by Roxy Sloane
I sank into my chair. I touched the raised bands on the spine with my fingertips. I stroked the dark leather binding, then opened the book gently, inhaling the age, that musty, almond-vanilla scent of old paper.
Tucked inside was a white envelope. Inside, I found those three pages of Jackson’s manuscript that I had read in his office. A small white card embossed with ‘J. Ford’ was attached to them with a gold paperclip. The card read, “I’m sorry too.”
I sat there for a while, paging through the book with loving hands. Relishing passages I hadn’t read in years. Then I picked up the phone and dialed. It rang twice before he answered.
“Ellie?”
“This is too much,” I replied. “But I’m keeping it. Thank you, Jackson.”
“I’m glad you like it,” he said. “And for the record, I’d never let you send it back.”
“You know, when I was maybe sixteen,” I recounted, “we were assigned The Sun Also Rises in English class to read over winter break. But I got the flu, and I was too tired to read, so my mom would sit with me in bed every night and she would read this book to me. And Mom, she’d read other Hemingway, but she’d never read this one, and so it was the first time for both of us. And even though we were going through teenage mother-daughter shit, I loved the evenings we spent reading together, and I loved this book. We both did. And now, whenever I read it, I’ll hear her voice, and I’ll also think of you.”
He didn’t say anything for a few moments, and I wondered if I’d overshared.
“I need to come down there,” he finally said, his voice quiet. “Maybe I can get away this weekend.”
“I would really love that,” I responded. “That I would love.”
19
That night around seven, while I was in my pajamas reading in front of my newly fully-functional fireplace, I heard a knock on my kitchen window. I went over and peeked out to find Luke gesturing at me from the sidewalk in front of my building. I slid the window open and called, “What are you doing out there?”
“Freezing my ass off,” he said, sounding like he was in a surprisingly good mood.
“Well come on up, then,” I said, trying not to grumble. I’d completely forgotten that I’d told him he could stop by to look for his books. I buzzed him in, and momentarily there was a knock at my apartment door.
“Why didn’t you buzz me?” I asked. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“I didn’t know the apartment number, and my phone died so I couldn’t call you.” He smiled sheepishly, steadying himself against the doorframe.
“Step inside,” I said. “You’re welcome to look through all the books, but your fifteen minutes starts now. Do you want something to drink?”
“Nope,” he replied. “I went for drinks with Richard and JP.” He stumbled a bit as he entered. I reached out and caught his arm.
“Woah, sailor.” The scent of tequila was rolling off him. “What were you guys doing? Shots? On a work night?”
“Yeah,” he said with a boyish grin. “Are you mad?”
“You’re an adult, you can do whatever you like,” I said, trying not to act annoyed. “Just sit down. I’m making you a cup of coffee.”
I went to the kitchenette and put the kettle on to boil. I checked the freezer and, luckily, I had some dark roast. I grabbed the French Press from the cabinet.
“This is nice,” he called. “You’ve even got a fireplace.”
“Oh, they just fixed that,” I answered. “Isn’t it nice?”
“Probably going to raise your rent,” he slurred, cynical as ever.
“I have a lease,” I informed him sweetly.
I heard something fall in the main room, so I went to investigate. Luke was in the process of righting some picture frames he’d knocked over on the mantel. “Will you please sit?” I asked. He sat in my reading chair.
When the coffee was brewed, I brought it out to him, black and hot, then pulled up another chair so we could both enjoy the fire.
“This is nice,” he said.
“Yeah.” I pointedly checked my watch, then shifted my gaze to the bookshelves.
“That’s the only thing I wish was different about my place. I wish those two fireplaces worked. And I wish I had more storage space.”
I snorted. “You and everyone else in New York.”
“I’m thinking of moving, actually.” He sipped at the coffee, the slurping sound irritating me beyond reason. Luke was good at pushing my buttons, even when he wasn’t trying.
“Are you crazy?” I said. “That apartment is amazing.”
I was more than a little annoyed. Luke’s Tribeca loft had been a graduation gift from his mother. She’d pretty much furnished it, too, and the woman has amazing taste. Living there, I always felt like I was living in the Hollywood version of New York City, and here he was ready to throw it away for more storage space.
“Really?” he asked. “You liked my apartment? Seemed like you were in quite a rush to get out of there.”
“Luke,” I said gently. “You know I didn’t leave because of the apartment.” I tried to change the subject. “So, how’s Richard doing?”
“Fucking fantastic.” He took another drink of the coffee, waving his hand carelessly. “He’s engaged. That’s what we were celebrating, his engagement. He proposed on Kat’s birthday.”
“Aww, that’s nice,” I said.
“That could have been us,” he replied wistfully.
I don’t know if it was being interrupted mid-read, or the fact that Luke had shown up drunk, but suddenly, I snapped. “Really, Luke?” I challenged, my voice going harsh. “Did you really want to share your life with me? Come on. That’s not what you wanted. You wanted arm candy and a warm bed and someone to iron your shirts.”
“I only asked you to do that once—” he started.
“I needed a partner, Luke. An equal.”
“We were partners,” he said, not convincingly. “I asked you to move in with me, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” I said. “And I did. But two years later you were still calling it ‘your apartment.’ It was never ‘our’ home, and it was never going to be. And all you ever did was nag me about how much I worked and complain about how I couldn’t take care of you as well as your mother did. You didn’t support my career or respect my life decisions. It was never going to work out.”
“‘My’ home, ‘our’ home, what’s the difference?” he parroted, ignoring the salient points. “You broke up with me over semantics?”
“Luke, why are you digging up the past? We’ve been through all this.” Something in me wanted to dispel the bullshit once and for all. “Richard loves Kat. When we were living together, most of the time you didn’t even like me!”
“No, it’s your friends I don’t like. Bianca’s an art-scene slut and Maggie is a bitter asshole. They’re the reason you act like this instead of being happy with what you have.”
Oh, hell no. I could practically feel the steam coming out of my ears, but instead of resorting to violence I stood up, grabbed the coffee from him, and pointed at the door. “Get out, Luke. Right now.” My voice was steel, seething with anger. “Do not ever talk about my friends that way again, or you will get a baseball bat to the balls. I am not joking. Get. Out.”
He stood on shaky legs, making his way to the door but not fast enough. “Was I such a bad guy?” he asked over his shoulder. “Did I ever cheat on you? I could have!”
I held open the door and gestured out into the hallway. “Luke, it’s not about you. It’s about who I am when I’m with you.” And that was a realization when I said it.
“What does that even mean?” he asked, standing in the hall looking pathetic.
I should have slammed the door in his face, but I was onto something and it was important for me to say it out loud.
“Listen, Luke,” I began, “when I would talk with you about my work, you always changed the subject or looked at me like I had a third eye. You never once said, ‘That’s a g
reat idea, El! That was creative, El. Smart choice, Ellie.’ And because I respect what you think, I started second guessing myself. I started worrying that maybe my ideas weren’t so good, that I didn’t know what I was doing. When we were together, I was getting more and more unhappy with myself, and more and more insecure.”
“Wait a minute.” He slid down to the floor and leaned back against the wall, his eyes going wide as he shook his head. “You’re blaming me for your insecurity?! That’s why you left?”
“Luke, just stop,” I said. “I’m not blaming. I’m just telling you that I didn’t like myself when we were together. I need to be with someone who appreciates my ideas. Someone encouraging, and supportive, and. . . inspiring.” Someone like. . . no. I couldn’t afford to think that way. Jackson was my author first and foremost; anything beyond that was a gift, not a guarantee. Not yet, anyway. But maybe after this book was finished, if we could sit and talk—
I was interrupted from my thoughts by a loud, startling snore. Luke had fallen asleep right there in the hallway, his head lolling on his shoulder. I sighed, knowing he’d never make it home on his own in that state.
“Come on, Luke,” I said, leaning down to get an arm around his waist. I tugged as hard as I could, but he was dead weight, so I shook his shoulder until he cracked an eye open. “Hey. Let’s get you back inside.”
With his help I was able to hoist him up, and with Luke leaning heavily on my shoulder we stumbled clumsily back into my apartment. I wanted nothing more than to dump him on the sofa and throw a blanket over him, but I could tell his lanky frame wasn’t going to fit on my narrow couch.
I sighed and steered him down the hallway, saying, “A few more steps, and then you’re going straight to bed.”
When I pushed my bedroom door open he leaned in, nuzzling my neck and kissing my chin, probably aiming for my mouth but missing. “Pity fuck?” he whispered.
“Not on your life,” I said. I laughed and then he did too. After I got him onto the bed, he rolled over and closed his eyes, so I pulled a pillow under his head and said, “I’m going to get you some ibuprofen and water otherwise you’re going to have one hell of a headache in the morning.”
I went into the bathroom and returned with the pills and drink. He was already snoring away, his shoes still on. I shook my head and set the glass and the pills on the nightstand. Then I pulled off his shoes and tugged the comforter over him, crossing to the window afterward to pull down the shade.
Back in the living room, I turned off the light, wrapped a throw around myself, and settled onto the sofa for the night.
Hours later I woke up shivering and realized I’d left the kitchen window open a crack. I hobbled over, slammed it shut, and checked on Luke (out like a light and still snoring) before curling back up on the couch. My sleep was dreamless and surprisingly peaceful after that.
In the morning, I showered and changed before I woke him. I made us some coffee and set out some bagels and cream cheese I had on hand, and as we ate and made small talk I was shocked to find that the usual tension between us was gone. Maybe the things I’d said last night, harsh as they may have been, had actually gotten through to him. Or maybe I was just done feeling bitter about how my relationship with Luke had ended.
As we stepped onto the street I shivered, wrapping my coat tighter around me.
“Looks like winter might be arriving early,” I said.
“You’re always cold, Ellie,” Luke said, a teasing grin lighting up his face. “Must be that frigid heart of yours.”
“Just call me the ice queen,” I shot back, letting the taunt roll off my back. Luke laughed and threw an arm around me as we walked, and I laughed with him and felt like maybe someday we’d be friends again. I loved Maggie and B more than anything, but I did miss the old crowd sometimes.
A few blocks later we headed down into the subway, but when the train arrived, we got on separate cars. As I rode to work, I thought about Jackson Ford.
20
Thursday passed uneventfully. Every now and then I would glance at Jackson’s gift where it sat on my desk, and I would smile. I ached to hear his voice, but I resisted the urge to call him, content in the knowledge that he was working away in his office overlooking the glorious mountains, and that the weekend would bring him to my door. The thought of it made me giddy.
Thursday night I left work a little earlier than usual and headed to Penn Station. I needed to see my mom. I think about her every day, but Jackson’s gift had reminded me of her gentle voice and made me miss her all the more.
Penny gave me the warmest welcome when I entered Brookside. “Ceci,” she said, “Emma Rose will be thrilled to see you!”
I laughed. “You know my name is Ellie, right?”
“Of course I do,” she said. “But maybe it’s best if I call you Ceci, since Emma Rose does. I don’t want to confuse her.”
“That makes perfect sense. Whatever you think,” I replied. “How’s she doing?”
“Oh, she had a hard week,” she said compassionately. “The doctors have been adjusting the dosage on her new meds and it’s affecting her sleep. There were a few panic episodes but we gave her extra TLC and she seems to be doing better now. You picked a good day for a visit.”
Penny walked with me up to my mom’s room. When we reached the door, I smiled and peeked my head around. She was sitting up in bed, and she spotted me immediately, though she looked at me without recognition. “Hi, Emma Rose.”
I was a little taken aback by her appearance. She’d lost some weight, not too much, but it gave her eyes a haunted look. After a few moments she smiled back. “Ceci! Ceci, darling! Come in,” she said, waving me over. I breathed a sigh of relief and entered the room, Penny trailing me.
“It’s so good to see you,” I said truthfully, crossing to her side and taking her small, soft hand in mine. “I’ve missed you.”
“Have you been out of town?” she asked. “Did you go to the Berkshires?”
I looked at her, surprised. I hadn’t told her anything about Jackson or my travel plans. “The Berkshires?” I repeated.
“Weren’t you and James going to Tanglewood? For the concert?”
“Oh, the concert.” I shook my head, amazed at the convergence of realities. “Yes, yes of course.”
“Well, how was it?”
I settled into a chair beside her and answered her truthfully. “Well, at first we didn’t get along as well as I’d hoped.”
“Traveling together is hard,” she sympathized.
“But then we connected, and it was. . . amazing.” From her eyes I could tell she knew something was different for me. “I miss having him around, now. We laughed, we cooked together. I like his friends. I love talking with him about writing and writers. I love how he challenges me. I really think this is. . . special.”
“Penny,” mom said to the nurse, who was still reviewing some charts near the doorway. “Weren’t you just leaving?”
“Always throwing me out, this one,” laughed Penny. “Yes, Emma Rose, I’m leaving. But I’ll be back with your prescriptions very soon.” She smiled at both of us and exited.
My mom watched her leave. The nurse wasn’t gone a moment when Emma Rose grabbed my arm with both of her hands, her fingers pushing painfully into my flesh, and wrenched me towards her. Her strength shocked me, as did the fear in her eyes. “Ceci, you have to help me,” she pleaded. “You have to get me out of here. I’ll die if you don’t get me out of here!”
The speed of the assault stunned me. “Emma, please,” I called out. “You’re hurting me.”
Now she was leaning onto my arm, trapping it beneath her, wrenching my upper body at an awkward and painful angle. “I’ll die here!” She was screaming now, her dementia taking control. “They’ll kill me! Do you want them to kill me?”
Swiftly Penny and Violet rushed into the room. They helped me disengage from my mother, and then Violet held onto her as Penny led me out of the room. As I retreated I could hear
her screams echoing in the hallway: “You want me to die, don’t you! You want me to die! You want me to die in here!”
Penny led me downstairs to the family lounge. It was empty. I sank into a cushy chair, feeling very shaken and very small, my heart pounding as I tried to catch my breath. The evening news was on the television, and Penny turned it off. Then she knelt next to me. I was trembling and she put a kind hand on my knee to steady me. “Are you alright, Ellie?”
I nodded.
“Have you been through a panic episode like that before?”
“Yes,” I replied, tears in my eyes. “It’s the reason she’s in care. It wasn’t safe, for either of us. But she hasn’t had those in some time.”
“I know it’s awful to see.” Penny patted my knee, her eyes kind. “But it’s very typical when the medications get switched. It should be temporary.”
I took a deep breath. “What will they do for her right now? I don’t want her feeling so upset.”
“If Violet can’t calm her, they’ll give her a sedative. She’ll be fine.”
“But I thought the meds were changed a while ago,” I said. “This doesn’t make sense, just all of a sudden. . . ”
“They’re adjusting dosages, so side effects are common. Let me see if Dr. Williamson is still here,” she suggested. “He can explain it all. Do you want some coffee?”
“Tea would be nice,” I replied softly.
She brought me a cup of weak tea, and soon after that the doctor appeared. I trust Dr. Williamson; he’s young but he’s very thorough and smart, and he always takes the time to answer all of my questions honestly, explaining any complicated terminology or procedures without making me feel dumb.
“Hi there, Ellie,” he said. “I’m so sorry you had a tough visit with Emma Rose. How’s your arm?”
I’d forgotten all about my arm. He took it in his hands and gently pulled up my sleeve to reveal purple bruises already covering its length. “Penny, can you get Ellie some ice, please?”
