I looked over at her, already curled up on her side of the bed. “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on, please? I really need to blow off some steam. Jamie's in as well."

  My resolve to stay home softened. Jamie was my next-door neighbor. She’d moved in after she lost her newly renovated inn during the fire. Just last week she’d confessed to feeling more than a little discouraged about her life. The dream of owning an inn had literally gone up in a cloud of smoke. She had to start all over again, rebuilding what she’d lost. When did it stop? All this turmoil and resurrection? All this struggle to make a living and build a life?

  I would just order a water. Alcohol either made me sleepy or weepy. The night wouldn’t cost me much. “All right. Give me a few minutes to put myself together. I'll meet you there."

  "Awesome. See you soon. And don't worry about money tonight. My mom sent me a birthday check. The night's on me. Let’s get some fries and nachos. Really splurge.”

  "Wouldn’t you rather do something else for your birthday?" She was already at Puck’s enough.

  “Nah. We can get more for our money at Puck’s. Plus, there's a good band playing tonight."

  "Who?"

  "Off-brand," Stormi said. "You liked them last time."

  “True.” I had liked them. They played acoustic versions of classic rock and roll. One of the first things I fell in love with after my escape had been modern music. With the streaming apps on my phone, I could now devour everything I’d missed. "All right. I'll hurry."

  “That lead singer’s hot,” Stormi said. “I heard he was from New York.”

  Before hanging up, I promised to meet them in thirty minutes. At the mirror, I inspected my current attire. Jeans and a sweatshirt wouldn't do. Even though Emerson Pass was a casual place, young women dressed up to show off their figures on a Friday night. This concept had taken a while to adjust to. Having worn only clothes that made sure to cover up my body, even jeans had seemed too revealing. Slowly, over the years, I'd loosened up somewhat. Regardless, I found myself staring at other women, amazed at what they would wear in public.

  I took off the sweatshirt and hung it in the closet while considering what to wear. We'd probably be outside, which would mean it would be chilly. I chose a sweater in a pale blue that Stormi had picked out for me from the thrift store. The tag had still been attached. “Never been worn,” she’d said triumphantly. “Thank you, rich lady with a shopping problem.”

  “It’s very pretty,” I said. “But will it require hand-washing?” Since leaving Briar Rose, I’d discovered the convenience of washing machines and dryers.

  “Maybe, but who cares. This will make you look rich and if you look rich, you’ll feel rich, and then the world is yours.” Stormi spent a lot of time contemplating the difference between those with money and those without. She'd always been in the without category.

  If she’d only known about my childhood, she might see that hers could have been worse. I kept these kinds of things to myself. Thus far, I’d managed to avoid telling anyone about my past. Instinctually, I knew it would change how people thought of me. Instead of being Tiffany, I’d be the girl who grew up in a cult. I was weird enough without people knowing that detail.

  I reapplied foundation, powder, and blush, along with a light eye shadow and mascara. No need for eyebrow pencil, I thought. My thick eyebrows perched over my almond-shaped eyes like two monstrous black caterpillars. I hated them. Stormi assured me thick brows were a thing now. That didn’t make me feel better. I’d have happily given them to anyone interested.

  Using a brush, I painted my full lips with a pale pink lipstick, then brushed out my long hair. Every other day, I washed it and used a flat iron to smooth out any waves. The changes hair dryers and irons had made to my life were too many to count. If I was tired or sick, it was still my instinct to braid my hair the way we had to when I was at Briar Rose. No more, I would remind myself. I could wear my hair down or up or however I pleased. Even with my money worries, I had a great life. I must always remember how blessed I was. I smiled at myself in the mirror and turned to go.

  At Puck’s a few minutes later, I searched the dining room and bar for Jamie and Stormi but couldn’t find them. They must be on the patio. Sure enough, there they were, sitting at a table by the railing. They each had a glass of red wine in front of them and were looking over the plastic menus as if the offerings were new to them.

  When I approached, they both turned to look at me. Their faces lit up. “Hey, Tiff,” Jamie said. “Come sit.” She patted the chair next to her.

  "Hey.” I sat; my old enemy, insecurity, shared my chair. “How’s everything?”

  "Nothing new here," Jamie said. "But you look a little beat up. Everything all right?” She tucked a blond lock behind one ear and peered at me from bright blue eyes. If she were a billboard, she would advertise sunshine, fitness equipment, and coconut tanning lotion.

  Stormi waved a hand at the young woman waitressing. I recognized her but couldn't remember her name. Something with an M maybe?

  "Hey, Shoe, bring Tiff a soda water and lime, would you?" Stormi asked.

  That's right. Her last name was Shoemaker and everyone called her Shoe. Maybe I'd never heard her first name?

  “Unless you want something stronger?” Stormi asked.

  “No, that’s good,” I said.

  "You got it." Shoe had a husky voice that sounded as if she'd spent the night before cheering loudly during a stadium game. "What do you want to eat?"

  Friday nights they didn't have any specials. Usually we ordered whatever the deal of day was, which they listed on one of those chalkboards near the front. For weekends, though, they didn't need to lure people in with specials.

  “I guess happy hour’s over?” Jamie asked.

  “Yeah, sorry,” Shoe said.

  “I’ve got money,” Stormi said. “Birthday money or blood money, depending on how you look at it. Let’s get some appetizers to share.”

  “Works for me,” Jamie said.

  We ordered fries and nachos. Shoe said she’d sneak in an order of wings on the house. “Since it’s your birthday.”

  “It’s not technically today,” Stormi said.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Shoe said, tucking her pen behind an ear. Blue pen and blue hair, I thought. Did she match them on purpose? How many piercings did she have in that one poor earlobe? “Birthdays should be celebrated all month.” She stuck her pad into the front of her red apron. Tattoos ran up and down her arms like black lace. I inwardly shuddered at the thought of the needle.

  After she left, I leaned closer to Stormi. “Will she get fired for stealing wings?”

  “Nah, our cook doesn’t care and the owner’s never here.” Stormi ran a finger around the rim of her wineglass. “Plus, it’s a batch of frozen wings. They probably cost fifty cents wholesale.”

  We all nodded. Those in the tourist business knew about markups and margins when it came to food and beverages.

  “I have a little news.” I told the girls about my new job. Embarrassed, even in front of these two, my skin flushed with heat. It was humbling to have to find a “day” job because my business wasn't doing well. If anyone could understand, it was these two. We'd all been through a lot since the fire took out so much of our town.

  "I think it's great." Stormi reached over and squeezed my arm. “Nothing to be ashamed over. A girl has to take care of herself."

  "Amen to that." Jamie took a generous slug of wine. "If it weren't for my job at the kitchen store, I'd be screwed right now."

  "Not for long," Stormi said. "I drove by the inn today on my way to take photos of the new bridge for the paper. It looked almost done. To me, anyway."

  "The guys said I can open for business at the beginning of May," Jamie said. "I'm excited." Her eyes shone with a brightness I hadn’t seen in too long. "To lose my dream in the fire only to have it resurrected again has made me realize how much I still want this."

  "I can't imagine a worse job," Stormi said. "Running an inn. Having to talk to all those rude guests."

  "Why are they rude?” I asked.

  They both gave me a look.

  "What?" I asked.

  "Not all people are rude,” Stormi said. “But the ones that are always seem to erase the nice ones.”

  “I love it,” Jamie said. “Getting them to relax and have fun is a welcome challenge.” She made jazz hands on the side of her face. "Jamie can do her magic, once I have a place to do so."

  "Do you have any bookings yet?" Stormi asked.

  "My brother and some of his friends from Cliffside Bay are all bringing their wives out for Memorial Day weekend. It's a pity booking, but I'll take it." Jamie's brother, Trey, was an interior designer from California who had redone the inn for her.

  “That’s sweet,” Stormi said. “Must be nice to have family like that.”

  “It is,” Jamie said. “My brother’s super talented, obviously, as are his partners at the firm. But they’re also such good people. I’ve been lucky that way.”

  “You have,” I said, longing creeping into my voice. Ironically, given all my father's children, I had no idea how any of them were doing. Were they all still at Briar Rose? Had any managed to leave as I had? There were times I wished I could see them. Most times, however, I counted my blessings to be free.

  “Did you guys see this story? Just broke this afternoon,” Jamie asked as she pointed to the television that hung under an awning. Most evenings, the television played sports but at the moment it was turned to one of the news channels.

  It took me a moment to realize what I was seeing.

  My stomach dropped. I gasped and brought both hands to my mouth. There, on television, was a photograph of my father. The subtitles were on, flashing these words across the screen: A cult of bigamists was raided by the FBI today. Two members of a group that calls themselves Briar Rose have been killed. One FBI agent is wounded and in critical condition. Inside the compound they found enough guns to weaponize a small army. The casualties have not been released, but those close to the story believe at least one of them was an elder in the organization.

  My mouth went dry. I realized I was still pressing my fingers into my bottom lip and brought them to my lap, digging my fingernails into the palm of my hand. The children. What had happened to the children? And the wives. The women. Were they taken into custody as well?

  "Are you all right, Tiff?" Stormi asked. "You’re as white as this plate." She gestured toward the bread plate.

  I looked over at her and lied. “I don’t understand the story.”

  “The FBI went after some cult down in southern Colorado,” Stormi said. “Basically, it was a bunch of pigs who marry sixteen-year-old girls to add to their collection of wives. They call the place Briar Rose. I’ve no idea what that means. Huck’s been chasing the story for months now.”

  “Story?” I asked, numb. Briar Rose was a story. William and the others had been busted. After all this time.

  “There were rumors that the FBI was investigating them,” Stormi said. “Huck wanted to know what went on behind the locked gates. He’s suspected for a while now that they were basically keeping members in a kind of prison there, but trying to find anyone to talk was impossible.”

  I had returned to staring at the television. Already, I'd recognized Elder William and Elder Ryan being marched out of the compound with their hands cuffed. "When did they invade?" Where was my father? Was he one of the casualties?

  Jamie, bless her, seemed to understand my question. "This afternoon. It was a standoff all morning. The stupid news has been playing it on a loop. You know how they do.”

  I rarely watched the news. “Playing what on a loop?” I asked with a croak.

  “What you’re seeing there.” Jamie pointed to the television.

  “How’d you miss it?” Stormi asked as she buttered a roll. “It’s been everywhere.”

  I had no social media accounts or anything that could lead them to me. "I've been busy. Muffy wouldn't eat." This sounded absurd even to my own ears, but it was the truth. No one had to know anything. There were no traces of me there. These were people I once knew. That was all. Briar Rose had nothing to do with me. I didn't need to care. Or even watch.

  But somehow, my gaze returned to the television.

  "The FBI had to finally go in and start shooting,” Jamie said. “They refused to come out, so they swarmed the place. I’m surprised more people weren’t hurt.”

  "Those poor people." Stormi shuddered. "They had the entire community of women and children under lock and key from the sound of it. What with all the wives and the fact that sperm from these old geezers continues to be viable, there are dozens of babies who were born and raised there. The whole thing makes me want to shoot someone myself.”

  Surprised by the venom in Stormi’s voice, I was temporarily distracted from the television. She had a cocktail napkin in her grasp and was folding and unfolding the corners. What in her past had triggered this response? She wouldn’t want to talk about it, I thought. Just like me. How many other wounds did the women sitting with me hide from the world? I wasn’t alone in this. If only we could speak of the atrocities of our childhoods, perhaps we could heal. Or maybe not.

  “Hey, Tiff, are you all right?” Jamie asked.

  “Is the story upsetting you?” Stormi asked. “I can go change the channel.”

  Her kindness brought tears to the surface. I hid my face by cupping my hand over my forehead like a visor. As if that would help. We might not articulate our troubles, but other women knew when something had cut deeply.

  Stormi scooted her chair closer to me and asked gently, "Yo, babe, what’s going on?”

  Shaking like Muffy without her coat on a cold Colorado day, I wiped under my eyes with a napkin. Without raising my gaze, I mumbled, "I can't talk about it. Not here. I need to go home.”

  “We’ll take you,” Stormi said.

  Jamie reached out to give my forearm a quick squeeze. “I’ll go tell Shoe to pack up our food. You two go ahead and I'll bring it over when it's ready." Jamie got up from the table and headed inside to the dining room.

  Still shaking but strangely numb, I let Stormi take me down the back stairs of the deck and around to the sidewalk. Across the street, I could see the outline of Muffy in the window. Had she been waiting all this time? Did she sense something was wrong?

  “Come on, babe,” Stormi said. “Let’s get to your apartment before someone we know stops us.”

  We crossed the street together. Stormi held on to my arm, as if I might break into thousands of pieces right there on the street and never make it up to my apartment.

  Somehow, though, Stormi managed to help me up the stairs. Muffy jumped from her spot at the window and ran toward us barking with her tiny voice. I picked her up and held her close to my neck. She licked my cheek. Muffy was here. She knew I needed her.

  “Sit,” Stormi said. “Do you want me to make you some of the herbal tea?” She said herbal with an h.

  "No, thank you."

  “I want wine," Stormi said. "Do you still have bottles left from Jamie’s birthday party?” We’d thrown her a party a few months back, and my guests had arrived with more bottles than we could possibly drink. I’d stored them away for Stormi and Jamie.

  "In the cupboard above the refrigerator." People in books were always having a drink to steady their nerves. Desperate to stop shaking, I decided to try it out for myself. "Bring three glasses."

  She did a double take but didn't say anything. A moment later she returned with an open bottle of red and three of my mismatched wineglasses. The front door swung open, and Jamie entered with several bags of our takeout.

  "I'm sorry to ruin our night," I said. My voice wavered as I tried to control myself. Crying would do no good. But those years seemed to play before my eyes, brought on by the vivid footage on the television. My usual tricks to repress those memories seemed temporarily out of order.

  Matthew. I never thought of him now. I’d purposely put him away in the recesses of my mind so that his death could not hurt me. The poison meant for both of us had taken only him. Only because my sense of smell had detected something off in the wine. That was the only reason. Otherwise, I’d be buried next to him. Wherever that was.

  If someone had asked me, I would not have been able to tell them what he looked like. I remembered nothing of our time together or decision to leave. But now, an image of Matthew’s eyes as they drained of life played before me. Green eyes. The color of a male duck’s feathers. His sandy hair plastered to his forehead. His mouth had foamed as the poison took hold. He’d said to run, and I had. I’d never known what happened to his body. Had they paraded it around the camp to show people what happened to rebels? Where was he buried? Did anyone remember him?

  “I was there,” I said out loud to Jamie and Stormi. “At Briar Rose. Before I escaped at sixteen. Trapped in the compound like the others.”

  “Holy crap.” Stormi, for once, appeared speechless.

  Jamie placed both her hands on her forehead and pushed back her hair. “Are you serious? Briar Rose?” She fluttered her fingers toward the blank television screen.

  “Yes. My mother was a member. She was my father’s first wife.”

  They both stared at me. The vein in Jamie’s forehead pulsed. “First wife?”

  “The elders all had as many wives as they wanted. We were basically paraded in front of them when we turned fourteen. They chose which of us they wanted, and then at sixteen we married them.”

  Now that I’d started, I wanted to tell them every grisly detail. Instead, I kept it simple, telling them about Matthew and how we tried to leave. “They acted like it was okay, but they poisoned him. The poison was meant for me, too, but I didn’t drink the wine.”

  “No wonder you don’t drink wine,” Stormi said.

  “I don’t think that’s why,” I said. Or was it?

  “Some instinct in me knew there was something wrong. It was dandelion wine, if you can believe it. Everything was primitive there. We washed clothes and linens by hand. I sewed all the dresses. The ones you saw one television are the ones we wore ten years ago.”