Shame of It All Page 2

  “We’ll see him again during the Christmas holiday. I’ll let you go, moya golubushka so you are well rested for tomorrow.” The sound of banging or knocking broke through on his end.

  “You’re having a visitor this late at night? Someone I know?” I added a layer of fake playfulness to my voice.

  He chuckled. “A short business meeting before I go to bed. Alone.”

  “Like you, I’ll sleep alone tonight, but wishing you were lying next to me.” I set my hand low on my stomach and flicked my fingers above my mound. If he was here, he would replace my hand with his own.

  “Sweet dreams. We will talk tomorrow via video chat.” He ended the call before I said goodbye.

  I took another sip of wine, the alcohol relaxing me. I hoped I’d sleep well tonight. It had been a while since I was the only one in bed. But I would have to make due. It wouldn’t last for too long, although the idea of sleeping next to Colt turned my stomach.

  Not wanting to end up sick on the bathroom floor next to the toilet, I wrapped the towel I sat on around my body. I paused, spotting a framed shelf mirror near the kitchen entrance. It was a new addition and something I never would have bought.

  I wasn’t a fan of staring at my reflection. But I walked over to view my wilted, to the middle of my back fake red hair, and my medium skin tone, which was of benefit to me. The majority of people in this town were pale and white, so I would stand out. Looking somewhat exotic helped me in many business and social situations. The group of freckles on my nose as well as the small mole near my left upper lip drew people in. When I was much younger, these physical traits had attracted Colt. Now with them amplified, I hope the same would occur again.

  I was unmoved by what I saw of myself. I didn’t feel pride or disgust about my body either way. My form, like most creatures, was what was presented to the world. There would be opinions either way based on what people saw. But my mind was my most important attribute I possessed.

  Bored by this exercise, I took the mirror off the wall and slammed it down. The glass broke on the floor but stayed in a contained demolition.

  Feeling much better, I grabbed my things from the car.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Why is the water always so cold?” Sixteen-year-old Marina asked after rolling off the raft she had been lying on.

  “It’s refreshing.” I laid my chin on the black inflatable tube, watching Colt and his friends across the way on his parents’ luxury yacht celebrate the Fourth of July. He had to have at least twenty people there partying. The music was loud but didn’t cover the sounds of his guests, mainly kids from our school. Even though Marina and I had gone to school with Colt since sixth grade—no private school for him for some strange reason—we had never been invited to any of his birthday or holiday parties. We were on the fringe, not accepted by the cool kids. We were the middle of the road, unassuming and unthreatening.

  “Senior year is going to be different for us.” She swam a few feet away, eyes still locked on the party boat.

  Marina always had her head in the clouds, while I was a realist. The upcoming school year would be the same as the last. Colt and his girlfriend Karine would rule the school with the fellow rich kid townies, while the rest stared in equal parts wonder and loathing at what they would never have or could be. Marina was one of them no matter how hard she tried to break into the group. But living in a trailer park with her mother and constantly unemployed uncle wasn’t great for her reputation.

  Suddenly Colt separated from the group, moved to the front of the boat, and held out his hand.

  “Come join us.” His voice was a whisper on the water that made me want to obey.

  I turned to Marina, but she wasn’t near me. She popped up behind Colt, curled her arms around him, and sent me a toothy smile.

  “Yes, join us, Mercy Percy. You know you want to.”

  I opened my eyes and sat up in bed, my heart slamming my chest. I was too warm, as if I ran a temperature. My skin was sticky and sweaty, and I kicked off the covers. It had been years since I had such a visceral dream. I usually didn’t dream. Marina had given me the nickname Mercy Percy after the first time we played together in kindergarten. I hadn’t minded her calling me it when we were kids. But her use of it in the dream wasn’t affectionate, rather menacing, as if she was warning me to be careful but not because she cared for my well-being. Almost like a dare, but one I would fail at attempting.

  The fragments of the dream and the sensation it left behind eased away. Not necessarily forgotten but weaker than when I was thrown out of my precious sleep. My drowsiness lingered but not enough to make me want to lie down and close my eyes. I would end up reviewing the dream in my head. But it wasn’t based on reality or on a memory. It never happened. Maybe it was a sign, or Marina’s spirit, as Yakim might suggest, warning me to be cautious. The warning had been acknowledged. I was smart enough not to get ahead of myself where Colt was concerned.

  The urge to destroy Colt erased my unease over the dream. Shrugging it off, I got out of bed and checked the electronic alarm clock next to Grandmother’s bed. It was a few minutes before seven. I walked to the window and drew aside the curtains to view the lake. Grandmother’s bedroom faced the water, whereas my room faced the side, next to an oak tree I always wanted to climb out on but never did. I decided to sleep in her bedroom because I wanted to be close to her. Her scent was everywhere, and one I always had on me like my locket with her ashes. The only perfume I wore was White Shoulders, her favorite. I would have expected if anyone would send me a warning, it would have been her and not Marina. Maybe she eventually would, but I was being fanciful. I didn’t believe in any of that hocus-pocus bullshit. Grandmother hadn’t, either. Speaking of hocus-pocus, I would attend Mass tomorrow at St. Anthony’s church and try to instill myself in the good graces of the pastor there to help move my plan forward. Colt and his parents were such good Catholics. I would pretend to act the same.

  I would have to push aside my atheist beliefs and embrace the God I had turned my back on and his righteous indignation followed by many in this town. Today would start my new role as Gertrude Pryce’s wayward granddaughter who returned home to help stimulate the economy with jobs. The community may think it, and I would make them believe it while I worked on a side project that would rattle the same people when I finished. They would have no clue I would be responsible for some misfortune. Then I would leave as I had arrived but less vindictive and vengeful. The accumulation of twenty years of resentment would finally pop and climax in such a satisfying way.

  ###

  I went for a jog like I did most days. I started my first year in college, a hobby I thoroughly enjoyed next to traveling. I ran five miles on average and more when I had the energy, specifically when I trained for marathons with Yakim. My first verbal introduction to him had been on the Amherst racetrack. That meeting changed my life for the better.

  Even with the storm last night, the weather wasn’t suitable for jogging. It was too humid and hot, making it difficult to breathe if one exerted themselves too much. For the middle of September, the weather should be cooler, especially in upstate New York with the lake and the grouping of trees in the area. But there had been Indian summers in the past, although some may say global warning was to blame. Jogging didn’t faze me even with humidity in the air. I sweated more than I usually did, my heart rate was up, and my pulse echoed in my ears, but it gave me a nice out-of-body feeling. I would make do even though I spent most of my summers in cooler climates, such as the Swiss countryside where the temperature was usually seventy degrees or so.

  I would survive the uncomfortable weather, just like I had in my first eighteen years. A few months here to face my past and the consequences of my actions were something I could handle. I had planned for it, just like I had built up my endurance when it came to jogging. It was the only exercise besides yoga I did on an almost-daily basis. It was why I decided to run the four miles from Grandmother’s house to the center of t
own. I did it purposely, not only because I wanted to jog but to make my presence known and give the busybodies something to gossip about. Someone jogging on the main road where most cars drove on wasn’t a normal sight. Perhaps Colt would be in one of those cars, but those odds were slim since most Saturdays, he and his uncle Samuel, the senior senator from New York, golfed at the local country club where most of their donors and lobbyists were members. I knew Colt’s schedule by heart, and we weren’t supposed to meet until Mass at St. Anthony’s tomorrow morning.

  Perhaps someone would mention to him the pleasant-looking woman with the vibrant-red hair in a braid, who was dressed in the tight matching yellow sports bra and leggings wearing bright-purple sneakers. He might not give it a second thought because he wouldn’t know it was me yet. I was twenty pounds lighter. My hair had gone from an unmemorable beige to something men would fantasize what those softs strands would feel like on their thighs with my mouth wrapped around them. Some might assume I fucked like a porn star because of my perky, rounded breasts accentuated by implants. Colt would find out soon enough but only if he played by my rules.

  I arrived at my destination in under an hour. The High End Center hadn’t changed much in two decades. The quaintness and tranquility appealed to tourists and visitors. Nothing bad would happen to you in Cartleigh. Most residents believed the same or chose to ignore the manipulations of the Hahn family. I would be the one to free them from those chains, and they wouldn’t have any idea until it was too late. I wouldn’t need recognition or gratitude. The downfall of Colt and his family name was a good enough reward for me.

  Flagstones made up the sidewalk, and green cast-iron lampposts perched on corners next to blue metal trash cans embellished with Keep Cartleigh Clean in big white font. Cars parked for free in front of various establishments. Capital was still invested here for some reason, and it showed based on the clothing boutiques and cosmopolitan restaurants and bars catering to a type of patron where money wasn’t an issue. The optics were blunt and noticeable. It would be very appealing to those who only saw the surface and not what lay beneath.

  A sweet smell brushed my face, and my stomach responded with a gurgle of hunger. For some reason, the scent of cinnamon wafting in the air made me want something sugary to take the edge off. I stopped in front of the Sweet Sharpe Café. There was a coffee mug and muffin decal in the front window the name of the café curved on top. I had gone to school with the Sharpes. The family had four daughters, each a year apart. Did one, or perhaps all, own the café? It wouldn’t be surprising since their mother managed the bakery section at one of the local supermarkets.

  Curious, I entered the café. A definite tourist trap, cozy with plush couches and chairs. Cutesy knickknacks to purchase lined the shelves. The interior was inviting, but what made you want to stay were the welcoming aromas and eye-catching baked goods. There also appeared to be an outside courtyard of some sort past the bathrooms.

  I was studying the menu above my head while waiting for my turn when the animated voice of a woman greeted me. As I glanced at her and went to give my order, she clapped.

  “Oh my saints, it’s Mercy Pryce!”

  For a woman who had an extra thirty pounds on her, she was fast on her feet. She whipped around the counter, and, without permission, hugged me. I flattened my hands on my legs to stop from jabbing my nails in her fleshy arms to release me.

  The woman let me go and shifted back, allowing me to see her face. It was Ruby, the youngest of the Sharpe sisters. Other than a few wrinkles around her face and the additional weight, she hadn’t changed too much. Even her shoulder-length curly black hair was the same.

  “Ruby?” I played dumb, which she seemed to like from the way her smile expanded, showing dimples on each side.

  “I guess I should have told you it was me before I hugged you.” She folded her hands in front of her stomach, making me stare at her burgundy café T-shirt and the chest I had been envious of when I was fourteen. “I didn’t mean to attack you like I did.”

  She had always been friendly and was one of the kindest girls in high school. Even Cartleigh’s privileged children liked her, as if she were an adorable puppy who welcomed the pats on her head from as many people as possible.

  “It’s good to see you after so many years. But how did you recognize me?” I swept my hands over the crown of my head and tugged on my braid.

  “I have a thing for faces. The way the right side of your mouth lifts more than your left when you’re concentrating did it for me.” She tapped the side of her mouth, almost making me want to do the same. “Although the different hair color and your slammin’ body almost threw me off.”

  Slammin’ body? Slang sounded weird coming from her. For some reason, she used a Southern twang instead of the drawn-out extra syllables enunciation I had been inundated with since returning home.

  “You never left Cartleigh, or did you return like me?” I inspected her closely, not seeing a woman who may have traveled the world but a typical townie whose idea of adventure was a Broadway show in Manhattan. Her almost hunched way of standing and her high-waisted jeans, unisex café T-shirt, and white tennis shoes added to my theory. But then again, I might be judgmental. She’d probably been up before the crack of dawn, baking or whatever she did here.

  “The only time I left Cartleigh was for college. I returned after my dad got sick and then decided to open the café with my older sister.” She moved to a table near the back, and I joined her and sat facing the front door. I never kept my back to any door.

  If she found my sudden move odd, she kept it to herself and sat across from me. I wasn’t really in the mood for chitchat, but then I spotted a political poster calling for action, dated two years ago. This changed my interaction with Ruby, who might give me ammunition. If I remembered correctly, she loved to gossip.

  “Are you married and have kids?” If anyone was a spokesperson for marriage and children, it was her. I could have shocked her by asking if she was gay, which she may find insulting, not that I found it to be a big deal. For some reason, Europeans didn’t mind the question like Americans.

  “I have a boyfriend. He’s a mechanic for an auto shop in the next town over.” She lifted her shoulders. “We’ve been together for three years. How about you?”

  “I’ve had some relationships but nothing too serious. I’m too dedicated to my work.” I purposely remained vague. She could assume what she wanted. Maybe she would find the mystery appealing, wishing she had my life instead of being stuck in a mundane one.

  “What type of work do you do? Did it bring you back to Cartleigh, or are you here to finally sell your grandparents’ house? You’ll probably get a nice amount since the lakeshore is prime real estate.” She rushed through her questions without taking a breath. It was impressive how she didn’t inhale or huff after asking. She must have had a lot of practice. It should have annoyed me, but her authenticity made me want to answer. Then she would be open to answering my questions.

  “I’m one of the legal consultants for Alzmeya to handle the contract negotiations with the town. I’m here until the end of the year.” I lifted the bottom of my braid and curled it around a finger to give me something to do. I usually sat still, but the way Ruby vibrated with energy made me copy her, to make her feel comfortable in my company.

  “That’s fabulous! Your grandmother Gertrude would be so proud.” She moved her hand on the table for me to take.

  I swallowed a groan and gave her my hand. The last time someone held my hand was Yakim, and it was something we did sparingly unless we were in bed.

  “You’re staying at the house, then?” She blinked three times, reflecting her nervousness at asking.

  “Yes. I feel.” Safe. “Content there. I would like to reconnect with my roots and the people I once knew.” I indicated Colt’s reelection poster. “You’re not the only one who remained in Cartleigh. Colton Hahn is a two-term mayor?”

  She squeezed my hand. “He’s the youngest m
ayor Cartleigh has ever had. He was reelected in a landslide. Unfortunately, he has bigger plans after his second term ends. There’s rumors he might run for senate and take his uncle’s seat if the senator retires in two years.”

  I wasn’t surprised by the information. Colt would try his best to ascend to greatness. With his uncle Samuel in his corner, he would have a good shot at becoming a senator then perhaps president. But it wouldn’t happen. I would stop him in his tracks.

  “What’s with the smile?” She sent me one back and tapped my hand. “I feel the same when I think of Colt. He’s single, you know?” She winced. “Sorry.”

  “What are you apologizing for?” She wouldn’t have any idea of my secret relationship with him.

  “I’m not sure how much you know about him, but he lost his fiancée six years ago in a horrible car accident, right before he was elected to his first term as mayor.” Her eyes widened almost comically. “She was Marina Stein. You were tight growing up.”

  We were very “tight,” or so I had thought. Except, I didn’t tell her about my secret relationship with Colt, my rape and the aftermath, until she told me about her engagement. The way I reacted to her on the phone would haunt me to my grave. It was the last time we spoke. The next day she was dead.

  “I heard about them. We drifted apart after high school but kept in touch by phone and emails.” After college, I saw her a total of five times. I had tried to see her more often, but she was off and running to one thing or another. She loved the social aspect, the partying and mingling with important people who could help her career. The last time we saw one another, she tried to seduce Yakim. After her failed attempt, I punished her by refusing to see her. The sad thing was, she didn’t care. I wouldn’t know the truth until our final phone call when she told me what she really thought of me.