Page 24 of Nothing Ever Happens Here

“Baby, no!”

10

MACK

At 4:00 a.m. I trudge into the bakery to begin making the cinnamon roll dough and get the coffee started. I haven’t slept and my mind is still reeling, but I go through my morning ritual: start the fire in the fireplace, turn on the lamps on the end tables, plug in the fairy lights, then once I quickly get the first batch of dough proofing and a few muffin batches in the oven, I pour myself a cup of coffee and sit by the fire for a little while, usually to relax before the busy day ahead. Today, just to pull my shit together so I can function even a little bit.

I almost told Shelby yesterday about Leo—the account, its activity—but then she was telling me about someone trying to kill the residents or her, and the note from Otis, and I just couldn’t. Deep down I know she thinks Leo is behind this. I just can’t believe that. I’m not ready to let myself believe that until every other possibility is exhausted.

The bank was less than helpful. Of course they wouldn’t give me any information, even though I had all the account and routing information. My name is not Leonard, and they don’t give out information without a secret PIN, so what I can tell from the online information is that money is being transferred to a prepaid debit card so it’s not traceable. There is no withdrawal location, no ATM, no point-of-sale data. Just another smart move by Leo to hide the money wedidhave left…which he hid in a secret account that he can pull from anonymously and I can’t access. I hate him.

I think of Rowan and her college money, and the stability of our house, and her future… I wonder if I should keep all this from her forever or tell her one day who he really was, and it makes me sick, and I hate him even more.

This is usually the time of the day where I handle the mess of my life the best. The smell of cinnamon muffins in the ovens, coffee brewing, the dark stillness outside and the Bublé song playing softly as I sit in the moody light by the fire and have a few moments to myself. It’s been healing, opening the bakery…even though I have no choice because he left me broke. I try to put that out of my mind most mornings. But now I want to scream and tear my fucking hair out at the thought of it all—what he’s done to me.

I wish I didn’t know. I think I mean that. Because the thought that he owed some very scary person money and that got him killed had really seemed like the most logical explanation…until now. Now I have no idea what the hell that absolute son of a bitch has done. One day I mourn for him and what might have happened because he got himself too deep into some dark shit and I forgive him, and the next, I find out he’s alive and still stealing from people and hiding.

The tap on the locked front door startles me, and I jump to my feet. I see through the glass that it’s Billy Curran, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them as he visibly shivers in his inappropriately light coat.What in the world? I go and unlock the door to let him in.

“Hi,” he says. “I know you don’t open until five, but I saw the lights on…”

“’Course, come on in,” I say, and he follows me to the counter where I pour him a cup of coffee. “Are you just closing up?” I ask.

“Yeah. We’re in different worlds, you and I. Not sure if I’m cut out for the 3:00 a.m. bar closing anymore. Last time I did it I didn’t have back pain…or need readers to see the checks.” He follows me back to the couch and sits in the leather chair nearest the fire, and it’s nice, I realize. Having him here. He has a calming presence, and even though I’ve known him since middle school, I don’t really know him at all, but the familiarity is still so comforting.

“Hmmm” is all I reply, smiling at his remark.

“It’s so much more peaceful on this side of the street,” he says, looking around at the serene ambience.Yeah, sure, I think.

“I had a crazy thought that I know is totally out of the blue,” he says, a little shyly.

“Okay?” I say, glancing toward the kitchen when I hear my oven timer go off.

“Do you wanna maybe get dinner with me later?”

“Dinner?”

“Yes?”

“Tonight?” I add, because I don’t know what else to say.

“Uh. I thought maybe, yes.”

“Why?” I ask, stupidly.

“Well…” he stutters and I know I’ve made him uncomfortable, but I’m just so taken aback by the invitation.

“I should make it up to you—my dad giving you a heart attack, the fact that he had this footage all this time. Maybe just a mental break from all that’s been going on.”

“Oh. A mental break for you?” I say, not knowing why I am unable to just face what he’s asking.

“Well, you’re the one who came to the bar in slippers, so I was thinking you,” he says, and I burst out laughing, to my surprise.

“Right,” I say.

“I mean, God, no pressure. I just thought it might be nice to catch up. We were friends once, and I guess—I heard you’ve been through a lot…not that you have to talk about any of it,” he says. I think about this for a moment.

“Everyone in town would talk,” I say, and although that seems petty, they would…and I can’t deal with anything else right now.

---