CHAPTER NINETEEN

Margo

I woke up on Tuesday at around five pm. I had woken in the morning, I seemed to remember, but then gone back to sleep again. I had met Durrell at the office and we’d had coffee. I remembered coming home and changing, taking another sleeping pill.

“Damn sleeping tablets.”

I knew it was irresponsible of me—I was determined to blot all of this out of my mind. I sighed and got to my feet. I felt sick and sore and horrible. I hated myself for having done this to myself. I had a rule not to do this.

I went through to the shower.

The hot water woke me up a bit and I felt better when I sat down to lunch. I couldn’t bear the thought of coffee—just thinking of drinking it made my heart ache. I knew putting any more strain on it was a bad plan.

I cooked rice and sat down to eat it. My body felt worn out.

While I ate I tried to forget about Durrell. He made me feel awful. When we went for coffee he’d kissed me again, and touched me in a way that made me feel dirty. I knew he wanted something from me and I wasn’t prepared to give it. But it frightened me.

I owe him so much. What will happen if I say no? I can’t.

I was scared.

I knew that was why I was using the sleeping pills. It was a way of bypassing thought. I knew there was a train heading down the track at me, and I couldn’t jump. I just didn’t want to see it.

“Margo, you have to do something.”

I knew I had to. I did have people I could talk to. I could talk to my brother.

I marched through to the bedroom to find my phone.

While I was trying to think of what to say to my bro, I had another idea. Maybe I could talk to Lance?

I tried to text him. I should have texted him yesterday just to wish him safe travels. I had been so confused I’d forgotten.

“Huh?”

My messages were blocked. My heart thumped.

“Jay! No. Dammit!”

I was confused. Maybe it was a mistake, some kind of accident.

I tried again. No. He’d definitely blocked me.

I leaned back and sighed. My poor heart—it was already aching from the sleeping pills—I really didn’t need this. What was going on?

I tried to phone his number. That still worked. I rang and rang. He didn’t answer.

“Jay…please…”

I left a voice message.

“Jay, I don’t know what’s going on. But can you call me? Please—we need to chat?”

I hung up and leaned back, closing my eyes. It wasn’t possible, was it? He couldn’t know about Durrell and me…

It was a kiss, for pity’s sake!

I was frantic. I knew I was being ridiculous. How would he know? He was a whole state away by now. How would he have seen those two indiscreet, public displays of apparent affection?

I reached for my phone to call Alexandra. I checked the time. No. I couldn’t call—she was working evenings on Tuesdays. My poor head. It was so sore…

I put my phone aside. Stood. Walked to the window.

It was stupid, but I felt as if the view was gray. No more color, no more happiness. I had no idea what Jay meant to me, not really. I had no idea until now.

“Dammit.”

I picked up the phone again, considered calling him. No. Better not. Not until I understood more.

I dressed and headed out into the street. My plan was to go to work and find someone to talk to. My brother would be in traffic right now—it was five thirty, and I knew he was coming back from work, unable to talk. My friend was doing therapy and I couldn’t disturb her. Next best hope was Sheri, my old agent’s secretary—she had become a friend during the last four years of work and I thought, if anyone understood me, she at least had a better chance than most of getting me.

I reached the office and headed uncertainly upstairs. Walking was hard. I hung to the rail, feeling sick.

“Margo!” a voice greeted me as I reached the glass-walled office at the very top of the third flight of stairs. “Hi! It’s great to see you.”

I hadn’t been here at this place—the offices of Petals—for a while now. I nodded.

“Sheri. It’s great to see you.”

“What’s up?” she asked. She was closer to my mom than me, age-wise, with soft graying hair and big glasses. She had a kind smile.

“I don’t know,” I said.

I tried not to cry but she stood and reached across to me.

“It’s okay, honey. Come in, sit down. Talk.”

Sheri was a Southern belle, and she had the sweet, gentle twang in her voice. It made me feel safe.

“Here you go, sweetie,” she said, reaching for a cup of coffee. “What’s the matter now?”

I sighed. “I’m okay,” I managed. My eyes were wet and I wordlessly accepted something to dry them, noting absently that it was an embossed serviette from a coffee place. I smiled a wry grin.

“Thanks,” I said. “It’s nice to see you.”

“It’s great to see you, sweetie,” she said. “Talk.”

I sighed. “It’s complicated. You see…”

I told her everything. About Jay in the past, Jay when he left, Jay now.

When I’d finished, she’d blinked.

“Well, honey, this is all news,” she said. She sounded odd.

“Why?”

“Well,” she smiled. “I saw your picture in the paper today. I sure was glad. We knew about the move, but…” she trailed off uncertainly.

“But what?” I frowned. What picture? “What…”

“You didn’t know?” she asked gently.

“No!” I knew I sounded mad at her and I tried to tone it down. “Sorry, Sheri. Please?”

She sighed. “It’s in the papers. So, when you told me about this guy…”

“What’s in the papers?” I asked.

“Here,” she said. She looked hurt and I regretted shouting at her. I wasn’t mad at her. I was afraid.

“Sorry, Sheri. I…Oh.”

I stared. It was bad. It was worse.

The paper carried a picture of a slender dark-haired girl photographed full-face, kissing a tall, thin guy. The guy was wearing a wool suit, turned away from the camera. The girl was obvious. It was me.

“Oh my.”

“Honey, what’s up?” Sheri asked kindly. “When I saw it, I sure was pleased for you. A new job, great guy, good future…” she trailed off.

“Sheri,” I said. “It’s not true.”

She frowned. “What isn’t.”

“This.” I made a gesture at the paper. It was ridiculous! It was a kiss. But, reading the news, I had the impression I’d been with Durrell for ages. And then there was another article, in a magazine, where there was a second photo. Me and Durrell at coffee.

It was true. But it wasn’t.

I tried to find the words to explain to Sheri, but where could I even try? The pictures were there, real evidence. I couldn’t deny it.

What was I going to do?

I left the office, feeling miserable. I got home and called my friend.

“Alle?”

“Hey!” she sounded pleased. “How’s life?”

“I don’t think I can answer that question.”

“Why not?”

I burst into tears.

We spent an hour or two talking. She told me about forgiving myself, about Jay and why it would affect him so badly, about how it was terrible someone was using me. At the end of the conversation, I still had a question.

What to do?

“Give him time,” Alle suggested. “It might work. You told him this isn’t true?”

“I tried, Alle,” I said through clenched teeth. “How can I?”

“You have his mail?”

I nodded. “I do.”

“Well, it’s worth a go,” she said. “It’s better there. You can say what you really feel—it gives you time to express yourself. Think about your words. Give it a go.”

I sighed. “Okay,” I agreed “I’ll do that.”

“Mm,” she agreed softly. “You do that. You’ll be fine.”

I drew in a long, wobbly breath. “I dunno, Alle.”

“Trust me. Trust yourself. Trust love.”

I decided to try.