Chapter Twenty-Four
Melody
I spend the last dollars to my name paying for a taxi to the bus station and buying a ticket home.
Fitting. Just one more way that I’m worthless.
Not only am I the woman who sabotaged the best relationship she’s ever had, I’m also broke.
I leave most of my stuff at Julian’s. Going back for it would just mean I have a chance at running into him. Besides, he paid for it, anyways.
I feel absolutely wretched.
The world drags by outside my window.
For a hundred miles and three hours, I’m next to some man in overalls who smells like he last bathed in his high school gym class; he looks about forty years old, he’s wearing some tattered track suit, and he manspreads. Which he definitely should not do, because, not only does it invade my space, it makes the smell worse every time he does it.
The spreader gets off the bus in Bakersfield and says something to himself about being glad to be home. I take one look at the featureless flat fields and almost feel sorry for him. Bakersfield kind of sucks.
The bus leaves town, getting back on the endless stretch of interstate that runs through California’s central valley. It’s a bland purgatory for me to traverse, a voyage from the moments of heaven behind me, into the turbulent hell that awaits me once I get home.
The ominous words from that text message dominate my thoughts. I’ll see you soon. I’m certain it’s from my ex, David. And if he hasn’t found me, he’s got an idea about where I am.
When the women’s advocacy group I went to told me a lot of my records — so much of that horrible chapter in my life — would be sealed, I’d hoped it was the end of it. I’ve been safe, I’ve been off the radar for almost a year. I haven’t even talked to my parents since then.
Then, Pierce and Victoria kicked the hornets nest and I’m half expecting to find him waiting for me when I get home.
That thought terrifies me.
But I’ve got no choice but to go home. I have no money, no means to start over again.
I sleep, somehow, my purse clenched in my hands to keep any of the other people on this bus from stealing it. I don’t trust anyone right now.
The bus pulls into the station in Rockaway Bay around midday and I exit alone. My legs are unsteady after hours upon hours of being in that seat, with only the occasional five minute rest stops whenever the bus driver felt like pulling over for McDonald’s or a smoke break.
Alice is waiting for me in the parking lot. She looks me up and down.
“Welcome home,” she says. “I’ve got vodka in the glove box.”
I slump into the passenger seat of her car and help myself to the promised vodka. It’s cheap, it burns, but it does what I need.
“Where to?” she says.
“Work.”
She looks at me sideways. “You know we don’t have any appointments today. As usual. Don’t you want to go home?”
“No. Please. Even if there’s nothing to do, even if I’m just mopping the floor, I want to be at work.”
She nods. “Work it is. I got your car fixed, by the way. Well, I helped. Kind of. Mainly, I just answered the door when the AAA guy showed up at the office and asked if the Fiesta in our lot was the car he was supposed to fix the tires on. I’m pretty sure Julian sent him.”
“When was this?”
She shrugs. “A while ago.”
We cruise down the roads at a speed that feels too slow to me.
“What happened? I’ll understand if you don’t want to talk about it, but, last I heard, you and that guy lit up San Francisco, brawled in some club in LA, and then there were all these grainy long-distance photos of the two of you frolicking at his house in Malibu — unclothed, of course, and I have to say, he has a great butt, I hope you got in plenty of smacks on it — but now, you’re just here? Like, here and looking like someone died just a day after your man becomes CEO?”
At least he got what he wanted.
I reach out and put my hand on her arm. “I left, Al. I chose to leave. Things just got really complicated and I couldn’t take it.”
“So, he didn’t cast you aside?” she sounds like she doesn’t believe it. “I’m shocked. Because who would’ve thought that a fake marriage would get complicated.”
“No. He was so much better than I thought. But I’d rather not talk about it right now.”
Part of me wants to tell her everything, but right now, my nerves are too raw, the wounds are too fresh, and I don’t think I could handle the shame right now.
I had a chance at something real. A chance at something better than a dream — a relationship with a man who truly loved me — and I ruined it.
We park in front of my office. The doors are shut, the lights are out, the ‘closed’ sign hangs on the door, and it all just looks so small and sad.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say to Alice as I get out.
“Wait — “she calls and she leans over in her seat to take the small bottle of vodka out of her glovebox and hand it to me. “Keep it. I’ll be around. And up late. So call me any time if you want to talk. Or, if, you know, we get some patients.”
I smile. “Thanks. I will.”
She drives away slowly, and I stand there in the lot a while before letting myself into the office. I shut the door behind me, check the lock twice and then sit down at my desk.
Julian Stone, you bought this place and gave it to me. You gave me the means to make my dream here permanent. And, by loving you, I ruined it all.
This place feels like a funeral home.
How could I be so stupid? How could I let myself get sucked up into Julian’s world? How could I keep something from him and not expect everything to come crashing down at some point?
I should’ve known this wouldn’t work. But then, how could I not fall in love with a man like him? He swept me off my feet and he made me feel like I truly deserved it; he saw me as a woman with value: as a friend, as a partner, as a lover.
I’ve never had that before.
I drain the bottle over an hour. It helps, a little.
Then I have a good cry, the kind that shudders your body and leaves you feeling a little numb when it’s over, with your throat raw and your nose a mucusy mess.
I try and look at everything objectively. Like a doctor assessing a patient.
I need to start thinking about what comes after. My ex is on my tail, and sooner or later, he’s going to catch up. There’s no way in hell I want to see his face again — it took me months to exorcise it from my night mares.
But I can’t start over here.
I make a decision. Standing up, I take out of my desk the spare set of car keys I keep hidden in a drawer. I don’t want to be alone right now.