by R. R. Banks
After a few minutes, Trish pulls the compress off my face and applies a fresh one. Although I can't see him, I know Nate is still sitting in the chair before my desk. I only know this because I can hear him chuckling.
“I'm so sorry, Mr. Churchill. I knew she was trouble when she came here without an appointment asking to see you. I just knew it,” Trish says. “I should have called building security or the cops. I had no idea she was going to assault you.”
“It's fine, Trish,” I say, trying to ease her mind – and make her shut up. “Really, it's fine. It's not your fault.”
“I only left my desk for a second to help out in the copy room –”
“It's not your fault, Trish,” I say again. “Thank you. I can handle it from here.”
I push down on the compress, trying to get all of that shit off my skin – and desperately hoping this works. None of us knew how to deal with a pepper spray burn. Nate looked it up online for me and we put a solution together with what we had in the employee's break room. Twenty minutes later, however, it doesn't seem to be having much of an effect.
“Did you want me to call the police, Mr. Churchill?” Trish goes on. “I mean, I got a real good look at her and I can tell them –”
Trish doesn’t know how to take a hint. Personally, I think the only reason she's being so attentive right now is because she's afraid I'm going to fire her for letting a crazy woman armed with a cannister of pepper spray into the building.
“Oh, I think Miles here has had a real good look at her,” Nate chuckles. “I'd love to see some of those police sketches.”
“Eat shit, Nate,” I say.
He laughs, and I give him the finger – which only makes him laugh harder.
“I don't think this is a time to be laughing, Mr. Beck,” Trish says. “This is a very serious matter.”
“Oh, you're right, Trish,” Nate says. “It's very serious.”
“Thank you, Trish. I appreciate your help,” I say. “I can take it from here.”
“Are you sure? I mean, I can –”
“Thank you, Trish. That will be all,” I say, putting on my boss voice.
“Very well,” she says.
A moment later, I hear my office door close. “Are we alone?” I ask.
“Just the two of us,” Nate confirms.
“Trish is driving me bananas.”
“Her heart's in the right place.”
“That’s good because her brain is nowhere to be found.”
Nate chuckles again.
“I’m not going to lie, when I heard you screaming out there, I was afraid she'd shanked you,” he says. “I expected to find you bleeding out from a knife wound or something. But nope, I found you convulsing on the ground like you were being exorcised of demons.”
“This shit really hurts,” I say.
“Did you know that all police cadets have to go through that?” he says. “Part of their training is to get maced in the face.”
“Thanks for the fun fact.”
“In all the training videos I've ever seen, I don't think I've ever heard any of them screaming like they were being dropped feet first into a woodchipper.”
“You know, as soon as I can see again, I'm going to go out, get a can of pepper spray, and hit you with it,” I say. “We'll see how loud you scream.”
“Guarantee it won't be as loud as you,” he says.
Silence descends over us as I lean back in my seat, pushing the cloth down over my eyes with more force. The pain is slowly starting to ebb and I can make out vague shapes when I peel the compress off. My eyes are still watering like there’s a busted pipe behind them, but it seems to help wash some of the shit away.
“Seriously, do you have any idea why she freaked out like that?” Nate asks.
I shake my head. “None,” I say. “You and I were talking, I see her in the doorway, she runs, I chase, and the next thing I know, I'm on the ground –”
“Screaming like a little boy,” he says. “I honestly didn't know you could hit the high notes like that.”
“I am going to beat your ass, Nate.”
“Okay, okay,” he says, chuckling to himself. “No more cheap shots at your expense.”
“That's mighty big of you.”
“I'm just trying to remember what we were talking about before she showed up,” he says.
“Do you think it has anything to do with the ring?” I ask. “Maybe it has something to do with me talking about planning a life together?”
“I have no idea,” he says. “But that seems like a pretty harsh way to say no. A simple, 'no' would have sufficed, I'm sure.”
I chuckle ruefully. “Yeah, that's the thing about Sasha – she doesn't do anything halfway.”
“Well, there's only one way to find out,” he says. “I think you're going to need to talk to her.”
“I'm kind of afraid to now,” I say. “It's pepper spray today, but who knows what else she's got in that bag of hers.”
“Probably not nukes,” he says. “You've got that going for you, at least.”
“Great,” I say. “I think I'm going to wait until I heal up before I try to engage her again though.”
“You also might want to invest in some body armor.”
“That’s probably not a bad idea.”
Two days, about four hundred unanswered phone calls and text messages later, I'm at the end of my rope. I have no idea what I did that set Sasha off and she's not providing any insight on the subject. The reason she attacked me is as opaque today as when she did it.
Being without her the last couple of days has really sucked. Despite the fact that she went full chemical warfare on me, I miss her. A lot. Not knowing what else to do, I track her down the old-fashioned way.
My first stop of the afternoon is at Tucker's, the bar where she works. The guy working behind the bar – who is higher than a kite and reeks of marijuana – and has no clue where she is. It took me ten minutes of conversation and a detailed physical description for him to even remember who I was talking about in the first place. There’s no manager on duty and nobody else I talked to knows anything.
Which means, for now, I have to move on.
My second stop is the library. So close to the holidays, I'm not entirely certain it's going to be open, so I let out a long breath of relief when I see that it is. I climb the steps and go through the front doors. I spend almost half an hour searching the stacks of books but don't find her anywhere.
I head for the front desk to find a familiar face. She was the older woman who'd been walking with Sasha the first time I came into the library. It took me a few minutes last time, but I knew I recognized her from somewhere. She’s the wife of a former client. Today, her hair is up in a bun, and she's wearing reindeer head earrings and the ugliest Christmas sweater I've ever seen. It makes me think the library is having an ugly Christmas sweater contest. If they are, she's going to be the winner. Hands down.
“Mrs. Banks,” I say. “It's so nice to see you again.”
“It's nice to see you as well, Mr. Churchill.”
“Miles, please,” I say.
“Very well,” she says. “And, what can I do for you today, Miles?”
“I'm actually looking for Sasha,” I say. “I haven't seen her in a couple of days and –”
“Oh, she took a leave of absence,” she says. “Not for long. She said she'll be back after the New Year, but that she was going out of town for a little while.”
“Oh,” I say, rocking back on my heels. “I didn't know that.”
“No?” she asks, a look of concern crossing her face. “I'd just assumed she was going somewhere with you.”
“Why would you assume that?” I ask.
She gives me a sly smile. “Because she's crazy about you, Miles,” she says. “Absolutely crazy in love with you.”
“She is?”
“How could you possibly not see that?”
I look around at the mostly empty library. The only
other people I see inside are a couple of homeless guys trying to stay warm.
“I don't know,” I say. “I just – we haven't really talked about the nature of our – relationship. Not yet anyway.”
“Well, rest assured, that the girl is deeply in love with you,” Mrs. Banks says. “One hundred percent.”
Hearing her say that makes my heart swell and brings a smile to my face. It gives me hope that we do have a future together. But then, I recall her face right before she maced me. It was dark, full of anger, and those bottomless blue eyes of hers didn’t contain one ounce of love in them.
And it makes me wonder – for the millionth time – what the hell I did wrong.
“Okay well, I'll track her down,” I say. “Thank you, Mrs. Banks. I really appreciate it.”
“Of course. Now, go find that girl,” she says. “Hold on to her and make her yours, Miles. They don't make many like her. She's special.”
“That much, I do know,” I say and give her a smile before I turn and leave the library.
Out of town. Leave of absence. Where in the hell could she have gone? And what in the hell did I do so wrong that she felt she had to escape L.A.? My first thought is that she went home, but I reject the notion almost immediately. If she's that upset, and that emotional about something, I highly doubt she'd run to Kathy and Sarah for support. That's something they don't handle very well in the Gates household. But, where could she have gone then?
There’s only one place left to check – her apartment. I park the car and head up to the third floor. It's actually the first time I've been to her place – part of me thinks she's embarrassed by it and hasn't wanted to invite me due to some warped sense of shame.
Yeah, the place is a little bit worn and its age shows in some spots, but it's nothing to be ashamed of. It's clean, tidy, and immaculately landscaped. But I suppose, compared to my place, anything else would feel like a dump.
I wish she didn't think that way. I wish she didn't compare what we have or don't have and use it as her basis of self-worth. It's completely wrong and boneheaded. I've had advantages and privilege in my life she hasn't, so the comparison just isn’t adequate.
I stand before her door – her address was listed in the file Nate had put together for me back when this all first started. Raising my hand, I knock. I'm not expecting her to be here, but I'm hoping that she's choosing to lay low at home instead of skipping town completely. A moment later, the door opens, and I'm staring into the face of a woman I don't know. She's about Sasha's height with long, brunette hair, olive-colored skin and dark, soulful eyes.
“You must be Rosie,” I say.
She looks me up and down, a disgusted look on her face. “Hm… Well-dressed but with the distinct air of entitled, arrogant asshole,” she says. “I guess that makes you Miles.”
“Wow, I see my reputation precedes me.”
“What in the hell do you want?” she asks.
I'm taken aback by her blunt words and surly attitude. She stands in the doorway, her arms folded over her chest, looking a lot like Sasha did right before she sprayed me. Instinctively, I take a step backwards.
“You're not holding a can of mace or anything are you?” I ask.
“Trust me, if I was, you'd already be on the ground crying like a little bitch,” she replies. “So, let me ask you again – what do you want, Miles?”
“I'd like to see her,” I say.
“She's not here,” Rosie says.
“Well, do you know where I can find her?”
“Nope,” she says. “And even if I did, I wouldn't tell you.”
I look at her and cock my head. “Have I done something to offend you, Rosie?”
She snorts derisively. “Me personally? No,” she says. “But you did my girl wrong, so I pretty much hate you now.”
“I have zero idea what you're talking about. I have no idea what I did wrong.”
She puts her hands on her hips and glares at me. “Are you really going to pretend like you don't have any idea why she's pissed? Seriously?”
I shift on my feet and slip my hands into my pockets, giving her what I hope is my most disarming and charming smile.
“I swear on a metaphorical stack of Bibles that I don't know,” I say.
Rosie sighs and rolls her eyes. “She heard you talking to your friend in your office about how you never want kids and that they're nothing but advertising props to you and all,” she says as if she's explaining a basic concept to the biggest idiot on the planet. “Really showed her what you thought of a relationship with her, Miles.”
Frowning, I think back to the conversation Nate and I were having just before I saw her. Specifically, I recall talking about how much Sasha has changed my views on things – including kids.
But, if she walked up at the wrong time and took some of what I was saying out of context, I can kind of see why she might be thinking that I never want kids. But that still doesn't make sense because we haven't had that talk yet. We're not ready to have that conversation. It's too soon in our relationship.
Knowing that, why did overhearing the conversation with Nate set her off like that? An idea surfaces in my mind, rising up from the darkened depths like a leviathan.
“Oh, God,” I say. “Rosie, is she pregnant?”
“Well, look who's finally caught on,” Rosie snaps. “You know, for such a smart guy, you're actually really stupid.”
Pregnant. Sasha is pregnant. Those words throw me for the biggest loop of my life and very nearly knock the wind out of me. I feel myself trembling and quickly growing lightheaded. Pregnant. Shit. I can't believe she's pregnant.
On the one hand, the idea terrifies me. On the other hand, I'm surprised to find that the news fills me with a happiness deeper and more profound than anything I've ever experienced before. I'm overjoyed by the prospect of raising a family with her. I was just talking to Nate the other day about being excited to start a family – with her. I just didn't expect it to be this soon.
But then again, everything else in our relationship has traveled at warp speed, so why not this too?
Sasha is pregnant. Incredible. I just wish she had been the first one to tell me the news.
“Look, Rosie,” I say. “The conversation Sasha heard wasn't what she thinks it was.”
“Oh, you weren't telling your buddy how much you hate kids?” she asks. “Because I have to tell you, as an unbiased, outside observer –”
“You're hardly unbiased,” I say.
“Of course, I'm not, idiot. That's my best friend you're screwing with,” she roars. “You broke her heart by being so damn dismissive about not wanting kids, Miles. That's so far from cool, it's not even funny.”
“Actually, that's not what I said.”
“If you're about to start spinning that fancy lawyer talk, let me stop you right there,” she snaps. “I'm not interested in hearing it right now.”
“Actually, I was telling my friend how much Sasha has changed the way I think about a lot of different things – including children,” I tell her. “She obviously heard a small piece of what I said, out of context, and filled in some blanks – incorrectly, I might add. It’s all about context, Rosie – and she didn’t have all the right pieces.”
“Yeah, easy for you to say now that she's not here to refute your point,” she says.
I reach into my coat pocket and fish out the little box I've been carrying around with me – the one I was showing to Nate the day everything started going off the rails. I toss it to Rosie and watch as she opens it up. Her face falls, and she stares at the ring in the box wide-eyed and slack-jawed. When she finally looks up at me, stunned disbelief is etched into her face.
“Does that look like someone who isn't serious about a relationship?” I ask.
Rosie's eyes remain fixed on the ring for another couple of seconds before she finally looks up at me.
“I – is this what I think it is?” she asks.
I shrug. “For now, it’s more
like a promise ring,” I say. “Just until we get to know each other better. But yes, I already know I want to spend my life with her – and that I want to raise a family with her.”
“Miles, I – I don't know what to say. I – misjudged you,” she says. “I'm sorry, Miles. Really sorry.”
“Do you know where I can find her, Rosie?”
She shakes her head. “I was being honest,” she says. “She packed a bag and said she needed to get out of town for a little while. She never said where she was going.”
“Shit,” I mutter and run a hand through my hair.
I leave her place without any more information on Sasha’s whereabouts than when I arrived. I also found out that I'm going to be a father – a concept that feels completely surreal, and one that I'm still having trouble wrapping my head around.
As far as finding Sasha goes, I'm still stuck on square one.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“What are you doing here?”
“Leave me alone, Sarah,” I say.
I close the front door behind me and silently march to the back of the house where my bedroom is. Sarah follows closely behind me every step of the way.
“I wasn't sure if you were actually coming home for Christmas or not,” Sarah says.
I walk into my room and shut the door behind me, leaving Sarah behind in the hallway. I’m really not in the mood for her bullshit right now. After the scene at Miles' office, I felt like I had to get out of town. Not because I feared he'd call the cops on me for spraying him – I knew he would never do that – but because I needed to get away.
I just need some time and space to clear my head. I acted like a crazed maniac back there. After overhearing Miles and his bullshit, and already being so tightly wound up about it, I just – snapped. I knew going in there was a possibility it wasn't going to end up the way I wanted it to go. I knew there was a chance he wouldn’t want children – or children with me.
