The thunder rolls, shaking the hangar all night long. In true Florida fashion, the storm hit unannounced on my drive home from the spot. I didn’t want to follow his instructions, but my options were zilch. I didn’t want to see him drown in a canoe. I also didn’t want to face my peers with the strings of heartbreak searing like shackles around every limb. It’s all my fault. This is what men expect, and I was too scared to go with it. He was out of his mind drunk, and if he’d been a little more himself I would have had sex with him in that tiny cramped, smelly space.
I called Shirley on the way home and she confirmed I shouldn’t have told him. Or waited until after. Even though that would have made it worse, she doesn’t understand how Tahoe operates. This desire to perfect things he has no control over. Everything was exacerbated by the fact that he was drinking with his buddies in this odd environment that I was an outsider in.
I am delicate. He is a storm. Carnage was inevitable.
When the clock finally clicks to 5 a.m. I sigh in relief. I gave myself permission to a night filled with tears and feeling sorry, but now it’s a new day and I have a shift at the diner. A master at hiding my emotions, I’m ready to put on a happy face.
I shower last night’s mistakes and regrets from my body, letting the water scorch my body to a needling red color, and dress in the familiar, soft uniform my mom tailored to fit me perfectly. As I stare at my reflection, I tie my wet hair into a bun on top of my head and debate covering the dark circles haunting my under eyes. I decide to leave them there and make great time getting to work.
Everyone stares, the news from last night already trickling around the town like a lively case of bed bugs. Who knows what these people actually think they know. A lie. The truth. It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. I’m numb to anything except what has always brought me happiness and comfort. The known entities.
I serve my usual customers at the bar, remembering their orders, filling coffee cups, and pretending better than I ever have.
“You doing okay today, Caroline May?” Bob asks. Maybe he’s too old to be in the gossip loop.
I smile wide. “Of course. It’s a beautiful day,” I reply. Then I remember how wet and gross it is outside right now from the torrential downpour last night.
The smile he returns is sad. “You working by yourself this morning?”
Raising my brows, I nod. “Giving Mama a break this morning.” And Shirley, who is probably just now waking up in someone else’s bed. After a night filled with what I couldn’t bring myself to do once.
Caleb coughs from behind me in the kitchen. I’ve kept interaction with him to the bare, professional minimum. “Ketchup with your hash browns,” I say, setting the bottle in front of his plate. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
Bob winks at me, and I head over to a few of my other tables—all men, stopping in for an early breakfast before work. One tries to engage me in conversation. He asks me about my seashell bracelet, and smiles too wide as he listens to my curt reply.
I know what hides behind that smile. The lies. The games. I cut him off, “If you need anything else just let me know.”
His false grin falls. I walk away knowing I’ll never feel the same way about a man again. As if my thoughts alone could conjure him, Tahoe walks in, the bell jingling like a death sentence. A few of his teammates follow in behind him. His piercing blue-red gaze finds me immediately. The pain is etched in every feature—the guilt plainly visible.
Regardless, my pulse quickens and my whole body electrifies. “Take any seat,” I call over to them as I head back to the kitchen. As I pass Tahoe I say, “You’re alive. Fantastic.”
I don’t look at him or wait for a response.
“I told you so,” Caleb says as he pushes a plate through the window. His cocky grin boils my blood.
“Fuck you, Caleb.” I grab the plate and spin on my heel.
Caleb doesn’t respond, but when I glance at him as I set the plate down in front of a customer, he’s wide-eye and gaping at me. Maybe he won’t mess with me anymore. I should swear more often. I might be taken more seriously.
“What are you guys drinking?” I ask, standing in front of Tahoe’s table.
His friends laugh and I’m reminded of the immature jerks I went to school with. “If drinks are funny then last night was a real roar of a time,” I deadpan. “Water for the table then?” I meet their eyes one by one. “Or did you drink enough bay water last night, too?”
Their smiles vanish. I avoid looking at Tyler for fear of feeling anything except anger and misery. Leif replies, “Coffee for the table and a plate of regret for him.” He tilts his head toward Tahoe.
“I’ll be back with your coffees and his plate of chicken shit in a minute. Anything else while I’m here?” They laugh at my joke. Well Tahoe doesn’t, but I didn’t expect him to. Then again, I’m not sure what to expect from him.
“Fuck you guys. I’m outta’ here,” Tahoe growls, standing from the table and blowing through the diner and out the front door.
Aidan looks smug. “We made him come here,” he says.
“Why?”
“He said you broke up with him last night and we didn’t believe him.”
Leif cackles. “He also didn’t think you were working this morning. You should have seen his face when he saw your bike outside.” Their booth roars with laughter. These huge, burly men with their deep baritone voices echo the small space.
I place my hands on my hips, looking around at my tables to see if anyone is trying to get my attention. I’m okay for the moment. “Listen, he broke up with me,” I say, placing a hand on my chest, over my heart. I think of Caleb’s reaction to my cursing. Swallowing down the woman I used to be—the one who got burned. I have their attention, and I take full advantage of this moment. “It seems Tyler Holiday isn’t good at everything,” I say. “He doesn’t even know how to take a woman’s virginity.”
