“Be brave,” he said smiling at me. “Open your eyes.”
I did. His feet started moving and I automatically followed him. He was a smooth dancer.
“There’s no music,” I was trying to see who was watching us out of the corner of my eye.
He started humming. I closed my eyes again but this time out of pleasure. His voice was decadent.
He was humming Yellow.
“This is where we first met,” he said nuzzling my neck. “It’s where the trouble all started.”
He was teasing but to me his words held so true.
“Why did you do that?” I asked with my eyes still closed. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Because I love you. She’ll come to her senses, I know her.”
“You’re a good guy, Caleb Drake.”
“A man is only as good as what he loves most, right?” I flinched. Hopefully, that wasn’t true. I was about as rotten as a month old egg.
“Your mom is so beautiful,” I said into his shoulder.
He laughed and grabbed a handful of my hair, pulling my head back until I was looking him in the eyes.
“You are going to destroy me, you know that?’
I knew.
After he kissed me goodnight, I wandered back to my room and collapsed into Cammie’s beanbag chair.
It was all too good to be true. Nothing good ever lasted. Our time was running out. I could feel it. There was only so long before he discovered who I really was and wanted nothing to do with me. He was light and I was darkness.
“Olivia, what’s wrong?” Cammie asked, emerging from the bathroom in a cloud of steam.
“I’m going to lose him Cam,” I said hiding my face in my hands.
“No, no,” she said quickly coming to kneel besides me, “he loves you too much. Everyone can see that.”
“Oh—screw love,” I said, more to myself than her. “It doesn’t always survive the bad things.”
“What bad things, Oy, you’re being dramatic,” she pulled up another beanie and sat down in front of me. “What have you done?”
“Cammie,” I said looking at her in horror. “Really, really bad things. And the worst part is—I don’t know if I’ll ever stop.”
Cammie looked at me with sympathy. “You are not as bad as you think. Whatever you’ve done, Caleb will still love you. You have to let him love you Olivia and more importantly you have to love him back.”
Six months later, I moved out of the dorms and into my own apartment. I had one semester of school left and I was eager to see it over. Caleb and I had gingerly started talking about getting an apartment together when I graduated. He had spent the last six months working for his stepfather and I was seeing him less and less.
We decided to take a short trip together. Somewhere close where we could lie in the sun and do nothing but nothing. We settled on Daytona Beach and made plans for him to pick me up after he was done with work. I was packed and ready after my last class. My overnight bag was at my feet and my hands clasped nervously in my lap. I wanted this weekend to be perfect. I had made my first visit to Victoria’s Secret and picked out something I thought he would like. Tonight was the night. We had been together for a year and a half. Cammie had wailed in excitement when I told her.
“Finally, you stupid cow,” she said handing me a supersized box of condoms. “Do you know how everything works? Because I can walk you through the basics.”
“If I wanted advice from a slut, I’d call a nine hundred number,” I said, snatching the box from her. She’d laughed and doled it out anyway.
Caleb’s knock never came. I tried calling his cell, which went straight to voice mail. Caleb was never late; he arrived everywhere he went at least ten minutes early. I tried to curb the thoughts of him being in an accident; however, eventually my worry got the best of me. I called the hospital but they informed me that no one by my description had been admitted that night. I thought about calling his parents, but considering how my last meeting with them went, I couldn’t get myself to dial the number. I re-cradled the phone and bit my nails instead. There was only one other option. He was still at work and had lost track of time. That had been happening a lot lately anyway, his job was so demanding he sometimes forgot the time we were supposed to meet somewhere or that it was our year and a half anniversary and we were supposed to buy each other garden gnomes in celebration. I wasn’t mad. I was okay with it. I would just drop by the office to remind him. Yes. I grabbed the keys and sprinted down the stairs.
The office building that housed Fossy Financial was located in the sugar district of Ft. Lauderdale, two blocks past the Bonjour Bakery where Sylvester Stallone bought his croissants at seven bucks a pop.
The building that housed Fossy was also home to numerous other services that only the wealthy could afford, so naturally there was a guard. He peered at me through swollen eyes that suggested too much liquor the night before and issued a grunt.
“Buildings closed for the evening,” he shot at me in an irritated voice.
“So why, are the doors open?” I cheeked, eyeing the few people milling around in the lobby. They were all swathed in buttery colored silks and custom made tuxedos. The whole scene screamed ‘Behold the Wealthy’ in the most obnoxious of ways.
“There’s a party on the fifth floor—a private party,” he emphasized. “The doors are closed to all customers.”
The fifth floor was Caleb’s floor. I realized this with a sinking feeling in my stomach. He never mentioned a party to me. True, he had an especially busy week at work but how does one forget something like that?
“Well, I just happen to be attending the Fossy party,” I said using my best snooty voice.
“Yeah? I don’t think so,” his eyes were roving over my jeans and t-shirt.
“My names on the list pal,” I said quickly. I didn’t even know there was a list. “Ava Lillibet. Check for yourself.” Ava was a colleague of Caleb’s, he spoke about her horrid garlic breath and melon sized breast implants often. I stuck out my chest just in case. My feeling about the list was correct and seconds later, the fat eyed guard located my fake name on the paper in front of him.
“Okee dokee, Ms. Lillibet. You can go right up,” I didn’t look at him as I whipped around and headed over to the elevators. Hopefully the real Ms. Garlic-breath wouldn’t make an appearance any time soon and blow my cover. The elevator ride was torturous. When I heard the ‘Ding’, I sprang out almost tripping over my own feet. I batted my eyes in surprise. There was no sign of desks, or fax machines or poker faced employees. The entire floor had been cleared of its serious nature, and replaced with elegantly laid dinner tables with floating candle centerpieces and polished crystal goblets. All of the shades in the office were open to show the impressive view of the Ft. Lauderdale waterway. Beautiful people mulled over trays of caviar that were traveling across the room in the hands of white-gloved servers. I pressed myself against the closest wall and began scanning the room for his face. No Caleb. Not with the flighty group of secretaries that always kept me on hold way too long and not with his stepfather, whose smile was now turning on a group of investors. I felt a rush of anxiety. What if he was waiting for me at my apartment right now and here I was snooping around his office like a paranoid…
I would do the halfway decent thing and leave, before I made a total ass of myself. I shimmied towards the exit sign hoping to find the stairs. I would have to pass through a corridor of what looked like offices but there was little chance any of them would be occupied while there was a party in full swing. I made a dash for it. I was almost to the end of the hall, perhaps three steps away from the stairs, when I heard his voice. I found it strange that over the trilling of Chopin and the constant humming of a dozen conversations, I heard his voice.
I heeled to a stop and cocked my head, not because I heard him speak, but because of the way he was speaking—urgent and intimate. I leaned in toward the closed door of his office and heard a woman’s throaty la
ugh. My heart kicked into third gear.
“Would you like to find out?” her voice was clearly flirtatious. You couldn’t mistake that, not even through the two inch paneled door. Chopin’s trilling Appassionato was playing in the background, as I jerked back.
Find out what? I held my breath and pressed my ear against the door. Did I even want to know?
“Some things are better left in the freezer,” my mother used to say.
I pressed closer until my face was squashed against the paneling. There was no more talking. Whatever was happening on the other side of that door was happening quietly. I took a step back. This was my cue—enter crazy girlfriend. I will not yell, I told myself. I will handle this with class and decorum. I grabbed the doorknob, twisted it and flung it open. The door moved aside like a curtain, revealing a scene that would be embedded on my memory for always. It would change everything. Ruin everything. Break everything.
Chapter Fourteen
The Present
I left. Leah could have him, but I didn’t want to be around when she did. I didn‘t take much; a couple of books and photo albums that belonged to my mother. Everything else had been destroyed. I stuffed everything into the car along with Pickles and hit the gas. I’d left my box of Mr. X memento’s laying in the center of my scarred coffee table, along with the envelope of pictures that Leah had stolen. She had stuffed five one hundred dollar bills into the envelope as well...I left those too. If I was going to do this—it had to be done. No more toting around trinkets that had the power to turn my heart into ground beef.
Before I’d walked out the front door for good, I’d held the penny, face up in my palm. Damn penny. Damn Caleb. I closed my fingers and squeezed as hard as I could, until my fist turned white and I was sure that the words, “Good for one free shot of affection—A KISS!” would be stamped on my skin. Then I’d opened my hand and let the penny drop to the carpet. I slipped a goodbye note underneath Rosalie’s door, in which I lied about a job in California, and promised to write to her as soon as I was settled. I dropped my keys off at the leasing office and I drove. I felt an emotional weight lift from my shoulders when my car eased onto I—95, and I felt free when I crossed over the state line into Georgia, but I felt absolute relief when Cammie threw her arms around me.
“Welcome to Texas, best friend,” she smiled kissing me on the cheek. “Let’s begin your new life.”
The Past
Wind battered angrily against the car, howling her protests at not being let in. Outside, the cracked glass of the windshield gathered the dancing snowflakes from the air, spreading a blanket of white across the red tinged spider web. Two passengers sat slumped and bleeding in the front seats, neither was conscious and the driver was soaked in his own blood. No ambulance had been called, as the car had yet to be spotted in the snowstorm. The passenger woke moaning and clutching his head. When he pulled his hand away there was blood smeared on his finger-tips.
He looked around at the dark interior of the car wondering where he was and who the bleeding man beside him could be. He felt odd, like all of his organs were straining inside of his body. Feeling along the door, he grabbed hold of the latch, but it wouldn’t budge. Then he realized the obvious, something his cloudy mind hadn’t registered at first. The car was crushed to half of its original size. He released his seatbelt and felt around his pockets for a phone, after finding it, he hit 911. When the female operator answered he spoke, not recognizing his own voice.
“There’s been an accident. I don’t know where we are,” or who I am he wanted to add, but didn’t.
He set the phone next to him and held his head. A police car would be sent once they tracked the signal. He waited, shivering whether from the shock or the cold, he didn’t know. He tried not to look at the body next to him. Was it a friend? His father? His brother?
He knew help had arrived when out of the corner of his eye he saw the reflection of the cruiser lights dancing on the windows. Voices called and doors slammed. Soon there were people reaching in and pulling him out of the car.
“We have to use the Jaws of Life,” he heard a fireman say. Someone was shining a light in his eyes; another was wrapping him in an orange fleece. They loaded him onto a stretcher as the snow landed on his face. A voice that sounded far away asked him what his name was. He shook his head wondering if he should make one up. Josh was a good name, he could have said Josh, but he didn’t. He wondered if the man next to him was alive and then he heard the sirens of another ambulance and the skidding of wheels on gravel as it pulled away sirens screaming. He lay back against the flat pillow and tried hard to remember…..and then he did. Things good and bad came seeping back into his brain like warm water through a cracked block of ice. He flinched as he remembered things that he’d rather forget.
The EMT asked him if he was all right. He shook his head yes, though on the inside where it counted, where wounds couldn’t be salved and sewn, he wasn’t. He rubbed his head, knuckles against temples and wished that he couldn’t remember. How easy it would be if his mind had been wiped clean like an eraser board. No trace of the happy or miserable, just a clean fresh start. The ambulance came to a smooth stop and the twin doors were opened by a set of gloved hands. He allowed himself to be pushed and pulled and prodded through the emergency room doors until he lay in a stark white room waiting for an MRI. He remained silent. A doctor entered the room where he waited for his results. He was an Indian man with a kind face. He wore a wedding band on his ring finger with three rubies embedded in the gold. His name tag read Dr. Sunji Puni. He wondered if Dr. Puni was happy and if those three red stones symbolized his children. He wanted to ask, but still he said nothing. The doctor in his accented voice spoke.
“You have a serious concussion. I want to run some more tests on you to be certain that there is no extensive damage to your brain. The EMTs informed me that you were having some confusion as to who you are.” The patient said nothing, though he stared at the flat white ceiling as if it were a great work of art.
“Can you tell me your name?” Still, he said nothing, his eyes moving back and forth, back and forth.
“Sir? Do you know who you are?” the doctor’s voice was concerned now, having hit an octave higher than before. I know, I know! His mind screamed. The patient turned his head until he was looking into heavily lined black eyes. He’d made his decision right then and there. There would be a lot of trouble over what he was about to do, but he didn’t care. He had to find her.
“No,” said Caleb Drake. “I don’t remember anything at all.”
One Year Gone
Two Years Gone
Three Years....
Four
Chapter Fifteen
Four years pass. They taste like cardboard.
I am different. I am a galaxy away from where I used to be. I live in the solar system, “Sooo moved on”.
Mr. X is just a memory now. Heck, I’m not even sure all of that even happened. My reality is that I went to law school, graduated, got a job as an associate at a large firm…..
After I graduated, I bought a townhouse with Cammie with the last of my mother’s insurance money. It’s a good thing I got the job too, because my bank account was dwindling down to empty. We drink a lot, eat out more, and spend all of our free time at the gym, working off the alcohol and restaurant food. Cammie is working in decorating, a practically extinct career nowadays, but somehow she managed to land a job with a company that decorates for the immensely wealthy. We both do well. I win most of my cases. I still have the ability to twist the truth, something that has come in handy in my field.
A month ago, I got a call from my old boss, Bernie. She wants me to come and work at her firm, says if I do well she’ll make me partner. Cammie and I drink on it all week. She’s wanted to move back to Florida for years. Cammie says that its time I face South Florida again. She says it’s where I belong. Texas is for friendly people, she tells me. I belong somewhere fast paced and rude. We decide to sell our townho
use and transplant our lives.
I have a boy, well, male friend—did I mention that? He is wonderful. He promises that we can make our long distance relationship work until he can be transferred to be with me. I believe him. He wants to marry me, he says so all the time. I believe him on that, too.
I pack my things into a U-Haul with the help of Turner, that’s my boyfriend, and we drive across three state lines listening to the best of the eighties. Cammie calls every thirty minutes to check on me. She is following in a few months, probably with three U-Hauls.
Turner massages my neck while I drive. He’s such a peach. When we arrive at my new condo, which I will not be sharing with Cammie, there are men waiting to carry my furniture into my new home. Turner hired them to help, so we wouldn’t have to do it ourselves. I wouldn’t have minded, but Turner hates to get his hands dirty. After the movers leave I wander from room to room admiring the very impressive view. From the south side windows I can see the ocean as it melts into the horizon and from the west, every rooftop in a mile radius. The condo is in Sunny Isles and it cost me more than my mother had made in her lifetime. I am a good defense attorney, I am an excellent liar. Life has turned out the way I always wanted it to. Except for…anyway…I love my condo. Turner and I will no doubt christen it tonight. Fun. Yay! He is very handsome in a conventional, clean-cut way. He is tall, olive skinned, and pretentious. He wears dress shirts all the time. No seriously—he does. He is also a lawyer, so we have lots and lots in common. Real Estate law—but still…