The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(133)

Sophie pulled up to my curb and put her car in park. She turned and looked at me, almost as if she could read my mind. And right at that moment, I would have bet money that she could.

"Eric's coming into town this weekend. We have our first meeting with the wedding planner."

I offered her a weak smile. "Fun."

"I'd love for us to all have brunch together on Sunday. If you're feeling up to it."

"You, me, and the wedding planner?" I attempted my first bit of humor.

Sophie rewarded my efforts with a genuine laugh. "No, silly. You, me, and Eric. I want you to meet him... for real this time."

I turned and gazed out the window. "Okay."

Sophie struggled to come up with something to say. "I just thought that...you know, maybe it would cheer you up to be around someone who's not a cheater for a change."

And after that I was convinced she was able to read my mind. But also thankful that she most likely wouldn't be able to read all of it. Because all my cynical mind could come up with at that very moment was I wouldn't be so sure.

"I'm sure it will," I said blankly as I reached down and unbuckled my seat belt.

"Sorry," she quickly added. "Maybe that was too harsh. I'm not usually the one doling out these kinds of pep talks. That's always been your department."

I flashed a feeble yet affectionate smile and reached over to touch her shoulder. "You're doing fine."

We both stepped out of the car, and Sophie helped me unload my bags. "Do you want me to come up? I can sit with you for a while. Maybe make you some tea?"

"Sophie, I'm not going to slit my wrists. I'm going to go to sleep. I've just flown back and forth to Europe in less than seventy-two hours." I pulled up on the handle of my suitcase.

"I know! I didn't think you were going to—"

"I'll call you when I wake up."

"He didn't actually cheat," Sophie reminded me.

Although she technically didn't have to. It was the same mental Rubik's Cube that I had been twisting and turning around in my head for two days. And no matter how many combinations of left, right, up, down, backward, and forward I tried, none of the colors seemed to be lining up. There were no concrete conclusions drawn.

Where was the solid wall of red that meant he was a cheater just for being in Paris with me? Or the nine solid green squares, forming an impenetrable argument for his innocence?

But no matter how many times I rotated those cubes around, nothing matched up. Every side remained an ambiguous mélange of colorfully incomplete rationalizations.

"Didn't he?" I asked her skeptically.

I could see Sophie's mind start to drift away into the endless sea of possible answers as well. It was a dangerous sea to drift on. If you weren't careful, you might never come back. "Did he?" she finally asked back.

To which I simply chuckled hopelessly and said, "Welcome to my world."

And then, with suitcase in tow, I walked into my building and said a bittersweet good-bye to the sunlight. I had no intention of seeing it for the next two years.

I entered my condo to find it just as clean and white as it always was. Marta had apparently stopped by either during the time that I was flying to Paris, breaking up in Paris, or trying to get the hell out of Paris. I dropped my bags by the front door and stumbled into the bedroom, like a drunk person stumbles home after a night of boozing.

Although, I had to admit, flying for twenty hours in coach class wasn't far from it.

I collapsed onto my bed and turned my head to see the blinking red light on my answering machine. As much as I wanted to reach over and toss the entire thing into the garbage, instead I got it into my head that whatever was on that message might distract me from my utter agony. Maybe it was good news.

I flung my hand over the nightstand, knocking off a few books and a bottle of lotion in the process, and pressed the Play button.

Hannah's young, carefree voice came through the speaker. "Hey, Jen! It's me," the message began. "So, next week is Halloween and I just wanted to let you know that this will officially be my last year of trick-or-treating because, you know, next year I'll be thirteen, and Olivia said that thirteen is way too old to be going door-to-door asking for free candy."

See, I reassured myself, it's your adorable little niece, whose untainted innocence and trivial little concerns about trick-or-treating always manage to make you feel better when you're down.

"Oh," Hannah's voice continued, "and I also called to tell you that I got another letter from that person. You know, the one who thinks your name is Ashlyn, and—"

I quickly reached over and shut off the answering machine. So much for that idea. I should have known. When did anyone I know ever call with good news? Oh, no. I was like a bad news magnet. And not just one of those wimpy little refrigerator magnets in the shape of a hot dog or a teapot. I'm talking one of those high-power, superconducting, propulsion magnets that NASA is developing as a way to launch objects into outer space.

I wanted to forget all of it. I wanted to make it all disappear. And the only way I knew how to do that was to sleep.

When I woke up I looked at the clock. It read 2:45. And I seriously wasn't sure if it was 2:45 in the morning or 2:45 in the afternoon. My body clock was completely out of whack. But to be honest, I didn't really care. What did I have to be late for? Another assignment? Nope, no more of those. A date with Jamie? Nope... definitely no more of those.