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“Do I need to do anything for you?”
I shook my head.
“All right, then. I’m going to tell Jerry you aren’t coming in tonight. I want you to take the day off and rest, okay?”
I nodded again.
He kissed me once more on the forehead and then he got up to leave. “Just relax today, honey, while I’m gone. Maybe take a drive along the beach and clear your mind if you want to. I want to talk more about this, but I need more information too. I want to understand what’s going on with you.” He got up and dug in his pocket for a moment, coming up with a set of keys. “Here’s the keys to the convertible, in case you want to go for that drive or just need to go somewhere else, but I’d like it if you just tried to rest today.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“And you’re sure there’s nothing you need? Nothing I can get for you?”
I just kept looking down at my hands, and he sighed and kissed the top of my head. “All right, baby. I have to go, but I’ll be home soon, and we can talk more. If you’re sure there’s nothing I can get you?” he asked as he walked toward the door. He seemed to be in a hurry to get out of there and really, could you blame him? I looked up and waved my hand at him and he finally left, closing the door gently behind him.
Could he get me anything?
“A Daddy,” I said softly, my voice echoing through the empty apartment. “You could get me one of those.”
I picked up the car keys and weighed them in my hand, noticing there were other keys attached to the ring, including one that said, “Beach House.”
I slipped off the bar stool and went to put on my shoes.
Chapter Twelve
The smell inside the beach house was the same as the last time I’d been there, a combination of salt and sea breeze and the faintest scent of coconut and suntan oil. I was surprised the house didn’t smell mustier, since no one had been here in a while except for the cleaners, as far as I knew.
Dropping my bag, I went immediately to the big glass doors leading out to the patio to pull them back and let in the soft, summer breeze to seep in and circulate gently through the rooms. It was only a forty-five-minute drive here from Ft. Lauderdale, depending on traffic. We could have been coming up every weekend. But Michael never seemed to have the time, and if I brought it up, he’d say, “But wouldn’t you rather go out? Go to the club? I want to show you off.”
It was summertime—the perfect time to go to the beach. Especially if you had a house like this one. In the city, it was hot, sweaty and humid, keeping one, as Jane Austen said, “In a state of constant inelegance.”
I’d always liked Austin, though most guys my age didn’t read her books. They preferred action novels or Tolkien or mysteries like Lee Child or Raymond Chandler. But once I’d had a vague idea of becoming an author like Austin. Fiction novels, or maybe even romance. But that was when I was still in college, before I dropped out because I couldn’t do all the work and manage my finances. As that doctor guy on TV would say, “How’s that working for you?”
And I’d have to reply, “Not at all, thanks for asking, and fuck you very much.”
I’d hoped to go back to school eventually to get a teaching certificate, but that was a whole other story, and probably just a dream. It was way too depressing to dwell on today.
I stood at the double doors, gazing out at the beach instead. The view was one I never got tired of seeing—the endless line of the gray, white-caps, the waves crashing on shore like some Titan far out of sight and out at sea was endlessly throwing giant pitchers of water toward the shore. I loved the sound the waves made as they splash-landed. It was a restful sound to me—one I badly needed to help turn me off my brain. To give me just a little space and time to stop thinking about what I’d lost. No, what I’d just thrown away. Because if I really concentrated on that, I was afraid it might just kill me.
I went to the bar cart and found the expensive whiskey he always drank. He drank it on the rocks, but I didn’t have any ice, so I went to the sink to add some water right out of the tap and then threw it back, relishing the burn in my throat.
I hardly ever drank, but I wanted to today. And it was another way to keep all this at bay. To bury it as deeply as I could so I didn’t have to think about how I’d just left him without a word. I’d taken his car and broken into his beach house as the icing on the cake.
Was it still breaking in if you used a key? Probably not technically.
I poured another drink, even bigger than the last one and threw myself down onto the oversized sofa, closing my eyes, letting the breeze and the sound of the waves just wash over me for a long time. I was feeling drained from all the emotion and drama of last night and this morning. Drama I’d caused—I had no illusions about that.
I had tried for a while now to be something I wasn’t, and I’d lied to Michael about it, which was the worst thing. It just wasn’t working any longer, and I couldn’t make it work no matter how hard I tried. I loved Michael so much I couldn’t wrap my head around it sometimes. No one had ever been so important to me.
When he had finally known the truth, he’d tried to be nice about it, like I knew he would. I thought he might wait a few days and then offer to find someone else for me. But what we had between us was over. I just wasn’t what he wanted, and I had to face facts. I probably wasn’t what anybody wanted.
Okay, that was a little over the top, but it was how I felt just then, and it was as simple and devastating as that. Michael and I were over and high time I faced it. I’d come here to do just that. To this place I’d once upon a time been so happy, so I could try to convince myself to let him go.
This was our getaway, our magical place, and every time I thought of it, the words from the theme song of Camelot played in my head. “In short, there's simply not, a more congenial spot, For happily-ever-aftering than here, in Camelot.”
Happily-ever-aftering…I used to think we’d have that, and it would last a lifetime. I guess everybody thinks that when they’re in love.
Unable to stand it a second longer, needing to hear his voice, I fumbled for the telephone on the side table and dialed his number. It rang only once before he picked it up, sounding a little out of breath.
