Big Lies in a Small Town - Diane Chamberlain Page 0,87
a spray of golden glitter.
“Hey, hey!” Karl said. He was next to them in a flash.
Instinctively, Anna got to her feet and stood protectively in front of Jesse and Peter where they remained on the floor, stunned, their hands still on the stretcher.
Karl’s air of authority seemed to wake the Drapples up from their personal battle, and Martin withdrew his hands from his wife’s shoulders.
“Go home,” Karl said, his voice quiet but commanding. “Both of you. Go home. Make up.”
Martin and his wife were already moving toward the door, red faced and shouting at one another as though no one else were there. Anna could imagine what their home life was like. Their poor daughters! Martin slammed the door behind them as they left, and a hush fell over the warehouse. All of their gazes were on the door, and Anna’s heart still pounded out of proportion to what had just happened.
“Oh my,” Pauline said finally as she dropped back into her chair.
“She call you a tramp?” Jesse said, looking up at Anna from the floor with a sort of disbelief in his brown doe eyes. “She sure ’nough got that wrong.”
She was touched by his defense. You’re a love, she thought, but did not say. “Sticks and stones may hurt my bones,” she said instead, not bothering to finish the rhyme.
“Well.” Karl knelt at the side of the stretcher again, his complexion ruddy but his hands steady. “Let’s get back to work here.”
Anna wanted to thank him. She considered giving him a quick hug, but thought it inappropriate. She felt that little bit of envy creeping in again. Pauline had a man who was not only handsome and kind, but protective as well. She shook off the emotions—or at least most of them—and lowered herself to the floor again.
She thought about Mrs. Drapple’s words as she worked, how Martin had lost out to a girl. It was tough for a girl to even be considered an artist much less to win a competition against a man. She felt sorry for him, then, but she thought the sound of that slap was going to echo in the warehouse for a long, long time.
Chapter 37
MORGAN
July 11, 2018
Oliver and I were still at work at nine o’clock when Adam and Wyatt walked through the foyer to the front door. Wyatt stopped and looked over at me.
“We’re gonna grab something at the pub down the street,” he said. “You two wanna come?”
“No, thanks,” I said automatically, but Oliver stood up from his desk and stretched.
“Let’s do it,” he said across the foyer to me. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve reached the point of diminishing returns here.”
I hesitated. The idea of being with Oliver made me feel safe. He knew I couldn’t drink. He’d keep the guys from pressuring me. Not that I was worried I’d give in to them or be unable to handle them myself. I just didn’t want the hassle.
“Okay,” I said, getting up from my chair. Only then did I realize how exhausted I felt, my back and shoulders seizing up on me. “Let me clean up my mess.”
Oliver helped me carry my paints and brushes into the kitchen.
“Will this be hard for you?” he asked quietly as we cleaned the brushes.
I shook my head. “No.” I smiled at him. “I’ll be fine.” Would it be hard for me if I didn’t have the monitor on my ankle? I hoped not.
We left the gallery, Oliver locking the door behind us. I walked between him and Wyatt. I was the first to speak. “I don’t drink,” I said, for Adam’s and Wyatt’s sake. Then I was annoyed with myself. Why did I say that? My whole life had been ruled by alcohol in one way or another. Was I going to let it continue to rule me, even in its absence? I felt Oliver’s hand gentle on my back, and I tried to interpret what that meant. You don’t need to explain yourself, I thought he was saying. Or maybe he just wanted to touch me. I liked that idea better.
“That’s cool,” Wyatt said, like my admission was no big thing. “They got club soda and whatever.”
“Yeah, but they’ve also got Moscow mules,” Adam said. “You at least have to have a sip of mine.”
“No, thanks,” I said.
“And mojitos,” Adam added.
“You’re an asshole,” Wyatt said to Adam, who only laughed at the insult. He was an imbecile.
Oliver dropped his hand from my back. I missed its warmth.