Page 4 of Hemlock

An eerie, ominous feeling washes over me as I pull out a pub chair in the far back corner of the bar, hating that it could be some sort of premonition about what that woman will mean to me. I've been very diligent about not hurting women. Even on my darkest days, it's never been something I’ve struggled with.

I watch her as she works, her smile wide for every person she speaks with. It was nothing special for me. She's working. It's that simple.

I can't shove away the idea that she could very easily end up at the tip of my blade because of her involvement with this place.

The glances my way never stop, but even as the night drags on, no one else steps out from the back. Once the older lady walked away, replaced by the smiling one, I never saw her again.

It's very possible that Tommy doesn't get involved in the day-to-day activities of this place. He could be as innocent as his lack of criminal history makes others believe. It's up to me to determine why this place was listed with others for Nathan Adair.

I leave the bar before the last two people do. I don't want to be here with only me and the smiling woman.

I sit in the shadows until everyone else gets into their cars and drive home for the night, leaving without waiting for her to exit the building.

Chapter 2

Zara

I don't know why I reach for the rearview mirror, turning it so I can see my reflection. All it does is make me realize I can already smell the inside of the bar on my clothes, despite them being fresh out of the wash. It seems as if the place is ingrained into my very being somehow.

Pushing a tendril of hair behind my ear, I stare at what little I can see of my face.

I told myself that I'd do better, that I'd make a concerted effort to start over and have a real life, but words aren't actions.

I should know. I listened to words for years. I believed what people told me.

I believed Billy when he said he had to work late at the garage. I believed him when he said perfume rubbed off on his clothes from driving a car around the block during an inspection.

I believed until I no longer cared what he was up to. I figured it was another woman, and since he wasn't coming to me for sex, I stopped caring altogether. It's not exactly how anyone would anticipate their marriage to lead them, when they said vows with such stars in their eyes the second they were legally old enough to go down to the courthouse and get a marriage license. The hearts, rainbows, flowers, and stars in our eyes faded quickly once we realized that being adults wasn't all it was cut out to be.

The constant fight to keep the lights on became the focus, both of us working as much as we could to be successful in life. Although, by the time everything blew up in my face, we were practically living as roommates and leading different lives.

We were ten years into our marriage when I was left wishing it was only another woman. There were affairs. The numerous women who showed up on my doorstep looking for him after he was arrested for selling drugs proved that.

I vowed after filing for divorce and having it granted within a month and a half of his arrest that I'd live a better life. I had no idea what he was involved in, but you couldn't tell the folks in our hometown that after his face became front-page news of the little gazette they printed back in Kentucky. The fact that I was never arrested or even interviewed by local authorities wasn't proof enough to keep them from openly tagging me in social media posts, looking for gossip.

When I left that place, I knew I'd never be able to show my face there again, but it was okay. Tommy, Billy’s estranged older brother, offered me refuge, a place to work where no one knew of Billy and the shame he brought on himself.

As I climb out of my car, facing yet another day working as a bartender in this tiny bar, I draw the same conclusion that I did before I ever accepted Tommy's offer. There's a very real chance that Tommy was also involved in dealing drugs, and after the whispered conversation he was having last week in the back room, I believe that is more possible now than ever.

I sigh as I look up at the simple neon sign. The Lost Kitten. What a name for a damn bar.

If I had any other options, I wouldn't be here, but it is what it is. I know it's temporary. I'll work here long enough to save up some cash so I can get a little further from my past than a couple hundred miles. I hear Montana is beautiful, and the population in some places is so sparse that people keep to themselves. After the last couple of months, solitude is exactly what I'm looking for.

The sight of the motorcycle parked on the far side of the parking lot sends a little thrill up my spine, and I should know better. Getting involved with the man who was considered a bad boy back home is exactly what had me working in the mountains at a bar owned by my ex-brother-in-law. Not that all men who ride motorcycles are bad guys or live a dangerous life other than risking the chance of sudden death every time they crank one of those things. The Lost Kitten gets its fair share of locals, but strangers are spread a little further between visits around here.

It makes me think of the surly guy from two nights ago. I wouldn't doubt that he's trouble with a capital T, but a man who comes in mid-shift on a Thursday is unlikely to still be around on Saturday.

I shove that same damn piece of stray hair back behind my ear, wishing I hadn't done the typical thing after signing my divorce papers. I never should've cut my hair because it's been nothing but a hassle since I did it.

I put a wide smile on my face, the one I use to hide the fact that my life is a complete mess, before tugging open the heavy door.

I nod at the couple sitting in the corner, at the exact location where the surly guy was sitting the other night, noting that we may have trouble out of them since Roger is drinking whiskey instead of smiling over a beer with his wife. He and Norma are both alcoholics who love to settle their marital dissatisfaction for all the damn town to see.

My smile widens when I approach the far end of the bar, seeing Edith scurry around. The woman has to be in her late seventies. Although she's always utterly exhausted at the end of every shift she works, she still shows up to open the next day. I'd rather someone shoot me in the head than have to work that late in my life, but then again, maybe this is what keeps her going.

"Been busy?" I ask, honest cheerfulness in my tone.

Edith is a lovely woman. Well, I find her funny, but I don't think her grumpy demeanor is meant to be taken that way.

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