by Lily Zante
“I wanted to see you, and I needed an excuse.” His confession confuses me. While I’m not so sure that I hate him as much, I’m trying to move on and forget him. Words like these don’t make this easy. “An excuse?”
He doesn’t smile but there is a twinkle in his eyes which I remember very well. “I had a feeling you weren’t going to let me in if I came without your belongings.”
“Why did you want to see me?”
“To say goodbye.”
Goodbye? Why am I so shocked? It was going to happen at one point, I just never expected it would happen like this.
“I’m going back to New Orleans next week.”
“What happened to the book?”
“I manned up like you suggested, and printed another copy off, and sent it to Rob. He got it a few weeks later than planned, but … he got it. My editor is still talking to me. Looks like I might have salvaged things.”
“Good for you.”
I recall our argument and the good time before that. Rollercoaster times some of them, but unforgettable times, too. We are extremes, he and I.
Deep dirty passion, reckless friendship, extreme hate.
He kept me on my toes. He was what I wanted, what I am drawn to: risk, and danger, not average or nice, or boring. For my sins, these are the types of men I am drawn to and Ward Maddox fit the bill one hundred percent.
Looking at him, my heart begins to flutter, and just as quickly I am reminded that we have too much bad history between us to fix anything.
“My dry cleaning,” says Jamie, pushing the door open. Ward steps out of the way, but the two men are eye to eye as Jamie walks in, his face growing ugly as he fixes his gaze on Ward. “What are you doing—”
“He came to drop off my things,” I say quickly, all too aware of the growing animosity between these two men.
“How do you know where I live?” Jamie asks, but he looks at me. “Did you tell him?”
“Mari had nothing to do with it,” Ward says smoothly. “I should have brought everything over the last time I came—”
“He’s been here before?” Jamie shrieks. His anger isn’t directed at Ward, it’s directed at me.
“He … he came once … when he found out about my mom.”
“You never thought to tell me?”
“There was nothing to tell,” I reply. I am sick of Jamie policing my every move.
He scoffs. “You’re going to take him back?”
“Jamie!”
“I always said you were a pushover. Don’t you ever learn?”
“Stop it.” He’s embarrassing me. Thankfully, he marches into the bedroom, and I hear him banging the closet doors.
“He doesn’t like me,” Ward states when it’s just the two of us again.
“You don’t have much affection for him,” I point out.
“I wonder why.” The way his eyes burn into mine, I can tell he wants to say something but Jamie interrupts the quiet as he stomps back through the room. He’s carrying his business suits. He’s got a few interviews lined up this week, which is more than I can say for myself. Without a word, he leaves, slamming the door behind him.
Ward’s gaze locks onto mine, and then he says something that I wasn’t expecting, not in a million years. “Lisa Dooley.”
The muscles in my stomach tighten. A ball forms, like days-old stale oatmeal sinking to the base and making everything heavy.
“Lisa Dooley?” I repeat.
“You asked me about her,” he puts his hands in his pockets. “You made accusations, if I remember correctly.”
“I was told something.”
“I need to explain.”
I wonder why now, and what difference will it make? He starts to tell me, so I listen.
“I loved her, but our being together was a passionate clusterfuck of disaster. She was good for me, in a bad way, and I was bad for her, in a good way.”
I want to ask him to elaborate, but he gives me a dismissive look and I can only surmise that it was to do with sex. I taunt myself with the unwelcome thought.
“Our being together didn’t work,” he says, moving on quickly, “not if I was being honest. I wanted to walk away. She wouldn’t let me. My first book was close to releasing. I had tons of pressure. I needed to prove to myself and to the world that I could do this writing thing and make a living. I didn’t have time for her. We argued, and I told her that I wished I’d never met her. She jumped off a building and died. I blamed myself. I always have.”
“But that’s not your fault.”
“She threatened to jump off a building. I told her to go ahead. And she did. She killed herself. How is that not my fault?”
“You were being flippant.”
“I should have known better. I should have gone easy on her. She wasn’t well, and while I didn’t know the extent of her problems until later, there were plenty of times when I suspected something was wrong. I was so preoccupied in my writing that she came second. But the more she clung to me, the more I grew angry. We argued all the time, until eventually, even she could see there was no point in trying to pretend we were happy together. I thought that would be the end of it. But a few months later, she called and told me she loved me, and that she couldn’t live without me and she made the threat.”
“Obviously you didn’t believe she would do that, something so crazy.” I need him to see that this wasn’t his fault.
“But I told her to go ahead. I loved her, and yet that’s what I said to her.”
“Ward!” I shake my head. I can see what it has done to him, the weight of this blame, along with everything else that he has carried throughout his life. It has broken him beyond repair. I can’t see this man disintegrate before my eyes. I won’t allow it. I take a step towards him, but he steps back, as if he needs the distance between us.
“And then what happened?” I ask, staying put where I am.
“I couldn’t function. I couldn’t promote the book or start writing the sequel. I couldn’t write a word. I was a mess. I moped around, not showering, not getting out of bed, just eating myself silly and watching TV. But I wasn’t watching it, I needed the noise and the pictures in front of me, but I didn’t watch a thing. I didn’t do a thing. If you think I was in a state when you first started to work for me, it was nothing compared to the mess I was then. That’s when Rob came onto the scene. He’s seen me at the lowest of my lows.”
He's gone from telling me nothing to all of this, and it’s almost too much to take in. Like being waterboarded. I can’t even speak.
“I didn’t kill her, Mari. I’m no murderer.”
I finally find my voice, even though it’s a whisper. “But Jamie said …”
“He said what?”
“That she died under mysterious circumstances.” I don’t tell him that Jamie said Ward killed her.
“People can have all kinds of opinions about the way in which Lisa died. I’ve tried to protect her family, and I’ve tried to block everything online about it. It wasn’t fair to her loved ones, all these nasty things people were saying. The police confirmed what happened. There was no foul play. Lisa wasn’t well. She had problems, but it hurt her family to have these problems printed and published for the world to read. I don’t mean to blow my own trumpet, but a lot of interest in her was because she was my girlfriend. For an up-and-coming horror writer, which was what I was then, to have a girlfriend who killed herself, well, news like that was ripe for the picking.”
I let this sink in. My fear of Ward was amplified because of what Jamie had told me. He gives me an are-you-satisfied stare, which makes me look away at the wall, feeling foolish.
“There’s one more thing. One more explanation.”
My heart sinks. The sadness that lingers around me—for my mom, and for everything I couldn’t fix and make better—deepens with every word Ward says. He is ripping my emotions to shreds in order to clear his name. He deserves to, because I have made and assumed way too much. He’s not a calculating man, like I
feared at first. He’s brusque and upfront, and reveals who he is. That’s why he scared me at first, from the moment I met him, because his roughness was in plain sight.
I feel sad because we could have had a lifetime of talking. Now he’s giving me piecemeal bits about all the things I wanted to know about him back when we were together. It’s too late.
“What other thing?” I ask, my voice shaky.
“I got mad that day, really mad, when I caught you reading my manuscript. My reaction was out of proportion to the thing you had done.”
“I’m sorry about that.” I really am. I’ve never had a chance to tell him, but now that I’ve had plenty of time to think about it, and I’ve had the distance to view my actions through the filter of time and space, I can see that I wasn’t entirely blameless.
He looks away, out of the window, at a point in the distance. “What you did, it took me back to the house, to my stepdad, to that time.”
I want to rush to him, but I’m scared I might end up wanting to touch him, and I’m also scared that he will push me away, so I fold my arms. “I betrayed you,” I say. “I did the very thing you asked me not to. No matter how good your writing was, I shouldn’t have read those pages. I’m so sorry.”
He narrows his eyes at me, as if he’s not sure of my sincerity.
And then I remember, something he said the last time he was here and which I forgot to point out. “About the photos, I didn’t take any. It crossed my mind for a few reckless seconds, I considered taking them but I knew I couldn’t. I knew it was going too far. The reason I even thought of it was that I’m a people pleaser. A pushover, like that. Jamie has often said that I always try to please.”
“You wanted to please him?”
“I … I wanted us not to fall out. We’d fallen out, and believed I could appease him if I gave him a sneak of your pages.”
“And betraying me even more?”
I feel the throb of my shaky heartbeat. “I don’t think, sometimes, with my head, and this was one of those times.”
“So you didn’t take any photos?”
“None. I swear.”
“I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that. Hurling your phone and breaking it. I scared you and that’s another thing I’ll regret forever.”
We’re moving towards an understanding, taking tiny steps towards forgiveness. “You’re particular about your writing. You want things a certain way. You have rules and I should have respected that. I’m sorry.”
“The reason I reacted the way I did,” he says, taking a huge breath and scratching his neck, “is because you reminded me of a time, a very painful time, with my stepfather.”
I wince, feeling uncomfortable already. I am aware of how much suffering that man inflicted on Ward. Reminding him of his stepdad is something I would never willingly do.
“I started writing when I was thirteen,” he continues, “when a teacher at school encouraged me. I applied myself and did well. I was good at something. She later encouraged me to enter a writing competition. She loved the piece I wrote and thought it had a good chance. But my stepfather read it, and he laughed and mocked me. To cut a long story short, he ripped it up, and we got into a fight. That’s when I ended up in the children’s home for a while. Things had been getting bad at home but this particular incident topped it all. Aside from Rob or my editor, I’ve never been able to have anyone read my work before it’s published.”
My heart lurches. Everything about him, every single thing from his past is filled with hurt. We are broken people, he and I, and we could be whole again if we allowed ourselves to help one another. I venture another step towards him but he motions for me to stay where I am.
He’s pushing me away. While I’m not about to leap at him with open arms, it breaks my heart the way he’s keeping me at bay. “I’d better go, before Jamie gets back and gets upset.”
“We’re not together,” I say, needing him to know. “We never have been.”
“Much to his annoyance, I’m sure.”
I detest his sarcasm and am about to say something when I suddenly realize it’s the truth.
“He likes you, and he can’t stand that you’re with me. That you were with me.” Ward walks towards the door, but I don’t want him to leave. I want him to stay and talk. “I blame myself for breaking your phone. I blame myself for putting you through the anguish of not reaching your mother sooner, of never having that chance. The guilt will always linger with me. It’s mine, not yours, to hold onto.”
He opens the door and stands in the doorway. “I know how you feel, Mari. Lost and bewildered. Numbed and paralyzed into inaction. If you let yourself spiral in so deep, no one and nothing will be able to pull you back out. The price of inertia is too high. Believe me, I’ve been there.”
Don’t go, I want to scream at him, but I manage to stop myself while regret cleaves my heart and I watch him walk away forever.
Chapter Fifty-Four
MARI
* * *
The atmosphere between me and Jamie has become more strained ever since Ward showed up here with my belongings last week.
I’ve managed to get a job at Danny’s place and now I can make plans to leave Jamie alone and find a place of my own. I don’t want things to get so bad between us that we can’t bear the sight of one another. Jamie has helped me in many ways, but he also makes me feel claustrophobic. This is something I never noticed before.
Taking Ward’s advice to not get sucked into a spiral of depression, I try to make a pointed effort to get my affairs in order. It also easier to do this now that I have a job and will have money coming in.
I can finally start to make plans and this afternoon I plan to start looking for an apartment.
It’s only when I finally get around to looking at my finances that I discover I’m still getting paid for the housekeeping job. I’m not getting paid the same amount, I’m getting paid double. And there is a suspicious payment of a few extra thousand dollars.
I peer closer, thinking I’m the target of some sophisticated scammer who has planted money in my account and will somehow siphon it away later. It’s difficult for me to believe that good things can happen to me, but after a phone call to the bank, I learn that the payments are legitimate.
I call Rob and ask him.
“Good to hear from you, Mari. I’m very sorry to hear about your mother. This must be such a terrible blow.”
“It was unexpected, to say the least. I’m not sure I’ve recovered.”
“Something like this is difficult to recover from. Ward said you were taking time away.”
“I needed to.”
“That’s completely understandable. I was going to call you at some point,” he says. This immediately fills me with dread. He’s obviously noticed the overpayment and wants to rectify it. “You can come back whenever you feel ready.”
It sounds to me like Ward hasn’t told him I quit. I decide to come clean. “Uh … I quit, actually.”
“You quit?”
“Almost six weeks ago. There’s been a mistake because I’m still getting paid for it.”
“Ward insisted, he said it was only right that you get paid, especially after such a difficult time.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. So, he’s choosing to pay me even though I quit? “But I’ve been paid too much.”
“Too much?”
“Yes, way too much,” I tell him. He must find this odd. I find it odd, because I’m sure many people would keep quiet about such a thing but I consider myself to be an honest person.
“You’ll want to take that up with Ward. I hired you, but the rest is on him.”
“Oh.”
“Sorry, Mari. I’ve got a call on the other line. Things are going crazy here. Seems like all the pieces of the puzzle are finally coming together now that the book is done and ready to publish.”
“He got the book in on time?” I ask quickly.
“Just about. I think it’s his best yet. Have you
read it?”
“I don’t read horror.”
He chuckles. “Maybe you should watch the movie then when it comes out. You can close your eyes at all the gory parts.”
“I might just have to do that.” I can hear the other phone ringing in his office. “I have to go,” he says.
“One more thing,” I rush to ask him before he hangs up. “Where’s Ward?”
“Still in Chicago. He comes back in a few days’ time.”
“Thanks.” I hang up.
* * *
WARD
* * *
I’m about to go downstairs, when I decide to take one last look at her bedroom. Pushing open the door, I survey her room. The empty dresser, the unslept in bed. I close my eyes and try to catch a hint of her scent. But it’s gone. Just like everything that was good between us has gone.
I take my bags downstairs, and I sit on the stairs waiting for the taxi to arrive. I’ll be back home by this time tomorrow. Back to normal. No drama, no nothing.
The doorbell rings, and I answer it, thinking that the driver has shown up early. But it’s like I’ve been punched in the stomach when I find Mari on the other side.
It’s a shock seeing her again, in the place where we had a lot of good times. There were bad times, too, but the good things always overshadow the bad times. It’s something I’ve had to learn, a new and better way I’ve tried to be. Focusing on the good things pushes the bad things away and out of sight.
“Hey.”
“You’re still here?” she asks, looking puzzled. It’s as if she expected me to have left.
“I’m waiting for the taxi. It should show up any moment now.” I open the door and let her in, thinking how nice this is, her being here. It’s been so long since she was here. So much has happened, so much could have happened if she had stayed.
“You’ve overpaid me,” she states, confusing me entirely. Foolishly, I’d thought that maybe she’d come to talk, but her visit appears to be based on financial matters. Arrangements. Not affairs of the heart.
“You were still employed.”
