Thin blue lines, p.1
Thin Blue Lines, page 1
Thin Blue Lines
M.E. Wright
Merrywidow Publishing LLC
Copyright © 2024 by M.E. Wright. All rights reserved.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact Merrywidow Publishing LLC.
Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
ISBN 979-8-9906996-1-8 (ebook)
ISBN 979-8-9906996-2-5 (print)
Also by M.E. Wright
The Unborn Child Protection Act
To Heather and Steven
Thank you for creating Glass Office, a virtual co-working space that includes an all-important virtual espresso machine.
Every writer needs one!
Contents
Thin Blue Lines
Author's Notes
There are two sides to every story
Acknowledgements
About the author
Agapi Mou was everything Rylee loved about downtown Milwaukee. As Rylee stepped through the entrance, the sunlight briefly cast a sharp spotlight around her, and she felt a part of herself relax. The three-star Michelin restaurant, a gem in Chef Austin's culinary crown, was one of her favorite places to eat.
The restaurant’s dim lighting cast a warm glow over polished marble and mahogany. Crystal chandeliers hung like luminous icicles, adding a touch of old-world charm to the high-end bistro. Her dark blue eyes slowly scanned the dining room, smiling as she met one appreciative gaze, then another, before turning to look at Kathryn.
“Hungry?” she asked, touching one side of the four-strand braid to ensure the light wind off the lake hadn’t damaged it.
“I could eat,” Kathryn absently replied as she took in the opulent surroundings. She tugged at the sleeve of her understated outfit, looking a bit uneasy with Rylee’s choice of venues.
“I’m Rylee Williams,” Rylee said to the maître d' with a slight, flirtatious smile, letting her voice carry the assurance and flirtation that always got results. “I know we don’t have a reservation but I’m hoping that you can squeeze us in for a quick bite to eat.” She paused to look back at Kathryn. “I really have a craving for Chef Austin’s truffle fries.”
The maître d' quickly looked over the entries in his tablet. “Ah, yes, Ms. Williams,” he said with a nod. “Of course. Right this way.”
Rylee smirked at Kathryn before turning to follow. Being a Williams had its perks.
He led them through the crowded restaurant to a table near the large bay window overlooking the cityscape. Rylee settled into her seat, the sound of quiet conversation and the occasional spike of laughter making her feel rejuvenated.
Their waiter appeared and presented the menus with a flourish. “Good afternoon, ladies,” he said, his brown eyes lingering on Rylee for a long moment. “My name is Nathan and I will be your server today. May I bring you something to drink while you look over today’s menu?”
She smiled. “I’d like to start with a signature lavender mocktail,” she told him, cocking her head to one side as she looked up at him.
He nodded, then looked at Kathryn.
Kathryn scanned the menu. “Do you have anything with pomegranate juice?” she asked.
Nathan nodded. “Absolutely, ma’am. Just juice or would you also like our bartender to create a mocktail for you?”
“A mocktail spritz would be fine,” Kathryn told him.
“Let me get that started for you,” he said. “I’ll be back shortly to take your order.”
Kathryn shifted in her seat, looking a bit uncomfortable. “This place is something else,” she remarked, still scanning the menu. “I can’t believe they just gave us a table. I heard that they were booked for months in advance.”
“They always leave a few tables open for high-end customers,” Rylee told her. She absently tapped the menu with an idle finger. “I think I’m going with the Dover sole. It’s Chef Austin’s signature dish. You should try it!”
Kathryn pursed her lips. “I think I’ll just have the salmon,” she replied with a shake of her head.
“It will be my treat,” Rylee reassured her. She frowned, pretending to study the menu again. Of course, Kathryn was uncomfortable. Her parents had put her on a rather strict budget so eating at a high-end bistro would severely cut into her fun money.
“It’s fine,” Kathryn reassured her. “Sometimes I just need to get out of the house.” She looked around again. “Thanks for inviting me.”
The waiter returned with their drinks, a practiced smile plastered on his face. “Ready to order?” he asked.
“I’ll have the Dover sole,” Rylee told him as she handed the menu back. “And substitute truffle fries for the potato, please.”
“An excellent choice,” Nathan said with a nod, his eyes lingering again before he turned to Kathryn. “And for you, ma’am?”
“The salmon dish, please,” Kathryn replied before handing the menu to him.
“Of course,” he said. The waiter turned away to put in their order but before he could leave, Rylee asked him to put it on the Williams’ tab.
“Rylee!” Kathryn gasped. “You don’t have to do that!”
Rylee smiled at the waiter, waiting for him to nod in acknowledgment before turning back to Kathryn. “Of course I do,” she said. “You’re my best friend and I want you to enjoy our day out. Besides, you can pick up the tab next time we’re here.”
Kathryn snorted. “Whatever.”
Rylee took a sip of her mocktail, barely tasting the lavender in her spritzer. The quiet buzz of conversation was occasionally punctuated by sudden laughter. She looked around the dining room. She could almost hear her mother now, that overly sweet whisper designed with one purpose in mind: to put people in their place. Oh, my dear, that Christian Dior saddle bag purse is so 2026. And that overly textured 'Coco Chanel' dress that you’ve been preening about? I’m so sorry that you wasted money on such a poorly designed knock-off.
“Rylee, I know it’s only been a few weeks since you broke up,” Kathryn began cautiously. “You have to let Sam go. He’s just not worth it!"
Rylee felt her expression harden momentarily before she masked it with another bright smile. “Sam?” she asked with a slight sarcastic drawl. “He’s probably already hooked up with another girl from the Northwestern tennis team.”
Kathryn frowned, her eyes searching Rylee’s. “Rylee, I know you’re still thinking about him. You took him back once after he cheated on you,” she reminded Rylee. “Then, he made fun of you for getting into Wellesley.” She paused to make her point. “One of the top colleges in the country and he thought it was a joke!”
Rylee frowned. “I know.”
“I just want you to be happy. You seem . . . different.”
“Different?” Rylee laughed, a touch too sharply. “How so?”
“Tired. Sad.” Kathryn sighed, clearly frustrated. “I’ll never know what you saw in him.”
Rylee took another sip of her mocktail, savoring the blend of flavors. She felt a pang of longing but quickly suppressed it. After all, it had been her idea to break up.
“To new beginnings,” she toasted, raising her glass with forced cheerfulness. “I have an entire gap year ahead of me!” Canton Home Mission was only four weeks away. And, after that, the possibilities were endless.
Kathryn clinked her glass against Rylee’s, her eyes filled with concern. “To new beginnings,” she echoed. “Sam is just a minor speed bump, Rylee. You’ve got this!”
Later that afternoon, Rylee found herself in the family barn, grooming her horse after their short ride. The scent of hay and a warm, summery scent lingered in the air.
It was a familiar, comforting smell, one that had always made her feel safe. The old barn, with its four stalls and a small pavilion, was a kind of rustic sanctuary where she could find a few precious moments of respite from the prying eyes of her mother.
The old barn had been partially rebuilt after a bad storm a few years ago and she could see the new wood had started to fade into a weathered brown. The sun streamed through the open barn doors. Rylee closed her eyes, relishing the warmth against her skin. When she was younger, she’d dreamed of riding in competition and had spent a lot of time working with Dusty.
He might not be an Arabian, Rylee thought, but with his compact body and calm demeanor, he was the perfect companion. She knew she was going to miss him when she moved to campus next fall.
“Sorry I was late coming home, Dusty,” she told the horse. “Lunch took a bit longer than I’d expected. You know how Kathryn is.” She ran her free hand over his sleek, dark coat, suppressing a pang of guilt at how little attention she’d given him over the last few weeks.
Dusty snorted, shaking out his mane. He turned and looked at her over his shoulder. Make with the comb, he seemed to be saying.
She sighed, feeling the horse relax under her hand as she worked. She just couldn't seem to shake the feeling that he was the only one who really understood her. Not her sisters or most of her friends. Definitely not her parents!
Her mom hadn’t been overly sympathetic about her on-again, off-again relationship. True, Sam was doing well at Northwestern University, but long-distance relationships never worked out, she’d warned. Even if Sam had been able to come home from college every weekend, it was inevitable that he would find someone else. Or, that the only way for Sam to stay in Rylee’s life was for her to violate her purity pledge.
Dad, on the other hand, had thought that their long-distance relationship was a good compromise as long as she remained committed to attending Wellesley next fall. He had told Rylee that he felt that neither of them was ready for a solid and committed long-term relationship. In his opinion, Sam was just one of many young men that Rylee would date before she was ready to settle down. She was, after all, a Williams girl.
The comb hit a snag, and Rylee applied a bit more pressure to loosen a clump of mud that had splattered him above his front right leg. Sometimes it had felt like Sam was much more interested in his tennis game than her. Towards the end, it felt like all they did was have sex, and it wasn’t even particularly good sex. Just sex in ‘discoverable’ locations.
She sighed. Kathryn was probably right. Maybe it was time to just move on.
She finished up with the comb and swapped it out for the brush. Using short, firm strokes, she slowly worked to remove tiny clumps of dirt and stray hairs. There was something about working with Dusty that was comforting. As she worked, she wondered if she could just brush away her feelings for Sam.
She wasn’t sure what to feel. On one hand, she knew for a fact that he had cheated on her while he was playing at the NCAA tennis match in Orlando. Just thinking about it made her stomach churn.
But, on the other hand, his explanation made sense: one of his teammates, who happened to have the same type of phone, accidentally answered one of Rylee’s calls. Problem was, that same teammate was almost continually tagging Sam at all kinds of non-sports related events at Northwestern. Some of the photos even made it look like they were dating.
Rylee clenched her jaw as she swapped out the brush for the hoof pick, her knuckles turning white as she gripped it. Kathryn was right. Time to stomp any lingering feelings for Sam under the carpet and move on. he wasn’t the right guy for her.
There’s a difference between men and boys, she reminded herself. Men know how to put their partners first. Boys, well, they tended to see women as toys that they could just play with and move on.
She carefully lifted one hoof to gently scrape away the built-up mud in the central groove before moving on to the next. It was past time to pull out that calendar, she decided. Time to figure out exactly what else she needed to do so she could make the most of her gap year. An artist retreat, maybe? Or was it time to find a nonprofit that might need her help for a year?
She found herself humming softly, a sense of peace finally settling over her as she grabbed the soft brush to finish the last bit up. Dusty nuzzled at her, his warm breath tickling her skin. Rylee smiled. Grooming Dusty always did have a calming effect on her. It was time to move on to bigger and better things.
Rylee sat at the breakfast table, only half-listening to the clinking of silverware against the plates and the murmur of her parents' conversation. She pushed the remnants of her pancake away from the congealed bacon grease and half-melted butter that cut through the river of maple syrup. She felt bloated. Food, especially in the morning, made her feel just a bit nauseous. She couldn’t be sure, but maybe she was coming down with something.
“Pastor Chapman should have started the ribs smoking early this morning,” her dad said, obviously responding to some inane question from her mom. “Anything more than six hours will ruin the meat.” He leaned forward over the antique mahogany table to grab a freshly made cinnamon roll.
“There’s still so much to do, Brandon,” her mom complained in a quiet voice. She paused to take a delicate sip of orange juice. “The bounce house still needs to be put up. Tables, chairs, supplies. The arts and crafts tent needs to be set up. And, I’m not sure where we are on the seating for the volleyball field for this afternoon’s game.”
Rylee’s dad leaned over and placed his hand on her mom’s. “Ashley, my dear, all of this can all wait until after worship service.” He smiled. “It will be fine.”
“I hope so, Brandon,” her mom replied with a sad smile. “You have no idea what kind of roadblocks I’ve been dealing with.”
Anyone else might have thought her mom was flustered, but to Rylee’s ear, it sounded like more of the same complaint. Ashley Williams was head of the summer family program and the congregation had no choice but to lean in and get it all done to her satisfaction.
Rylee squirmed against the antique wooden chair, trying to find a comfortable spot. She had finally started spotting last night and her breasts were pretty tender. Her period could start anytime now.
About time, she thought. Birth control pills hadn’t helped. It wasn’t so much the headaches and mood swings that had made her stop taking them. No, it had been the on-again, off-again spotting and bloating. Not to mention feeling like she was either just about to get her period again or just getting over it.
She mentally shrugged. Since she’d stopped taking the pills, her cycles were slowly beginning to reset back to their original once-per-season visit. It had been a while since her last period and she was so ready for this one to be over.
“Rylee, don’t forget to wear some older Capri pants today. I’d hate for you to ruin another pair of culottes chasing the little ones around with a paintbrush,” her mom reminded her, that sweet tone grating on Rylee’s last nerve. Ruin one pair of designer pants and Mom would never let you forget it, even if they were a low-end pair she’d picked up at an end-of-season sale.
Rylee nodded, then cut off a small piece of pancake and forced herself to eat. If she just kept eating, she was less likely to say something she’d end up regretting.
Her mom looked at her for a long moment, a concerned look on her face. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” she asked. “You used to enjoy the summer festivals.”
She swallowed. “That was before, Mom,” she said, studying her plate before looking up. “I don’t feel like keeping an eye on the kids in the bounce house or watching yet another movie inside with a bunch of middle schoolers.”
“Well, there’s plenty of things to do once you’re done for the day,” her mom reminded her, brushing her long, bleach-blond hair over one shoulder with delicately manicured hands. “This afternoon, we have that nice Christian rock band setting up in the community center and the Youth Ministry is sponsoring a volleyball tournament for kids your age.”
Rylee nodded, staring over her mom’s shoulder at the fresh flowers that sat in an antique vase on the nearby sideboard. The contrast between the intricately carved motif and delicate scrollwork etched into the mahogany wood and the simple arrangement seemed to reflect her mother’s personal brand. Like the vase, Mom let the extravagant setting fade into the background so that her so-called simple life could act as a spotlight to draw everyone’s attention.
Rylee carefully dabbed her mouth with her napkin, then set it aside. “I’m going to get ready for worship service,” she told her parents as she grabbed her plate to take it into the kitchen. “I should be ready to leave in about a half-hour.”
Just thirty-five more days until that Canton Home Mission, she thought as she scraped the remains of her breakfast into the trash. Four whole weeks of not living under the Ashley Williams microscope.
Rylee opened the dishwasher to load her plate. Until she left for Canton, all she could do was just go with the program and try to find things to do to have a bit of fun. Or, as her sister Chloe used to say: just cope and deal! Deal and cope!
