Page 173 of Every Silent Lie

“I work until nine and then I go home to my family.” He leans over the bar. “Where is the man?”

“Dirty martini, please.”

He considers me for a moment, eyes narrowed, before he pushes off the bar with a sigh he wants me to hear and gets me my drink. “Have you called him?”

I look up through my lashes. “No.” I don’t have a phone to call him. I either left it at Dec’s in my haste to leave, or I lost it between his place and mine. “Where’s my drink?”

He doesn’t answer, just shakes his head as he tips the ingredients into the shaker.

It occurs to me as I watch the liquid pour from the bottle that I’ve not been to the toilet all day, and my bladder is quickly yelling at me to relieve it. “I’ll be back.” I leave Julio smacking the lid on the shaker and head to the bathroom. I use the toilet, wash my hands, dry them, and I manage to do it all while avoiding the mirrors at every turn. When I get back, my drink is set on the bar.

Something next to it.

I jolt to a stop.

My heart begins to thrum in my chest, quickly working its way up to a full-blown clatter. I don’t want to approach, and yet my feet slowly carry me to the bar, the small object set next to my martini becoming clearer.

A snow globe.

A white feather, encased in ice, floating in the center.

I look around the bar, noting I’m alone, until Julio comes through the staff door. “Did you put that there?” I ask, pointing at it with a limp finger. He shakes his head but doesn’t look surprised to see it. “Then who?—”

“But I did put this here.” Julio sets something else on the bar. A small flip calendar, the kind someone would have on their desk, maybe twenty years ago. He fiddles with it for a second, turning month after month.

Until he arrives at December.

He disappears back through the staff door, leaving me alone in the bar with my drink, the snow globe, and the small desk calendar. My chest pumps with the force of my breathing as I blindly lower my arse to the stool, my eyes lasers on the name of the month. This month. The worst month of my life.

I don’t want to flip the page to December 1st.

I do want to flip the page.

Visions of the calendar on Dec’s fridge invade my mind, all the memories noted of him and Albi, one for each day. To think he’s made notes of each day he’s known me, too, scares me to death. I clasp my hands together to try and stop them shaking, a conflicting tug of war in my heart repeatedly pulling me from hopeful to cautious. I pick up my drink and take a healthy glug. Then I brave reaching for the calendar and turn the first page, holding my breath as I do.

* * *

December 1st

Only my boy has ever made my heart twinge. Today, you did. I’ve never seen such a beautifully dull diamond.

December 2nd

I nearly went back to the bar today just to see if you were there. There’s something about you. I need to know what.

I inhale, the words blurring through my welling eyes. I let them fall, needing to clear them so I can read on.

December 3rd

I couldn’t resist going to the bar today. You weren’t there.

* * *

December 4th

You smell like martinis and regrets. And for my sins, I want to know what that tastes like.

December 5th