Page 18 of The Lies of Bryn van Doren

The walls are painted the same rich shade of purple as in the hallway. On the right side of the room is an elaborate fireplace, with an elegant mantel which appears to be hand carved. Hanging on the wall above it is an oval mirror with an ornate, golden frame. There’s a curved, lavender, velvet, tuft sofa and a glass coffee table with gold trim in front of the fireplace. There’s also a butler’s tray which holds what appears to be an abandoned tea service. On the left side of the room is a dining room table, complete with four round-back, velvet cushioned chairs. The wall behind it is embellished with an array of paintings—all in various sizes and shapes, each in its own golden frame.

“Bonjour. Do please come in. I assure you I don’t bite.”

Instantly, Khalohn’s attention is drawn to the woman standing behind the black, French writing desk situated in front of the large armoire, which takes up much of the rear wall. In her heels, she appears to stand just shy of Khalohn’s six-foot frame, her body narrow and, in Khalohn’s opinion, too small. The suggestive look in her green eyes, and the little smile which highlights her pronounced cheek bones, reminds him he’s not here for her. Furthermore, as he takes in the cut of her dress, the diamonds around her wrist, and the heavy pendant dangling from her neck, he knows one thing for sure—the bartender was wrong.

“Stefano,” calls Beatrice, her eyes still admiring Khalohn. “A round of scotch, if you don’t mind.”

“Right away, madam.”

Making his way toward one of the chairs on the opposite side of the madam’s desk, Khalohn is certain he doesn’t need five minutes in the woman’s presence to make up his mind. Five seconds, and he’s already come to the conclusion that whatever she has to offer, he won’t regret his visit.

Jessica checks thetime on her phone, stifling a sigh of resignation when she realizes she’s not going to make it. Ignoring the knot of anxiety twisting her stomach, she shoves the device into her purse and then rakes her fingers through her hair.

“Jess—” Beth starts to speak, her voice hardly louder than a wheezing breath. “You don’t—”

“Mom, I’m not going anywhere,” Jessica insists. She reaches for her mother’s hands, resting in her lap, and clasps her fingers over them. They’d waited to see a doctor for two hours. Now that her mother is finally closed into a room, she isn’t about to leave. It had taken her almost as long as they’d waited to convince Beth to even come to the Urgent Care—but Jessica knows better than to take any reckless chances.

Beth stares at her daughter, and Jessica can hear all the things her eyes are saying. She knows how helpless her mother feels; worse, she can see how weighed down she is, shouldering the belief she’s somehow a burden. Jessica squeezes her fingers reflexively, silently trying to convey there’s nowhere else in the world more important to be than exactly where she is. She doesn’t have the words to properly express that not only is Beth not a burden, she’s worth a lifetime of inconveniences. Not to mention, the interview she’s going to miss would be for nothing if Beth ends up hospitalized—or worse—from an untreated cold.

“Jessica,” Beth begins again.

This time, she’s interrupted by a soft tap on the door before it swings open. A handsome Indian doctor in green scrubs enters the room, Beth’s chart in his grasp. This time, Jessica doesn’t stifle the sigh of relief that rushes from her healthy lungs, grateful for the man as he gets straight to the point. It’s Jessica who explains her mother’s worsening symptoms, as Beth’s head cold has descended to her chest over the last several days. The man listens patiently, looking from Jessica to Beth to the chart and back at Beth before he gives her chest a listen.

Jessica isn’t aware how tense her shoulders are until the doctor returns his stethoscope to rest around his neck and tells her she was smart to bring Beth in for treatment. Her muscles relax, causing her arms to drop down her sides as he writes Beth a prescription for antibiotics and an oral steroid. Jessica doesn’t complain about having to make another trip to the pharmacy before her shift at Moby’s Dive, too content to have gotten a competent physician.

As she and Beth take their leave, she wonders how difficult it might be to convince the restaurant she was to have interviewed with that afternoon to reschedule. Beth’s extra meds aren’t something for which either of them planned. To say they could use another source of income would be a gross understatement.

It takes forty minutes and two transfers to reach the subway stop closest to their apartment, where they part ways. At Jessica’s insistence, Beth returns home while Jessica journeys another twenty minutes in the opposite direction to the pharmacy. By the time she gets her order filled and returns home, she knows she’ll be late for work. She doesn’t even bother changing her clothes before she rushes out the door. The short black skirt that clings to her thighs and the cream-colored silk blouse she tucked into it aren’t exactlydive barmaterial. In fact, chances are high she’ll ruin one of the only nice shirts she has during her shift, but there is no time to give a damn.

With her feet still tucked into a comfortable pair of walking shoes, Jessica doesn’t hesitate to make a run for the bar as soon as she steps foot off her bus. She’s not at all surprised to find Griffin waiting for her halfway down the grungy hall—his shoulder propped against the doorjamb of his office, his eyes glued to his wristwatch. He doesn’t even bother to look her way before he mutters, “You’re fired, Chapman.”

What little breath Jessica has in her lungs disappears as her feet stumble to an abrupt halt. Her jaw falls open, but no air passes through her lips as she gapes at Griffin. After a moment of silence, he tilts his head just enough to glance at her. He then pushes away from the door and heads for the bar.

The sight of his retreating figure pulls Jessica out of her daze. She gulps down a breath and then hurries after him. “Wait,” she calls, adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder. “Please, don’t—”

“Heard enough of your shit,” he hollers from over his shoulder. “You were warned. I’m done.”

“No. Griffin, you can’t—” Her strides grow longer and faster, and she manages to catch his elbow before he pushes through the swinging door to the main room. “I had an emerg—”

He spins on her, the simple movement causing her to let go of his arm. They are standing so close, he seems to tower over her, as if he’s grown a foot since the last time they stood toe-to-toe in that very hallway. Never has she felt tempted to cower under his glare, until right then. In that moment, she realizes her fragile world is resting in the palm of his hands.

She can barely breathe as she pleads, “Griffin—”

“Did I stutter?” he all but growls. “Get the fuck out of my bar. You don’t work here anymore.”

He turns once more, and her heart sinks all the way down to her feet. Stunned still, she stares at the door he passes through, leaving her shattered world in his wake. She doesn’t know how much time passes before she manages to take one step and then another, shuffling in the direction from which she came. It isn’t until she exits the building that a heavy sense of reality begins to slither through her insides. The balmy evening air, thick with the humidity wafting from the bay and the stench of the heated contents of a nearby dumpster, is enough to make the certitude of what just happened so tangible, she can feel it like a sickness churning in her belly.

Pressing her hand to her stomach, she thinks of the hours spent in the Urgent Care across town. The image of Beth sitting patiently yet miserably in wait flashes before Jessica’s eyes, and she’s convinced she can’t return home. Not now. The last thing she wants to do is bring bad news to their doorstep. No—she can’t heap more hopelessness on top of all the other setbacks she and Beth are dealing with. She can’t go home until she figures out one hell of a plan B.

She buries her fingers in her hair and inhales deeply. Blowing out a heavy sigh, she closes her eyes and then sucks in another breath. Her need for oxygen and fresh perspective is so desperate, she hardly notices the rancid smell in the air. Once she feels stable enough to walk, she heads back to the bus stop. She doesn’t know where she’s going until after she pays her fare and takes a seat at the back of the next bus. There are tears pooling behind her eyes, but Jessica ignores them as she pulls out her phone. If there’s one thing she’s sure of, it’s that she doesn’t have time to cry.

Our spot. Soon as you can.I know you’re probably working tonight. I’ll be waiting.

Jessica sends the text, resting her hands in her lap as she awaits a reply. All the while, she stares out the window, concentrating on her breaths and ignoring her rising sense of panic as the distance between her and Moby’s Dive stretches farther and farther. Even though it’s less than five minutes, Stefano’s reply seems to take forever to arrive.

That’s not ominous at all…

Jessica stares at their text thread. She wants to reply with something witty or confident, but she doesn’t have it in her to make light of her current situation. What she needs is a job—or two—and the assurance that everything’s going to be okay.

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