Last Summer(73)

Ella raises her brows. She glances at Davie, who shrugs.

Ella slips her hand from Flynn’s. “I’m sure Davie will let you know when that happens. Great show, Flynn. I wish you luck. If you’ll excuse me.” She smiles graciously and parts company.

Davie catches up with her on the way to the restroom. “Sorry about that. This is Flynn’s biggest exhibition to date and it’s attracting a lot of media attention. He just assumed—”

Ella flicks her wrist, waving aside the apology, and pushes open the restroom door. “No worries. I get it.” She tucks into a stall.

“Do you want to go across the street and grab a cocktail?” Davie asks when they meet back up at the sink.

Alcohol is the last thing Ella needs. “I can’t. I have to finish Nathan’s article.”

Davie pouts. “Lucky you. Spending time with two delicious men. That god of a husband of yours and that fine specimen you get to write about.”

Normally, Ella would laugh. This time, her stomach turns.

“Tell Damien I said hello. How is he, by the way? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“I don’t know. He left.” Ella dries her hands.

“For London?”

“No. Me.” Ella drags her Bobbi Brown stick across her bottom lip. Her eyes meet Davie’s stunned expression in the mirror.

Ella drops the lipstick into her clutch. “Simon wasn’t his.”

Davie’s mouth hangs open. “What the hell, Ella? When did this happen? How did this happen? Oh, my god, don’t tell me.” But her mind clicks and sets an answer. She mouths, “Nathan?”

Ella nods.

“Damn, girl.” Davie’s eyes are huge.

Ella yanks a towel from the dispenser and dabs the corners of her eyes and roughly exhales through pursed lips. “He left yesterday. But it started last summer. Maybe before that. I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

“You poor thing. I can’t believe you didn’t text me!” Davie gives her head a hard shake and holds up both hands. “Screw the article. We’re having drinks, and you’re telling me everything.”

They find a bar around the corner and order appetizers. Ella tells her everything she knows from what Damien and Nathan told her and what she read earlier in the day. Everything except the news about Damien’s sterility. That would betray his confidence, and it’s not her secret to tell.

Three dry martinis for Davie and two ice waters for Ella later, Ella wraps up the seven months before the accident. She glances at the time on her phone. Ten o’clock p.m. She’s going to be up all night without a clue how she’ll string ten thousand words together. She can barely think straight.

Davie downs the remnants of her martini and slides the glass aside. “Remember when you first came home from the hospital and asked me if you’d said anything to me while you were there that might have seemed odd? I didn’t think it worth mentioning, but after everything you just told me, it might be important.”

A muscle twinges in Ella’s chest. “What is it?”

Davie leans forward. “You told me you wished you never told Damien that you wanted a baby. I figured you wished that because you were sad about everything that happened with the accident and Simon. Do you think you . . .”

Davie continues talking but Ella tunes her out. Hands trembling, she realizes what she did. Ella didn’t set out to forget Nathan. She wanted to forget that she has always wanted a child. She wanted to believe that, like Damien, she didn’t want kids either.





CHAPTER 32

Panic! at the Disco’s “Say Amen” blares in Ella’s ear. Buried deep in the depths of her comforter and sheets, she thrusts out an arm and roots around for her phone, snatching it off the nightstand.

“Hello?” she groans.

“Where are you? I’ve been waiting for thirty minutes,” Andrew barks into the phone. Stress adds irritation to his tone. He really hates shopping for clothes.

Ella peeks at the clock. One fourteen p.m. She had texted him last night that she’d meet him today but had forgotten to set her alarm. “I’m coming. Give me twenty.” She tosses aside the covers and drags herself to the bathroom.

“You’re still asleep?”

Not just asleep, but seriously passed out. She slept through two alarms. She vaguely recalls slapping the snooze button on her clock.

It was 5:00 a.m. when she finally toppled into bed, unable to keep her eyes open and head up any longer. Thank goodness she found the article she drafted last summer. Otherwise she doubts she’d manage tonight’s deadline.

Ella meets up with Andrew at the Espresso Bar in the Westfield San Francisco Centre. Bundled in a thick hoodie, jeans, and Ugg boots, with a trucker’s cap covering her still damp hair, Ella whips off her reflective Ray-Bans and Andrew grins.

“Rough night?”

“Long night writing. Coffee first.” She points at the bar.

With one vanilla latte with a double shot of espresso in hand, Ella turns to her brother. “Okay. Show me what you’ve picked out so far.”

He shows her his empty hands. “I got nothing.”

“Nothing? What have you been doing for the past hour?”

“Waiting for you.”

“You’re hopeless. Come on.”