Page 22 of Someone to Tempt
Marla grips my wrist. “Our budget is locked in, right?”
"Of course.”
They both nod, although neither looks convinced.
As soon as George and Marla are out the door of the main office, I shut it and round on Jodi.
She wrinkles her nose. "I think our door needs to remain open so the residents of this town know they're always welcome in the mayor’s office, even ifyouchoose to keep your inner sanctum shut most of the time."
“As you well know, my door is shut because I can't concentrate when you play music.”
“I need music to work. It helps with my anxiety."
“It’s making me anxious that you seem hellbent on throwing me under every passing bus.” But I open the door again.
“It’s not my problem you overpromise and underdeliver.” She reaches for the bubble blaster. “No one is going to be fooled by a cheap plastic prop. You aren’t fun, Iris. You’re a stick in the mud who wouldn’t know fun if the definition was plastered on the side of a bus.”
“Why do you hate me?” I force my voice to remain calm. “I didn’t do anything to?—”
“Your mom did plenty.” Her voice is low and spiteful.
“Along withyourfather,” I can’t help but point out. “I was a kid.”
“Iwas a kid,” she counters, pointing to her own chest. “Youwere in high school.”
“Don’t you think I would have stopped her if I could? I’m just as embarrassed by their affair as you.”
“It did more than embarrass my family.” She comes around her desk until we’re toe to toe. “The scandal ripped us apart, ruined my dad’s career and broke my mom’s heart. It destroyed her standing in this community while you and your mom got to leave town.”
A whirlwind of emotions—shock, guilt, and defensiveness—tangle together inside me, making my knees go weak.
“I didn’t want to leave.” I say the words like they should matter, when I know they won’t. I might not have caused the scandal that destroyed her family, but I’m tethered to it, nonetheless.
Her brows draw together as she studies me, and I feel a deep empathy for the woman standing before me—a person whose family was shattered by choices neither of us asked for.
“Fine, the scandal wasn’t your fault. And I guess I shouldn’t punish you for your mom being a slut.”
“That’s not exactly how I’d describe her,” I say but don’t argue too much.
I haven’t seen my mom in five years. We talk twice a year, on Christmas and on her birthday—never mine. She’s still dating, and I’ve stopped asking if her boyfriends are married or not. I don’t want to know. It’s way easier that way.
“Why did you come back now?” Her tone is curious not angry, which surprises me after all the animosity she’s displayed.
I shrug. “Even though we only lived here a few months, it felt like home.”
“This isn’t your home.”
Ouch. Still spoken gently, but that stings.
“And we all know you’ll be leaving again soon enough.”
I think about Sadie’s comment at our book club meeting. About me putting Skylark in my rearview mirror.
“What if I don’t want to leave? What if I told you things are changing? I’m changing.”
Am I? Am I capable of the kind of change I want in my life?
Part of me wants to believe it. I've never been a big fan of the person my childhood turned me into.
