by Lily Zante
But as the day moves on, she lapses back into episodes of not knowing, of becoming confused, of faltering when she’s about to say something. Worst of all is the dead expression in her eyes when she looks at me as if I’m a complete stranger.
The nurse tells me that it’s been a long visit, and it’s better if I leave and let mom rest. So I say goodbye, and I hug her frail body, trying not to squeeze it with the full force of the love I feel for her. I try not to linger too much, to not inhale deeply as my face brushes her shoulder and I wish I could smell the lavender again. I pull away with my heart in fragments and I leave the nursing home feeling wretched.
I hate to leave her behind. It doesn’t matter how nice Maplewood is, the thought of mom there, lost and not knowing who she is or where she is and who I am, is cold and makes me uneasy. A ball of anxiety grows in my stomach as I check my cell phone for messages before I drive back. There’s a message from Jamie and it’s like a tiny lifeline of happiness. He’s asked me to come over for dinner on the way back from my mom’s. ‘If you’re not too busy’, he adds.
It’s Saturday night. I don’t want to mess up his plans. I’d told him that I’d stop by to pick up a few more of my things. I text him:
Only if you have nothing better planned for tonight?
He replies back:
Come over.
No plans.
Dinner with him is exactly what I need.
As I drive back, the hour’s journey seems longer. When I was in my apartment, it was forty-five minutes, and where I live now has added on an extra fifteen minutes. I never worried about the distance before. Maybe because my life was different, it was secure and assured. I had my job, and my apartment, and I was in ignorant bliss about my boyfriend. Is it that the fifteen minutes has changed things so much, or that the rug has been pulled out from beneath my feet?
I no longer have the job I loved, no apartment that I can call mine. No boyfriend either, at least, not one who belongs to me. I’m better off without that cheating, lying scumbag who put his penis inside another woman and got her pregnant. I forgave him once before and I should have learned from that mistake. Jamie’s analysis of my bad luck with men is spot on. I am reckless. I take risks. I give my heart too easily.
A liar never fully changes.
A leopard never changes its spots.
One thing is clear: men and relationships aren’t my concern right now. There’s only one thing I need to do while I try to put myself together. I must keep my mom at Maplewood, and take care of her, visit her as much as I can on the weekends. The staff members here are so much better, and she seems better cared for. She might slowly be wandering away from me, but at least she is alive. I must keep her there, and that’s the only thing that keeps me working for Ward. I have to put up with him no matter how rude and insolent he is.
I feel slightly better when I arrive at Jamie’s place. But when he opens the door, I hug him for the longest time. All of a sudden, I’m overcome with emotion and I grab onto him and nestle my face in the hollow of his neck. He holds me silently, and when the moment stretches out, I pull away.
“Mari?” His eyes sparkle with concern.
My eyes have welled up, and I’m embarrassed. “It’s nothing,” I say, but I don’t sound convincing at all.
“Hey.” He hugs me again, then pulls me inside gently. “You’re upset because you went to see your mom,” he says, putting his arm around my shoulder protectively. “You always get teary.”
I nod, because if I say anything, the emotions I’ve managed to bottle up inside me might explode and gush out in a torrent of tears.
Jamie is warm, and strong, and his hug is the most comfort I’ve experienced in weeks. Dale and I had been slowly drifting apart but it was weeks before I realized something was wrong. We had stopped making love months ago. That should have told me something.
“Talk to me,” he coaxes.
I pull away to retrieve a tissue from my pocket, then blow into it. “Just give me a moment.” I turn away and blow loudly into it. I dab at my eyes, feeling silly now that I’ve had a moment to compose myself.
Thank goodness that it’s only Jamie. I don’t usually fall to pieces. I’m usually dignified and together. Minor events don’t ruffle me, but my life recently has been made up of things that aren’t minor.
We go into his living room, and I sink onto his couch. He stares down at me looking worried.
“I’m sorry.” I dab at my eyes again. He squats down in front of me. “Your ...” He lifts a finger to my face. “Your mascara is running.”
I attempt to wipe it away with my tissue. He makes a face.
“Worse?” I sniffle.
He takes my tissue—even though it’s damp with my snot—and finds a dry corner, then wipes my eyes gently.
I breathe out. Since when was Jamie so kind and considerate? I’ve always thought of him as my work colleague. We’ve helped one another through tricky phases but this feels different.
I claim my tissue back from him and proceed to tell him about my visit to my mom, and how it upset me. He squeezes my hand and reassures me about her being in the right place and how I’ve always cared for her. He says all the things that make me feel better. Then I tell him about Trevor losing his job and how shocked I was by Ward’s sudden dismissal.
“He did what?” Jamie is shocked. I can almost see his earlier fascination for Ward breaking away. I tell him about the conversation Trevor and I had, and the things Trevor said about Ward.
“I’m shocked that Ward fired him but Trevor was being downright rude.” He seems unsure about where to sit, then walks to the couch opposite and sits there instead of next to me.
“Trevor didn’t do anything wrong. We were just talking.”
“But he was laughing at him, talking about him disrespectfully. I saw Ward. The guy looks pretty tubby and out of shape. He’s going to feel humiliated hearing you two talking about him like that.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Still, I can’t blame him for firing the trainer guy.”
I roll my eyes. “He floats around wearing a robe all day! He’s not fit, but he’s not as big as he looks in that ridiculous thing.”
“He’s probably feeling self-conscious about his weight and shape. You said his agent more or less shipped him off to a new city and told him to get with it.”
“I’m not saying Trevor was right, but he didn’t deserve to be fired like that.”
“I’d do it.”
I look at him in surprise. “You’re too nice. You’d give a guy a second chance.”
“Would I?”
I nod. Of course he would. Because Jamie is a nice guy. There’s not a bad bone in his body. A few of our work colleagues used to think Jamie and I were flirting around one another, even though both of us had partners, but it was never like that. It wasn’t flirting, he’s just a really nice guy. I’ve never been attracted to him. He’s too nice and I like dangerous men. Maybe that’s why I have a track record of picking losers. I like the excitement and my ex was reckless. Maybe that’s why he did what he did, and that’s why I ended up getting hurt.
“I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head. I’m unsure about Ward. He’s rude and surly and lazy. I don’t feel scared, or threatened in any way, but I don’t like him as a person. I also can’t afford to lose this job. I tell Jamie about my fears, about the mansion being so big and alien, and how I can go the entire day without seeing Ward and that suits me.
Unfortunately, the kitchen has a side that opens up to the room with the huge TV and I can see right into it. Worse, the thing I see from where I stand, is the couch, and if Ward is in there, I’ll have a full view of him lying on the sofa, often with a bag of chips in his hand, stuffing his face as he watches TV.
“Sorry,” I say, when Jamie looks at his watch. “I’ve come here and all I’ve done is whine and moan about my life. Tell me what’s going on with you? How’s the new job?”
We swap stori
es about our weeks and how we have fared since getting laid off. He needs more money. Seems like every working person I know needs more money. Life is just one big never-stopping hamster wheel, unless you’re a big-ass author like Ward. I look at his life with envy. The guy works from home, floats around in a satin number, writes when he feels like it and goes on to make millions.
I hate him even more.
“You should make use of the gym,” Jamie says.
“The gym?”
“It’s there, he’s probably not going to use it much. It will help you feel better. You can do your yoga.”
I do love my yoga. It calms me, helps me, grounds me.
“Seriously, Mari. Don’t waste the opportunity.”
He has a point. I’m probably going to need my yoga more than ever now that I’m working for Mr. Grumpy.
A delicious aroma floats through the air, and I’m starving. I didn’t even have anything to eat for lunch and now its late evening. “Did you cook?”
“I’ve made dinner. I figured you might be feeling down.”
“Aw, Jamie. You didn’t have to do that! We could have gotten take-out. It would have been my treat.”
“Well, this is my treat. I know it upsets you seeing your mom.”
This man understands me, I see that more clearly now that we’re not in the confines of our work environment. I want to give him a hug and I get up to do just that but he walks into the kitchen. In a corner on the countertop, I see a few bars of my favorite chocolate. He bought them for me. Before I get a chance to say something, he opens the oven door and pulls out a roast chicken complete with roasted potatoes and vegetables. I go to hug him but now he has his arms full.
“Here,” I dart around the table, setting mats out. “Put it here. This is too much, Jamie,” I say, as I get out the plates and cutlery.
“Don’t go thinking I did this just for you. I have to eat, too.”
Except I know that Jamie wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble for himself. It’s been a while since anyone took care of me, and this, tonight, with Jamie fussing over me, is perfect.
“I’m so lucky that I have you in my life right now.” I mean that sincerely. His smile makes up for everything.
The Ward Maddox’s of this world have made me cynical, but Jamie restores my faith in humanity.
Chapter Nine
WARD
* * *
“How are you getting along with your new friends?” Rob asks.
I’ve been staring at my notepad for ages. His phone call is a welcome diversion. “I don’t have any friends.”
“Yeah. That’s never going to change,” Rob throws back.
“I fired the personal trainer.” I expertly deflect the conversation before he can ask me about my writing.
“You did what?”
“I fired him.”
I listen to his cries of exasperation and explain exactly what happened. “So I fired him.”
“Don’t you think you overreacted?”
“If you think I’m going to put up with that crap, you’re wrong.”
“I should have warned him,” Rob grumbles.
“Warned him about what?”
“About how difficult you were. I told Mari, but for some reason I didn’t think to warn Trevor.”
I find it amusing that he has to warn people about me, although it’s the right thing to do. They need to know what they are getting themselves into. “There’s no way I’m going to let anyone talk about me like that.”
“So, this guy upset you?”
“You sound surprised that I have feelings.”
“Sometimes, Ward, I’m not so sure.”
Rob can piss me off easily sometimes. “I’m getting the impression that you think this is my fault.”
“You’re not good around people. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but I expected the new hires to last longer than a few days.”
“The housekeeper’s still here,” I shoot back.
“I’m surprised that you didn’t fire her at the same time.”
“She never said anything.”
“You’ll find a reason soon enough, but go easy on her, will you?”
“You make me sound like a villain from one of my books.”
He chuckles. “With you I never know.”
I’m curious. “Go easy on her why?”
“She lost her job.”
I snort. “I’ll try to be gentle.”
“I’d appreciate it. She’s nice. She accepted the job on the spot. Of course, I had to pay her slightly more to get her to accept.”
“How much more?”
Rob coughs lightly. “Double.”
I have no idea what double the rate is. I don’t even know what the going rate for these people is. I don’t care. I’m aware that I need a manager or a PA to help me through my daily life, but I’ve made a choice not to have people around me. And unwittingly, Rob has fulfilled that role to a degree. It’s not his responsibility, and he’s gone over and above what he needs to. “I’ll try not to fire her.”
“This is a big year for you. It’s a big gamble, writing the third book in a trilogy almost a decade after the first book. It sets up a lot of expectation.”
I groan. Every time he reminds me of this, the pressure intensifies. I wish I could go back to the days when writing was fun. I wasn’t so well known then, but I had enough to get by. I didn’t need millions. Or the fame, or the loss of my anonymity.
Writing is a chore now. I’m not sure I’ll ever get my love for it back.
“Dare I ask about your writing?” he asks. I had a hunch this question was coming, since that’s the only reason he ever calls. “How’s it going?”
It’s not. This week has upended my daily schedule. I’ve had people in my house to get used to. A new city, and new home. How does he think this is going to be any better?
“Why don’t you go back to the house where you lived? Or revisit the children’s home?” he suggests.
Is he fucking crazy?
I won’t be going to Grampton House, and I won’t be going to my childhood home. Ever.
Some places are best left forgotten. Though I’ve written about some of them. It helped me to reach some sort of closure.
“I don’t need to visit any of those places.”
Rob lets out a loud exhale. I sense he’s fed up. I’ve tried his patience lately and I’m aware of that. He’s only trying to help.
“I was about to write,” I tell him, staring at the blank notepad again.
“Don’t let me stop you.”
I hang up. I need more coffee. I head into the kitchen again and refill my cup, and notice that there’s a scrap of paper lying on the table that wasn’t there when I woke up.
Salad and quiche are in the fridge.
* * *
I’ll be back later tonight.
The housekeeper has gone out for the day.
My shoulders sink with the relief of this news. This is just how I like it. I have the place to myself.
No fitness guy.
No irritating housekeeper.
I stare at the scribbled note again and my eye catches the line a few spaces lower down.
Don’t wait up.
There’s a smiley face after it.
What in the devil’s name does she mean ‘don’t wait up?’
She’s trying to be funny, or familiar, but I don’t like it. I peer inside the fridge and pull out the food she’s left. It doesn’t look too bad though my insides roil at the heap of salad. Still, the quiche looks appetizing. I don’t imagine for one moment that she baked this. She’s no Freya.
But she’s trying. I have to give her that. She could have left me a sandwich. I guess Rob must have explained things better to her than he did the personal trainer.
I head straight back to my study and get on with my writing. My story is in a lousy shape right now but my longhand notes aren’t complete garbage. I sit up and move my plate out of the way. An idea po
ps into my head and I start to scribble some notes. The more I write, the more ideas pop up in my head. I write some more and fall back into the story almost seamlessly.
When I next look up, it’s evening. I almost choke in surprise. Hours have flown by, and my lunch is untouched. The salad leaves look wilted but I’m starving. I stand up first and stretch, feeling stiff and achy all over.
But I feel good.
I feel inspired.
I’ve written more today than I have in the entire month.
Picking up my plate, I start to eat but the story is so fresh and vibrant, I can’t eat for long. I begin typing up the longhand notes and adding to the first draft of my story. The words fly from my fingers faster than I can type them.
This is what it’s like when the words flow; when everything comes together and the story pours out of me. It’s a wonderful streak, and one that probably won’t last for long; it’s as rare as it is satisfying. But I’m going to go with this. I know from experience how elusive such things are, so I will ride this out for as long as I can.
When I look up again, it’s almost midnight. I finish off what’s left of my lunch and I’m so hungry that eating it eight hours later makes no difference to how it tastes.
There’s an odor in the room. I sniff. I haven’t showered today either and the blinds are still drawn.
Feeling more like a slob than ever, I stand up and roar. It’s an animalistic sound but as I walk around, flexing my fingers and loosening my arms by shaking them, my body is tighter than ever. I feel closed up and rigid.
I haven’t even walked around the house much, moving from the TV room to the kitchen is what I usually manage.
I run my hand over my flabby belly and cringe. A physique likes Trevor’s is what I want. I had it before and I don’t see why I can’t get it back.
