Chapter 4 #2
I stand there dumbfounded, seeing a cruel side of my best friend she’s never shown me before. “Ouch.”
“I didn’t mean to say that.” Her tone is softer now. “But it’s just a stupid review.”
“A review that could lose the few clients I have.” I sit back down, deflated. “You don’t understand because you have Fred to support you. I have no one but myself.”
“Hey, that’s your fault. I tried to hook you up.”
“With Macho Marshall? I’d rather be single and broke, thanks. Besides, I’m not looking for you to solve my financial problems. I’m just asking you to listen right now.”
“I’m sorry I was distracted. I thought I saw someone.” For the first time ever, Ivory does the impossible: She wrinkles her un-wrinkleable, Botoxed brow.
I twist in my seat, scanning the nearly empty sidewalk. A bearded man commits a crime against humanity by power-walking in Crocs, and the backs of two people cross the street with their Bernese mountain dog, who bounces all too happily in the brisk weather.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
There's a slight tremor of her hand that I almost miss except that it bumps her mug and sprinkles droplets of latte on the table.
“Yeah, it’s fine. Can we please talk about your situation instead?”
“I thought the world didn’t revolve around me…” I mock her in my best Ivory impersonation.
“Oh, shut up. You know my world revolves around you,” and we both laugh because it’s true.
My drama is way more interesting than hers.
I pick up my phone and click my way back to the review, then slide it toward her.
Her eyes narrow as she reads what’s on the screen. “Wow, harsh. Any idea who wrote this?”
Navigating to the name on the Facebook account, I read it aloud: “Her name is Sue Nimm. But I don’t remember having a Sue in any of my classes.”
“Honey,” Ivory states. “That’s a fake profile. Sue D. Nimm—pseudonym. Get it? It’s probably just a troll.”
I feel infinitesimally dumb right now, but that doesn’t negate that the threat feels very real. This person seems to know about my past. “Troll or not, whoever this is, they’re out to get me.”
“Who have you pissed off recently?”
The only person I can think of is… “Macho Marshall was pretty mad that I wouldn’t go on a date with him. He told me I’d regret it, and now I do.”
“Well, you don’t have any proof it’s him, but I can ask Fred if he thinks Marshall would do something like this.” Ivory leans forward and makes direct eye contact, which I’ve never felt comfortable with. “But if it turns out to be Marshall, you need to report it to the police.”
“The police?” I shake my head. “No way. They don’t care about a stupid online review.”
“They will if he makes a threat, which he did—twice! And this qualifies as communications harassment. Go to the police. Because this is creepy and stalkerish.”
But the mention of police—even hypothetically—gives me a full-body flight response. There is no way I’m going to a police station willingly.
“No, it’s fine. I think you’re right. It’s just one negative review. It’s better not to engage.”
“You’re going to let guys like him get away with bullying? No, Shar! Stand up for yourself! Go to the cops with this.”
But Ivory doesn’t get my reason for wanting to let it go.
Of course she doesn’t understand that confronting someone who may or may not know about my past could backfire.
She’s never spent nights sleeping on a cement bench, with a toilet three feet from her pillow, the stench of stale urine a constant companion.
She’s never heard the clank of prison bars locking behind her, a sound of finality that echoes in the hollow chambers of her soul.
But I have. And I will never set foot in a police station again.
Not after knowing the cold snap of cuffs around my wrists, the bite of metal against my skin, the familiar taste of fear.
Even if Marshall torpedoes every client, costs me every dollar, shreds all the credibility I’ve painstakingly built, I’d rather start over with nothing than risk talking to the cops.
My phone rings with a jarring intrusion. The name on my screen says Zala. I already know what she’s going to say before I pick up because the universe has a cruel sense of humor.
“Hey, Shari,” she starts with a saccharine sweetness that precedes a punch to the gut. “I’m going to have to cancel our session this week. Something came up.”
“You saw the review online, didn’t you?”
“Well… um,” she stutters, “it’s kind of hard not to when I was tagged in it.”
She was? I pull the phone away from my ear and scroll back to the post. Sure enough, half of Doomwood Falls was tagged on that review.
Pretty much all of my clients. Or past clients, it’s beginning to look like.
Whoever did this lives in town and knows more of my business than they should.
I’m not so sure Marshall fits the bill, but I’m sure as hell going to find out.
“Anyway, it’s nothing personal,” Zala continues. “I just don’t have the time right now to take classes.”
Her words are a practiced euphemism for I don’t want any association with the town villain. I thank her anyway and hang up, then stare at the table and its landscape of crumbs and coffee stains.
“Zala cancelled on me!” I explode. “How much worse is this going to get?”
Ivory reaches for my hand, her touch tentative, but I pull back, wrapping my fingers around my coffee cup instead. It’s lukewarm now, but I gulp it down anyway. Since I’m going to be broke soon, I can’t risk wasting a single drop.
“You have to do something,” Ivory scolds me. “Don’t let him get away with this.”
“I’ll figure it out.” I’m angry and not bothering to hide it.
“You’ll figure what out?” Speak of the devil… Of all the coffee shops in all of Doomwood Falls, Wren shows up at ours. She pulls out the chair next to mine and sits down. “Aw, are you two having a lover’s quarrel? Maybe I could help mediate.”
“We’re not fighting. We were just talking about…” Then I catch myself, because I don’t know Wren at all. What if she was the troll who posted the review? So I quickly blurt, “…Norse folklore.”
“Norse folklore—as in elves and trolls?”
I nod, watching her carefully. Whoever posted that review couldn’t hide that level of disdain for me. “Yeah, it’s fascinating stuff. I’m learning about it for Dungeons & Dragons.”
“Okaaaay,” she shrugs without even a hint of malice, “you’re cooler than I thought.”
I look to Ivory, who is shoving her chair back, then jumping up from her seat, completely ignoring me again. Whatever she’s focused on outside the window is far more interesting than trolls. In fact, based on her expression it looks critical, like a Free People super-sale or someone dying.
“Mind getting a ride home with Wren?” Ivory isn’t really asking because she’s already halfway to the door. “I have to go.”
She doesn’t wait for either of us to answer, and as I watch her rush down the sidewalk and turn the corner, I have a horrible feeling I’m about to lose my grip on everything.
This means only one thing: It’s time to start packing.
Not boxes… yet. But mentally and emotionally I’m planning my escape from Doomwood Falls, one backward step at a time, a hasty retreat from a life that was never truly mine.