I stayed with Izzy the rest of the week, calling Chet to let him know where I was, just in case he’d been wondering, which he hadn’t. I also told him I’d be moving out.

I called my dad and told him what happened with Rusty, leaving out the particulars. When he’d heard I’d been living with a felon, he’d thrown a fit. I told him it wasn’t like I’d known and that I’d trusted Chet. Of course, he’d gone to town on Chet, dragging his name through all kinds of mud saying he’d be giving my mom’s Aunt Ruby a call to “tell her a thing or two” immediately. I told him I didn’t feel safe in my neighborhood any longer, so Dad gave me a loan against my trust fund—my idea since I didn’t want to feel any more indebted to my parents than normal—and I used it to secure a one-bedroom apartment on the waterfront. I was moved in within a week.

Over the next two months, Izzy and I had the best time decorating it, in spite of the arguments we’d had over my eclectic taste. Her taste was classic contemporary—that’s what growing up in fancy furniture stores did to you—but my taste was more hodgepodge-oh-this-is-cute-and-colorful-I-want-it-displayed-right-here-in-the-living-room, which drove her nuts. In the end, I got my way, mostly. I’d let her “win” by picking out a sofa from her parents’ store that was “functional yet elegant.” It was light beige and had the cushiest cushions ever with four throw pillows that I figured were there to annoy anyone sitting on it, and I secretly loved it but didn’t tell her because although she’d won the battle, she would’ve tried to win the war.  

Everything else was perfect. In the living room, there was a bright lime-green chair and mismatched end tables and coffee table that completely drove her nuts but that I adored. My very favorite thing was a double-ended chaise lounge that was the color of the ocean on a sunny day I’d put by the window so I could look out at the water and watch the ferry boats cross.

I ditched my old bed, donating it to a women’s shelter, and got a cast-iron canopy bed that was fabulous. It by itself wasn’t really anything special, but when I draped some lengths of white chiffon fabric over the canopy rails then wove some twinkling lights into it, I was in love.

The last piece of furniture was a dining table that was actually an old door, rustic white paint and all, four ladderback chairs, all different colors—red, black, teal and yellow—and my place was complete.

She’d gotten me a gorgeous sunset picture of Mount Rainier that I hung over the fireplace, and I’d thrown in some pictures of us and friends from home, along with a framed Bewitched poster—from the TV show not the movie—that she didn’t even balk at since she’d gotten me the poster for Christmas last year along with the entire series on DVD because she liked the show too.

My first night alone was good since Izzy and I had ordered in chicken enchiladas from a nearby authentic Mexican restaurant and toasted my new place with two and a half bottles of Dom Perignon. After making sure she’d gotten safely in a cab to go home, I’d ridden the elevator back up to my apartment, gone in and fallen into bed.

The second night wasn’t nearly as fun. School had started and I’d had classwork along with a lab. When I’d finally made it home, I had leftover enchiladas then sat on the chaise and looked out at the water.

It was then I allowed myself to cry.

It happened to be Valentine’s Day, yippee, and, of course, I didn’t have a Valentine. But that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that I felt used.

I felt betrayed.

Thrown away.

And I hated that.

And I hated Zane.

At seven, I received a text from an unknown number.

Text Message—Tues, Feb 14, 7:02 p.m.

Unknown: Hello! You’ll be receiving a gift from Brummett’s Floral Shop within the hour! (Brummett’s Floral Shop – The place to go for all your gift and floral needs 206-555-6712) Text STOP to unsubscribe

Huh. Maybe Izzy had sent me something.

Within the next minute, someone knocked and I cautiously went to the door, wiping my eyes, then looked through the peephole to see a guy standing there.

“Yes?” I called.

“Brummett’s Floral!” he called back.

I opened the door to see him holding a large clear vase of gorgeous purple-blue flowers which he handed to me.

“Thank you,” I said, setting them on the small, quirky table I’d found a few days before at a home décor store.

My purse was also there, so I pulled out my wallet to give him a tip.

“If you’ll sign here,” he said, handing me an iPad-type device which I used the stylus to sign. Then handing him the money, I thanked him and closed the door.

There were two cards, one telling me the flowers were Ocean Breeze Orchids (just lovely!) the second which was in an envelope that said,

 

I’m sorry

—Zane

That pissed me right the hell off and I wanted to chunk the vase into the wall. But common sense told me not to, so I called Izzy instead even though she was out with Corey.

“Hey, what’s up?” she answered, whispering.

“Zane just sent me flowers! The bastard!” I hissed.

“How’d he find you?”

“He is a detective,” I replied angrily.

“Oh, yeah. Are you okay?”

“No!” I started crying. “I just want to have someone take my brain out and reprogram it. Like that movie with Jim Carrey and Kate, uh, Kate-who-was-in-Titanic. I don’t want to think about him ever again! I hate him!”

Of course, I didn’t hate him. I loved him. Or I had. And he’d hurt me more than anyone else ever had before.

“I know, honey. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s what he said! The note. All it said was, “I’m sorry” and his name. Like that’ll fix anything!”

“I know.”

“Oh, God, Iz, I’m sorry. You and Corey are out. I’ll let you go.”

“I’m good. We’re just waiting for the second act to start,” she said quietly.

I’d forgotten that they were at Hamilton, damn it.

“Call me tomorrow. Love you,” I said and hung up.

Then I was left to stare at the beautiful flowers, not really knowing what to do with them. As an environmentalist, I couldn’t just throw them out. So I checked myself in the mirror by the door, grabbed the flowers and my keys then went down to the lobby.

“Hi,” I said to the concierge who was standing behind the desk, looking through some forms.

“Hello, miss. How may I help you?”

“I wanted to know if I could leave these flowers here? I mean, just on the desk as decoration? Or you could take them home for your wife…or husband…or significant other,” I babbled trying to be PC and sounding like an idiot.

He chuckled. “How about we leave them right here for everyone to enjoy?” He took the vase and set it on the desk.

“Thank you,” I replied.

“I’m Henry,” he said, holding out his hand for me to shake.

“Jillian.”

“Very nice to meet you, Jillian. You’re new here?”

“Yes, I just moved in maybe a month ago? I really like it here, though.”

Henry was tall and thin and maybe as old as my dad. His gray hair was balding a little on top but had a nice smile.

“I’m so glad. If there’s ever anything you need, I usually work the evening shift, so give me a call and I’ll do what I can to help.”

“Thanks, Henry.” I stood there for a moment not knowing what else to say.

“Have a good evening, miss.”

Well, there you go. I smiled then went back to the elevator and up to my apartment. Inside, I let out a deep breath and deciding it was definitely a Bewitched kind of night, I showered then got in bed to watch the show and fell asleep shortly thereafter.

I dreamed that I was flying but as I flew, what I saw below me was only dead fields and landscapes. I woke up the next morning in the worst mood ever and went to my Ecology and Evolution of Marine Protists—eukaryotes that had no classification, fun!—class pretty bummed out.

The day got even better when Darren stopped me after class to ask me out for coffee.

When I turned him down, he grabbed me by the upper arm making sure to graze the side of my breast with his fingers, and leaned in close asking, “What is it about me that you don’t like?”

I jerked my arm from his grip then glared at him. “You touch me again and you’ll regret it. Do you understand?” He let out a huff as he smirked and I wanted to smack him. “I’m sure the university president would love watching this on video in the security office,” I informed, getting huge satisfaction at seeing his face turn white before I left.

I was walking to the parking lot when I got a call from Alicia.

“You’re coming in at noon, right?” she asked.

“On my way now!”

“Well, I thought I’d prepare you.”

“Oh, lord. What now?”

“You won’t believe it until you see it, hon.”

We hung up and I got in my car heading to the record store wondering what in the world it could be. Had Preston Templeton III shown up? Or worse, Gerald Ainsworth? Had Rusty escaped jail and was holding Alicia hostage and was waiting for me to get there so he could kill me?

I pulled behind the store and walked in slowly, peering around the doorframe, phone in my hand with 911 on the screen ready to be dialed if I needed it. Upon seeing nothing that was of particular interest, I stepped on into the floor looking around warily.

“Alicia?” I called, even though I knew the stupid girls in scary movies always did that—hollered for someone so the killer/monster/poltergeist would find her, and I decided I’d never be annoyed by another chick in a flick doing so.

When I got fully inside, I saw Alicia standing behind the counter. “In here, hon!”

She didn’t sound as if she were being held at gunpoint, but one could never be too safe. Finally seeing no one else in the store, I came around to the counter opening.

“So what won’t I believe?” I asked.

She chuckled then nodded to her right. Frowning I walked around the front of the counter to see what the heck she was laughing at then I jerked my head back.

“Wow.”

“Yeah, wow,” she said coming to join me.

“Where’d you get this?” I asked.

“I didn’t get it anywhere. It was sent to the store a few minutes before I called you.”

Before me stood a huge stuffed unicorn that was all white except for its lavender and light-blue colored mane, forelock and tail.

“What the hell?” I mumbled.

“That big toy store north of Century Field delivered it.”

“It’s taller than me!” I pointed out the obvious.

“A card with your name came with it.”

She went behind the counter and brought it to me. Looking at the unicorn, I tore the envelope and pulled out the card. On the front it said, “I’m an Asshole.” Like, it was a legit card that said that. It hadn’t just been written on the front.

“I’ll leave you be,” Alicia said and disappeared into the back.

I let out a breath knowing just who it was from. I went behind the counter and sat on the stool just in case it made me mad and I inadvertently attacked the innocent stuffed animal.

Opening the card, I read what Zane had written.

Dear Jillian,

I’m sorry.

I know that doesn’t seem to be enough, but it’s all I know to say.

I’m an asshole. A prick. A douchebag.

I know this.

I didn’t mean to hurt you.

Well, at the beginning I did because you hurt me when you left that first time without leaving your number or even saying goodbye.

I know I was immature and stupid in trying to pay you back. I also know I shouldn’t have said anything about you to Pope, but I had to justify what I was doing by making you look bad. But I want you to know that I never told him your name.

You also need to know that my plans totally fell apart before our first date even began. When I went to pick you up, my whole intent was to use you to get to Stewart and after I got him, I’d cut you loose and move on. But when I saw you, I was floored. You were gorgeous. You were stunning. Then when we talked, you were a total surprise. A miracle in my dark world. You suddenly became the light that helped me make sense of everything.

But I didn’t like that. So I resisted. I put up a barrier because I was used to dealing with things on my own, and being with you made those things not seem as ominous anymore.

What I’m trying to say here is that I love you, Jillian.

I LOVE YOU.

I only hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me because I know I hurt you. I KNOW IT. And I’m sorry.

Zane

I read the letter three times.

Then I read it to Alicia, seeking her advice.

“Aw, hon, he sounds like he’s trying hard here.”

She knew everything that had happened because I’d told her, knowing she wouldn’t judge and she’d be nothing but supportive. I also told her so she’d know the reason why I’d missed so many days of work.

I next called Izzy and read it to her.

She’d tell me straight out what I should do. Whether I chose to take her advice or not, that was another thing. But as best friends, we’d always told the truth, not telling the other what we thought she wanted to hear.

“Read it again,” she said. After the second go-round, I heard her sigh. “He really sounds sincere, JB. At this point, it’s up to you to decide what you wanna do. If you love him, give him a chance. If not, keep the unicorn and give it to Laurel’s first child.” She snorted.

“Thanks, Iz.”

“Anytime, Jilly Bean.”

I finished out my workday telling myself I wouldn’t think about it until I got home. Which worked for all of thirty seconds.

By the time I got home, I needed some Half Baked and a lot of The Office. I passed out in a sugar coma falling asleep as I laughed when Michael roasted everyone after they’d roasted him. The last thing I remembered him saying was, “Meredith, you’ve slept with so many guys you’re starting to look like one. Boom, roasted.”