Every muscle in my body froze at the implication of her words. Was she trying to tell me something? She and Jonathan rarely fought. Mom had probably meant they were having problems about who should do the dishes or something equally innocent. That's all. Over the years, Jonathan had proven himself to be a good guy. Even though I'd accused him for so many years of just pretending. I'd expected him to one day morph into a beast, but he never had. Gradually, my body relaxed.
"Now, Gloria. Naomi doesn't need to know our problems." Static filled the line as my stepdad claimed the phone. "Naomi, Jonathan here. Marriage is a wonderful thing. You know I don't believe in divorce and always discourage my patients from taking that route."
Yes, I'd heard his thoughts on the matter a thousand times over the last few months. He thought I should give Richard the Bastard yet another chance. Maybe I should have told him everything Richard had done to me. Maybe I should have explained just how deeply I'd been hurt. But I hadn't. Yes, I'd given him and my mom a glimpse, but never the harshest of the reality. I hadn't wanted the people I most respected to know how stupid I'd been. How utterly foolish.
"Are you considering going back to Richard?" he asked.
"My answer is the same as the last time you asked me. Hell, no."
"Oh," he said, disappointment loud and clear in his tone.
My hand clenched on the phone and a spark of fury sprang to life. "You're so eager for me to take him back, but you didn't live with him." Perhaps I should forget my pride for a moment and give Jonathan more than a glimpse. "You didn't have to endure total humiliation at his hands. What if I told you Richard had tried to kill me during our marriage?" My tone was hard, unbending, and for the first time in my life, I actually felt like a true Tigress.
"I'd-I'd say you had every right to leave him," Jonathan blustered. "But he didn't. Richard is not a violent man."
"He didn't try to kill me physically, no. He simply tried to kill my emotions. My self-esteem. He cheated on me, Jonathan. Over and over again. He left me broke. He made me feel worthless. Isn't that just as bad?"
Jonathan sputtered. "I'm-I'm sorry, Naomi. I didn't know."
My anger drained away. This man really did love me. He'd raised me from nine on and he'd always treated me like a daughter. He did want what was best for me.
Another burst of static erupted as my mom grabbed the phone. "Naomi, dear. I heard what you said. You did the right thing leaving Richard. I hope he rots in hell."
"Thank you, Mom. That means a lot to me."
"Have you found a new man, then? Is that the reason for this call?"
"No," I lied, and that single word settled like lead in my stomach. Royce was a new man, a new temptation. A new everything.
"I can always tell when you're lying. Your voice gets higher. Meet me at Holy Grounds tomorrow. Eight a.m." She sounded like a drill sergeant, expecting absolute compliance with her orders. "We need some mother-daughter time."
"I will." I didn't even think about refusing. Besides, I wanted to see her. I loved my mom and didn't spend enough time with her. "G'night, Mom."
"Night, dear."
I hung up the phone and flopped onto my bed. I blinked up at the ceiling. All right. Well. Now my long, sleepless night could officially begin.
Chapter Nine
A Tigress must always be on her guard against a Tiger. These male animals sense fear, smell it, and will try to use it against you to get what they want from you.
The next morning, a little before eight, I found myself sitting alone at the coffee shop, waiting for my mom. I'd left that damn beeping BlueJay at home. I was this close to flushing it down the toilet. "Stupid BJ," I muttered. That's the name it really deserved.
Vanilla and cinnamon flavored the air, blending with the scent of fresh baked breads. I swirled a spoon in my mocha latte and watched as people sauntered past my table.
I didn't want to be here. Last night I'd wanted to see my mom. Today I didn't. God knows I didn't want to answer questions about my love life, didn't want to discuss the merits of love and marriage. And that's why she'd called this meeting, I knew it was.
Why in the world had I opened that topic for discussion?
Was I an idiot?
Wait, maybe I shouldn't answer that.
Mom had called me early this morning to make sure I remembered our meeting. She'd done it on purpose, making sure I was too groggy to think up a good excuse to avoid her.
Smart woman, my mom.
Finally, she arrived, only fifteen minutes late. Better than usual. My mom had no concept of time, really. Throughout my childhood, she'd made me late for everything. Birthday parties, cheerleading camp, hell, even school. I'd always gotten lukewarm, leftover food at the parties, missed exciting games and never learned the right cheers. Come to think of it, maybe that was when my obsession with punctuality had started.
"Why are you wearing that color?" was the first thing she said, taking the seat across from me. She was an attractive woman in her early fifties. Short brown hair, eyes that were a mix of brown and gray-and filled with a kind of sadness and vulnerability I hadn't seen in a long time. Her slight build and petite height gave her a damsel-in-distress vibe.
"Are you all right?" I asked, concern growing.
She waved away my words and the action wafted a sweet fragrance of lilies in my direction. Lily was her favorite scent. Every time I'd cried over a boy, she'd wrapped her arms around me comfortingly and that smell had surrounded me.
"You should be wearing green," she said. "To match your eyes."
"In case you never noticed, my eyes are gray."
"Never mind that," she said, once again waving my words away. "That brown washes out your skin tone."
Why was she so concerned about my clothing choices? That was completely unlike her. "I like to look washed out," I said dryly. "Otherwise people are intimidated by my glorious beauty."
Her lips pressed together to prevent a smile. "Do you sass everyone this way, or just me? Never mind. I'm just glad you're doing it. I was afraid Richard had killed your spirit. Anyway, we were talking about your clothes and the fact that you should be wearing something green."
My eyes widened as it suddenly hit me. I almost groaned. She knew about Royce. That was the only explanation for this bizarre behavior.
She confirmed my suspicions with her next words. "Why didn't you tell me you're working with Royce Powell?"
Because I didn't want to, I silently answered. To her, I said, "How did you know about my job with Mr. Powell?"
"Mr. Powell, is it?" She tapped her pink oval fingernail against the table surface. "That's not what the Tattler says you call him."
I jolted to a perfectly aligned position any chiropractor would have applauded. "The Tattler has an article about me and Royce?"
"That's why I'm late. I saw the tabloid at a newsstand and almost died." Her pretty face scrunched with distaste. She pulled the tabloid from her purse and slid it across the table. The front page glared up at me.
It was a picture of me walking out of my apartment building. I looked… bad. Really bad. My face was all puckered up like I'd just sucked down two dozen lemons without a breath in between. My hair was anchored back in my usual twist, except my shadow made the twist look eight times larger, reminding me of Marge Simpson.
The caption read Has Royce Powell Been Brainwashed by Alien Female?
Mortification washed through me and I wanted to slink down in my chair. My cheeks reddened. My only hope was that I looked so hideous in the picture that no one would recognize me in person.