. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
Mirabelle wasn’t foolish enough to deny it, so she defended a man who wouldn’t do the same for her.
“This isn’t about Jack. Leave him out if it.”
“You’re right. It’s not about Jack or Emory. It’s about you twisting yourself into knots to appease the men in your life while you tell yourself it’s what any good Moriarty woman would do. It’s bullshit, Miri, and you know it.”
“What I said to Emory—”
“Emory is a grown man. You aren’t responsible for his actions. If he doesn’t know his own heart well enough to tell you you’re wrong, then maybe you’ve done me a favor.”
Mirabelle released an astounded breath. She had no right to look as wounded as she did.
“Don’t say that. He loves you.”
Amelia shook her head with a joyless laugh. “I don’t think that’s true.”
She wasn’t being coy or fishing for comfort because the cruelest consolation might’ve been that he loved her and it wasn’t enough.
A shadow momentarily obscured the column of sunlight streaming through the window. Amelia turned as Thomas approached the table.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said. “Miri, it’s getting late. We should head back. Jack just texted.”
Mirabelle paled as her eyes snapped to Thomas. “What did he say?”
“He asked if I’d seen you. I haven’t replied yet.”
“Don’t!” Mirabelle hopped to her feet and gathered her things as Natalie circled around the counter. “I’ll call him. I’m sorry, Nat. We gotta go. And fuck! I gotta get gas too.”
They left in a hurry of hasty hugs and shouted goodbyes. If Mirabelle intended to pick up a dress, that was summarily forgotten. She sped down the sleepy street and peeled into a gas station near the highway. Parked at the pump, she dug a card out of her wallet and handed it to Amelia.
“Can you handle this for me? I need to pee.”
“Sure,” Amelia said and circled to the pump as Mirabelle jogged across the lot to the mini mart. Thomas followed her in to buy cigarettes.
Leaned against the car, Amelia surveyed the station a world away from the one she and Brian had pulled into the night they fled Portland. As she stood beneath the overhang, the feeling that washed over her was the same, though, and a shuffle of footsteps approached from behind.
“Amelia?”