Excerpt of The Crossroads Cafe by Deborah Smith

Prologue

Crossroads, North Carolina

The Blue Ridge Mountains

Before the accident, I never had to seduce a man in the
dark. I dazzled millions in the brutal glare of kliegs on
the red carpets of Hollywood, the flash of cameras at the
Oscars, the sunlight on the piazzas of Cannes. Beautiful
women don't fear the glint of lust and judgment in men’s
eyes, or the bitter gleam of envy in women’s. Beautiful
women welcome even the brightest light. Once upon a time,
I had been the most beautiful woman in the world.

Now I needed the night, the darkness, the shadows.

“Put the gun down,” I ordered, as I let my bra and white t-
shirt fall to the ground. Behind me, a full, white moon
hung in a sky of stars above the summer mountains,
silhouetting Thomas and me. Frogs trilled in the forest.
Beneath my bare feet, the pasture grass was soft and wet
with summer dew, glistening in the moonlight. There were
no bright lights in our world, not the pinpoint of a lamp
in some distant window, not the wink of a jet high
overhead. There might be no other souls in these ancient
North Carolina ridges that night. Only Thomas, and me, and
the darkness inside us both.

“I’m warning you for the last time, Cathryn,” he said, his
voice thick but firm. He wasn’t a man who slurred his
words, no matter how drunk he was. “Leave.”

I unzipped my jeans. My hands trembled. I couldn’t stop
staring at the World War II pistol he held so casually,
his right arm bent, the gun pointed skyward. Thomas had
been a preservation architect; he respected fine
craftsmanship, even when choosing a gun with which to kill
himself.

Slowly I pushed my jeans down, along with my panties. The
scarred skin along my right thigh prickled at the scrape
of denim. I angled my right side away from the moon,
trying to illuminate only the left half of my body, my
face. Half of me was still perfect. But the other
half . . .

I stepped out of my crumpled clothes and stood there
naked, the moonlight safely behind me. The night breeze
was a tongue of embarrassment, licking my scarred flesh.
My hand twitched with the urge to cover my face. How badly
I wanted to hide the awful parts. Thomas watched me
without moving, without speaking, without breathing.

He doesn’t want me, I thought. I said quietly, “Thomas, I
know I’m no prize, but would you really rather kill
yourself than touch me?”

Not a word, still, not a flicker of reaction. I could
barely see his expression in the shadows, and wasn’t sure
I wanted to. The uglies came over me like a cold tide. A
festering wave of withdrawal – shyness and anger
multiplied times a thousand. Me, who had once preened for
the world without a shred of self-doubt.

I turned my back to him, trying not to shiver with
defeat. “Just put the gun down. Then I’ll get dressed, and
we’ll forget this ever happened.”

I heard quick steps behind me, and before I could turn,
his arms went around me from behind. His hands slid over
my bare skin. I twisted my head to the pretty side but he
bent his lips to the other and roughly kissed the rivulets
of ruined flesh

No matter what might happen to us later, I saved his life
that night. And, for that one night, at least, he saved
mine. Hope is in the mirror we keep inside us, love sees
only what it wants to see, and beauty is in the lie of the
beholder.

Sometimes, that lie is all you need to survive.