Chapter Nineteen

The glare from the storeroom bulbs made Thalia’s head ache. She squinted at the handwritten list of supplies she needed for her appointments. She had spent the weekend drowning her sorrows over Amari’s bizarre bailout on Friday with books and beer. A Sunday night bitch and beer session with Sally had been perfect for her soul, but her body was making her pay for it.

The office door chimes clanged as it opened, followed by the unmistakable sounds of her father’s heavy tread on the ancient floorboards.

“Thalia? Is that you?

Thalia huffed out a breath and hurried down the aisle. “Yeah.”

“What the fuck are you doing writing off a Sunday emergency call?” Gregory Makris’s voice boomed from the office.

Thalia hurried away from the office, down the tall row of shelves storing boxes of fittings and fixtures. She studied her list and stepped to the next group of shelves and continued to pull the stock.

“Did you hear me? It’s coming out of your paycheck!” her father shouted again.

“Fine,” Thalia called out as she plucked the valve she needed from the shelf and placed it in the cardboard box she balanced on her hip. After navigating the final row of shelves, she pushed through the door to the garage housing her truck. The garage was chilly after the warmth of the stockroom. Thalia unlocked the truck. She stepped into the back of the panel truck and loaded the supplies into the bins that ranged along both sides of the back of the truck. After one last check of her equipment, she closed the doors and locked them.

The metal door between the storeroom and the garage banged open. Thalia gritted her teeth as the sound echoed in the garage.

Her father, dressed in gray coveralls with his name embroidered in script over the top pocket, strode toward her. The stench of stale cigarette smoke and coffee preceded him. The sound of his wheezing filled the space. Thalia stilled her movements and turned to face him, keeping him in her line of sight.

Gregory stopped directly in front of her truck. The phlegmy sound of his cough rolled off the ceiling of the garage. Thalia pressed her lips together in an attempt to keep the disgust that roiled through her off her face. After his coughing subsided, Gregory rested his hand on the hood and drummed his thick, tobacco-stained fingers on it. The rhythmic sound echoed off the high ceiling.

“What’s gotten into you?” His bald head reflected the glare of the overhead bulbs, and his shaggy gray brows shaded his hooded eyes.

Thalia glanced at her father and then shifted her gaze to the toes of his worn work boots. “Nothing. I need to go.” She kept her voice neutral as she watched his feet for movement. Thalia took a half step closer to the truck. A fine sweat popped out along her forehead. She swiped at a stray drop of sweat with the back of her hand.

“You keep writing off calls and giving discounts, we’re going to go broke. Why the hell are you late to calls all the time? I got an earful from that bitch Ella Johnson last week. And she’s not the only one. We lose customers when you’re late. If you’re late already, just fucking charge them the full price—it’s not like a discount keeps them around. Why did you write that whole call off on Sunday? It’s not like the assholes who live on University Row need a break from us. Were you fucking high?”

Thalia inhaled sharply, looked up at the ceiling, avoiding her father’s gaze, and remained silent. She clenched her jaw. Unwilling to waste her time explaining to her father, once again, that the business was failing because they lost customers when he was an ass on the phone, were late for jobs because he regularly overscheduled them and overcharged for small jobs and undercharged for large ones.

“Answer me!” Gregory slammed his hand down on the hood of her truck. The sound of startled birds scrabbling on the metal roof of the garage echoed in the chill space. Thalia’s vision narrowed and her body tensed. Gaze fixed on her father, she took a sidestep toward her truck

“Nothing to say for yourself?” He snorted and slapped the hood of the truck again. “Why do I bother? You don’t give a damn about this business.”

Her stomach roiled and bile stung the back of her throat as her father’s voice rose in volume. She knew what came next, had the scars on the inside and a few on the outside as souvenirs of her father’s temper.

As a child she had been unable to protect herself from his verbal assaults, slaps, and beatings. She had accepted his abuse, tolerated it for years, even into adulthood. Until he had split her lip one Saturday afternoon over a poorly soldered pipe. After her lip had healed, she had signed up for a self-defense course. Eight months later, after a particularly difficult day, Gregory had raised his hand to Thalia and found himself flat on his back and staring at the ceiling. Thalia had vomited after, but it had been worth it. She had never feared her father again after that episode.

Thalia stuffed her keys into her pocket, widened her stance, and shifted her weight to balance on the balls of her feet. A subtle shift, ensuring she’d be ready if her father’s verbal assault became physical. Thalia took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, centering herself, running a mental checklist of possible responses.

Gregory shuffled a half step toward her and raised his hand as if to slap her face. Thalia shifted her weight to her back foot. She raised her hands into a ready stance and leveled a glare at her father. “Don’t. You want me to hand you your ass again? I need to leave right now. Unless you’d like to call the customer and tell them I’ll be late to an appointment we’ve rescheduled twice, because you felt the need to scold me like I’m a little kid. Your fucked-up idea of scheduling and crappy handwriting are the reasons I’m late for more appointments than I can count. If you’d just use the fucking computer system, Dad, I wouldn’t be late.” Thalia backed away from her father before she opened the door to her truck. Never taking her eyes from him, she swung into the driver’s seat.

“Don’t swear at me. Damn it, I’m still your father. You don’t give a fuck about this business.”

“So fucking fire me.” Thalia slammed the truck door closed.

Her father stepped away from the truck and rested his hands on his hips. “You couldn’t make it on your own. People in this town would never let you in their houses if you didn’t work for me.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means. You and your freak brother are lucky to have jobs.”

Thalia turned to look at her father. She stared into his bloodshot eyes. “Fuck you, Dad. You pay us half of what another company would pay us so you can make big donations to the church. Here’s a news flash for you: you can’t buy forgiveness. Or bring Joey back.”

“You keep your brother’s name out of your filthy whore mouth. I should’ve…”

Thalia rolled up the window to the truck, shutting out her father’s rant, and pulled out of the garage. Her gut churned as she drove away from the same argument she had had with her father in one form or another since her older brother had died.

Grief mixed with anger bubbled over. Thalia banged her fist on the roof of the truck cab. Pain bloomed, sharp and bright, distracting her from sadness. She turned on to the highway, rolled the window down, turned on the truck’s music system, and cranked the volume. The heavy guitar riffs and soulful lyrics of Halestorm swept away the wisps of grief and anger that eddied in her mind.

The adrenaline rush of standing up to her father faded, replaced by a burning ache in her chest. She and Nico would never be Joey. Never be the devilish, handsome, strong son and family scion her father craved. Her father would never forgive them for surviving the accident that had taken her brother’s life. And Thalia would never forgive her father for the accident that had ended Joey and stolen away the loving parent Thalia’s father had been.

★

Amari placed Yvonne’s coffee on the table. “Diane said she would bring out the cinnamon pretzel rolls to us as soon as they are cool enough to add the icing.”

“Have you had the chocolate ones? She brought them to our last Women in Business meeting. They are divine.” Yvonne rested her cane against the booth seat and placed her purse on the seat next to her.

“I haven’t, but Mom said they were better than sex.” Amari pulled off her gloves and then placed them on top of her brief bag.

Yvonne raised her eyebrow. “I wouldn’t go that far, but they are scrumptious.”

Amari unwrapped the bundle of silverware and lined them up on her placemat. “Thanks for meeting early. I have another meeting with Brianna’s teacher this afternoon.”

“Do you need me to help you with that?”

“I don’t think we are to that point yet, but thank you for the offer.”

Amari rubbed the back of her neck.

“So, if it’s not that what is it? What has you so rattled?” Yvonne squared her placemat in front of her.

“What?” Amari tugged at her bow tie.

“What’s up?” Yvonne sipped her water. “You are as twitchy as you were at the board meeting on Sunday night.”

Amari placed both hands flat on the table. “You ever mess up things with every possible person you could?”

Yvonne quirked her mouth. “I’m sure I have, but what specifically are you talking about?”

Amari traced her finger over the woodgrain pattern of the tabletop. “Thalia.”

“What about Thalia?” Yvonne held her hand up palm out. “And before you go on, I need to advise you, she is my girlfriend’s best friend.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t talk to you, then. I don’t want to put you in an awkward position with Sally. This was a bad idea.”

Yvonne frowned at Amari. “What happened?”

“I asked her out. And well—and then we, and then I freaked and—” Amari flushed. “You know what? This was a stupid idea. I’m sorry.” She slid to the end of the booth seat and stood. “I’ll see if they have our rolls ready.”

“Stop. You’ve got my curiosity stirred up now. Diane will bring them when they’re ready. Sit. Tell me.” She caught Amari’s hand.

Amari sat. “I don’t know where to start.”

“At the beginning. I’m not going to judge you, Amari. You’re my friend. I’m not going to think any less of you no matter what.” Yvonne squeezed Amari’s hand and then released it. “So, you asked her out at the wedding?”

Amari took a sip of her coffee before meeting Yvonne’s gaze. “You know the app Hit Me Up?”

“Oh yes. I’ve used it.”

“Thalia’s on it.”

Yvonne’s brows drew down. “And this is a problem for you? I didn’t take you for a prude, Amari.”

“No. It’s not—it’s not that.” Amari glanced around the coffee shop and then leaned over the table. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’m on it too.”

Yvonne’s eyebrows rose. “Really? Oh my. They say still waters run deep, but I had no idea you were a closet kinkster. Well, so what’s the problem?”

Amari rolled the edge of the paper napkin between her fingers. “The wedding wasn’t the first time we met.”

“Oh.” Yvonne lifted her chin and frowned. “So why did you pretend otherwise? Were you ashamed of being with her?”

“No. I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t sure if she would want to acknowledge that we’d met before the wedding. That’s never happened to me before. I didn’t know what to do, so cut me a break, okay?”

“So fine, then what happened?”

“My mom hired a plumber. Thalia showed up at my house to pull a toilet to look for my wedding ring, which wasn’t lost, and then we argued. And then I asked her out, and she put me off. When I called her to ask her out again, we had really hot phone sex. I saw her at Mel Rider’s talk, and we had—well, let’s just say I hope they don’t review the parking lot tape.”

Yvonne arched her eyebrow. “And?”

“And then we ran into each other at Roberta Clarke’s reading and we ended up at her house.”

Yvonne leaned back in the booth and sipped her coffee and made a go on gesture with her hand.

“And we were going to, umm, and we did…or rather I did her, and then—” Amari twisted her ring on her finger as memories of her flight from Thalia’s house surfaced. “I freaked out. I told her I had to leave. I tried to explain to her why I needed to leave. We argued. She called me a coward, and then I said some things and it went downhill from there.” Amari stopped talking as Diane arrived at the table.

“Here’s your pretzel rolls.” Diane placed the two plates of rolls between them. The scent of fresh cinnamon rose from the hot rolls. Thick cream-cheese frosting dripped off the edges of the pastry. “Do you want a refill on your coffee?”

Yvonne drew one of the plates to her side of the table. “Not at the moment, thank you.” She turned her smile on the server. “These look almost as gorgeous as you do this morning, Diane. I’ve been dreaming about these since the meeting.”

Diane blushed a delicate pale-pink color that spread from her collarbones to her hairline. “Thank you. I’ll check back in a bit to see if you need a refill.” She left them and returned to the counter, stopping once on the way to look back at Yvonne.

“You are so good at that.” Amari watched Diane as she crossed the room.

“What?” Yvonne cut a bit of her roll off and popped it into her mouth.

“Casual flirting.”

“Who says it’s casual?” Yvonne wiped her mouth.

“What about Sally?” Amari sipped her coffee and held Yvonne’s gaze over the rim.

“That is between Sally and me, but if you must know, Sally has expressed interest in Diane joining us.” Yvonne shifted and leaned both elbows on the table. “And don’t change the subject.” She skewed Amari with her glare. “How bad is it between you and Thalia?”

Amari set her coffee cup aside and wiped her mouth. “I’ve tried calling her. It goes to voicemail every time. I’ve left a message every day since last Sunday.”

Yvonne took another bite of her roll and chewed it slowly. Her brows drew down as she dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “So, you satisfy yourself with Thalia, leave her high and somewhat dry. Bailed on her after what sounds like an awful argument, and are confused as to why she won’t return your calls? What the hell is wrong with you?” Yvonne leaned back in the booth and looked away from Amari’s face. “Are you hoping I’ll speak to Sally, so she will speak to Thalia for you? I feel like I’m in the middle of a high school drama.”

“I told you this was a stupid idea. I’m an idiot. My behavior was inexcusable. And you’re right. I can’t imagine she’d ever want to talk to me again. I should forget it. Forget her. She deserves more.”

“You are many things, Amari Foster, but stupid is not one of them. Never ever speak ill of yourself. It seems you sincerely care about Thalia, or you wouldn’t have asked me for help. You care, and it scares the hell out of you. You have two choices.” Yvonne lifted her hand and touched her first finger. “You show up at her house, make an appearance, throw yourself on her mercy, beg her to talk to you, admit you’re scared”—her voice became fierce—“tell her how frightened you are, be honest about what you are afraid of, declare you are willing to try to work through your fears if she is willing to date you, and ask for a second chance. If she refuses to open the door, or to listen to you, you have to accept what she decides as far as continuing to see you. Stalking is not romantic.” Yvonne paused and held Amari’s gaze. Her dark eyes burned with intensity as she touched the tip of her second finger. “Or you acquiesce to your fears and walk away and leave her the hell alone as she appears to want you to.”

“I can’t. She’s all I can think about.” Amari spun her ring on her finger.

Yvonne reached across the table and stilled her motions. “Stop. Stop using your love for Rebecca like a shield. Rebecca was fierce and one of the most amazing women I have ever known. She would kick your ass for hiding behind her memory.” Her voice grew thick. “Love is risk, always has been, always will be. If your heart is not on the line, you don’t have any investment in doing the work.”

Amari lifted her gaze to Yvonne. “Is that how it is with you and Sally?”

A rueful expression crossed Yvonne’s face, and she glanced toward Diane before she looked back to Amari’s face. “We’re talking about you and Thalia right now. Let’s leave my personal life out of it for now.”

Amari took her ring off and stared through it, framing Yvonne in the small gold circle. “My whole world was, is bounded by this ring. I’m not sure I know how to move beyond it.”

“Did you go to counseling after Rebecca died?”

“No. I was so busy with Brianna. I never went. Brianna sees behavioral health at Akron for her anxiety, and we do family therapy with a clinical social worker.”

“But you don’t see anyone for your needs? Amari, you are a single mom of a special needs child, you lost a wife you loved very much, and you are about to take on a new job with its own set of stresses and microaggressions. May I suggest you see a counselor?”

“Who? I don’t even know where to start to look for a therapist. I’d want someone who I wouldn’t have to explain what it’s like to be me.”

“I know Dale and Mai have been happy with the woman they see. She practices in Akron. She’s a Black woman and a lesbian. They both adore her. You could at least make an appointment. It might not be right for you, but at least it’s a start. You need to work with someone who can help you step back, shift your perspective. You need someone to help you to see what lies beyond the safety of that golden circle. The world is big enough for as much love as you let in, Amari.” Yvonne reached across the table and laid her hand on top of Amari’s forearm. She squeezed hard. “Don’t fuck up this chance. If you truly care for Thalia, think you could possibly love her, don’t let go of the chance for more love in your life. You owe it to yourself, and to Thalia to at least try if she’s still interested.”

“Do you think she’ll listen?”

“I have no idea. But I know you’ll hate yourself for the rest of your life if you give up. You’ll make yourself sick with what-ifs, and if-onlys.”

“How do you know?”

Yvonne held her gaze. Her eyes glittered, and Amari had the sensation of looking into a pool of deep water.

Yvonne raised her shoulders and let them fall. “Because fifteen years ago I walked away from a woman who would have crawled over broken glass for me.” She looked down at the tabletop and fiddled with her napkin. “She asked me to marry her. I was young. Too arrogant, and too afraid to commit to her.”

“Did you ever try to connect again?”

Yvonne looked away from Amari’s face. “Yes.”

“What happened?”

“I tracked her down to her mother’s house.” Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper.

“And?” Gooseflesh pricked Amari’s skin.

Yvonne brought her gaze to Amari’s face. “Her mother answered the door. When I asked to see her, her mother gave me the address of the family burial vault and slammed the door in my face.”