Chapter 5 - Public Humiliation
At 1:15 PM, Abby and I were sitting at a sunlit corner table at The Copper Kettle, a quiet café three blocks from the courthouse, sharing a pot of Earl Grey tea. Abby had barely touched her chicken salad. Her phone was face down on the table, vibrating almost continuously.
"It's Gina," Abby said, glancing at the glowing screen. "Six calls in the last ten minutes. And Derek has texted me eleven times."
"What does he say?" I asked, sipping my tea.
Abby unlocked the screen and read aloud, her tone dry: "'Tell Mom to pick up her damn phone. Our cards are declining at the private school registry. Gina is at the front desk and they are threatening to cancel Jake's enrollment for the fall term. This isn't funny. She’s humiliating us.'"
I smiled into my teacup. "Fascinating how quickly his tone shifts from telling me I'm an irrelevant burden to demanding I fund his status symbols."
Before Abby could respond, the bell above the café door jingled aggressively. The heavy oak door swung open with enough force to bang against the brass stopper. Heads turned across the dining room as Gina Vance strode in, her face flushed red beneath an expensive layer of bronzer.
She wasn't dressed like a woman who was supposed to be at home taking care of her terrified children. She was wearing designer athleisure, oversized sunglasses pushed atop her bleached-blonde hair, and a look of pure, unadulterated venom. Behind her, trailing like an obedient shadow, was Derek.
He looked unkempt. His dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his eyes bloodshot, his jaw stubbled with dark, uneven hair.
"There she is," Gina hissed, pointing a manicured French-tipped finger directly at me as several patrons gasped. "There's the saintly grandmother."
Derek caught up with his wife, putting a hand on her arm, though he didn't look entirely sober. "Gina, keep your voice down, everyone’s watching—"
"I don't care who’s watching!" Gina snapped, shaking him off and storming toward our small wooden table. She slammed both hands down onto the lace tablecloth, rattling our teacups. "You canceled the cards, you bitter old witch! I was standing at the counter at Le Petit Boutique trying to pay for Lily's pageant dress, and the girl cut my card in half with a pair of scissors! Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?!"
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I didn't flinch. I carefully set my teacup onto the porcelain saucer, letting the delicate clatter echo through the suddenly silent café.
"Gina," I said softly, looking up into her frantic eyes. "The only thing more humiliating than having your card declined is expecting a widow’s pension to pay for a six-year-old’s pageant dress while you scream at your children in the hallway."
