Starting Over: The Broken Hearts Club Read online

  Starting Over

  The Broken Hearts Club

  Michele Barlow

  Coffee, Friends, and Tales of Woe

  Copyright © 2017 by Michele Barlow

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. 0817

  Cover Design by Jacqueline Sweet

  Last Page Publishing

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Connect with Michele

  Also by Michele Barlow

  Chapter 1

  “Don’t tell me you’re going to leave us too?”

  Cambry swallowed her coffee and reached across to grab the hand of one of her real friends. That was a term she had started using in just the last year. Real friends. It was how she could separate those women who she had spent years with, shopping, lunching, gossiping, so much gossiping, but had never really cared about her.

  “No, I’m not leaving. Driving over an hour to the meetings was okay when I worked part-time during the day. It’s going to be tougher now that I have evening shifts. But don’t worry, I don’t think I would survive without my support team. But I may not be able to make every meeting, so I don’t want you to think I’ve abandoned you. I just need more hours. Shocking, I know, that the Twisty Cup doesn’t pay a living wage. This position at Monroe’s will give me more hours and let me be around new clothes again. I miss new clothes.”

  Her friend Waverly was giving her a worried look. The women at the table were like an interconnecting web of love and support. They all had different stories and different reasons for seeking out the comfort of loss support group. No matter what brought them together, they gained strength from sharing their stories and advice with each other.

  Cambry’s first visit hadn’t been as awful as she thought it could have been. Not because she wasn’t welcomed and didn’t see plenty of friendly faces. But she was so terrified of being judged. There hadn’t been a moment in the last few months that she hadn’t felt the weight of the world on her shoulders.

  She had been sitting in her car outside of the community college watching the clock and staring at the door to the building. She’d seen the notice for the group at a small coffee shop near the school. It had been tucked behind an ad for Beagle puppies that she was perusing while she waited for her name to be called.

  It was the tag line that caught her eye: Loss and Support for Women – Any kind of loss, any stage, we are there for you.

  Any kind of loss. She’d had all sorts of loss. Loss of love, her marriage, her freedom to an extent, her entire life, her friends, her dignity, and the list went on. She wondered if they would mock her for showing up because she had lost her cushy life.

  There was a knock at her window and she jumped slamming her hand over her heart. She looked up to see a tall woman, dressed like she was going out dancing instead of going to a community college night class. She was wearing a tight fitting zebra print dress with a huge black belt that made her curves look like they had been drawn instead of given to her by nature. She had dark curly hair that stood out almost to her shoulders

  Cambry rolled down her window about a quarter of the way, she wasn’t stupid. “Can I help you?”

  “No, but I can help you,” the woman said leaning over and tapping a long perfectly painted orange nail against the glass.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Oh, honey, we all can. But you know the group doesn’t happen in your car, right?”

  “The group?”

  “The loss group, the women’s loss group?”

  “Oh, what makes you think that’s why I’m here?”

  “You are covered in sad, I can practically smell it. Plus, you look terrified. It’s standard uniform for all newbies. Come on, let me walk you in and introduce you around.”

  That was how she had met Waverly. A take no crap, but give plenty of it, real friend.

  Waverly convinced her to talk about herself that night and she had told them pretty much everything.

  Moving back to Denver from New York City was a blow of epic proportions to her reality. It was as if she had been shooting upwards, bigger and brighter, and then her engine had failed and she plummeted back down to earth.

  Her parents had been so proud of her “catch” of such a successful son-in-law. A man that supported their daughter, kept her in a nice house and dressed her in amazing clothes. They were content knowing that she had everything she needed. Now her parents felt that bashing her ex was helpful and supportive. Cambry was trying to be forgiving when surrounded by those that wanted nothing but her ex’s blood. Her forgiveness wasn’t for his benefit, it was solely for hers.

  Getting out of New York was the best thing she could have done. Leaving behind the disgrace and remembering what it meant to live in the real world had been the right decision. New York was only real to those that lived there full time anyway. To everyone else it was like another universe, and rightfully so. That city ran on a different wavelength than the rest of the country. It had a different pulse to it and those living there acclimated to that pulse until they didn’t know how other people lived.

  Moving away from that gave her the focus she needed to get on her own two feet and figure out what the hell to do with her future.

  The group had invited her out to coffee after the meeting. She had accepted because it was clear that Waverly and the rest of the group weren’t going to let her turn them down. That was months ago, and now she was used to talking about her past and listening to the stories that the others chose to share. It all made her feel that hers wasn’t so different from their losses, and other stories that reminded her she still had so much more than most people.

  They were sitting in the back of an IHOP drinking coffee and eating pie as per their routine when Cambry had found herself reminiscing.

  “New clothes are nice,” Elena from a few seats down said wistfully.

  “I remember the smell. Isn’t that silly? You could blindfold me and take me in to a store and I swear I could almost tell where we were by the smell.” Cambry shouldn’t be waxing poetic about clothes, it was silly and frivolous. Still, there something about slipping on a silk shirt and feeling it tickle over your skin that made you feel good right down to your toes. She still had the silk shirts; it just didn’t feel the same.

  “Well, someday you’ll get back there. Just because Miles turned out to be a scummy asshole, doesn’t mean you don’t deserve that life anymore.” Elena said. This was a surprise statement from her; she normally never said a bad word about anyone.

  “I miss him. Isn’t that stupid? I miss that asshole.”

  “No, it’s not stupid. You need to separate those heart feelings from your head feelings. They aren’t always the same thing.” There was Waverly again, looking out for everyone’s mental health.

  Cambry raised her cup. “Anyway. Here’s to my new second job. May the hours be plentiful and the fabric not polyester!”

  She clinked her glass with the closest woman and hoped to hell she could surviv
e two hourly jobs since she hadn’t ever held down one job, let alone two, when she actually depended on being paid. It was a big new world for Cambry Sinclair.

  Chapter 2

  Cambry gave a final look in the mirror of the tiny bathroom she’d just finished mopping. Cleaning the bathrooms was the job given to the newest employee. Technically, she’d been at the Twisty Cup for two months, but the only other new hire wasn’t on the same shift as her, so toilet scrubbing was hers until another poor sucker came along.

  This time last year, Cambry was getting a massage at one of the finest spas in New York City. It was somewhere that knew her by name and treated her like a princess. Money made people treat you like anything you wanted. You could be feared or revered, depending on what kind of card you pulled out of your purse. Assuming your purse was new, expensive, and hard to get.

  “Ahh, the good old days,” she murmured to the scrub brush in her hand.

  Before the Twisty Cup, Cambry had spent her days lunching with her former friends, she shopped a lot, and she primped. That was all she ever did. Her life was like a permanent vacation. After college, where she majored in fashion design, she had gotten married. In her circle, sorority girls married fraternity boys. It was just the way of things. She and Miles had dated for two years and were the toast of their group of friends. Cambry hadn’t grown up rich, but she took to it like a fish to water.

  Her life in Colorado had been much more average. Her parents had always told her that she was pretty, but that her brains were the most amazing part of her. She had been popular in high school but she had assumed that was because she played a number of sports. Two years as the captain of the volleyball team, four years as a cheerleader, and she was class Vice President.

  Her friends told her that it was who she was that made her so beautiful. Cambry didn’t think looks were that important. Beauty was so subjective that putting a descriptor on someone based on someone else’s ideals seemed silly. Still, her husband had told her that she was a goddess and that she deserved the moon.

  Their marriage was a lavish affair that caused quite a stir on her side of the family. They hadn’t seen anything like a New York society wedding. There was security, news photographers, and a budget that was more than most New Yorkers made in a year, and that was saying something.

  “The wedding should have tipped me off,” she said as she flushed the toilet.

  Cambry’s family went home to Colorado after the event and got back to their normal lives. While she started a life that seemed to most to be like a fairy tale. She spent one summer after graduating interning with a major fashion house that Miles’s mother had arranged for her. It was the best summer of her life. Better than sunning herself in the Bahamas, or petting elephants in Thailand, all things she had done after meeting Miles. She fetched coffee, picked up samples, and spent her time surrounded my amazingly creative people that turned their art from a simple sketch to something you could wear. It had been heaven.

  Miles went to work with his father, but Cambry honestly wasn’t sure what he did; it was something financial having to do with hedge funds. What it really meant, was that very quickly Cambry didn’t even have to intern to keep herself busy. Miles told her if she loved fashion so much she could always shop. He wasn’t being mean, he figured if it was something she enjoyed then she should be happy to immerse herself it all the beautiful things that were on display in every window of the New York boutiques. It was easy and fun to live your days however you wanted, and Cambry had no responsibilities, no work, and a serious lack of reality. Her credit cards didn’t have limits; she never even looked at price tags. The numbers didn’t even mean anything to her after a while. When she wanted to decorate their apartment, she did. When she got bored of looking at the furniture, she did it again. Their penthouse was a revolving door of trendy, fashionable designs and up and coming artists.

  Years went by and Cambry was now ashamed to admit, that she had never questioned any of it. It was like she was floating through life on a fluffy cloud of cashmere and caviar. It was true. She had everything anyone could dream of, but it also meant she was never challenged, never had to strain her brain to do anything.

  It made you foggy and your view of the world very narrow.

  Then it all came crashing down. The whirlwind of federal officials, police, media, followed by the social shunning, was a modern day witch-hunt. Except it turns out that Miles was the witch being hunted. They had every right to publicly flog him and shame her for her extravagance. The beautiful life she had lived turned out to be a sham. Her husband’s shady business dealings and a few lucrative Ponzi schemes had funded all her days of carefree spending. There were no hedge funds or offshore investments. He had scammed millions of dollars and paid himself and his friends the profits.

  Cambry had gone to bed in her thousand-thread count sheets and woke up to her housekeeper screaming as the feds burst through the door. She was dragged from her bed in a silk La Perla nightgown and sat on her designer couch in shocked tears as strangers had ransacked her home.

  There were a few days where she really didn’t understand what was going on. Miles kept telling her it was all a mistake and that everything would blow over. Their lawyer visited almost daily, and each time he came through their door he looked more haggard.

  Then came the day when Miles was led away in handcuffs. And then the news started camping out in front of their building. Cambry went from being in the social pages for the gown she wore to a gala, to being on the front page looking sad, scared, and disheveled.

  The IRS took away her apartment, everything that had any value, her jewelry and clothes. She was allowed to keep her wedding rings and her personal belongings, clothes and pictures. She moved in with her in-laws for a while, but as the trial dragged on and on, it seemed like it wasn’t going to end well for Miles. Then, just when things were looking their bleakest, Miles made a calculated move that had broken her heart.

  She had been supporting him, and had blindly believed every word he said. It was all a mistake. Computer errors or an accounting virus were to blame, surely. She had been a fool. On the advice of his lawyers, Miles had tried to pin some of the blame on her. They said she had known all along, and worse, that she was pushing him to do it to fund her lifestyle. They said that she lured her friends to invest in Miles’ funds, knowing that they were never going to get any return on their money.

  It was all lies. Cambry could honestly say that she was shockingly ignorant of everything; but her innocence took time to prove. That also meant that there was a photo of her on the cover of the New York Times in handcuffs and a swollen, tear-streaked face. It had been the worst day of her life.

  “And now you wear a uniform and get deep-fryer burns. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

  She looked in the bathroom mirror once more. She looked like she felt. Tired, worn out, and lost. It was a horrible feeling. She attempted to smooth her hair but stopped herself a moment before she touched her head with a questionable rubber glove.

  “Gawd, why me?” She asked this to the ceiling and there was no answer except the dull echo of her own voice. There was a large water stain that she hadn’t noticed before that looked like a duck.

  Finishing up her pity party, she left the bathroom and went back to the counter behind the register to wash her hands again. There really wasn’t a way she could wash too much.

  The store was quiet, which meant that her manager, Gordon, was pacing glancing between the windows that looked out to the empty parking lot and the fries that were probably past their prime but he didn’t want to throw them out. She felt sorry for the next poor sucker that wanted a combo meal.

  “Gordon? You changed my schedule right? I need this other job too and I can’t miss any hours.”

  He turned and gave her a clearly disgruntled look. “Yes, Ms. Sinclair.” This was said with way too much sarcasm. “You know I don’t normally do this for employees. Your priority should be here. If you weren’t such a good
worker I wouldn’t even bother. I’d can your ass and hire some teenager.”

  “Yes, but as you well know, I know how to count back change and don’t give you any crap about the bathroom duty. Two things you won’t be able to find in your average teenager.”

  Gordon didn’t say anything to that, he just made a noise in his throat and turned back to the parking lot.

  Cambry was a good worker. Mostly because she was a neat freak and any kind of restaurant always had a place to clean. In New York, a live-in housekeeper had spotlessly cleaned her home every day and she had grown used to living in a pristine world.

  In Colorado, she lived in her parent’s basement surrounded by old sports memorabilia and a pool table her mother only used to fold clothes on. It was full of clutter and dust and was not a place she wanted to be in for very long. Saving up money was her top priority. Her parents had offered to loan her the money to pay for an apartment, but she couldn’t even think about taking anyone else’s money. There was too much shame attached to that now, evening when you knowingly did it. She did accept their generous offer to live rent free at the house.

  That meant every pay check from The Twisty Cup and Monroe’s would be put right to her new place. She already had some money saved up. She was driving the car she’d used in high school and had left in Colorado when she went to school.

  Aside from gas, Cambry had kept her expenses microscopically low. She hoped that after a month at Monroe’s department store, she would have saved enough money for a deposit on an apartment. Sure, she should probably save up for a few months, but her parents, no matter how lovely and warm they were, were still her parents.