I go back to the bedroom while Gatsby and Atticus share a drink. When Gatsby comes back to the room, I’m already in bed. I can see the relief that’s painted all across his face. I hate to be the one to crush it. But I have to tell him the truth.

“Well, I’m glad that got all figured out.” He smiles and gets into bed with me. “You really scared me for a moment.”

I stare at him.

“I’m not sure it is,” I say. Again, choosing my words carefully. I don’t want to offend, but I can’t let it go.

“What are you talking about? Didn’t you hear Atticus?”

“Yes, I heard his explanation. But I also know what I heard and saw. It isn’t just a small debt. He was seriously freaking out on the phone, Gatsby. You have to believe me.”

“I do believe you, Annabelle. I just think you’re confused. He was just acting.”

“Why? Why would he act?”

“To get that guy to give him some more time. I don’t know. Atticus is a man of large appetites. He likes to gamble. He likes to bet on horses. He spends a lot.”

“Exactly my point,” I say.

“But this is just another example of that. It’s nothing more. So he owes someone some money in fantasy football. So what? Why is this my problem?”

“Gatsby—”

“Or better yet,” Gatsby cuts me off. “Why is this your problem, Annabelle??”

I don’t say anything. I wait for him to explain. I hate the tone of his voice and the way that he’s towering over me. Trying to intimidate me.

“It’s not…” I whisper.

“Exactly. It’s not. You just met him last night. Until yesterday, you didn’t even know he existed. You don’t know anything about him.”

“But I know what I heard.”

“No, I don’t think you do. I’m sure you just misheard something,” Gatsby insists. His voice gets tamer now. He’s not so threatening. Trying to make peace. Perhaps, I should let it go. Maybe, he’s right.

“I know what I heard. This is serious. He’s lying, Gatsby.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Neither do you,” I insist. “Yesterday, you acted as if he didn’t exist. As if you didn’t have a brother. And after a day of skydiving suddenly you’re what, best friends?”

He gets off the bed and paces around the room.

“You’re the one who wanted that, remember?” he bellows.

“Listen.” I get up. I walk close to him and wrap my arms around him. “We’re getting off track. It’s not about you and your brother, not really. I want you to have a relationship with him. A happy one. You have no idea how much I want that.”

I kiss him on the lips. Tears are starting to well up in my eyes. I want to push them away, but I can’t. I can’t see anymore, and I just turn my head away from him to wipe my tears. The crying isn’t just about him. It’s really about me. But I have to stay focused. I’m here to convince him of what I saw and what I heard.

“I want you to be friends, Gatsby. But I also know what I saw and what I heard him say. And how he said it. It wasn’t an act. Something is really wrong.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Gatsby rolls his eyes and folds his arms across his chest.

“You said that he’s not getting any money from the IPO. Why is that?”

“Because he’s been irresponsible before, and our father and he came to an arrangement. All of his shares go to his trust fund. But they’ll go to him eventually.”

My mind is racing. I’m trying to think of all the things that could be wrong. All the reasons why he would want the money. But I don’t know enough about finances. And I don’t know nearly enough about the Wild family.

“So why would Atticus want for the IPO to go through in order to pay off his debt?” I ask. It doesn’t make any sense.

“He wouldn’t! That’s the whole point, Annabelle!” Gatsby’s exasperated. “It’s just something he told the guy on the phone to buy some time to pay his debts.”

I shake my head. No, no, no. It makes sense, but it doesn’t. Something feels wrong.

“I don’t understand why you don’t believe me,” I finally say. “I was there when he was on the phone. And it wasn’t a lie. He was really scared. Really upset.”

“Annabelle, you have to drop this.” Gatsby’s face grows stern. All color banishes within a moment, and all that remains is the stranger I first saw in the pages of the gossip magazine.

“I can’t.” I shake my head.

“You have to!” Gatsby slams his hand on the desk startling me. “Dammit, Annabelle. You just met him. Yesterday! You think that makes you some sort of authority on him? On our family? You don’t know anything about us!”

I nod and look away. I am not getting through, and the more I push, the thicker the wall gets. I hate Atticus for doing this to us.

“What is it that you think you know about Atticus?” Gatsby continues. Now, he is ranting. I turn around and go to the living room. He follows me.

“You think you heard him curse someone on the phone, and that means you know everything there’s to know about him. Is that how you feel about me? You’re so fuckin’ judgmental, Annabelle.”

I hate the way he’s talking to me. I can’t stand it.

“No, I never said that!” I turn around to face him.

I will not stand for how he’s talking to me. I don’t mean to yell, but the words just come tumbling out.

“All I’ve been trying to convince you of is what I saw and heard. I don’t know what it means. But you know what hurts the most? I’m here. I’m standing here, trying to protect you. Because that’s all this is.”

“Well, I don’t need your fuckin’ protection!” Gatsby shouts across the room. “Who do you think you are, anyway? You’re not in any position to protect me. You don’t know anything about me!”

“I don’t need to know anything about you to protect you,” I shout back. His words are starting to make less and less sense. And mine are completely incomprehensible. All I want is for all of this to stop. I can’t stand the drama. The strife. I’m not this person. We’re not this couple. We’re not at a couple at all. Just two people on their first date. First date! Oh my god, I can’t believe it’s our first date.

I grab my bag and start gathering my things. I don’t have much. My phone. My iPad. My work clothes. Skirt. Blouse. Jacket. Panties. Maggie Mae’s high-heeled shoes. Can’t forget those.

“What are you doing?” Gatsby walks over.

“I’m leaving,” I say calmly. As far as I’m concerned, our fight is over.

“And where do you think you’re going?” he says mockingly.

I look up at him. Our eyes meet, and for a brief moment, I remember how nice it was to get lost in the blueness of his gaze. But then the moment passes, and I see the person who is staring back at me. A stranger.

“Home.”

The mocking expression on his face vanishes. He collects himself, and his face returns to its natural color.

“Okay,” he nods. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

I wait for him to call me a car to take me to his plane. I watch the way he moves as he talks on the phone, confident, self-assured, honest. More than anything, I wish for that person to return to me. He is there, within arm’s reach, but I just can’t go to him. I can’t apologize. I have nothing to feel sorry about. I can’t go back.