4

There is nothing much left to do, but cry and get over it, said April. As she backed out of the garage, she thought about where she might go. Check into a motel? Crash at Marisa or Tracey’s place? Drive all the way upstate to her mom’s house?

She decided to figure it out on the way. She glanced down at the dashboard—the gas was running dangerously low. Before she went anywhere, she’d have to fill up.

As she pulled into the gas station, she saw paper printouts stuck to the pumps, flapping in the breeze. SORRY CASH ONLY, said the sign. Below the bold writing was an emoticon of a sad face. She regarded the idealized expression for a moment, thinking heavy thoughts about how such a complex emotion had been dwindled down to just a circle, two dots and a downward curved semi-circle, when she finally realized she might actually have cash on her given she had drawn a bunch the night before in preparation for a wild ladies night and ended up spending very little of it after all.

Her hand slipped into her purse to reach for her wallet and was met with only a couple coins, some make-up and tissue papers; nothing nearly as substantial as a purse. Then came that gut-sinking realization. Where had she left it? There was no way she was going back to the house to get it with Brian still there. Think, April, think, she told herself.

No, it couldn’t be at the house, she had put her purse down on the kitchen counter, and not taken her wallet out. Her purse was clasped shut so there was little chance it had fallen out. Where then? Tracey’s place? No, couldn’t be. Marisa had covered the taxi ride home from the Club Veil, so she hadn’t left it in the cab. The last time she had seen it was at the club. She’d probably been so flustered that she’d left it on the table. Hopefully someone had been honest enough to turn it in at the bar. The club wasn’t far from where she was, just a couple blocks. She could walk just in case her tank ran out on the way back.

It just better be there, she thought. Or else I’m moneyless, carless and practically homeless. To Club Veil then. It’s worth a shot.

***

The club looked completely different during the day. Without the night lights of the city and the strobing neon lighting up its exterior, the façade could have been that of any nondescript restaurant that she would have walked past without noticing. The rope barriers had been taken away and no bouncers guarded the door. Now arriving, she realized that she had been foolish in expecting it to be open. The doors would probably remain shut for at least another ten hours and there was no way she could wait that long. She’d probably have to phone Tracey or Marisa and bum off them for the day, but she was loathe to go to them for help again after everything they had done for her already.

Steeling herself for disappointment, she tried the door. Miraculously, it opened.

Inside, with the lights on, April felt as though she were getting a glimpse behind the scenes of the full illusion. An elderly gentleman with a bushy goatee mopped the dance floor while behind the bar, a man faced away from her, counting stock. She thought she recognized his short, dusky hair, broad shoulders and confident stance. She cleared her throat and the man at the bar spun around to see her. It was Max Connor, the handsome stranger from the night before, dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt.

“Oh hey,” he said. “It’s the damsel in distress. I was wondering when you’d be back.”

She hadn’t noticed the night before because of the dim lighting of the club, but his eyes were a deep sea green.

“Please tell me that means you found my wallet,” she said.

“Well, that depends on whether you stay for a drink or not.”

“It’s nine-thirty on a Sunday morning,” said April, although she felt like she could do with one just then.

“Is it? It feels like the end of a long Monday at work to me.” Max pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, no matter, we have orange juice.”

“Yeah, that sounds good, actually,” said April.

Max poured freshly squeezed orange juice from a jug into two glasses and placed one on the bar in front of her as she took a seat on one of the stools. Then he reached under the bar and brought out her wallet.

“There you go,” he said. “I promise the money’s all still there. Although I can’t say I wasn’t tempted.” Max grinned.

“Oh thank goodness,” said April. “I thought it was gone forever.”

“I found it on the floor under your table, you must’ve dropped it when your fiancé tipped your chair. I tried to chase after you, but you must’ve already been on your way.”

April felt the intensity of his gaze working into her brain and took a sip of her orange juice.

“Everything okay?” asked Max.

“Is it that obvious?” She thought she had been holding it together pretty well until that point, but at that moment, she could feel all her suppressed emotions threatening to break through the surface.

“It’s just that you aren’t wearing your engagement ring today. I thought…”

He trailed off as a stifled sob escaped from her. Max lifted the hatch of the bar and moved to stand next to her, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. The feel of his touch only made the emotion harder to keep down and with nowhere else to hide her face, she pressed it against his chest and cried.

Once she had gained some composure, April pulled away from the comforting warmth radiating from his muscled chest. He smelled of oak barrels and musky cologne.

“I’m sorry,” said April. “I don’t normally cry on the shoulders of strangers.”

“I don’t normally get cried on,” said Max, smiling warmly. “But it looks like you needed it. You know, sometimes it’s easier to open up to a stranger. Do you want to talk about it?”

“That depends,” said April. “On whether or not I can get that drink after all.”