Читать книгу Jilted - Rachael Johns - Страница 14
ОглавлениеELLIE REACHED OUT to grab the door for support.
Flynn.
She wasn’t sure if she said his name aloud or not. Nothing in her wildest imagination could have prepared her for this. It was as if a million different things were going on in her body. Adrenaline had set off a chain of reactions inside her—her hands got sweaty, her heart was beating so fast and loud it felt as if it would break out of her chest at any moment, and her knees felt incapable of holding her up much longer. Their overexertion probably accounted for the beads of perspiration bursting out across her forehead. But her mind and eyes were feasting on the sight before her, of which her memory had done no justice at all.
The grown-up Flynn was a hundred times more gorgeous than the teenage one—and that was saying something. Not that she’d expected otherwise, but he’d filled out in all the right places, grown into his long, lanky body and become a strapping, commanding presence. Light stubble dusted his jawline and his golden hair was longer than she recalled. And mussed up slightly. It suited him. Yet despite his overbearing good looks, one thing stood out as very different. His lips drew a flat line across his face where once a huge, mischievous grin held prime position. She’d fallen in love with that smile before anything else, and now it was nowhere to be seen.
“Cat got your tongue?”
Ellie snapped out of her trance and realized not only was she practically drooling, openmouthed like a codfish, but also that she hadn’t registered Flynn speaking. To her. She tried to reply but something obstructed her words. Like one of those awful dreams where there’s a serial killer chasing you and your legs won’t function. She had so much she wanted—needed—to say to Flynn, and yet her mouth refused to cooperate.
“Ah, never mind,” Flynn said bitterly. His eyes narrowed and he shook his head as he walked past, clutching his paper and drink hard against his chest while stepping as near to the door frame as possible. She could only guess he wanted to avoid the possibility of brushing against her. Her heart crumbled at this thought, but still she couldn’t find the wherewithal to speak. If only she could turn back time and at least find out what he’d said. But then, if she had such powers, she’d turn back time a lot further and erase other stupid mistakes.
Almost in slow motion, she turned around, but Flynn was already pounding the pavement away from her. He didn’t look back. Shivers scuttled down her spine like a thousand nasty, eight-legged beasts. And she started to shake. Uncontrollably. The room spun.
She took hold of herself and tried to moderate her breathing. She was no doctor, but even she knew breathing at such a rate was dangerous. Was this what a panic attack felt like? One of the actresses on Lake Street suffered from them, apparently, but Ellie had never bought into the hype.
“Excuse me, miss? Are you okay?”
She registered that someone somewhere was speaking to her, but a sudden, stabbing pain in her chest throttled any reply. She pressed her hand against her breast hoping the pressure would somehow ease the pain, that if the discomfort eased, then so would the dizziness, the shakes and the feeling the room was closing in around her. But it was no good. No longer able to keep a firm grip on the door, her knees gave way and she tumbled onto the hard concrete.
“That’s it, I’m calling an ambulance,” said the voice.
“Damn straight, looks like she’s having a heart attack,” said another voice. “Don’t want no celebrities dying in my shop. Maybe we should get her a blanket or something?”
No! She didn’t want a blanket. She brought her knees up to her chest and rocked back and forth against the door. I just want to go, she would have yelled, but her tongue had grown thick and immobile. I just want to go back to Sydney, where I’m not some kind of freak show, and live my life the best I can.
Her legs had lost all their strength. She tried to move so she wasn’t hunched like a sobbing cripple in the doorway, but the gods were laughing at her. Somewhere a flash went off, but before she had time to comprehend what that meant, sirens pierced the air, egging on her horrendous headache.
“In here,” she heard someone say. Then two women in green uniforms were looking over her. One of them crouched down and lifted Ellie’s hand, rubbing her wrist, presumably to take her pulse. The other ambulance officer began firing questions at the owner and his employee. Still stunned that this was actually happening, Ellie took a moment to react, but when she heard the word hospital, something inside her snapped back into place.
She pasted what was no doubt a less-than-believable smile on her face and looked apologetically into the face of the woman checking her over. “I’m really sorry,” she said, extracting her hand and straightening her ponytail. “I’m fine. I don’t know what happened, but I’m really fine now. I don’t need to go to hospital.”
The other, less feminine ambulance officer leaned down and butted in. “It’s policy. We have to take you in and have a doctor check you over.”
“No.” No way in hell was she going back to that pokey small-town hospital and risking another run-in with Lauren. She could only imagine what would happen if she were admitted into that woman’s care. “I said I’m fine and I am. You can’t force me to go.”
“She does seem fine,” stated the first officer.
While the two of them discussed protocol and common sense, and the service station owner added his opinion, Ellie flexed her feet and pushed herself up into a stand. Although still shaky, she had every confidence her legs were back in the game. Monitoring her breathing, she trekked slowly around the shop, grabbing chocolates, a big bottle of Fanta, packets of chips, two types of milk and a loaf of white bread. The pickings were slim at the Shell and the prices exorbitant, but she needed to get out of there quickly, with enough provisions to avoid coming back too soon. Tomorrow she’d worry about a bigger shop, although how she’d make it round the Co-op without having an actual heart attack, she had no idea.
“You sure you shouldn’t get properly checked out?” asked the shop assistant as she scanned Ellie’s purchases through the till. The young woman looked genuinely concerned. Ellie didn’t recognize her and judging by her attitude, she deduced that the girl couldn’t have been a resident of Hope very long.
“Thanks for your concern, but I just had a shock.”
The girl looked at her quizzically, but she wasn’t about to start discussing her sordid past with a stranger. No doubt the town gossips would fight to fill her in. Instead, Ellie handed over a fifty-dollar note.
The act of selecting and purchasing items seemed to convince the ambulance folk she was, in fact, physically fine. So, wanting to get this whole sorry episode over quickly, Ellie filled in her details and signed the release.
When Ellie returned to the house, Matilda—sitting in an armchair in the living room—threw her arms up theatrically. “You’ve been gone an age. I was about to organize a search party.”
“Sorry.” She walked through to the kitchen and began unloading the sparse supplies. Inwardly she laughed at the idea that anyone in this godforsaken town would give up their Sunday to search for her.
“I almost called the police,” Matilda continued, her shrill voice carrying down the short hallway.
“Thank God you didn’t,” Ellie called back. “I’ve had my fill of emergency services today.”
“You’ve what?” There was a short silence and then a shuffle. Ellie could hear Matilda reaching for her crutches and knew she was trying to stand up.
“Stay there!” she roared. “I’ll get us a drink and makeshift breakfast, and then I’ll fill you in.” On everything, she added silently. It was time.
She took her time making the coffee and toast. She even cut each slice into little triangles, laid them decoratively on the plate and loaded it all onto an elaborate tray Mat had brought back from Mexico a few years ago. When she finally entered the living room, Matilda was leaning forward in the chair, her body tense, the expression on her face desperately curious.
“What happened?”
“I ran into Flynn.” Ellie’s tone suggested this was an everyday occurrence. She handed Mat her mug, then placed the toast on the little coffee table, positioning it within both their reach.
“Oh.” For once Matilda seemed short of words. Then, eventually, “Dare I ask?”
Ellie flopped into the armchair opposite. “It was a complete debacle. He looked like he wanted to vomit at the sight of me and I almost fainted.” She laughed a little hysterically. “Someone called an ambulance.”
“You’ve been to the hospital?”
She shook her head. “I refused to go.”
Matilda waved an arm in front of her face. “Who cares about the hospital, I want to know about Flynn.”
Ellie tried in vain to keep her hands and voice steady as she sipped her drink and filled Mat in on the events of the morning. Yet with every mention of Flynn the effort became all the more impossible.
“My poor girl,” Matilda said, gesturing to the tissue box on the table. “You’ve held it in far too long. It’s time to let it out.”
“I’m fine.” Ellie shoved the box and it plopped onto the floor. That got a skeptical smile and a brow lift from Matilda. “I am,” she insisted. “If I hadn’t seen the dress, I wouldn’t have been in such a soppy and sentimental mood when I ran into him. It’s not like I didn’t know it was going to happen sooner or later.” She paused to collect herself. “Why did you keep it?”
“It wasn’t mine to throw away.”
“No, I know, but...but...” But what? She’d always assumed Matilda would have given it to the Salvation Army or something.
“At first I left it there because I thought you’d be back. You were so in love with him, no one was more surprised than me when you ran off like that. I knew you better than everyone, aside from Flynn, and he never suspected a problem. He was a wreck. So I was sure you’d be back.”
A familiar guilt gnawed at Ellie’s heart and she rested her hand against her stomach. Nausea was the standard reaction whenever she thought of what she’d done to Flynn. She did her best to live her life in denial but occasionally—usually on lonely weekends, when all she had was the company of bad black-and-white movies on the telly—her thoughts turned to him. More than once she’d been physically sick.
“Then,” continued Matilda, “by the time it became clear you’d made a life for yourself without him, the dress had been there so long. It probably sounds silly, but it made me feel closer to you. You were never as happy as the day you tried on that dress. Sometimes I’d come into the room, look at the dress and wonder if there was anything I could have done.”
“No,” Ellie rushed, “none of this was your fault.” The last thing she needed was for Matilda, who had always been there for her no matter what, to feel guilty, as well. So many times she’d almost spilled her heart out to Mat, but she’d never quite been able to find the words. Mat loved and trusted her more than anyone, so Ellie had been scared. Scared that Mat would think of her differently if she knew. “I don’t want you to ever—”
Matilda held up her hand to silence Ellie. “I need to say this. The years passed and you made no mention of coming back. I meant to clean out your room, I really did, but you know what I’m like with my own clutter, I couldn’t bear to sort and make decisions about yours. I’m sorry, I should have gotten rid of that dress, but something I can’t really explain stopped me.”
“It’s okay.” Ellie’s reply was a mere whisper. All choked up, she thought about the crumpled dress in the bottom of the wardrobe. What the hell should she do with it? “I understand,” she continued, “but I want you to know that none of what happened is your fault. If anyone besides me is to blame—for leaving, for staying away all these years—it’s my despicable excuse for a mother.”
“Your mother?” Matilda looked baffled. “I didn’t know you two were in touch. I thought the last time you saw Rhiannon was in Perth, just before your...”
Ellie knew she was about to say wedding. She shook her head and set her friend straight. “She never turned up.”
Matilda’s mouth dropped open like a sideshow clown and her eyes grew cold. “But I don’t understand. You told me you spent the weekend in the city together, that she apologized profusely about not being able to make it to your wedding. I wanted to hunt her down, give her what for about missing the most important day of your life.”
“All lies,” Ellie admitted. “I guess I felt like an idiot for thinking she’d care enough to meet up with me, and I wanted you all to think that she did. When she didn’t show, I waited in the bar for five hours, treating myself to cocktails to cheer up. I got quite drunk.” That was a massive understatement.
In the next hour or so, Ellie spilled the truth about what had happened that awful weekend in Perth. She left nothing out. She cried a lot. And so did Matilda, who cursed herself for not being there for Ellie when she’d needed her support. But not once did Matilda make her feel any less of a person for her mistakes. She didn’t pass judgment or even make many comments until the end, when Ellie said, “So you see how I couldn’t tell Flynn? He’d have hated me.”
Matilda frowned slightly. “I don’t see anything of the sort. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life, it’s to never presume what another person thinks, or how they’ll react in a certain situation.”
“I suppose.” But the truth was, Ellie couldn’t have coped with seeing the hurt and disappointment in Flynn’s eyes if she had stayed to face her problems.
“Personally,” Mat said, “and this is just my opinion, because as I said, I don’t know the inside of Flynn’s head, but I think he would rather have had you—and whatever came with that—than lose you. He made some bad choices himself after you left.”
Ellie’s head shot up from where it had been staring down into her lap and a fist full of tissues. “What kind of bad choices?”
* * *
ELLIE WOKE ON Monday morning feeling utterly drained. The past couple of days had been exhausting—physically, mentally and emotionally. And she’d be a fool to think the worst was over.
Her guilt had trebled when she heard that for two years after she left, Flynn had gone on a wild bender, becoming best friends with bottles of Jim Beam. And then his dad, Cyril, had been killed in a freak accident on the farm. She could only imagine the pain the Quartermaines would have felt at that deep loss. Flynn and Cyril had disagreed about some aspects of running the farm, and Cyril had been reluctant to take on a few of Flynn’s ideas, but mostly, father and son had been great mates. In a somewhat bittersweet turnaround, though, it was his father’s death that pulled Flynn out of his self-destructive spiral. Where many turn to alcohol in times of mourning, Cyril’s passing shook Flynn enough that he went completely dry. Ellie felt so relieved when Matilda told her that Flynn had reformed, but she couldn’t ignore the painful truth. If she hadn’t run away, he’d never have gone there in the first place.
Matilda believed the only way for Ellie to truly move on was for her to sit down with Flynn and tell him everything. She shuddered at the thought. Quite aside from the fact that pinning Flynn down would prove a mammoth task, she was scared that in telling him the truth, she risked bringing back hurtful memories for him. Sure, it might get some of the heaviness off her chest, but she couldn’t jeopardize his well-being simply to clear her conscience.
Bottom line was, she’d never stopped loving him. Seeing him yesterday had made that clear. And what was that old saying? If you loved something you let it go? She reckoned that included not rehashing the painful past.
Her decision made, she climbed out of bed, washed and dressed quickly, and then set to some housework. Matilda rose too and grumbled about being constrained by her cast, so Ellie gave her the important job of drafting the shopping list.
“Leave nothing you desire off that list,” Ellie instructed. “I do not want to be traipsing down to the Co-op every day for something we’ve forgotten.”
Just when Ellie thought the house was sparkling so much she couldn’t put off the shopping expedition any longer, the doorbell—a yodeling one that Matilda bought on a trip to Austria—sang out.
“That’ll be my friend Joyce,” Matilda announced, a beaming smile filling her face. “She’s going to be your chaperone.”
“Chaperone?” Ellie raised a brow while racking her brain for memories of Joyce.
“You haven’t met,” said Matilda, reading her mind. “She and her hubby, Howard, moved here three years ago when they bought the caravan park. Howard died last year but Joyce is a hoot, you’ll love her.”
Joyce let herself in. “Everyone adores me.”
Ellie looked at the fire-engine redhead. Her first thought was that she’d never seen a female built in quite such a...strong way. She couldn’t have asked for a more perfect bodyguard. She smiled. “Well, shopping with me will soon change that. Nobody adores me.”
Joyce hooted with laughter. “I love her already.”
After ensuring Mat had everything within arm’s reach, Joyce and Ellie set off in the Premier.
“Mat phoned me last night,” Joyce announced as she clicked in her seat belt. “She didn’t tell me why you left the Quartermaine boy at the altar, but she said you have your reasons. I want you to know Mat’s word is good enough for me.”
Ellie’s mood plummeted at the idea that Matilda might have told Joyce more, and nausea set in at the thought of Joyce flapping her mouth about town, of Flynn hearing it all on the grapevine. But she quickly relaxed, knowing her godmother would never break her confidence.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. Mat’s had a lot on her plate recently. She’s so happy you’re here but doesn’t want you being crucified just because she needs you. She wanted someone else in your corner.” Joyce’s voice was serious in a way Ellie hadn’t thought possible, judging by her brassy manner back at the cottage. “And I want you to know, I’m in your corner.”
An alien lump formed in Ellie’s throat. She couldn’t quite get another thanks past it.
“We all make mistakes,” continued Joyce, “and I don’t believe in beating oneself up about them. But that’s your business. If you want to talk, I won’t tell a soul your secret, but neither will I press you about it. I just want you to know.”
“Okay. I appreciate that.” Ellie stared ahead at the road. She didn’t really want to make small talk but she didn’t want silence right now, either. Besides, she wouldn’t mind deflecting the attention from herself. “So, what do you think of Hope? Do you like running the caravan park?”
“Love it. I’m a social butterfly so I adore meeting all the people that come through. And I find the dynamics of small-town life fascinating.”
“That’s one word for it,” Ellie snorted. Suffocating and narrow-minded were others.
“You obviously don’t miss it.”
“Actually, I didn’t mind it,” Ellie said, surprising herself. She’d forgotten. She’d let the horror of her drastic departure overshadow the fact that her years here were the best ones of her life. Busy years, with never a moment’s peace. There was always something going on in the town—whether it be a football game, a quiz night, someone’s party, a fund-raiser for the Hospital Auxiliary. It was impossible to be idle, and there was something about the way country people pulled together in an emergency that couldn’t help but warm your heart. She’d loved being part of that, even if now, looking back, she wondered if she’d merely imagined the act of fitting in.
“I could never go back,” Joyce mused. “Not to all those bright lights, crazy streets and people too busy to smile at a stranger.”
Ellie could tell from the affection in Joyce’s voice that Hope and its people had worked their magic on her. Joyce had fallen in love and the only way she’d ever leave was if they carried her out in a box.
As they found a parking space outside the Co-op, Ellie fought the desire to bite her nails. People were already turning in her direction. Heads were shaking. Lips were twisting downward.
“You know, Joyce,” Ellie said, “perhaps it’d be better if you distanced yourself from me inside. I don’t want my unpopularity to affect your business.”
“Don’t be silly, girl. Most of my business comes from out-of-towners. Besides, if people are that narrow-minded, I don’t want their friendship or their money. Give this town a bit of credit. Granted, we have a few silly biddies, but once they’ve had their moment, you’ll be old news. Come on, let’s get that moment over with.”
Ellie couldn’t deny that she felt better with Joyce by her side. As she locked the car—a somewhat unnecessary precaution in the country—Joyce came around to the driver’s side and took her arm.
“Just hold your head high and smile,” she instructed, and they ventured into the building.
Ellie was used to being the point of focus whenever she went out and about. In Sydney, even though most people didn’t go stupid over celebrities, she was always recognized. She didn’t mind the attention—she liked talking to fans, and was more than happy to give her autograph when requested. Not that she’d be getting any such requests around here.
The moment they stepped through the automatic doors, Ellie felt the chill of the frozen foods section against her cheeks, reminding her of the reception she was expecting. Her gaze moved to the checkout where she’d once worked after school and on Saturday mornings. There was a queue—two trolleys equaled a mad rush in Hope. The customers met Ellie’s eyes and then quickly looked away. She recognized the operator as a girl she’d gone to school with. They’d been quite friendly in the past, but now she wasn’t even giving Ellie the chance to toss that smile Joyce had recommended. The woman made sure her eyes didn’t come near Ellie’s.
Straightening her shoulders and jutting her chin forward, Ellie grabbed a trolley and glanced at Joyce. “Let’s do this.” The quicker the better, she thought.
In response, Joyce smiled encouragingly and held up their shopping list. As they traversed the aisles, customers stared and were more than generous with reproachful glares. One woman even tsked. Halfway round, Ellie decided she could either let them upset her or she could...
“Hi.” She offered a woman in aisle three a huge grin. “Emma, isn’t it? We went to school together.”
Emma, who had divine, jet-black hair in a catwalk bob, blinked and looked as if she’d swallowed a lemon whole. Ellie’s heart stopped midbeat as she waited for a response.
“I’m surprised you remember,” Emma said eventually. “Welcome back.” Her welcome couldn’t be described as warm, and there weren’t any polite comments about catching up, but she hadn’t spit in her face, either. Ellie put that down as a win.
As Emma walked briskly away, Ellie gave Joyce two thumbs-up. They raided items from the shelves and soon filled their trolley. Ellie smiled at a couple of customers she didn’t recognize and even stopped to talk to one of her old teachers while Joyce read the labels on different baked bean tins. The teacher—Mrs. Ellery, who taught English and drama—had aged about twenty years in the past ten but she could still talk for Olympic gold. She chewed Ellie’s ear off for what seemed an hour, pride shining through as she acknowledged one of her prodigies had made it big. It was funny, drama had never been Ellie’s favorite or best subject—not that Mrs. Ellery remembered it that way. Her break was, if anything, accidental.
When she’d arrived in Sydney, Ellie had started waitressing at a trendy, inner-city bar. Located next to a mainstream television production company, it had been the hangout of some top-notch producers. Out of the blue one night, one of them asked if she’d like to be an extra in a location episode he was shooting. Hungry for extra cash and happy she’d only be a shadow in the background, she agreed.
Pretty soon Ellie became a regular extra on Lake Street and, as the saying goes, one thing led to another. She was introduced as the long-lost daughter of a much-loved older character, and as the audience adored her, before too long she was a permanent resident on Australia’s favorite street.
But if you’d asked her at seventeen what she’d wanted to be, actress would never have crossed her mind.
“We’re reviving the theatrical society,” Mrs. Ellery said. She caught the first breath Ellie had heard her take in about five minutes and then added, “You should come along. We could do with your wisdom.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t.” It was all Ellie could do to stop breaking into nervous hysterics at the thought. Venturing out to buy groceries was one thing, but she could just imagine her reception if she tried to wheedle her way into the group. “I’m not here for long, and there are a couple of things I want to do in that time.” Painting Mat’s gutters and awnings was a much safer bet than what Mrs. Ellery had in mind.
“Think about it, dear.” Then, with a pat on Ellie’s forearm, Mrs. Ellery doddered off down the aisle pulling her tapestry trolley behind her.
Ellie did think about it, her thoughts distracting her as she and Joyce finished the shopping. She barely noticed the cold looks and people turning the other way when they saw her coming down the aisle. The town’s last production—Mary Poppins—had been the year before she’d skipped town. In the middle of winter, it had been the highlight of the cold season. She hadn’t been involved, but Matilda had directed and Ellie had often hung around watching rehearsals. The atmosphere whenever the cast and crew got together had been exhilarating.
“Think that’s us done now,” said Joyce, interrupting Ellie’s memory. “Unless there’s anything else you can think of.”
“No.” Ellie stared ahead at the checkout, trying to remember the name of the girl behind the counter. She knew if she acted friendly and not like the snob they all took her for, she’d stand a better chance of not being stoned. That started with addressing people by their names.
As she stopped the trolley at the front of the store, however, her gaze drifted to the newspapers on a stand next to the checkouts. Across the front page of the West Australian was her face, large and flushed against the pale cement of the service station floor. The headline: Stella’s Soap Opera Past in Rural WA. Flynn’s scowling—but still terribly sexy—face was inset at the bottom of the page.
Her heart plummeted at the publicity she neither needed nor wanted. Ten years ago, one particular hound of a journalist had almost uncovered the whole story when she was first starting to make a name for herself. Luckily a well-known cricket personality had indulged in an affair with a newsreader about the same time, and the story of Ellie and Flynn and their nonwedding had died a quick death.
Her mobile began to shrill from her handbag, the unmistakable tone of Lady Gaga interrupting her thoughts. She ripped the zip open and snatched the phone. Not at all surprised to see the caller was her agent, Dwayne Wright, she pressed Reject and shoved it back inside. There wasn’t time to deal with Dwayne’s fury right now—she had about five hundred newspapers to buy.
“I’ll take the lot,” she told the woman behind the checkout, gesturing to the newspapers. “And if you’ve got any out the back, I’ll take them, too.” Dammit, her name was Simone, she remembered a moment too late.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Simone scoffed, making a derogatory sound between her teeth. “I can’t sell you all the newspapers.”
“Why not?” Ellie’s heart tripped over itself. “My money’s as good as anyone’s.”
Not deeming her comment worthy of a reply, Simone leaned forward and spoke into the PA. “Gavin, can you please come to the checkout? Gavin.”
“Who’s Gavin?” Ellie hissed to Joyce.
“The manager,” Joyce whispered back.
Ah good, thought Ellie, surely he won’t turn down legitimate sales. But of course she was wrong. The manager, whom she recognized as a distant relative of Flynn’s mother, wasn’t even sure he wanted to let her buy one newspaper.
“I don’t want you causing havoc in my shop,” he announced, his pudgy arms folded over an impressive beer gut. “Perhaps you should just leave.”
To hell with being polite, Ellie had just about had it up to here with some of the people in this silly, back-of-beyond town. She thrust her finger at the sign that hung across the entrance. “Last time I checked, this was a co-operative.” She dragged the last word out, showing exactly what she thought of him. “And as I recall, co-operative means owned by the community, whereas you are just its manager. So I’m buying the damn food in this trolley and I’ll buy as many newspapers as I want.”
Upset and sweating, Ellie leaned forward and wrapped her arms around the thick pile of papers. She yanked them up and dropped them on the checkout, narrowly missing Simone’s fingers. Her sunglasses tumbled off the top of her head and the newspapers fell off either side of the ancient conveyer belt making a mess on the floor.
“I’ll pick them up,” said Joyce, her voice taking on a warning tone. “You go wait in the car.”
At Joyce’s words Ellie cringed. She looked at the faces now glaring at her from all over the store. She’d totally lost it, confirming what most of the town probably thought—that she was some up-herself celebrity who thought money could buy everything. Truth was, all she wanted was the chance to prove them wrong. That she wasn’t the evil Jezebel they’d pegged her as. What happened to being human? What happened to everyone making mistakes?
Her eyes brimmed with tears she didn’t want to shed in public. Years on the small screen had made her very good at being able to turn the waterworks on when she didn’t really feel like it, and an expert at switching them off when in the public eye. But right now, she was losing the battle.
Opting to accept Joyce’s out, she stooped to pick up her sunglasses, almost poking herself in the eye in an effort to put them back on. She left the store, walking briskly and failing dismally to hold her head high.
