“So wear flats,” I suggest, making her retch.
“Flats! Ha! The day I wear flats is the day I’ve given up all hope of attracting a man!”
“Speaking of men,” I say, aiming for a casual tone, “do you think Coop will be at Booger’s tonight?”
Suzanne is busily digging through her handbag. She produces a lipstick and compact, then proceeds to paint her lips a very unmummy shade of scarlet red. “Coop? I dunno. Maybe.”
“I mean…wouldn’t you like to see him there?”
She looks away from her compact and narrows her eyes at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Considering how peeved I was when she tried to set me up with Doug, the height-challenged building inspector, I have to tread carefully or risk being labeled a hypocrite. “Nothing. Only…”
Suzanne drops the compact and lipstick back into her bag, then turns to me with her arms folded. “Only what?”
She’s suspicious already. I might as well spit it out. “Only I’m sure he’d love to see you there.”
It takes a minute for her to process that, then she rears back like I’ve slapped her across the face. “Don’t be ridiculous!”
“Why is that ridiculous?”
“Preston Cooper is the last man on earth who’d be interested in a girl like me, that’s why! He likes sweet girls”—she simpers, batting her lashes—“homebodies who are duller than dirt who no one ever gossips about because they never do anything interesting! Girls like his wife!”
“Ex-wife.”
“Put on the damn wig.”
She’s annoyed by the turn in the conversation, so I let it go. “Who else will be at this shindig?”
“If you’re worried about the church ladies who’ve been talking about you, yes, most of them will be there. So will pretty much everyone else in this town. Booger’s annual Spooktacular is second only to the Christmas boat parade in popularity. Which is why you need a costume!”
I jam the wig on my head, make a few adjustments so all the purple strands are out of my eyes, and deadpan, “Ta-da. Costume.”
“You’re the worst.” She slings her handbag over her gauzy shoulder and heads for the door. “Let’s get outta here before the cats decide I’m a scratching post and shred me.”
Once in the car, Suzanne spends so much time staring at my profile, I start to get weirded out. “What’re you looking at?”
“I haven’t seen you since church. You’ve lost weight.”
“Maybe I should’ve gone as the mummy,” I mutter, taking a corner too fast.
“Have you been sick?”
“Jesus, do I look that bad?”
“No, you actually look great—bitch—just thinner. And sort of…haunted.”
I drag in a breath and grip the steering wheel harder. “I went on Lexapro for a few days, but it made me so sick, I stopped taking it. I couldn’t keep anything down.”
“Megan, I told you you’re not crazy.” Her tone is the same one my mother used right before I got a spanking as a kid.
“My shrink might disagree.”
“Fuck him!”
“He’s not my type.”
“Quit being sarcastic, this is serious! Just because you’re going through a rough patch doesn’t mean you need to take drugs!”
“Those drugs can save people’s lives, Suzanne.”
“They can also end them!” she shoots back hotly. “You ever see the list of horrible side effects for those antidepressants? Uncontrollable thoughts of suicide is right at the top!”
I assume this is her experience with her institutionalized Uncle Roy talking, but I’m too irritated to get into it. People who’ve never had depression don’t have a clue what it’s like. I can’t count how many times I’ve been told to “just get over it” or “focus on the positive” by well-meaning friends.
But then she says something that stops my irritation dead in its tracks.
“I mean, hell, if my boyfriend locked himself away in a psych ward, I’d be upset too, but you wouldn’t see me medicating my damn…self…” She trails off into silence, staring at me with wide eyes.
“How do you know Theo locked himself away in a psych ward?”
“Um…”
Realization punches me in the solar plexus. “Oh my God. Everyone in Seaside knows where Theo is, don’t they?”
She looks apologetic, scrunching up her shoulders. “Maybe?”
I shout, “How?”
“Well, honey—now don’t get upset—Leanne’s cousin’s hairdresser, Maxine, has a stepbrother who’s up at Acadia right now, having a little rest after his brain got knocked askew from spending one too many years balls-deep in cocaine. Maxine went to visit the stepbrother last week and saw Theo wandering around the grounds. Said he looked really out of it. So she told all her clients at the salon, one of whom was Leanne’s cousin, and the cousin told Leanne, and Leanne—who’s a major flaptrap, by the way, don’t ever trust that woman with a secret—told her book club and her knitting circle, and—”
“I got it!” I holler, red-faced. I don’t know who any of those people are, but I know how the gossip line works, and how fast a juicy bit of news burns through it.
“Sorry. I know it sucks. If it’s any consolation, nobody knows about you two.”
I groan. “I’m not worried about me—I’m worried about him! What will this do to his business? Will people treat him differently? How’s he going to feel, knowing everyone’s judging him and talking behind his back?”
“Probably the same way he’s felt for the last few years while they’ve been doing it.”
I groan again, miserable at the thought of Theo being subjected to stares and whispers.
Suzanne pats my arm. “Believe it or not, everyone’s pulling for him. Maybe this will turn out to be a good thing. He’s needed to get help for a long time.”
I stew in silence for several minutes, until Suzanne asks tentatively, “So, um, did you ever go to his house?”
I exhale in a gust. “God, I feel like such a jerk for doing that. I hope he doesn’t have security cameras. The last thing the poor man needs is the woman he’s having random booty calls with creeping around his property like a total lunatic.”
I fail to mention all the drive-bys, but Suzanne makes me feel bad enough for the one visit I admit to by saying, “Yeah. Let’s hope he’s never seen the movie Fatal Attraction.”
I say sourly, “Thanks.”
“About those booty calls—”
“No.”
“No, you’re not talking about them, or no, there haven’t been any more than the two you weren’t talking about in the first place?”
“Both.”
She sighs. “Bummer.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Any idea when you’ll see him again?”
“No.”
“What does he say about it when you ask him?”
“I don’t ask him. He isn’t responding to emails, and his phone is turned off. Plus, I sort of set up this don’t ask, don’t tell situation regarding our relationship.” When she stares at me cockeyed, it’s my turn to sigh. “These things always sound better inside my head than they do out loud.”
Suzanne is beginning to look disturbed. “So…what? You just have to wait for him to show up?”
“Basically.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, we can’t have that! You’re not some ditzy Disney princess, wasting all your pretty years pining for your knight in shining denim!” She thinks for a moment. “What if you sent him a letter at Acadia?”
“Is that what you’d do?”
She scoffs. “Oh hell, no, honey, I’d already have broken into the damn place and chewed through his underwear.”
“Of course you would.” I pull into the parking lot at Booger’s, stop in front of a valet stand, and we head inside.
Booger’s is packed. It’s wall-to-wall zombies and witches, ghosts and pirates, fairies and vampires. A few Star Wars and Marvel comics ch
aracters round out the mix. Everyone is laughing and mingling, crowding the dance floor, guzzling drinks. Suzanne drags me through the crush to a table on the far side of the room, near the temporary bar that’s been erected in one corner to handle the overflow of guests. It’s manned by a guy dressed as the Joker in a bright purple suit. I want to give him my wig.
I also want to leave.
It’s too packed, too loud, and my social anxiety is kicking in with a vengeance. Why the hell did I agree to this? I hate parties.
“Oh no,” says Suzanne, examining my expression. “You’re not going anywhere, girlfriend. Sit your ass down in that chair and pretend to enjoy yourself. I’m gonna get a drink—what do you want?”
“Ginger ale.”
She pushes me into a chair and heads off to the Joker, trailing wisps of gauze like snow. The instant she leaves, a man lowers himself into the chair opposite mine.
It’s Craig.
He’s the only other person in the place in normal clothes, in his case, tan slacks and a black cashmere sweater. His hair is perfect. His smile is perfect. His eyes are as hungry as a crocodile’s.
I grit my teeth in disbelief at how much the universe loves to fuck with me. “What’re you doing here?”
“You’ve been avoiding my calls.”
“So true. Funny how I wouldn’t want to talk to a lying, philandering dick.”
If he’s surprised by my hostility, he doesn’t show it. “How am I a liar?”
“Go away.”
“Or a philanderer?”
“Are you hearing impaired? I said go away.”
A muscle flexes in his jaw. “At least give me the courtesy of an explanation. When I dropped you at your place after we had dinner, I thought everything was great. I thought we had a real connection.”
There’s a sneer in my laugh that makes his eyes darken. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. All your talk of ‘I don’t play games’ and ‘You’ll always know where you stand with me.’ Women must eat that shit up. I mean, I thought it sounded genuine.”
I pause, staring at him with what I hope is pure disgust on my face. “I’m sure Colleen thinks so too. Tell me, how long did it take you to call her after you dropped me at my front door? Ten seconds? Twenty?”
After a beat, he leans back in his chair, crosses his legs, folds his hands in his lap, and smiles. “You’re adorable when you’re jealous.”
He thinks I’m jealous? The ego on this idiot. He’s lucky there isn’t any cutlery on the table, because he’d have a fork embedded in his forehead right about now.
I say with freezing calm, “Time to fuck off, Craig. And if you don’t want me telling your girlfriend Colleen what a giant piece of shit you are, make it quick.”
“She isn’t my girlfriend.”
“If you don’t get out of my face within five seconds, I’ll find something to stab you with.”
His smile grows indulgent, like he’s dealing with a cute, fussing baby. “Don’t be silly. You’ll do no such thing.”
I lean in on my elbows, rest my chin on my hands, and smile back at him with all my teeth showing. “Haven’t you heard, Craig? I’m. Fucking. Nuts.”
When he blinks, I know I’ve finally broken through.
“Oh, Craig! Hi! Fancy seeing you here!” Suzanne stands at the side of the table, holding two drinks and gazing at Craig with all the warmth of an iceberg.
I haven’t told her about my talk with Colleen at the pharmacy, so her reaction is all about his brush-off when the three of us had dinner. I’ve always liked a woman who can hold a grudge.
“Hello, Suzanne,” he says smoothly, rising. “How nice to see you again. You look beautiful.” He ogles her cleavage, not bothering to be the tiniest bit discreet about it.
Jesus Christ. The man is single-handedly eroding my faith in humankind.
“I know,” says Suzanne flatly, and pushes past him to sit down.
Then the universe decides it hasn’t had nearly enough fun for the evening and produces Colleen.
She’s wearing a tight black Catwoman costume and looks fantastic. Nary a baby bump in sight. “Hi, ladies,” she says, smiling. She glances at Craig, standing there with his plastic grin fixed on his face. “Have you met Craig?”
Suzanne and I both say, “Yep!” and glare at him.
As Colleen’s face registers confusion at all the odd tension in the air, the music changes. What was an upbeat pop number fades into the slow, sultry voice of Etta James, singing her signature blues love song, “At Last.”
Closing my eyes, I soak in the song’s passionate vocals and sweeping violins. I pull the stupid purple wig off and drop my head into my hands, wishing I were any place else on earth so I could burst into tears.
“Sweetie,” says Suzanne, touching my hand. “What’s wrong?”
“This song,” I say, my voice breaking.
“What about it?”
I start to chuckle in small, agonized gasps that are closer to sobs than laughter. “It was our song. Mine and Cass’s, from the time it was playing on the radio when he gave me a promise ring when we were fifteen, to our first dance at our wedding reception. Every time it came on, he’d tell me he loved me.”
I love you, sweet pea. I’ll love you till the end of time.
I hear his voice exactly as if he’s standing right beside me. Tears, hot and burning, quickly form behind my eyes. Shit—I’m going to cry. I’ve got to get out of this room before I have a meltdown.
But instead of running away when I open my eyes, I freeze, the impulse to flee retracting in one hard, reflexive movement, like a hand clenching to a fist.
Across the dance floor, half-hidden in the shadows of a doorway, stands Theo.
He’s staring right at me.
He’s smiling.
26
The room fades to black. Everything and everyone else disappears, and all that remains is him, standing there motionless, gazing at me with his smile so warm and his heart shining so brightly in his eyes.
He’s freshly shaven. It makes the hard angle of his jaw gleam like the edge of a blade. He’s wearing his usual outfit of boots, black leather jacket, and jeans, but his hair has been combed and trimmed. He looks scrubbed. Refreshed.
Knock-out, breath-stealing, uterus-scorching beautiful.
Someone says, “Is that Theo?” Then his name is all over the place, whispered in every corner of the room, an astonished repetition of TheoTheoTheo in dozens of hushed voices, none meant to carry but collectively as loud as a bell.
He moves out from the shadows of the doorway and gracefully crosses the dance floor, his gaze locked on mine. People scurry out of his way as he approaches the table, jostling each other in their hurry to give him room. He stops beside my chair. Without breaking eye contact, he holds out his hand.
When our fingers meet, that familiar zing of static electricity sparks between our skin. He clasps my hand, and I float breathlessly to my feet.
Theo leads me to the middle of the dance floor and takes me in his arms, then we stand there unmoving, staring into each other’s eyes as the music swells to a crescendo and Etta’s voice becomes the soaring soundtrack to the beating of my heart.
I say, “Hi.”
In response, he bends his head to my neck and deeply inhales.
I tighten my arms around his shoulders and hide my face against his chest, not caring that we’ve got hundreds of gaping witnesses. My heart pounds so hard, I can feel it in my fingertips. “You sure know how to make an entrance, Sunshine.”
A low rumble passes through his chest. A chuckle?
He shifts his weight, then we’re gently swaying. Our bodies pressed together, we move slowly in time to the music, as effortless as a sigh.
“I’ve missed you.”
He puts a finger under my chin and tilts my head up so I’m looking at him, then taps himself on the chest and holds up two fingers. Me too.
“You seem…better.”
He slowly nods. His pupils
are dilated. He blinks, and it’s as lazy as his nod.
He’s high.
Like ice water, a cold flush of horror slices through my veins. When I stiffen in his arms, he cocks his head, looking at me with half-lidded eyes.
“Theo, are you stoned right now?”
His face registers faint surprise, then he shakes his head. He mouths something, and it takes me a moment to recognize what he’s trying to say:
Meds.
He’s on medication. Why that should be such a surprise, I don’t know, because generally, when a person checks himself into a facility for hard-core psychiatric care, medication is involved.
I whisper, “Are you…are you okay?”
Smiling dreamily, he nods again. He taps his temple and makes a poof motion with his hand. If he were anyone else, I wouldn’t know what that meant, but this is the man who once told me he hears voices and sees ghosts. He’s saying they’re gone. The meds have banished them.
Must be some strong fucking meds.
Strong enough to kill demons.
Fear sinks cold fingers into my heart. The song ends, the music changes, and suddenly, everything that was so magical is jarring and strange. “I want to leave, Theo. Will you come home with me?”
When he takes my face in his hands and gently kisses me, I take it as a yes. I order him to stay right where he is, run back to the table, and tell Suzanne I’m leaving.
She sips her drink and grins. “Honey, I’m surprised you’re still here.”
“How are you gonna get home?”
She waves a hand. “Taxi. Or maybe the Joker—he’s kinda cute.” She raises her glass and toasts the bartender, sending him a wink.
I don’t bother to see if he winks back. I give her a kiss and run back to Theo, ignoring all the eyes following my every move. I grab his hand and lead him off the dance floor, snarling at anyone too slow to get out of my way.
I don’t give a shit about being polite right now. I have to be alone with this man, or I’m liable to commit murder.
Midnight Valentine Page 23
