Trevor had bought these boots at the Mile High Flea Market. They were three hundred dollars cash, more money than they had seen in six months, and so worth it. They’d had a good time in these boots. Trevor used to tell people that Katy was conceived with these boots. They were lucky boots. She used to tease him that they were his “get lucky” boots.
Of course, she had been wearing these boots, languishing in post-coital bliss, when he’d told her. Pressing the divorce papers across the crumpled covers, he had asked her to sign. He had met a rich girl. She was going to pay for law school at Denver University. He was doing it for Katy. Certainly Jill would understand.
But Jill never understood.
Oh, she had signed the papers, and then scrubbed the remnants of him from her body, her apartment, and her life. When he returned, his things were waiting for him in the hall and the locks had been changed. With Jill sobbing on the other side, he screamed, “I don’t love the rich girl,” and pounded on the cheap, hollow-core apartment door for an hour. Trevor only left because the apartment manager said he would call the police.
“Now, how’s that gonna look to the rich girl, Trevor?” the apartment manager sneered.
Tonight, Trevor was to be officially engaged to the rich girl at a black-tie affair.
Returning to the mirror, Jill saw that Megan was right. The boots looked great.
“Let me get the tie.” Megan tied a black bow tie around Jill’s neck. “You have the jacket with tails?”
“Mike’s bringing it when he picks me up in the limo,” Jill said.
“Do you want me to come?” Megan asked.
“I can do this, Meg,” Jill said. “Steve’s working security. If I need to get out fast, he’ll be there.”
“Mike and Steve are both in on this? What about Candy?”
“She’s working the bar. I’m sorry, sis. They didn’t tell you because they thought you would be mad.”
Megan shook her head. Of course, their brothers and sister were in on this. No one but Megan saw that Jill was making a fool of herself. But Jill always made a fool of herself over Trevor.
“He’s my soul mate,” Jill had pleaded when she’d needed Megan’s signature on their marriage license. Sixteen years old and in love. Now twenty-five years old and heart-crushed.
The apartment door opened, and their brother Mike came in. Megan smiled at the worry on his face. At least she wasn’t the only one who was worried. Mike’s face shifted to a smile for Jill.
The retelling of Denver Cereal, Volume 1 continues tomorrow…
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