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“It is true,” he stresses. “Why don’t we go back to Turks and Caicos?”
“We won’t find the magic we had there. That was another time.”
Giving up, he asks, “When are you leaving?”
“Monday morning. I’m not coming into work. You should get used to the fact that I won’t be there much longer.”
“I won’t fire you. You’ll have to quit.”
“That’s not what you said the other night.”
“I was angry. The prospect of losing you is not something I want. Please.”
As much as I resist, tears course down my face until my body shakes with my upset. Foster hands me his handkerchief, and when I take it, he pulls me against him, cradling me in his arms. I can’t deny that I miss him and sometimes catch shades of who he used to be, and it nearly makes me change my mind. But he is too mercurial, his attitude changing from hour to hour depending on what is going on. There was no stability, and I needed stability.
He kisses the top of my head, begging in a whisper, “Please stay.”
“I can’t!” I sob.
Once we get to our building, I untangle myself from Foster’s arm, dry my eyes, then step out of the limo.
We spend the night separately. He sticks to his office, and I stay in the bedroom. In the morning, he was gone when I wake, off to work as usual.
