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“Actually he didn’t sign either,” Marie says. “He said he was late to a meeting with Paul and that he’d drop them by my lawyer’s office later. He’s probably signing them downstairs as we speak.”
I cross my arms. Note to self: avoid Bill when sneaking back to my office.
“So what are you going to do now?” I ask.
Marie considers the question and then suddenly seems to notice the cigarette in her hand. She stubs it out, half smoked. “For one, I’m quitting these things. I don’t have Bill or the divorce to blame anymore. For anything.”
“And later…” She trails off and looks rather abashed. But then Marie straightens her shoulders, lifts her chin, and says to me, half-awkward, half-proud, as if she’s trying the words (or her new-found confidence) on for the first time with me, “And after that, I’m going to Comic Con.”
The seriousness of her words coupled with the goofiness of the convention’s name almost makes me laugh. I manage to hold it in.
“I hope you have a fantastic time,” I say genuinely.
“Me too,” she says. “It’s being held at the Javits Center in Hell’s Kitchen. I’m getting dressed up. I’m going to some panels. I’m taking photos with people wearing costumes from movies I loved when I was young.” It sounds more like a hype-up speech than an itinerary, but I listen attentively. “And then I’m saying goodbye to the memories and signing these damn papers,” she says.
“Sounds like a great plan,” I say.
“It’s a plan anyway,” Marie says with a dry laugh. Then she fixes me in that piercing stare of hers. “And what about you, Liz? What are you going to do next?”
This is the closest she’s ever come to asking about Rhett.
“I—” I pause. “I don’t know,” I admit. I’m happy Marie is ready to move on. I’m not sure I’ll be there for a while.
Marie hesitates, but then she puts each of her hands on my shoulders and squeezes lightly. “I know you’re going to figure it out,” she replies.
I wish I had the same amount of confidence but it’s nice to hear anyway. Marie gives me a definitive nod and then turns and walks back around the corner, toward her future.
I watch the area where she’d been standing for a long time after she leaves.
Comic Con. The beginning and the end for the two of them. It’s funny that Marie, always so practical, is the one giving their relationship the proper send-off.
I’ll bet Bill is downstairs right now yukking it up with Paul. I’ll bet he’ll throw his signature down without a second thought, without a moment of mourning for a relationship that once seemed like it would endure until the very end.
I’ll bet Rhett was wrong about everything.
Suddenly I very much need to see Bill’s indifference for myself. I need to make sure this bitter picture in my head is reality and not just a fantasy that will allow me to feel half-okay with watching Marie walk off into the proverbial sunset alone.
I ride the elevator down, my foot tapping anxiously. Paula, the receptionist, looks up in surprise when I burst through the glass double doors and stride through the office. I ignore calls from various colleagues, each with something they want from me.
I have to be sure.
They weren’t right for each other.
They had too many differences.
Rhett and I would never have made it anyway.
Outside Paul’s office, I try to barrel past poor, abused Clark, who yelps at the look of determination on my face.
He dives in front of me, blocking Paul’s door with his body.
“What are you doing?” he hisses. “Mr. Morgan is in a meeting!”
“With Bill Alencar?” I demand.
Clark’s pale face whitens further. “Why do you care?” he asks. He raises his hands as if to calm a savage beast. “Look. Just… Just wait here for a minute. You can talk to Mr. Morgan next.”
I look over his shoulder at the closed door, but he moves his face to block my view. “Please Liz?” he asks. “For me? He’ll flay me alive if I let you in there.”
