Lie, Lie Again - Stacy Wise Page 0,33
trying to be supportive, Brandon. You don’t need to act like a jerk,” she whispered harshly.
“You know what?” he snapped. “Maybe you’re right about going home. I’ll start working at my daddy’s gas station. I can see it now—going from pouring drinks for desperate divorcées to rotating tires on trucks.” A rough laugh fell from his lips, making his handsome face turn ugly. “Talk about a success story.”
“You don’t have to be sarcastic.”
“Oh, I’m not being sarcastic. Isn’t that what you want? To go home? I’m telling you my options there. And you can get Kylie all prepped to go out on the pageant circuit. It’ll be a dream come true for your mama.”
Her hand burned with the foreign desire to slap him. She balled it into a fist, afraid she might actually do it. “Don’t you bring my mama into this. She’s been nothing but your biggest fan.”
He stormed past her. “I need to get some air.” Grabbing his keys from the hook in the kitchen, he yanked open the door and let it slam.
Embry collapsed into a chair. She stared at the spot where Brandon had stood. They’d never once fought like that. Not when she’d backed the car into a pole at Costco or when Brandon had fallen asleep while watching the kids and Embry had returned home to find Kylie drawing purple marker all over a sleeping Carson’s hands. Her husband was falling apart before her eyes. She could feel his despair in her bones.
If the going gets tough, the tough get going. It’s what her auntie Boots used to tell her all the time when she was a teenager. Boots wasn’t her real name, but Embry had called her that ever since she could remember. When Embry was first learning to talk, she couldn’t pronounce her real name, Ruth. Her daddy had laughed and said, “It sounds like she’s saying boots.” The name stuck, and it had managed to create a special bond between the two. Auntie Boots was her daddy’s aunt—her great-aunt—but Embry liked to think of her as her very own. She had a never-ending supply of great stories and solid advice. And if she were here now, she’d tell Embry to take matters into her own hands. If your finances are a worry, get out there and find a way to help.
There it was again, the idea that she could earn some money too. She’d find a way. The blood of generations of determined women flowed through her veins, after all. It was up to her now.
CHAPTER NINE
Sylvia sat up in her bed, adjusting the pillow so it supported her back, and flicked the cap off the bottle of Tylenol, washing two down with water from the glass on her bedside table as she glared at the stupid brace. She’d be better off amputating her wrist and purchasing a pretty hook. She could find an antique that would not only be functional but could double as a unique piece of statement jewelry. And it’d certainly come in handy. When someone annoyed her, she could use it as a weapon.
Hugh was to blame for her injury. If she hadn’t been busy trying to mentally pinpoint his location, she wouldn’t have tripped. She tried to release the anger. Maybe he was suffering in a gutter somewhere, the victim of a hit-and-run that had left him with severely broken bones. Or he could’ve been captured by disgusting drug dealers who were too stupid to have gotten the right guy. She hoped that was the case.
She tapped her phone to life and pressed “Recents.” Hugh’s name was at the top of the list. She had tried calling him four times in the course of six hours last night. A brewing rage sat across the room, ready to slam into her if he didn’t pick up this time. Thunder boomed outside, as if the universe shared her frustration. She touched his number and held the phone to her ear. If he didn’t answer, she would call the police.
One ring, then two. She held the phone in a death grip. Three rings.
“Hi, Jeff!” It was a woman’s voice.
A cold rush ripped through Sylvia. Who the hell was Jeff? And why was a woman answering Hugh’s phone? “Uh, no Jeff here. Who’s this?”
“Oh!” She sounded surprised. “Sorry. This is Lily. Hugh’s bathing the baby, and the caller ID said ‘Jeff Ulrich, Global Consulting,’ so I answered. This must be Krista.”
The room swayed, and Sylvia grabbed a fistful of sheets.