Page 90 of Filthy Little Lies

“He sent another text last week, but same thing. Just the code.”

When he’d started disappearing on us for weeks and months at a time, we’d made an agreement that he at least send us proof of life from time to time. So whenever he was safe enough to send a message but not in the mood to talk about his situation, he’d send two words: not dead.

I’m in the middle of my break at the smaller diner where I’ve taken a part-time waitressing job when the door to the break room opens, and Marie pops her head in. “Sorry, I know you have another twenty minutes, but they just sat a guy at your table who insists you wait on him.”

“Okay, I’ll be out in a second. Can you just fill his coffee for me?”

“Sure. No problem.” She disappears again.

“You’ve been working there three weeks, and already you have a regular customer?” Cassie waggles her eyebrows.

“It’s probably Mr. Willis. He’s sweet, and about eighty-five years old. His wife died last year; he likes to talk.” I shrug, getting up from the table.

“So, what I’m hearing is he’s available and probably has a healthy retirement.”

“I’m not conning him out of his money, Cassie.” I frown at the screen. “I’m tired of all that. Besides, he’s a good guy.”

“Okay, so don’t pull a con. Marry him.” She grins like she’s the funniest woman on the planet.

“You really are crazy.” I roll my eyes. “I’ll figure it all out. Between the two part-time jobs, I’m making decent enough money. I should be able to find a full-time job in the next few months.”

“Before your belly blows up, you mean?” She sighs. “You really should come here.”

“He’ll be looking there. You said yourself, you think he still has someone watching your place. Maybe in a few months, when I’m sure he’s given up.”

“I’m telling you, Sav, that man isn’t going to give up. He’s not a man looking for revenge.”

“Oh?” I tie my apron back around my waist. “What’s he looking for then?”

“Love. He loves you, Sav. And you love him, even though you won’t admit it to yourself or anyone else. You do.”

I stare at the screen, dumbfounded.

“He threw me away.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“I do. He made me pack my things and threw me away.” I’ve been through the act enough times to know what it means. It means I’ve overstayed my welcome. I’m not wanted.

“You’re afraid he’ll find you, but you’re not afraid he’ll hurt you.”

I pull my hair into a ponytail. “What are you getting at?”

“I’m just stating a fact. You’re not running for your life. You’re trying to protect your heart.”

I pick up my phone. “Okay, that’s enough. I’m going to work.”

“Fine. Ignore my sage advice; see how that goes.”

I shake my head. “Don’t you have work today, too?”

She shrugs. “Yeah, I should go. Talk soon.”

I throw away the last few bites of my sandwich and wash my hands before getting back to my shift.

It was a stroke of luck finding this job. The diner is always busy, is open twenty-four hours a day, and they’re willing to work around the bookshop’s hours.

But I’ll need something with a set schedule if I’m going to be able to work with a baby. I try not to think too much about it because it sends me down a full spiral of what-ifs. What if I can’t make rent? What if the baby gets sick? What if the baby doesn’t love me?