by Noelle Adams
But I do have access to information of value to someone. Pharmaceutical companies, for instance.
Richard is a fixer. That’s what he does.
“Gillian, baby, talk to me.” We’re on the sidewalk now. Walking back toward the hotel. Richard is soft and tense and urgent and hoarse. “You’re upset. What did she say to you?”
“She said...” I can’t get the words out. I don’t want to hear them out loud. Not again. Not from my own mouth.
“What is it? What did she say? You can’t let her get to you, baby. She hates me. She’s going to want to hurt me.”
“She... she did.”
He comes to a stop on the sidewalk so abruptly the people behind us almost run into him. They grumble and walk around us. Richard pulls us to one side, right up against a storefront that’s closed right now. He’s holding my head in both his hands. “Gillian, what did you just say? She did? She hurt me?”
“Yes. She did.” I feel a knot of dread—one I’ve felt on and off for as long as I’ve known Richard. One that’s been held at bay for way too long. One that’s been forgotten or ignored because of much pleasanter and happier emotions. But now it’s swelling. Erupting. Overwhelming me. Swallowing everything. “She hurt you. She hurt both of us.”
“No, she didn’t. Don’t let her do it. Gillian—”
“Tell me!” I burst out, surprising myself with my own vehemence.
He jerks slightly and drops his hands. “What, baby?”
“Tell me! Tell me right now. If you don’t tell me right now, then we’re over.”
He swallows so hard I can see it in his throat. His hands tighten into fists at his side, but his voice is almost gentle as he asks, “What do you want me to tell you?”
“That first day. The first time you talked to me. In Florida. Why did you do it? Why did you approach me? Tell me the truth right now.” I don’t even recognize my voice. It’s hard and cold and almost ruthless.
And also absolutely desperate.
“Oh baby,” he breathes. He takes a step forward and reaches out, like he’s trying to protect me from something.
I jerk away before he can touch me. “Tell me the truth. Right now.”
He looks around. The sidewalk isn’t packed, but we’re definitely not alone. It’s not the best time for a conversation like this. There isn’t any sort of time for this. He takes a raspy inhale and lets it out. “It was a job. I’m sorry, baby, but it was a job.”
I’ve been half expecting it, but I jerk in response anyway. Like someone just punched me in the gut. That’s exactly how it feels. “A... a job?”
“Yes. My client was a competing pharmaceutical company. They wanted to know how far along the company you were working for was on that hair-growth drug. You seemed like a weak link. Not that you were carrying proprietary research on your laptop but that you might know the timeline. Give them a sense of how fast they needed to proceed in getting their drug on the market.”
“So you were...” My teeth are almost chattering. That’s how cold I suddenly am. “So you were supposed to... to what? Seduce me? Fuck me so you could break into my lap—”
“No!” This is the loudest he’s been since we walked into the pub. A few people on the street look in his direction. He lowers his voice as he rasps, “No. That’s not what I was going to do. I told you I don’t break the law, and I would never have fucked anyone just to... No. I was going to flirt with you. See if you’d talk to me. Let spill some of the information my client wanted. I can sometimes get people to share information when they’re drinking to someone they think is a stranger. It’s an easy way to... Anyway, that was the plan.” He reaches out again, this time managing to frame my face with his hands. “Baby, please, listen to me. I didn’t do it. I didn’t do any of it. I did arrange for the flat tire and then go to talk to you in the bar, but that was it. After I talked to you for a few minutes, I liked you. I liked you. And it felt wrong to... to do anything else. So I texted my client and told him you were a dead end. I did it right there in the bar after you sent me to sit somewhere else. That was it, Gillian. That was all it ever was. Everything else that happened between us was absolutely real. All of it. All of it was me. The real me.”
I can see how hard this is for him to say. I can see how vulnerable it makes him, something he’s only started to do recently. And it hurts me to see the lost, desperate ache in his eyes.
But there’s an ache now in my heart too, and it’s hurting me a lot more. I step back, pulling away from his hands. When he reaches for me again, I put a hand up to stop him.
“Baby, please,” he whispers, his features twisting with emotion. “You have to believe me.”
“I do believe you.” My voice breaks on every word, so I clear my throat and try again. “I do believe you.”
“Then why do you look like that? If you believe me, then why do you look like you’re about to break my heart?”
I’m shaking with the attempt to keep from bursting into tears. I’m barely holding on to the last threads of my control. “Because... because I am.”
“What?” He takes a step closer, visibly struggling against an attempt to touch me again. “Please don’t say that. I told you the truth. Everything that’s ever happened between us has been absolutely real, after I came back over to join you in that bar. I know this is bad. I know it hurts you to realize who... who I used to be. But I’m not him anymore. I’ve never been him with you. Not after that first real conversation. We can work through this. I know we can. Please don’t break my heart.”
“I have to.”
He’s shaking too. I can suddenly see it. Every bit as much as I am right now. “Why?”
“Because you broke mine.” I do cry then, turning away from him for a moment and covering my face with my hands as my shoulders shake.
“Baby, please don’t cry. I’m so sorry. Please let me fix this.”
“You can’t fix it.” I’ve controlled myself now, sucking back the tidal wave of grief for the moment. “You can’t.”
“Why can’t I try? It was just that one—”
“Stop saying that!” I cut in. “Stop saying it was just the beginning, like it wasn’t a big deal. You knew it was a big deal. You knew it. Because you’ve been hiding this from me ever since we got together. You knew how bad it was. Even after this afternoon, after we... after we... you still didn’t tell me the truth about this. And I have to assume you never would have told me if you hadn’t been trapped the way you were. You knew how bad it was, so don’t act like it’s not a big deal.”
“You’re right.” He’s rubbing his face with a restless gesture that’s not like him at all. “Of course I knew it was bad. I hated myself for it. And the more I fell for you, the guiltier I felt about it until I just wanted to pretend it never happened. I was afraid if you knew, I would lose you, and I couldn’t... I couldn’t...”
I stare at the sidewalk for a moment before I raise my eyes to meet his. “You did. You lost me.”
“No! Please, no, baby.” He grabs for both my hands, and I don’t have the will to pull mine away. He holds them up toward his chest, like he’s cradling them. “I know it’s bad. I know you’re hurt. But I can’t believe we can’t work through this. Why would this have to—?”
“Because it taints everything!” I feel more tears but fight against them. “It changes everything. I thought... I believed you really... saw me. That I wasn’t invisible to you.”
“You aren’t, Gillian. I do see you. You’re the most important person in the world to me, and you have been since that first night we spent together.”
“But that night never would have happened if you hadn’t been trying to use me.”
“No, I told you I’d already—”
“I know you’d already ended the job. But you never would have talked to me at all if you hadn’t been trying to use me. Don’t you see? Don’t you understand? You didn’t see me at all. I thought you did. I thought for the first time, someone... but you di
dn’t. You only saw me as a... as a thing to be used. And I thought you saw me as a person.” I sob a few times. There’s no way I can help it. I pull my hands out of his grip so I can cover the tears.
“Gillian, oh no.” He takes me in his arms, and his strong arms and warm body are everything I want so I can’t bring myself to pull away. “You were never a thing to me. You were always a person. I see you. I see every part of you. And I love every part of you. I love you so much, baby.”
Hearing the words makes me cry even more.
Because I love him too.
But that isn’t the strongest thing. Not anymore.
I make myself push him away. Sniffing and wiping away the tears, I manage to force out, “It doesn’t matter anymore. I was just fooling myself, thinking my life could change, thinking I could be someone different. But you’ve just proven it to me. I’ve always been invisible. And I knew—I knew—a man like you would never be interested in me. I knew the whole thing was wrong, but I wanted it so much that I let myself be stupid. I might always be invisible, but I’m not going to be stupid anymore.”
“Gillian, what are you say—”
“I’m saying this is over.” I turn away from him, back toward the hotel. “I’m going home.”
He follows me. Of course he does. He tries to pull me to a stop. “No, no, no. It doesn’t have to be over. Please don’t say—”
“Richard, stop!” I’m getting desperate because he can talk me into anything. He’s always been able to do it.
And I can’t let him talk me out of this.
He freezes at the sharp sound of my voice.
“Listen to me, Richard,” I continue. “I need to get away right now. I need to. So please don’t try to stop me.”
“Okay. Okay, if you need space, I’ll give it to you. But don’t say this is over for good. I won’t believe it.”
“That’s not your decision. It’s mine.”
“But you said...” He trails off, as if the words hurt too much to get them said.
I should walk away right now. While I have the will to do so. But I can’t stand the haunted sound of his voice. “I said what?”
“You said that you...” He’s been staring at the sidewalk, but now he raises his gaze to meet mine. “You said you understood that I used to... work in the gray. You said you wanted me to be better, but it didn’t change how you felt about me. You said you... you cared about me anyway.”
I choke on another sob but don’t let it overwhelm me. “I do care about you, Richard. I love you.” He sucks in a breath at that, his eyes flashing with surprise and sudden hope. A hope I can’t let survive. “But it doesn’t matter. I was wrong about what I said before. What I thought before. I was... I let my love for you turn me into a hypocrite. Because I thought I understood the kind of thing you used to do to people.” I pause, swallowing hard. “But then I learned you did it to me.”
The words freeze him. The brief flash of hope dies in his eyes. I see it happen. It’s like he understands that what I just said was the final slice of the knife.
“Please let me go, Richard. I need to go. I can’t do this anymore. So please let me go.”
He’s still frozen. He gives a very faint inclination of his head. I can’t stand what I see on his face—what it proves about how much I’ve broken him—so I turn away.
Toward the hotel. I need to get my stuff. I need to change my plane ticket. I need to try to get through this day and the next one and the one after that.
Mostly, I need to go home.
THE NEXT FEW WEEKS aren’t good. In fact, they’re so bad they’re not worth describing. I go through the basic routine of my life, but everything I do hurts me. I cry in the shower, and I cry as I walk through the grocery store, and I cry in bed at night when I try to sleep.
It feels like mourning.
I knew it would be bad, but I didn’t know it would be like this.
Sometimes I don’t think I deserve to grieve so much for the loss of the relationship. After all, I’ve only known him for eight months, and I was only really dating him for a month. One month. Hardly any time in my life at all. And we never lived together—or even lived in the same city. Even in the month we were together, most of my time was spent without him.
But I loved him, and that was real. I’d started making plans for a future with him. For a life with him.
The loss of him—the loss of that future life with him—is real too.
I don’t hear from him. He doesn’t show up at my door and beg me to take him back like I half expected. I asked him not to do that. He’s always respected my wishes. I’m not sure why I’m surprised he’d respect my wishes in this too.
I think about him a lot. Wondering how he’s doing. Hoping he hasn’t fallen back into his old patterns. He wanted to start a new life, and I still want him to have that new life even if I won’t get to share in it.
It’s a rainy Friday afternoon, three weeks after I had gotten back from London, when I stop by to check my post office box. I usually check it every day since it’s my business address, but I haven’t been by for a few days. Most of my clients contact me by phone or email, so it’s usually just junk in it anyway.
But today there’s a letter.
A letter. In a plain white envelope, addressed by hand. The return address is from Boston.
Shrugging, I stick it in my bag and head home, tired and not looking forward to the weekend. I’m having dinner with Ashley and Sean tomorrow, but otherwise I’m planning to work for most of the weekend.
At least when I’m working, I’m not moping about Richard.
When I get home, I fix myself a sandwich for dinner and eat it standing over the counter and reading my phone. Then I turn on the television and start to draw myself a bath.
I’ll take a bath, watch some TV, and go to bed early. Then I’ll wake up and go to a coffee shop to work. It helps to get out of the house, and I like the white noise and occasional distraction that a coffee shop provides.
I’m doing okay. Every Friday night will be easier. And one day I’ll wake up and it won’t hurt so much to think about Richard. I’ll be happy again. I’ll look with interest at other men. I won’t see his blue eyes and silvering hair and dry smile around every corner.
This is life. People come into your life and leave it again. Sometimes they’re taken from you when it’s the last thing in the world you want. But it’s not the end of the story. This isn’t going to be the end of mine.
When my tub is almost full, I check the temperature and add a few bath salts before I turn off the water. I’m about to get in when I remember I left my phone in the kitchen, so I go to grab it, noticing the letter sticking out of my bag as I do.
I reach for that too, remembering I had no idea what it was. It’s addressed to me. My name is right there on the mailing address. Gillian Meadowbrook.
No one handwrites letters anymore. It’s very strange. A Boston return address.
I’m naked and about to step into the bath as I rip open the envelope and pull the letter out. It’s thick. More than a page. As I unfold it, I see the whole thing is handwritten.
I gasp when I see the signature at the end.
Richard.
I sit down on the closed lid of my toilet, the porcelain cold against my bare butt, and read the letter.
Gillian, I know you asked me to let you go, and I’m trying to do that. I don’t know if this letter is crossing any lines, but there are some things I need to tell you, and this is the only way I can think of to do so.
I’ve moved to Boston. Please don’t think it’s a stalker move. I bought that coffee shop I told you about. I was already in talks with the owner, and we’re in a transition period now until I take full ownership in a couple of months. We’re trying to do it in a way that keeps it open so we don’t lose regular customers. I’m not trying to crowd you. If you don’t want to see me, you won’t. I’m going to stay out of your neighborhood so you won’t accidentally run into me. It’s jus
t that I’d started to make plans for a new life, and those plans were in Boston. I didn’t want to give everything up just because I’ve lost you. I wanted at least a piece of the new life I’d envisioned for myself, even if that life can never have you.
I wanted to make sure to tell you so you wouldn’t find out secondhand and think I was creeping on you. If you want me to stay away from you, I’ll do it—even though it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
I’m going to try to be the man you always saw. The man you wanted me to be. I know I failed you in that. I know there’s no making up for what I did to you. But I don’t want you to have been wrong about me. You believed in me when no one else ever did. You saw something good in me that I didn’t even know was there. So I’m going to try to make what you saw in me true.
Like I said, I won’t call you or approach you or get in the way of your life if you don’t want me to. But if you ever want to talk, just come by the coffee shop. I’m there most of the time. I’m not expecting to see you, but I wanted you to know that the thought of you one day not hating me is what’s keeping me going right now. So nothing would make me happier than to see you, talk to you, even for a few minutes, even if we can never be together again. I’ll understand if that’s not what you want. I might write you another letter if I feel the need to tell you something else. If you don’t want me to write you, just send this letter back to the return address. If you do that, I’ll never write you again.
This is getting long. I haven’t written so much by hand since I was a kid. But I did want to say this before I finish. You were right about almost everything you said to me, but you were wrong about one thing. Because I always saw you. You were never invisible to me. I saw how you stopped whatever you were doing any time you saw a commercial on TV that involved an animal so you could watch it and smile at the dog or cat or camel or duck. I saw the way you focused so intently on everything you did, even if it was something little like pouring a cup of coffee. I saw how you smiled and met the eyes of drivers and bellmen and servers in restaurants and strangers who held doors open for you. I saw how you treated them like human beings who deserved your attention and respect. I saw how you spent years taking care of your mother, putting your life on hold in very real ways because you loved her and wanted to take care of her. I saw how sometimes you were taken by surprise by what you felt during sex, like you never knew what a sexy, passionate person you really are. I saw how you looked at me and saw something good. Something worthy. When nothing I’d done in my entire life deserved it. I saw you, Gillian. From the very beginning. I saw how brave you are. How empathetic. How understanding. How forgiving. How smart and funny and sexy and generous and loving you are. I saw you, Gillian. I still see you every time I close my eyes, and I probably always will.
