by P. Dangelico
Chapter Twenty-Six
The following day I had to force myself out of bed, my body and my will drained of strength. Any hope I may have had of salvaging my relationship was in steady free fall, dwindling by the minute. The evidence of my sleepless night mocked me in the bathroom mirror. Drifting in a fog of depression, I don’t even know how I managed to get out of the shower and dress myself.
The first text came in at eight am.
I need to talk to you. Call me.
The nerve…the bloody nerve of him. I ignored it of course. Instead I called Yannick to inform him I wouldn’t be making it into work that day. He refused to hear of it. Therefore, after drinking a triple shot of espresso and making myself semi presentable, I headed to the clinic––which turned out to be a wise decision since it seemed flu season had hit all at once. By the time I made it downstairs, the waiting room was filled wall to wall with at-risk patients, such as children and the elderly.
It was late afternoon when I finally made it out. An ominous, graphite gray sky hung overhead. Fat cumulous clouds pregnant with moisture threatened to unleash a torrent at any minute. Seemed about right, considering my mood.
Somewhere there was a bottle of vodka with my name on it and I was determined to find it. Since I had a strong allergy to red wine, drowning my sorrows in it would’ve only heaped a migraine onto my already basement dwelling spirits.
As I headed to the market down the street, a brisk wind zipped over my skin and a shiver crawled up my spine. I stopped to put on a sweater I always carried in my tote and spotted the Bentley parked across the street.
He stepped out of the car and stood with one hand stuffed into the pocket of his trouser and the other clutching a bouquet of flower, his jacket and tie already discarded. He watched me with a touch of apprehension in his eyes. His anger, I couldn’t fail to notice, was conspicuously absent.
Mine wasn’t however.
I was seething, the pressure between my eyes increasing exponentially with every step he took. When he finally reached me, he stood there without saying a word, thoughtfully examining me like I was one of his bank accounts he couldn’t quite balance. My eyes traveled to the enormous bouquet of black magic roses that he made no move to hand me. I snorted. “What are you doing here?” My prickly demeanor confused him. I could read it on his face.
“I’m your husband. Do I need a reason?”
“You sure have a funny way of showing it,” I spat out, slapping him with the same words he used on me the night before.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what it means.”
His eyes fell on the thin platinum band around my finger, following the anxious movements of my fingers tapping the strap of the Balenciaga handbag he’d surprised me with one day when he overheard me complement Shay on hers.
“You didn’t call me,” he stated, his tone neutral, his countenance not giving anything away.
“What a keen mind you have,” the sarcasm dripping off my tongue.
He exhaled loudly, his frustration palpable. “Can we speak?” he said, and scraped his hair back repeatedly. “Here,” he said, handing me the flowers as if they were a cumbersome thing he no longer wanted to carry around.
The nerve…the bloody nerve. Ignoring his outstretched hand with the flower, I walked past him without another glance in his direction. “Some other time. Right now, I have an appointment,” I threw over my shoulder.
An appointment all right––with sweet oblivion.
A beat later, he was at my side again. “An appointment? With whom?” The possessive tone he used ratcheted up my sense of injustice.
I wheeled around. “None of your goddamn business! Sound familiar?”
He jerked back, surprised by the force of my anger. The sky, reflecting what was happening down below, broke open and rained down on us, the wind kicking the heavy downpour sideways had us soaked in minutes. While he was on his heels, I took off down the street. Before I had a chance to get anywhere, a large hand wrapped around my upper arm and spun me around. The flow of people on the sidewalk turned to stare curiously at the scene we were making.
“Slow down, Mrs. Horn. I’d like to have a word with you first,” he drawled in an awful voice. I fought to break free of his grip without success. We both blinked as the water hit our faces, though neither one of us made a move for cover. The bouquet, still in his hand, sagged under the force of the rain coming down. “I…I want to apologize.”
He wouldn’t look at me as he spoke.
“Apologize?” I laughed without a drop of joy. “Last night would’ve been a good time for an apology. We’re closed for business today. Apology not accepted.” I took a few more steps. Moving quickly, he cut me off.
“Okay…okay. I was an asshole to you last night.” His brow furrowed. His eyes, suddenly pleading, captured mine. “Let me make it up to you.”
He went home with another woman and he thought I was going to let him make it up to me? Was I living in an alternate universe where this was acceptable behavior? My mind turned black with rage. “Get the hell out of my way.”
“Let’s play nice, folks.” A deep baritone bellowed from a few feet away. We both turned in its direction. Sebastian leveled Bear with a glare that should’ve turned him to a pillar of salt, while Bear, standing next to the SUV under an umbrella, simply smiled back at him.
“Get in the car,” he had the nerve to order.
“No.”
“Vera––get in the car. We’re soaked. It’s cold. I don’t want you getting sick.”
My mouth went slack in disbelief. “You certainly didn’t care what happened to me last night!”
“Last night? What about last night?”
“Stay the hell away from me! I trusted you! You asked me to trust you and I did and look at where it got me!”
The look of utter confusion on his face didn’t earn him any points. He managed to get a hold on it before I walked on.
“Why did you sign the prenup?” Those words stopped me dead in my tracks. The impact was like getting hit by freight train, devastating, knocking all the wind out of my lungs at once. “I saw David.”
Oh my God. Did he want a divorce?
I turned then, slowly, my heart beating viciously, my knees turning to jelly while my eyes reflected all the pain I was feeling. His watched me expectantly.
“Did you think I wouldn’t? Did you think I ever cared about any of this? This––” I said, waving my arm around like a crazy person. “Is half the problem. I never wanted any of it…I just wanted you.” And with that, I turned and ran, disappearing into the night, into the rain, leaving everything that I loved behind.
The next day I received an unexpected visit. I won’t deny that when the doorbell rang a burst of hope swept through me. Even after everything, I missed him like crazy. There was a black hole where my heart had once been. I opened the studio door to find Marianne standing there dressed in a stylish grey swing coat, holding a pastry box.
I took one look at her face and burst into tears. Not the cute kind either––the ugly, body racking kind that makes your face look like a tomato on steroids. She wrapped her free arm around me as we made our way to the tiny kitchen table. Twenty minutes later, the tears were mostly dry and my stomach was filled with three quarters of a large raspberry tart.
“He left with her,” I said, my cheeks stuffed. “He went home with her.”
Marianne’s sympathetic gaze held mine. “Are you certain? It doesn’t sound like him. Caroline has been sniffing around him for years. He was never interested in her.”
“I know. That’s why I wasn’t worried when I overheard her in the lingerie store…but then Bear told me he left with her.”
“You need to ask him. I’m turning sixty-six this year, and if I’ve learned anything it’s to be direct––subtly and insinuations will get you nowhere good.” Taking a long gulp of tea, I swallowed the dessert stuck in my throat and told her the rest of the s
tory.
“He went to see David…I think he wants a divorce.” A fresh set of tears surged up as the words left my lips. She frowned, her plump lips pursed tightly. I wiped the moisture away with the heel of my hand.
“Did he say so?”
“He said he went to see David.”
“But did he say he wants a divorce?”
“Well…no, not exactly.” Any more of her interrogation and she would have me doubting my own name.
“You’re jumping to conclusions, chérie. I suggest you ask him plainly. I suspect you will get a very different answer than the one you are presuming.”
Her words gave birth to a new sense of hope…maybe I had jumped to conclusions. In truth, I was scared of the answer. Because what would I do if she was wrong?
“Have you heard from Charlotte?”
The troubled look on her face gave her thoughts away. “No––you?”
“Nothing,” I said, head shaking. “When should we start to worry?”
Her round blue eyes moved away from me in a contemplative gesture. “Soon.”
One day rolled into another. Before I had a chance to sort out what to do next, another ten days had past. Work kept me busy. Therefore I didn’t have much time to think until I went upstairs and got in the shower. Every evening the hot water washed away my armor, leaving me naked and exposed, vulnerable. And each night, I cried myself to sleep; I didn’t get a minute of sleep otherwise. My imagination ran wild, conjuring a million dreadful scenarios of what he was doing and with whom.
I was paralyzed by indecision. My answer came in the form of one tall, busty redhead.
“What the fuck,” she exclaimed––it was definitely an exclamation. Wearing a black Jill Sanders suit and a look of total determination, she stood near the front desk of the clinic with her finely manicured short, red nails tapping on her curvy hips.
“Hello to you, too,” I greeted, pushing my smile back down when I realized she wasn’t in a mood to appreciate my sarcasm.
“Don’t give me that, Mrs. Horn. Or have you forgotten you’re married.” Her tone sharp, her voice angry––Shay’s version of tough love.
Turning my attention to the girl at the front desk, I said, “Agnes, I’m taking my break,” and walked past Shay. She was hot on my heels as I made my way down the hall. “No, I haven’t. Though I’m not certain if he has.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Ask your friend. Better yet, ask Caroline Pruitt next time you see her, which should be often.”
“V––” Shay grabbed my shoulders and spun me to face her. “What are you talking about? Caroline Pruitt? I haven’t seen Sebastian in a week.”
Her words sliced my heart into ribbons. My breathing turned shallow. Had he spent the week in her bed? Like she had told the shop girl at La Perla? The nausea hit me instantly. Any moment, I was going to vomit.
“He hasn’t been to work. He won’t answer any of my text or phone calls.” She marked off the list with her long, tapered fingers. “I’m doing the best I can, keeping business on track, but I can’t do this without him for much longer.”
My marriage was over…I couldn’t believe it. Breathing deeply, I steeled myself against the onslaught of pain. “I can’t…I can’t talk about this…I need to be alone.” Aimlessly, I started walking away from her.
“The hell you do. You need to go stop your husband from killing himself,” she shouted after me. Her words stopped me cold. My head whipped around.
“What did you say?”
“He’s holed himself up in that apartment and he’s drinking himself to death.” There was an unmistakable note of alarm in her voice. For as long I’d known her I’d never seen Shay scared, rattled. “And God knows what else. He won’t speak to any of us. Marianne tried yesterday––fat good that did.” At my rapt expression, she continued her rant. “Fuck’s sake, I thought he was stubborn, but your pride is megalithic.”
Whatever she said next was drowned out by the loud ringing in my ears. Panic, that he was hurting himself, spurned me into action. I pivoted on my heels and began hustling down the hall, back to the check-in desk. “Agnes, tell Yannick I had a family emergency.” The sweet faced girl gave me a short nod.
“Where are you going?” shouted the bossy redhead.
“To talk to my husband,” I shouted back over my shoulder.
“’Bout fucking time,” I barely heard her say, her words fading away quickly. Because I was already out the door, not willing to waste another precious minute.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
In a mad rush to get to him, I was completely oblivious to my surroundings. My senses clouded by heavy thoughts. That’s why I didn’t notice the woman that stepped into the elevator right behind me. You would think I would’ve learned my lesson on elevators by now.
It was her overly sweet perfume that pulled at my attention. I looked up into deep, blue eyes and recognized her immediately. Sebastian’s neighbor, Lucinda––everything about her screamed trophy wife from a mountaintop. Her face was completely frozen. I’m surprised she retained the ability to blink with all the Botox in her face.
This was the person who had set in motion the chain of events that contributed to Sebastian’s car crash. That killed a woman and a child. She didn’t own all the blame, of course not. However, had she not instigated the fight with what I suspected was a well-placed and well-timed lie, the course of all our lives might’ve been different. She greeted me with a disingenuous smile before she turned to face ahead.
“He’s not home.”
I wasn’t about to let this predator insinuate herself in my business. “You would be that last person to know the whereabouts of my husband.”
She turned to me then, a smug smile on her overly filled lips. “I know I haven’t seen you in at least a month, which means this marriage is over.”
“It’s funny you should say that because although you may not have seen me, I definitely saw you.” Armed for battle, I turned to look her squarely in the eyes. “At Fix––about a month ago. Does your husband know you have a taste for boys?”
A crimson stain surged up her neck and covered her face. The elevator door chimed and opened on her floor. She placed her foot in the doorway and forced it to remain open. Her blue glare was electric. “He’d never believe it.”
“Not my word, no––you’re right about that. But I have friends in low places, which means I have access to all sorts of…information.” I let that hang between us. There was no way she could know I was totally bluffing. Six months ago I wouldn’t have dreamed of threatening a fly, and now I was ready to wage war with just about anyone to protect the one I loved. “So from this day forth, you will mind your own business, and not bother my husband anymore with your lies. He told me what you said about a man coming out of the apartment when he was married to India.”
This was a fishing expedition, and I wondered if she’d take the bait, if she would deny it, or stay silent. She removed her Louboutin pump from the corner of the elevator and stepped back.
Silence it was.
Other than my heart thundering inside my chest, I didn’t flinch and I didn’t look away. As soon as the doors shut, my entire body sagged in relief.
For a moment, I entertained the thought of telling Sebastian. However, it wouldn’t do anybody any good to resurrect the dead. I wasn’t a hundred percent certain whether India had cheated on him or not. Either way, I now knew for certain that I had to keep him as far away from that woman as possible.
The lights did not turn on automatically when I entered the apartment. That was the first sign that there was something very wrong. The atmosphere was that of a funeral. A miasma of grim energy hung around, so thick it was tangible. Darkness covered every corner of the room, drapes pulled tight, the air stale. The silence was absolute; only the heavy beating of my heart and the air I labored to pull into my lungs could be heard.
Then there was the mess. Pillows were scattered on the ground
, clothing strewn about, furniture out of place. However, that’s not what made my breath catch and my stomach flip. It was the trail of empty bottles that led to the bedroom. Taking one timid step after another, I followed them to the doorway. There I stood, scanning the room for a sign of life, when a low, raspy voice pulled my attention to the oversized down chairs near the window.
“What do you want?”
Barely visible, he was seated with his head leaning back on the cushion and an arm hanging over the armrest. In his hand was a glass flask.
All the wounded feelings I had been nursing for the past month dissolved in an instant. What had I been holding on to? My principles, or my pride? The answer came crashing down on me with a large dose of shame. My pride was costing me the love of my life. Instead of trying to reason with him, I’d let him push me away. I should’ve known he wouldn’t do anything to harm me, that he would only harm himself. And I’d let him. I might as well have sanctioned it.
I’ll admit that I was nervous. The situation was as unpredictable as the man sitting in the chair. With great trepidation, I walked over to him and sunk to my knees, facing him, forcing him to look at me. I almost didn’t recognize the man staring back. There was nothing left of the bright, funny charmer that had stolen my heart.
His eyes moved away from me, at a point in the distance. Now that my sight had adjusted to the dim light filtering through the crack in the drapes, I could see his eyes rimmed in red, blue and purple shadows painted under them. His hair was dirty, hanging in his face. He wore at least a week old beard––and he smelled. My God, he smelled. By the look of his t-shirt and sweats, he hadn’t taken a shower since the last time he had shaved. A veil covered his eyes. He refused to look at me.
“Tire of your boyfriend already?” He knew how to push my buttons all too well. The snide insult raised my hackles and pricked my pride, but I schooled it into submission. This is what had gotten us into this mess in the first place.
