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“I don’t know. I really don’t know if I’m up for it.” Angie said the words mostly to her coffee cup, her shoulders curved toward the ground. Behind her, an upright piano featured a number of framed photographs, including one of her daughter, Hannah that was taken recently in the Bar Harbor port. “I’m not what they’d call an ingenue,” she continued. “I’ve never lied to anyone in my life, that I can remember. And even that was probably some kind of accident.”
“None of us would purposefully lie,” Brittany interjected. “But we don’t know any other way to corner my ex-husband and prove his lies.”
Angie placed her teeth against the curve of her lower lip and cast her gaze toward the floor.
Across from her, Brittany, Luke, and Heather sat expectantly, all sending prayers to heaven that she would agree to such a task. It was like living out the plot of a James Bond film. It was also risky and reckless. Brittany couldn’t imagine what she’d have thought had she been in Angie’s shoes.
“I don’t even know if I have anything appropriate to wear to a place like this.” Angie began, but with hesitation.
Luke smacked his hands together excitedly. “That’s what Heather’s for. You have something she can borrow, don’t you?”
Heather blinked her ocean-blue eyes, allowing a thick moment to pass. “It’s not that I wouldn’t. It’s just that I think you deserve your own things. Especially because you’ll be doing this enormous task for us.”
“No. That’s so silly and such a waste.” Angie countered.
“Wasteful? You’re a musician. You need beautiful clothing to perform in,” Heather affirmed. “Please, let us treat you.”
Angie’s face twitched with a mixture of regret and panic. Compared to the Harvey-Keating family, Angie had very little in the way of funds. The apartment was sparsely decorated and still rather somber— a place Angie called their “in-between” place before they picked up the pieces of their life and figured out how to flourish in Bar Harbor. In the corner, they’d collected a number of baby items, including a crib, a pile of adorable infant clothes, and little plush toys. Brittany knew it wasn’t feasible for the two of them to remain in that apartment after the baby was born. Perhaps she and the rest of the Harvey clan could help out, put them up somewhere with a little more space, a little more sleeping room. The walls were incredibly thin and the air took in almost no sunlight.
But Brittany didn’t know what it was like to have so little. Guaranteed, Angie was too proud to accept something like that. She was the sort of woman who wanted to work for it and Brittany had to respect that.
“Okay. Okay, okay,” Angie blurted out, clasping her hands together as though she had already regretted it. “I’m not doing it just for the clothes, though. I’ve read about The Minty Green’s jazz nights. This could be really good for my career.”
“Yes!” Luke cried, jumping to his feet to give his newfound sister a big hug. “I’m so thrilled.”
“But how the heck will you get me in?” Angie asked, her eyes widening as Luke wrapped his arms around her.
“Let’s let Evan figure that out,” Heather offered thoughtfully.
“Gosh. Me, a spy. I can’t even picture it.” Angie’s laughter twinkled like music. She then turned her eyes toward her piano as a blush crept up her cheeks. “I’ll have to put together a really fantastic set. Something that will make Elijah and this Conner guy want to talk to me.”
“The way you play? The entire bar will want to talk to you,” Luke told her.
“You’re such a sap, Bro,” Angie teased.
**
WITH ELIJAH SNOW’S clear connections at The Minty Green, it wasn’t a difficult thing to get Angie on the roster for the celebratory jazz night that upcoming Friday.
“She’s an absolutely killer performer,” Evan, pretending to be Elijah, spoke over the phone that evening. “She’s played piano in about twenty-five ensembles across the United States and Canada.”
“Such a liar,” Angie hissed, shaking her head.
“Come on, Ang. Not all of what he said is a lie,” Luke whispered. “He’s just embellishing the story. That’s what rich people do to get by.”
“I think I’m starting to understand.” Angie returned, her voice simmering with sarcasm.
“I’ll need her to perform around nine, nine-thirty,” Evan continued, ordering the poor employee at The Minty Green around with ease. “Yes, she’ll be performing by herself.”
When Evan finalized the mission, he smacked his hand across his thigh as the rest of the Keating-Harvey clan howled with excitement.
“Ugh. I can hardly wait till Friday.” Heather said.
“I’m terrified,” Brittany added.
“Brad’s coming, isn’t he?” Heather asked.
“Oh yeah. For sure,” Brittany said. “Plus, he’s bringing the equipment. We’re having Angie wear a wire.”
“I’m going to mess it up. I’m going to mess it all up.” Angie furrowed her brow anxiously. “I’ll accidentally flush the wire down the toilet or something.”
Brittany laughed good-naturedly. “Angie! You’re going to be amazing. Seriously.”
“Tomorrow, we go shopping,” Heather offered excitedly. “Brittany, you in?”
“Me? I don’t really need anything.”
Heather rolled her eyes, faking exasperation. “You’re telling me you don’t want to look absolutely drop-dead gorgeous when you storm into The Minty Green to accuse your ex-husband of stealing ninety-thousand-dollars of revenue out from under you?”
Brittany felt an initially subtle smile stretch from ear to ear.
“There she is,” Heather teased. “I have a feeling we’re going on a shopping extravaganza tomorrow afternoon. Plus, it’s supposed to be kind of warm Friday night. Time to reveal those beautiful legs after a long, cold winter.”
**
THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, Heather, Brittany, and Angie met at a downtown Bar Harbor boutique, where a salesgirl hand-selected gorgeous hand-stitched cocktail dresses for the three of them to try on. A stereo in the corner spat out fun tunes from their high school days, and the three girls sang and danced in various stages of undress, feeling giddy.
Brittany was high off the power of the potential of finally, finally showing Conner Radley what she was made of.
“What about this?” The sales girl dangled a black cocktail dress before her, one with a high cinched waist and a flowing taffeta skirt that filtered off below the knee.
Brittany puffed out her cheeks, genuinely impressed. “I can’t remember the last time I wore something like this.”
The sales girl tilted her head, contemplating the design. “What did you say you need the dress for?”
Brittany laughed. “I want to make my ex-husband regret every horrible thing he ever did and said to me.”
The sales girl stuck the dress out even further, basically forcing Brittany to accept it.
“This dress is basically screaming what you just said,” the girl told her. “Just try it on. You’ll see.”
Alone in the dressing room, Brittany attempted to zip the zipper all the way to the space between her shoulder blades but couldn’t quite reach it. Outside, Angie and Heather discussed the gown Heather had opted for, which Heather called a “borderline prom dress.” Brittany stepped out to ask for assistance, where she found both girls eying her with awe.
“Brittany. Holy, mother, you’re a knock-out,” Heather told her, clutching the top of her taffeta pink prom-ish dress. “You’re...”
“Going to make him regret everything. That’s for sure,” Angie finished Heather’s sentence. “Gosh. You’re giving me ideas about what to do to get back at my ex for cheating on me with our bass player.”
“Absolute scoundrel,” Brittany howled. “Can you help zip me the rest of the way? I want to get a full picture.”
Angie hurried over, her own dress ruffling around her knees as she zipped Brittany and patted the soft skin of her upper back. Brittany turned toward the floor-length mirror, her hands on her hips as she took in the full splendor of who she was these days— at forty-six, single, and hunting down Conner for revenge.
Heather smashed her fist onto her palm and said, “First stop, get back at Conner. Next stop... Angie, what’s your ex-husband’s name again?”
“Felix...” Angie replied, sounding regretful.
“Felix? Ugh. He sounds like the worst,” Brittany said. “Like one of those overly-artistic guys who think they’re better than everyone else.”
“Uh, yeah. You got that right,” Angie affirmed.
“What kind of scheme should we come up with to get revenge?” Heather asked. Excitement bubbled in her voice. “Maybe we could make up some kind of feminist group to get back at womens ex-husbands. Women could hire us to create these scenarios.”
“It sounds like the plot of a movie,” the sales girl chimed in excitedly, clearly enamored with the bubbling friendship between her three customers. “A movie I’d pay good money to go see.”
“Maybe I’ll write that in my next book,” Heather added mischievously. “But what do we call it?”
“The Revenge of the Divorcées,” Brittany tried.
“Dramatic, Britt. I almost like it,” Heather said.
“What about... Good Riddance?” Angie tried.
“Huh. That has a pretty good ring to it,” Heather agreed. “I’ll need to pick your ladies’ brains for the plot of the book. You’ll be noted as having expert opinions.”
About forty-five minutes later, Brittany, Angie, and Heather had selected their cocktail dresses for Friday’s adventure. Heather paid, waving a hand when Brittany attempted to hand her card over.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Brittany said graciously outside the little boutique.
“Don’t even start,” Heather replied as she slid a large pair of Chanel sunglasses across her nose.
Brittany was grateful for it, but still stewed in sorrow about her own predicament. If Conner hadn’t stolen from her... if she’d only had her insurance in place... “silly” purchases like cocktail dresses wouldn’t have been such a big deal. All in all, this was a part of life, one she would deal with like all the rest.
The three of them grabbed drinks at a little wine bar near the boutique, giggling about Friday night’s upcoming scheme. Brittany felt light as air.
“I’m headed home to keep practicing,” Angie told the other ladies a little bit later, splaying a ten-dollar bill on the table before Heather could insist otherwise. “Hannah’s going to listen to my entire set tonight and tell me where the kinks are. I have to be perfect.”
“Thank you, Angie.” Brittany said, taking Angie’s hand and squeezing it gently. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
Angie gave them both a light shrug. Her right cheek twitched twice as she added, “I don’t know what I would have done if you Keating-Harvey people hadn’t taken me in as one of your own. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to repay you. Hopefully, this is a start.”