The Ugly Truth

by Jill Orr

  When we all had glasses in hand, Chloe raised hers toward me and said with a smile that did not reach her eyes, “To old friends…and new.”

  We were halfway into the second bottle of red when Holman got there. The conversation had been pleasant enough, though I’d had to hear more than I cared to about Chloe Marks. She was from a small town in the Florida Panhandle, came to Washington, DC, on a full ride to Howard University, where she graduated summa cum laude. (Like I cared.) She double majored in finance and marketing and worked as a financial adviser in the 2012 Obama campaign. (Big whoop.) She taught Sunday school at her church, volunteered at the food bank, and twice a month on Wednesday nights drove old people to their doctor’s appointments. (Okay, that really was impressive.) I really didn’t want to know all of this about her, but I kept asking questions because that was the easiest way not to have to talk about myself, since my biggest accomplishment in the past month had been successfully quitting the gym I’d been trying to leave for nearly two years.

  Holman arrived just after nine. Jay had said he’d been “worried sick” about me, but when he got there he barely gave me a glance before attaching himself firmly to Jay’s backside. In fact, I suspected that was half the reason he’d decided to make the drive up there. Holman had a bit of a hero-worship thing going with Jay from back when he had saved both our lives. Introductions were made and then true to form, Holman started asking questions about how they met, how long they’d been dating, blah, blah, blah.

  Chloe was working as a supervisor in the Human Resources department for the DEA, and the two met when there was a problem processing Jay’s paperwork for his new position. He’d gone over on his lunch break to “read someone the riot act,” according to Jay, but things had taken a different turn.

  “He changed his tune pretty damn quick when he saw me sitting behind that supervisor desk,” Chloe said, adding that they’d made “an instant connection.” (Puke.) They told the story of their meeting and subsequent first date in tandem like an old married couple. I took another long swig of my wine.

  “Who’s hungry?” Jay said, finally putting an end to the insufferable story. I don’t know if it was the wine or wishful thinking—or maybe it was both—but I thought Jay looked uncomfortable. Had he finally realized that telling me the gory details of his new relationship might be a tad inappropriate?

  “I am,” Chloe said, getting up from the table. “You’ve got to be starving, Riley. I’ll call Mauritizios and have some pizzas delivered.”

  “It’s only two doors down, come with me and we’ll pick up. It’ll be faster that way,” Jay said. “Besides, I think Holman and Riley have some business to talk about, and they could probably use a little privacy.”

  Chloe, clearly feeling the wine, looked between Holman and me. “I see. They’ve got ‘business’ to discuss.” She gave a stage wink in our direction.

  “Wedo,” I said, the words running together. It’s possible I was feeling the effects of the wine too.

  Jay helped Chloe on with her coat and gave me a concerned look before heading out. “You okay?”

  “Peachy,” I said, which admittedly came out more like, “Peashy.”

  The door closed and Holman turned to me. “You’ve had too much alcohol.”

  “Noshitsherlock.”

  “We haven’t used those code names in ages, Riley. But if you think we need to, I suppose we can start again…”

  I flopped down on the sofa, ignoring Holman. I was too depressed and tipsy to care about code names or stories or anything except how cute Jay was and how he’d moved on from me in record time. I let my head fall onto the back edge of the couch. Holman went into Jay’s kitchen and returned with a glass of ice water.

  “Are you upset that Jay has a new girlfriend?”

  I heaved my head up and looked at Holman. I nodded.

  “Do you still have romantic feelings for him?”

  I shrugged. I didn’t think I did, but seeing him this afternoon confused me. Was I mistaking attraction for deeper feelings? Nothing had changed to make a relationship with Jay possible. All the same reasons we broke up still existed. The truth was that I didn’t know how I felt.

  “Maybe you just didn’t want to be replaced so easily?” Holman suggested.

  I slumped over onto him and laid the top of my head against Holman’s bony shoulder, just south of which was his big, kind heart. He could be so sweet, however he wasn’t big on physical displays of affection, a fact made obvious by his ramrod-stiff posture. I could tell I was making him uncomfortable by laying on him, so after a moment I hoisted myself up and wiped at the moist edges of my eyes.

  “Sorry.” I took a deep breath in. “I’m okay now. It was just kind of a surprise, that’s all. I mean, it’s only been like a month since we broke up, and they look like they’re in pretty deep.”

  Holman looked at me, his round eyes magnified under his thick glasses, wide and unblinking. He put his hand on top of mine and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sure Jay knows no one could ever replace you.”

  I was touched. It was exactly what I needed to hear. Sometimes Holman showed so much more compassion than I gave him credit for. “Thank you—”

  “—you’re like that disgraced Miss America winner who took those raunchy photos.”

  “Wait—what?”

  “You know, the Miss America winner who was dethroned because back in her youth she had taken some nude photos? Apparently, nude photos are against Miss America bylaws. Anyway, after she was stripped of her title, the woman who’d gotten second place was crowned the new Miss America. But even though number two technically had the title, everyone knew she only had it because the first one, number one, had made a poor life choice. Everyone still knew number one was the real winner.”

  I could feel the crease between my eyes deepening as I stared at him.

  Holman blinked, looking confused by my confusion. “Riley, you’re like the woman who made the poor life choice. Technically you’ve been replaced, but everyone still knows you’re number one.”

  I thought about his warped rationale and eventually decided it was meant to be a compliment. I should take it and run. It was probably the best I was going to get on this train wreck of a day.

  I went to the bathroom to splash some cool water on my face. When I got back, I felt better, though I wasn’t quite as clearheaded as I would have liked. I looked at the time. We probably had less than ten minutes to talk before Jay and Chloe would be back.

  “Have you been able to get ahold of Rosalee?” I asked.

  “No. I’ve been calling and texting her and she hasn’t responded. Phone goes straight to voicemail. I’m concerned.”

  “I’m sure she’s okay,” I said, not one bit sure, but I felt I had to say something to reassure Holman. “Rosalee is a survivor. I have a feeling she knows how to take care of herself.”

  “What if Dale found out where she was? Came after her?”

  “He was at home all day, at least according to him and his sister-in-law.”

  “He could have sent his goons after her,” Holman offered.

  “First of all,” I said, “we don’t know that Dale has ‘goons.’ Second of all, Rosalee probably just got nervous about going to talk to Sheriff Haight and bailed. She does have a history of running…”

  Holman nodded but didn’t look convinced.

  “Will,” I said as gently as I could, “I think we have to tell Carl.”

  He raised his bug eyes to meet mine. I could tell he was uncomfortable with my suggestion, but the fact that he hadn’t already said no told me he also knew I was right.

  I added, “It’s for her own good. If she is in trouble, she’s going to need help. More help than you or I can give her.”

  Holman reluctantly agreed that we’d talk to Carl as soon as we got back from DC. Then I filled him in on what Ridley had told me about the shady butter importer and how I’d confronted Dale Mountbatten. Holman was not happy about what I’d done, but he a
greed that at least Mountbatten was now on the defensive. If he was guilty—even if only of money laundering—chances are he’d be spooked. Now that we knew what to look out for, we could watch him and possibly catch him trying to cover his tracks.

  With that settled, all that was left was where I was going to sleep tonight. I pinched the bridge of my nose to stave off the beginnings of the headache that was starting to take root deep inside my skull.

  “You can stay with me,” Holman said.

  It was a nice offer, but I wasn’t sure a night in a hotel with Holman was better than staying here. “Uh, I—”

  “Mother won’t mind,” he added.

  Mother? This was the first I was hearing that a.) Holman had a mother, and b.) she lived not even two hours from Tuttle Corner. “Your mom lives in DC?”

  He nodded. “For some time. She moved here from Toronto when she and Dad divorced.”

  In all the time we’d known each other, which I guess upon reflection was only six months, Holman had never talked about his parents. Once he told me his father had been in the Royal Canadian Navy, but that was only in context of a story he was writing.

  “Um, okay, sure. I guess,” I said.

  “I can tell Chloe doesn’t like you, so I think you’ll be more comfortable at Mom’s place.”

  “Excuse me?” This night just kept getting better and better.

  Holman shrugged. “Her body language, the small jabs she keeps making at you, the way her mouth goes down at the sides each time Jay engages you in conversation. She feels you are a threat, probably because of your past sexual relationship with Jay.”

  “Are you serio—” I started to say, but then heard voices outside the door. I lowered my voice to a whisper. “To be continued!”

  A second later, Jay and Chloe walked in, him holding a pizza and her a brown paper bag. “Who’s hungry for pizza and ice cream?” Chloe trilled. “Riley, you look like a girl who appreciates a good bowl of ice cream.”

  I looked at Holman, my mouth slightly agape, and he just shrugged as if to say I told you so.

  CHAPTER 22

  Even though I was starving, I ate only one piece of pizza. But because I was still a little tipsy, I somehow managed to get sauce all down the front of my white shirt, which Chloe thought was just hi-frickin-larious. By the time the three of them finished their ice cream (to which I said a very dainty “No thank you”), I was desperate to leave. Holman had been spot-on: Chloe didn’t like me, and now that I was tuned into it, the little digs and passive aggressive comments were hard to ignore. Jay appeared to be clueless to the whole thing, which seemed weird. He was a highly trained DEA agent who occasionally went undercover. It was his job to read people. Maybe he was just blinded by love? The thought made me regret my no-ice-cream decision. Had I been home alone, I’d have been knee-deep in that carton of mint chip.

  After dinner, Jay fought us on the idea of my going back to Holman’s mom’s place. “There’s plenty of room here,” he said. “Like I said, you can have the bed and I’ll take the couch.”

  I felt my cheeks heat up. I must have involuntarily looked over at Chloe because Jay quickly added, “Chloe lives just a few blocks away and I’ll be taking her home soon.”

  Taking her home? Chloe wasn’t going to spend the night? I’d just assumed with all the cutesy-cutesy crap, they were serious—or at least serious enough to be sleeping together.

  “Um, well—”

  Holman jumped in. “My mother has been waiting my entire adult life for me to bring a woman home. Let her have this.”

  “All right,” Jay laughed. “I get it.”

  “Can’t you see they want to be alone,” Chloe said, raising her eyebrows up and down. “Besides, Riley looks absolutely exhausted—just look at the bags under her eyes.”

  “It was so great to meet you!” I said in response and pulled Chloe into a big hug (making sure to squeeze tight enough for the glob of tomato sauce to transfer onto her shirt). And then I turned to Jay. “Thanks for coming to my rescue. Again.”

  “Anytime,” Jay said. “I mean that.”

  “So…” I wasn’t sure where to go with this goodbye. I couldn’t really say See you soon or let’s do it again.

  “So…” Jay echoed.

  “So…bye!” Chloe chirped, holding the door open. “Hope you got enough to eat, Riley!”

  CHAPTER 23

  Five minutes later, Holman and I were in his car en route to his mother’s house. I was decidedly more sober than I’d been before, so a flood of thoughts and feelings about the strange afternoon and evening swamped my brain. I forced myself to focus on the moment, however. I was concerned about barging in at nearly 11 p.m. to crash at the home of a woman I’d never met. That was not exactly the best way to make a good impression.

  “Does your mom know I’m coming? Will she be asleep?”

  “Oh, she won’t care a bit.”

  “Wait—back there you said your mother has been waiting for you to bring a woman home your entire adult life.”

  “She has.”

  “Then don’t you want to give her a little heads-up?”

  “Riley, you’re hardly the kind of woman she’d get excited about.”

  Wow. Well, that stung. “Gee, thanks.”

  He continued, oblivious to my sarcasm. “Mom has been waiting for me to bring home a woman in whom I am romantically interested. Not simply a co-worker.”

  “Am I simply a co-worker?” I couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt. I knew what he meant, but still.

  Holman turned down a tree-lined street and slowed down. When he answered me, there was a distinct weariness in his voice. “Are you feeling extra needy because of what happened with Jay tonight?”

  “No, I’m not feeling extra needy,” I said, clutching my cross-body purse tighter around me. “I just thought that our relationship went beyond ‘simply co-workers,’ that’s all.”

  “I was afraid this might happen,” Holman muttered under his breath. He had pulled in front of an empty spot and was getting ready to parallel park. He placed his hand behind my headrest and turned to face me, which in the confines of a Dodge Neon, was pretty close quarters. He looked directly into my eyes and spoke slowly, deliberately, like you would to a very young child.

  “Riley, I think what we have here is a classic case of transference. You’re upset about Jay and some of the feelings you have for him are being directed at me. I get it. I’m like the Henry Higgins to your Eliza Doolittle, the Harry Potter to your Hermione Granger, I am the foundation upon w—”

  “Holman!”

  “What? I didn’t mean that in a sexual way, if that’s what you were thinking…”

  I held a hand up to stop him from saying another word. I absolutely could not have this conversation yet again. Holman parked and walked around to the sidewalk, his backpack slung over one shoulder.

  “Sometimes you exhaust me,” I said as I climbed out of the Neon. “And I don’t mean that in a sexual way, in case that’s what you were thinking!”

  “Now, now, kids,” a woman’s velvety voice wafted down from the steps of the massive row house I just noticed we were standing in front of. “Save the pillow talk for later, okay?”

  Will Holman’s mother was not what I expected. With all of his eccentricities, I guess I assumed Holman’s mom would also be a few degrees south of normal. I assumed wrong. Camilla Holman was elegance personified. Everything from her chic gray stacked bob to her monogrammed cashmere robe to her short, perfectly manicured buff-colored nails dripped with posh sophistication.

  “You look good, honey,” she said to Will as he kissed her on the cheek. “Thin. You are eating, aren’t you?”

  “Obviously, Mother. The human body needs food for survival.”

  “You’d be surprised,” Camilla said drily. “I know a senator’s wife who exists solely on cigarettes and animosity.”

  Holman gave his mother a quizzical look.

  “Hyperbole, dear.”

  He
nodded. “Mother, this is Riley Ellison, my co-worker at the Times. She is also my friend.” He then looked at me and added, “Is that a more acceptable definition of our relationship?”

  I felt my face turn red. I ignored Holman and stuck out my hand to shake hers. “Hi, Mrs. Holman. Pleasure to meet you. Sorry about the late arrival.”

  “Camilla. And I don’t sleep,” she said by way of absolution. “I’m glad you’re here.” Her steely blue eyes were sharp and alert, and when she looked at me it felt like an appraisal. I found myself instantly wanting her approval.

  Camilla led me to the back bedroom on the main floor, which I gathered was one of several in the house that went unused most of the time. Will’s room was upstairs. Despite her earlier joke about pillow talk, there was no question that we would be staying in separate rooms. I wasn’t sure if this was out of a sense of propriety or because she knew we were not romantically involved, but either way I was relieved not to have to explain it. I was also exhausted. After changing into the freshly pressed pajamas set out on the bed for me and using the brand-new toothbrush left in the bathroom, I climbed under the cloud-like covers feeling like I’d just checked into a fancy hotel. I was asleep in ten seconds flat.

  Self-Care Assignment #3:

  A Better You Through Prudent Risk-Taking

  Nine Strategies to Become a Responsible Risk-Taker:

  1. Begin before you’re ready

  2. Be ridiculously irrational

  3. Make your own mistakes rather than let mistakes make you

  4. Develop a growth mind-set

  5. Eschew consensus

  6. Become a Failure Genius

  7. Gamble on Yourself

  8. Don’t Boil the Ocean

  9. Adopt and Adapt

  Identify an area of your life, personal or professional, where you can employ one or more of the above strategies. Do not be alarmed if you feel afraid, hesitant, or unprepared. That is just your trapped negative energy trying to work its way out.

  Spend at least fifteen minutes journaling about how employing that particular strategy made you feel, noting the sensation of emotional bravery on a macro and micromolecular level. (Personal molecular change detector, $289.99).