Authors: M.J. Lovestone
A Cross to Bear
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
Published by Kindle Press, Seattle, 2016
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This book is dedicated to my sister Meagan.
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Chapter 1
Gabriella Cross stared at the blinking bar on her laptop and bit her thumbnail in thought. It was terrible.
Who would want to read this crap?
She glanced at her wineglass. It was empty. With a sigh, she got up from the desk and went to the kitchen to pour herself another drink.
She returned to the computer and put on some calming music. It only annoyed her. She turned it off and clicked out of Gabby Gabby—her unpublished blog.
Derek was supposed to be done at the prison at nine, but he had texted that he was working overtime—he even added a smiley face and mentioned going to the mall to buy something nice at Victoria’s Secret.
Yay, what a guy.
He was full of shit; she just knew it. She opened up the tab to a phone-tracking website and typed in her info. When the screen came up, she snapped the laptop shut, not wanting to know. If the blip on the screen was showing over the area of the prison, she would feel like shit. If it wasn’t, she would feel worse.
He had said it was over with Jolene, but then again, he had said a lot of things. And Gabby had learned that she couldn’t tell when he was lying. She had learned that the hard way.
Gabby finally gave in. She opened her laptop and looked at the GPS tracker. It took her a minute to recognize what she was seeing. She and Derek lived a half hour south of Chicago in what the ’burbians called the boonies. The prison Derek worked at was a half hour west of their town. But the blip on the radar put him about fifteen minutes east in a small town called Coster.
“That son of a bitch!” Gabby screamed.
Her cat gave her a wary glance and fled the scene.
“Sorry, Mitzy. Mitzy!”
Great, now I’m a crazy cat lady.
She slammed the laptop shut. Then she opened it and slammed it shut again. With a cry of rage, she ripped it free of the charger and cocked it back to smash it on the desk—then she remembered it wasn’t paid off yet. Nothing was.
With a disgusted whimper that turned into a full-blown cry, she weakly plopped the laptop on the desk and melted to the floor, fully miserable. Derek was out there right now, sticking his dick into someone who got to see his charming side.
“Damned whores!” she screamed.
“Woo-hoo!” someone yelled from the street.
Gabby realized that she still had the window open. She pulled herself off the floor and closed it, peeking out and spying the passing bar hoppers. It was early yet, but already they had begun to gather at the local watering hole, which, unfortunately, was only a block away from her house.
Ten o’clock on a Saturday night and what was she doing? Writing a stupid blog no one would ever read and complaining about her life instead of living it. Gabby had a mind to get dressed and go out on the town. The thought nearly blossomed into action, but then she realized that it would be the talk of the town if she went out without Derek. He had made it quite clear that he didn’t trust her. No wonder. Cheaters were always the most suspicious.
Maybe she should just do it. Go out and find some bearded hunk and let him screw her brains out. She might have done just that if it hadn’t been
that
time of the month; besides, she was thoroughly uninterested in any of the guys that haunted Charlie’s.
Instead, she downed her wine and decided it was too weak. If she was going to sulk properly, she needed some vodka and Alanis Morissette’s wailing voice of womanly scorn.
It was going to be a long night.
The next morning, Gabby awoke from a dream in which she was trying to break into a car with an out-of-control alarm beeping maddeningly. She woke angrily, and finding the culprit to be her cell phone, she swiped off the alarm with a stream of colorful curses.
Finally, peace. She pulled a pillow from Derek’s side of the bed and stuffed her face in it, wondering if she could suffocate herself—it would be better than going to work. Her head throbbed, and her mouth tasted like the bathroom floor of a bar.
When the alarm went off again, she leaped off the bed like a madwoman, throttled the cell until it stopped making noise, and then threw it down on the bed.
She would have liked to take a long, hot shower or better yet a bath. Anything but go back to work. Gabby considered just calling in and quitting. She would love nothing more. Just quit her job, divorce Derek, and move in with her sister. Maggy would like that. She hated Derek and had for years told Gabby to leave him. But there would be a cost to limping to her sister’s house and licking her wounds. Maggy would play the I-told-you-so card and take on the infuriating mother role she had always smothered Gabby with.
No, Gabby was going to have to suck it up and put on her big-girl panties—ones not from Victoria’s Secret.
She took a quick shower, sobbing the entire time. Images of Derek and a multitude of different women flashed through her mind in a twisted picture show of depravity. He had probably showered at work and busted out his best cologne for the bitch.
Gabby got out and wiped the mirror, hating her reflection. What was wrong with her? Did Derek miss the old her as much as she missed the old him? Had she let herself go. . . at only twenty-five?
She popped four Aleve and put her curly red mess of hair up in a towel. In the bedroom, she stared at herself in the mirror. She had gained twenty pounds in the last five years. She wasn’t exactly fat, but she had what some people called a muffin top. Still, she hated the woman she saw in the reflection. Sure, she was pretty enough, but what did that matter? Men weren’t really the pickiest creatures. What they liked more than anything was a fun woman. Her sister had told her that many times. Gabby realized that she wasn’t fun at all. She was absorbed in her shitty writing career that was getting her nowhere, and she had become so cheap due to her father’s needs that she considered Burger King fine dining.
Derek could’ve helped, of course, but he liked to turn feminism around on her. He said that his money was
his
money, and her money was
hers
. Which apparently meant that he didn’t spend any on her either. His stupid, fat rims on his stupid, fat truck cost $600 apiece, and here she was cutting coupons to save fifty cents on butter.
All out of tears, she sat on the edge of the bed, wondering what had happened to her life.
She checked the time on her phone and peeked at her text messages. There was nothing from Derek, but Maggy had sent her a pic of an angry baby with the meme “
Bitch
, did I say I was done with those boobies?” Another message from her friend Darb from work had a picture of a box of doughnuts he had just picked up.
“Shit!” She remembered it was her turn to bring the coffee.
She sighed. She had to be there at seven. It was already six. The drive into the city would take a half hour or more, and a stop at the coffee shop would make her late. She should have been frantic. She should have been peeling out of the place already, but she found that she just didn’t care.
Gabby dialed the number to the office, hoping that she would get the voice mail. She really didn’t want to talk to her boss
at all
. She bit her thumbnail as the phone rang and was relieved when the recording greeted her. After leaving a message that she had the flu, she sent a text to her sister, letting her know she would be over for breakfast. Then she sent a message to Darb that she was sick. Her friend must have been sitting by his phone because the reply,
OMG, I’ll bring you soup
, popped up almost instantly.
She began to type back that Derek would take care of her but then broke down again at the memories of him making her soup when she was sick. Mitzy swaggered over to her and rubbed up against her leg. Gabby picked her up and cried into her soft fur like she was a giant hankie. The cat grew tired of the crying game quickly and skittered away.
Gabby wiped her eyes, trying to get her shit together. If Derek was going to keep up with his double-shift story, he wouldn’t be home until eight. She hurriedly got dressed and put her shoulder-length red mop in a hair tie. From the dresser, she grabbed her secret stash—a whopping $300—and then she snatched up her purse from the chair. On second thought, she grabbed her suitcase and tossed in enough clothes for a few days.
***
When she reached Maggy’s place, she found her sister already up for the day and tending to the small flower bed in front of the porch. Maggy loved tending to her flowers. Her favorite color was red, and the porch, walkway, hanging baskets, and window boxes boasted nothing but crimson varieties.
Gabby parked her ten-year-old Corolla on the side of the street in front of the house and was met with a curious stare. Maggy waved to her happily, and when the gesture wasn’t returned, she got up from her flowers and came to the car window.
“What’s wrong, baby girl?”
Gabby wasn’t going to freak out. She was going to tell Maggy what had happened matter-of-factly. She was going to keep her shit together . . .
She got out of the car and burst into tears, babbling to her big sister incoherently.
“Oh my God, honey, what happened? Shh, there now. You’re going to hyperventilate.” Maggy pulled her close, and Gabby shuddered against her with sobs that left her unable to speak, let alone catch her breath.
“Come on. Come inside. I’ll put on some tea, and we’ll work it all out together.”
Gabby allowed herself to be led into the house. As usual, it was spotless, so much so that it looked like a model home ready for a photo shoot. Maggy always had her shit together. She was kind of weird that way.
“You want some tea? Of course you do.”
Maggy helped her sit at the kitchen island and went about her task like a hummingbird. It was a kind of ceremony in which the unspoken rule was that Gabby couldn’t begin her story until Maggy had put the kettle to flame; retrieved two cups, the sugar, and the honey; and then turned with a contented sigh and said, “Tell me all about it.”