Chapter 5
Smoke Screen
Tara
“I’m at La Marée Noire. Where are you?” Anyone within earshot of Jay would think his velvet tone was calm. His accent did most of the work for him when it came to charm. But I knew him well enough to hear the undertone of anger.
Six days. That was how long it took for him to realize I wasn’t there.
Jay was always distant after one of his moods—the kind that sent him barreling into the woods just like the night I left—but even for him, this was bad. Any doubts that crept in during the early hours of the morning as I tossed and turned were burned away int he light of this revelation.
After what he did that night—after everything—he didn’t even realize I was gone.
“I’m sorry, Jay.” Wait, why am I apologizing to him? “I’m not coming back.” My voice was deceptively steady, hiding the tremor beneath it.
He’s not here. He can’t get to me.
There was a pause, the silence so deep and heavy that I checked the screen to make sure I hadn’t dropped the call.
“What do you mean, you’re ’not coming back?’”
“This is over between us. I deserve better.” Saying the words out loud was more nerve-wracking than actually leaving. I held the phone away from my mouth, discreetly exhaling between pinched lips.
“You deserve better?” He lowered his voice, that familiar viciousness thickening his words. “Better than the luxurious home I provided for you? Than the clothing I bought you? The money I gave you?”
“I never asked for any of that.”
“You never turned it down either.”
Ouch. He had a point there.
It wasn’t that I expected him to pamper me, but I was mature enough to admit it was part of the appeal in the beginning. After dating a string of disappointments, Jay was a prize. Gentlemanly, wealthy, soft spoken.
At face value, he was a dream come true.
By the time I left, that dream became a nightmare.
“You can have your home, and all of my things. I’ll even pay back the money, if that’s what you want.” My fingers were numb where they clutched the phone. “But I can’t live like that anymore. I can’t live with you. It’s over.”
“You seem to misunderstand. You have something that belongs to me. Now end this childish nonsense and come home.” There was rustling on the other end of the line. The sound of traffic. Movement.
What happened to make him like this? So controlling and arrogant he believed he could tell the sun what to do.
“I didn’t take anything from you.”
“Where will you go? What will you do without me? You have nothing.”
My resolve hardened as my teeth came together in a snarl. “I have my self-worth. That’s all I need.”
I missed the red button to hang up the call three times, tapping so hard and furiously that my phone didn’t register the touch. With a few swipes, I blocked his number.
It felt wrong. Mean.
But that was silly because I wasn’t the mean one, and I wasn’t going to waste my time feeling sorry for him anymore. That was how I got into this mess, and I was officially getting myself out.
Nothing without him. Like being broke was equivalent to being dead.
I had plenty without that asshole.
I tossed my phone onto the nightstand and flopped onto the bed.
Well, I had plenty of options anyway. Just maybe not in Port O’Henry.
As I drove past the welcome sign in the dead of night six days ago, I conjured a dreamy image of taking a job waiting tables at some Ma and Pa restaurant. Maybe I could stack some cash working behind the counter at an ice cream place. People still bought ice cream in the fall in Texas, right?
Except, when the sun rose on this town, I realized how unrealistic those dreams were.
There was no Ma and Pa restaurant. At least not one that respectable, tipping people were going to sit down and dine at.
There definitely wasn’t an ice cream shop—unless you counted the gas station/convenience store combo.
Port O’Henry was one of those towns caught in an ugly in-between.
Million dollar houses lined the glittering shoreline.
Meanwhile, the elementary school on Main Street was one tropical storm away from crumbling.
Most shops were kitschy and outdated, sporting “closed” signs that didn’t look like they’d been flipped in months.
It was a good place to lay low. A haven while I gathered the broken pieces of my life and put them back together like a jigsaw puzzle.
I sat up, reaching my arms over my head and stretching. The tender spot on my shoulder smarted, and my fingers brushed the skin where Isaac’s teeth left a perfect, round bruise.
Guilt pressed heavily on my chest for a second time that morning, and I glared at the phone as if Jay would be able to see it.
I shouldn’t feel guilty. We were broken up the moment I left his driveway, as far as I was concerned.
But I’d never had a one night stand before. Especially not days after ending a longterm relationship. Was there some kind of waiting period?
Was it wrong to be thinking about Isaac and Jay in the same breath?
It didn’t really matter. I was never going to see either of them again.
That felt…like a waste. Isaac and I had good chemistry, but I doused the sparks between us before they ever had a chance to catch.
That was the mentality that had me giving men like Jay a chance—or ten. It ended here. Today.
Isaac was a good time. Like an indulgent dessert. Fun once in a while, but ultimately bad for your health.
No more moping or overthinking. It was time to explore Port O’Henry in the light of day. Maybe there was a cute little diner just waiting for me to waltz in and become their favorite waitress on the other side of the boat launch.
I grabbed a denim jacket and a cross-strap purse, walking out the door with a renewed sense of confidence.
Nothing without him.
More like he had nothing without me. Jay’s friends were harsh and aggressive. His employees were just as bad. And his business? I would probably hear about his arrest in the next year. For all I knew, he was part of some mafia that was trying to take over Texas.
Was there even mafia in Texas?
Not in this town, anyway.
The wind on the bay was harsher than I expected, my denim jacket doing little to keep out the chill.
What would it be like to live in this place? Surrounded by bright, beautiful houses—and completely alone. There had to be permanent residents here. Otherwise, who was working on the shrimp boats trawling the bay? Who was working the gas station or putting up all these real estate signs?
The colorful houses gave way to shiny new stilted town homes. In contrast, the motel next door appeared to be abandoned. Paint peeled off the sides of the building and rust formed on every metal surface where the salt spray came off the bay.
Beside it the bar was dark and empty, and I felt an odd pang of longing.
The night I spent dancing and laughing with Isaac was glossy the way all memories were, with an extra shine from the alcohol.
I felt like myself for the first time since I could remember.
There was no pressure, no anxiety about how my careless, drunken words might trigger him.
That wasn’t because of Isaac.
I shuffled through the gravel parking lot of the boat ramp, passing trucks and trailers. Even with the wind whipping bitterly off the bay, people were out fishing.
Sunlight flashed off the crystal tops of waves, forcing me away from the view of the waterway. A giant white hand waved to me from the other direction, drawing my attention across the lot. Vines and roses were painted on the hand, and on the palm were the words “see into your future.”
Behind the hand was a double wide trailer perched on cinder blocks. Lights were strung along the weathered wooden porch. Sheer curtains covered the windows, and another small sign advertised the building as a boutique and fortune telling combo.
“Classy,” I chuckled, approaching the door to see if anyone was in.
I was only halfway up the walkway when the sign in the window flashed on, blinking the word “open.” Goosebumps climbed up my arms. I rubbed them away.
The cold suddenly felt colder, and the compulsion to step inside the trailer and find what I needed in there grew by the second. My hand wrapped around the scratched bronze doorknob, excited energy bouncing around my chest.
A thick incense smoke hit me immediately, and I coughed. The same twinkling fairy lights from the porch dangled from the ceiling. They were prettier in here, transforming the dark interior of the trailer and giving it a magical glow.
Tapestries covered the white walls with colorful mandalas and strings of beads. Shelves were stocked with polished shells, crystals, jewelry, and expensive lotions.
I shuffled inside, my head swiveling as I took in the surprisingly lovely place.
Soft meditation music played from speakers I couldn’t see. Otherwise, it was silent.
I browsed the jewelry for a few minutes, waiting to see if someone would emerge. Maybe they turned the sign on by mistake? I wasn’t planning to buy anything, I just had this feeling that I needed…something.
A shelf on the far wall caught my eye, a series of framed pictures and newspaper clippings drawing me across the room. Sepia photographs of stern men holding farm tools gathered dust next to a newspaper clipping about the sale of the O’Henry homestead, and the founding of the town.
Another clipping had a blurry image of what someone claimed was a ghost on the bayou. I recognized the name of the newspaper, having driven past the headquarters on a side street. No grocery store, but somehow they had their own local newspaper. Who was even reading newspapers anymore?
There were pages and pages of sightings out on the bayou—Texas Bigfoot, spirits of long dead natives, chupacabra. I squinted at a black and white image of a dead cow, my nose wrinkling.
Well, when you lived in a town this small, you needed something to keep it interesting.