Frank
Sarah’s smile greets me from reception Tuesday morning. That evening, I sit across from her at Derby’s, eyeing her while I nurse my one and only drink. People ask her questions and I memorize her answers, a bunch of carefully crafted, happy-sounding bullshit that fools everyone but me. Sarah works hard to look like a carefree woman living the life of her dreams, but she’s not.
She’s hiding something that hurts.
Something that makes her eyes go distant when she talks about growing up on a farm in Ohio, the only girl after two boys.
The rest of the week passes in a series of flirty texts and captured moments in the breakroom. With each passing day, I feel more and more comfortable talking to her at work, like I don’t have to hide the way I feel about her after all. I grow bolder during the time we spend together, dropping innuendo wrapped in long, meaningful looks if I think no one’s around.
Try as I might, I can’t keep myself from touching her when we’re alone.
A hand on her arm or on the small of her back.
A finger on the tip of her nose.
Maybe Jason was wrong. Maybe our chemistry isn’t that noticeable, seeing as how no one has said anything to us. I’ve started to wonder if trying to hide is worth all the effort. Besides, Sarah isn’t permanent. She’s living out of a hotel, for fuck’s sake. I’d be a fool to let fear keep me from spending time with her. From getting to know her. From allowing whatever this is between us to grow…while I can.
By the time Saturday arrives, I am so excited to spend time with her without worrying what other people are thinking that I have to make a concerted effort not to show up at her place too early. I waste time at a coffee shop. Then at a gas station. Then again, by driving around the hotel twice before finding a parking spot. Still, even after all that, I sit for five minutes in the lot outside the shabbiest extended stay I’ve ever seen before I give up and decide to see if she’s ready.
“Hey, you,” Sarah says as she opens the door. “I just need a couple more minutes, if you don’t mind waiting.” She steps back and makes a sweeping gesture. “Welcome to the humblest of all the abodes.”
“Whoa.” My eyes go wide as I take in my surroundings. “I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s disgusting, right?” Sarah runs her hands into her hair and shakes it out. “I actually made a trip to the store specifically to get extra cleaning supplies. I’ve scrubbed that spot at least five times.” She points to a dark splotch above the bedframe and wrinkles her nose.
“I don’t even want to think about what that might be.” I grimace and wrench my gaze away from the offending spot. “Please tell me you have gloves.”
“I bought four pairs.” Sarah smiles and indicates a worn chair beside the bed. “I won’t be long. Make yourself at home,” she says, before padding into the bathroom.
“I hate to think of you living here,” I call out as I sit, still surveying the grimy room.
Sarah pokes her head around the corner. “Just part of the adventure. Imagine the stories I’ll have when this is all said and done.” She waggles her eyebrows and then disappears from view.
It doesn’t take her long to finish getting ready and she emerges with her hair piled high on her head and good humor twinkling in her eyes, looking stunning in a fitted T-shirt and simple pair of jeans, dark red toenails peeking out of sandals. She gathers her things, slinging her purse over her shoulder and sliding her aviators into place. I lead her outside, shielding my eyes against the sun while she locks up.
We fill the drive with more conversation, music from the radio flowing between our words, sunlight filtering into our laps. With no one here to judge us, I finally give all the way in to my desire to touch her and let my hand rest on her thigh just above her knee. She traces a nail along each of my fingers, before running it along my wrist.
After a few moments of comfortable silence, Sarah turns to me and pushes her sunglasses into her hair. “Hey. So. About the flirting at work thing…”
I glance at her and grin. “Yeah, I’m really sorry I even said anything about that. I’ve been thinking maybe I was being too cautious.”
I flash back to that day in Brian’s office and the warning in his eyes, then push the thought away. Sarah isn’t Violet, nor is she Bree. Besides, I’m not the kind of guy that falls prey to scandal. I’m a good guy. Talented. Hard-working. And I make McDougan & Kent a ton of money.
“I’m glad to hear you say it’s nothing to worry about.” Sarah laughs and shifts in her seat. “We haven’t exactly been stealthy this week. It’s probably a good thing if we don’t really need to worry about people catching us. Because the way we’re going, they’re going to catch us.” She traces a line along my hand again and then places her hand in her lap.
I drop my jaw. “Haven’t been stealthy? Are you kidding me? Do you know how much restraint I’ve shown around you?” I flash back to the hours we spent in the elevator. How much I wanted to bend her over and fuck her against the wall. Haven’t been stealthy, my ass. I’ve shown the restraint of a saint!
Sarah rolls her eyes. “Not half as much restraint as I’ve shown around you. They need to install a cold shower in that breakroom.”
“Now that is a good idea.”
My GPS interrupts our conversation by congratulating me for arriving at our destination. I flick on a turn signal and pull into a parking spot, then kill the engine. “Just so I have all the info in case these guys decide to try and pull a fast one on us, what did the insurance adjuster say when he came out to inspect the damage?”
Sarah draws her brows together and tension seethes in her eyes. “I called my insurance the day after the accident, but haven’t gotten a call back. Should I be worried about that?” She sucks in her lips and clenches her jaw.
“Honestly, I’ve never been in an accident, but I expect you’ll hear from them sooner or later.” I swing open the door before climbing out into a perfect spring day, the heat from last week having dissipated in the wake of a few rain showers.
“Smells like rain,” Sarah says before thumping her door closed. She takes a deep breath in through her nose and lets it out through her mouth, then repeats the process. It looks more like she’s trying to calm herself down than take in a scent and I feel bad for mentioning the insurance adjuster, though I don’t know why.
I wrap my arm around her shoulders and guide her toward the entrance to the shop. “Come on. Let’s get your car and free you from a bus that somehow has something to do with old soup.” She leans her head on my shoulder, softening against my body.
Once inside, I stand back and watch, paying close attention as Sarah does her thing. I don’t want to invade—after all, she’s a grown woman—but I also want to make sure she knows I’m here if she needs me. The mechanic—an older man with a youthful pep to his step—leads us out back, then walks her around her car, pointing out the repairs.
Sarah runs a hand along the passenger door. “It looks good as new.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” The mechanic grins and then clears his throat. “So, here’s the thing. I’ve been having a hell of a time with your insurance.” He presses his lips together and shifts his weight back on his heel. “They approved the work, but now that everything’s done, they’re refusing to pay for the name brand parts.”
“What’s that mean?” Sarah’s voice comes out low and thin as a muscle pulses in her jaw. I step up close behind her as the mechanic continues.
“Well, I can’t let you take the car without getting paid, as I’m sure you can understand.” The look on his face is apologetic, but firm. “You can cover the difference and the insurance will reimburse you if they decide to pay for the parts or the car can sit here until things get settled. It’s up to you.”
I put my hand on Sarah’s lower back and damn if she isn’t trembling. “What’s the difference?” she asks.
The mechanic guides us back inside and over to a counter, where he pulls out an invoice detailing the work, the parts, and the amount her insurance is willing to cover. “So, you would be liable for thirty-five-hundred dollars.” He taps a number at the bottom of the paper.
“What?” Sarah’s eyes go wide. “I don’t have that much.” She reaches out a quaking hand and retrieves the paper, holding it close to her face as she studies the line items. “What am I supposed to do?” She glances at me with fear in her eyes. “I guess I just have to leave the car here and contact my insurance?” The statement is more of a question, as if her brain is working slightly faster than her mouth. She bobs her head and turns back to the mechanic. “I’m really sorry to put you through this. I’ll call them as soon as I get back to my place. I’ll leave a message every hour if I have to.”
This poor woman has had such a string of bad luck, starting with the accident. It’s one thing for her to have to stay in a terrible hotel. It’s another thing altogether for her to have to leave her car here because her insurance company is going to drag its heels about doing what she pays them to do. Sarah has done nothing but make the best of her situation, but she doesn’t have to keep fighting through this, because I have the means to make things just a touch easier.
“Tell you what,” I say to Sarah, happy to solve the problem. “Let me take care of the difference now and you can pay me back once your insurance reimburses you.” I reach into my back pocket for my wallet.
Sarah blinks, then lets out a short breath. “I can’t let you do that.”
“Yes, you can. See? It’s easy.” I hand the man my credit card and he’s all too happy to take it, swipe it, and hand it back.
The mechanic gives Sarah her keys while I sign the receipt. “Good luck,” he says. “And if I were you, I’d be looking for better insurance.”
Sarah steps outside, squinting against the sunlight as she digs through her purse, retrieves a prescription bottle, and pops a pill into her mouth.
“What was that?” I ask.
She turns to me with wild eyes. “I have problems with anxiety and I feel a panic attack coming on.” She screws the lid back on the pills and shoves them into her purse. “I’ve had to take them a lot lately, stupid me and this stupid adventure.”
“How much is a lot?”
“I don’t know. Once or twice a day. Most times it’s just half a pill. I’d actually cut back a lot before I left Ohio.” Sarah folds her arms across her chest and drops her chin. “I keep telling myself today is the day I’m going to stop taking them again and then something like this happens.”
“Once or twice a day?” I know none of this is my business, but warning bells are going off like crazy in my head. “Even on the days you drink?”
I think back to all the times the look in her eyes didn’t quite line up with the happy-go-lucky stuff coming out of her mouth. Have I been wrong about her? Is she hiding some deep, dark, drug-addicted secret? Is she a giant ball of chaos about to detonate all over my life? Hot damn! And I just lent the woman thirty-five hundred dollars!
Sarah’s lips form a thin line and she stares as if daring me to press the issue. She nods once, the tiniest movement of her head, and then lets out a long breath, her shoulders slumping forward. “I know it’s a bad idea, and I wouldn’t do it if I had to drive…”
“But you just took one now. And you have to drive.”
“I mean combine them. I wouldn’t combine them if I had to drive.” She tosses her hair. “Look, lots of people take medication for anxiety. And lots of people drive after taking them. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“It is to me.” I’m afraid to ask if she was under the influence the day of the accident. I don’t want to know the answer. “Have you considered…I don’t know…therapy or something? Maybe if you talk to someone, you could solve the cause of the problem instead of treating the symptoms.”
Sarah pushes off the wall. “Sure. Because all I need is to talk to someone and all my problems will be solved. Thanks for the tip.” She scowls at me as if I’d just suggested covering a knife wound with a Band-Aid and turns away.
“I hate the thought of you hurting, but I promise you, there’s a better way to deal with it.” I wait for her to reply and when she doesn’t, I continue. “What if you tried cutting back this weekend? And if you start feeling the anxiety building up, you can call me and try talking about what’s bothering you?”
I step up behind her, consider placing my hands on her shoulders and turning her to face me, then run my hand along the back of my neck instead. Maybe I should just cut my losses and run.
Maybe she’s another Violet.
Another Bree.
Another dose of crazy that I just don’t need.
She flashes me a look over her shoulder that reminds me so much of Leo that I stop in my tracks. It’s cold and angry, accusatory and rebellious, but underneath it all, she’s begging for help. I don’t know what she’s dealing with, but that look tells me she doesn’t like being this way. In the space of a second, I know that the bright, happy woman I see her trying to be is who she really is and it’s buried deep down under whatever is weighing on her soul.
I watch her come to a decision. That look of angry vulnerability disappears under something much more neutral.
“Thanks for the help today,” she says. “I’ll call my insurance as soon as I get home so I can get you reimbursed.” She pauses in front of me, sucks in her lips, and lets out a long breath through her nose. “Like for real. I mean it,” she says, letting the mask fall away from her face. “Thank you.” She grips my hand, her skin cold and clammy against mine, and then climbs into her car and brings the engine to life.
I follow her back to the hotel to make sure she’s safe. Her gaze meets mine through her rearview as she slows to turn into the parking lot. She lifts a hand, offers a smile, and then gives her focus back to the road. I finish the drive back to my apartment on autopilot as I battle with myself over how to proceed.
Is Sarah worth risking my job for?
My sanity?
Is whatever she’s dealing with big enough to break her, and therefore me, if I stick around?
Or is she big enough to break the habit, as long as she has someone there to help her through the process?
I think of Leo and all the havoc he wreaks on our family. My older brothers are ready to write him off as damaged goods, but I keep fighting for him, even though it feels like we take one step forward and two steps back time and time again.
Can I go through that for a woman I barely know?
* * *
Sarah
“God damnit!” I slap the heel of my hand against the steering wheel. The horn bloops, startling an older woman as she ambles across the parking lot. She whirls in my direction and I raise a hand in apology. “Sorry!” I call out, heat flaring across my neck and face.
Why did I have to take that pill in front of Frank? Why aren’t I strong enough to handle a bump in the road like shitty insurance without the help of medication? Like a normal person? And for that matter, when Frank actually cared enough to worry about my sanity, my safety, why did I have to run away like a fucking coward?
The man deserves better than that.
He deserves better than me.
He deserves an explanation.
Or to be let off the hook.
Or…something.
I dig through my purse in search of my phone until I finally upend the thing on my passenger seat and pluck the device out of the months of receipts and bits of trash I somehow think is worth carrying around with me all the time. I pull up his contact info, my finger hovering over the call button, before I opt to message him, instead.
Me: When we were stuck in the elevator, you asked me about something that happened when I was a kid. Something no one…
I hit backspace until the words are gone and try again.
Me: I know you’re right about the pills. I know I need to stop running from what’s wrong and just deal with it already but…
Again, I hit backspace until the message section is empty and then stare at my phone, at a loss. Finally, I decide on what to say and tap out a message.
Me: Thank you for your help today and I’m sorry I lost control and ran away.
It’s not enough, not by a long shot, but I hit send and then drop my phone in my now empty purse, wipe at my eyes, and then head into the shitty little room I call home to start leaving messages for my insurance company.