Fools Rush in(102)

Danny looked at me for a long time, and I met his gaze steadily, even if my eyes were wet.

“Well, f**k it,” Danny said quietly. “I won’t ask you, then.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. “Thanks.”

“You guys are like a soap opera,” he muttered dejectedly.

“I know.” I whispered. “I’m sorry, Danny. I…I love you, and I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” He slid off the fence. “I gotta go.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you.”

“See you, Dan.”

The tears spilled over as I watched my nephew walk slowly back into the gym. He looked like an adult, shoulders sagging, feet heavy. Not like a kid anymore. We grown-ups had taken care of that.

WHEN I GOT HOME, THERE WAS a message on my machine.

“Millie, it’s Sam. Look—” Pause. “We need to talk. I—” Pause. Deep breath. “I stopped by about a half hour ago, but you weren’t home. I’ll call you later.”

I sank into a chair as my legs went rubbery. That did not sound heartening. No, not at all. We need to talk never bodes well.

For one afternoon, I’d had a glimpse of what love could really be like. What loving Sam could be like, and for that afternoon, I had been truly, deeply happy to the very roots of my soul. I’d been with the man I loved, and he’d loved me, and we were on the verge of the rest of our lives.

Tears spilled out of my eyes and onto my cheeks, but my face felt carved from stone. God, I was so damn tired of crying. And waiting. I’d been waiting for years now for my life, my real life, to begin. Waited for things to happen, for people to notice, to call, to invite, to love.

We need to talk.

If Trish got Sam back, there was no justice in the world. But I knew Sam, and as Curtis had said, he was true blue. Faithful, loyal, dependable. If his ex-wife, who had left him just over a year ago, begged him to forgive her and take her back so they could be a family again, what would Sam do? If Danny asked him to give Trish another chance, wouldn’t Sam do exactly that? Wouldn’t it be easier to turn his back on one afternoon with me instead of a lifetime—Danny’s lifetime—with Trish?

I didn’t move out of the chair for hours. I barely even blinked. My ass grew numb, my stomach growled, but I sat there still. Digger put his head on my lap and I stroked his silky head automatically. The sun began to set, the room grew dim, but I didn’t bother to turn on a light.

The phone rang. My heart immediately began pounding with sickening intensity. Without consciously thinking about it, I answered.

“It’s Curtis.” His voice was low, and I could hear the murmur of voices in the background, some music.

“Hi.”

“Mitchell and I are at the Forge,” Curtis said, naming a charming restaurant in Wellfleet. “It’s the tenth anniversary of our first date and—”

“Curtis, that’s great, but I’ve got a lot going on here. I can’t really talk.”

“Princess, I don’t want to be the one to tell you this…” The sympathy and hesitation in his voice caused a wave of dread to wash over me, and my hands grew clammy.

“What is it, Curtis?”

“They’re here,” he whispered. “Sam and your sister. They have a table near the window. They’re in a very heavy tête-à-tête.”

My stomach cramped. “Oh.”

“I can see their table. Our friend Bart is a waiter here. You met him last Halloween, he was dressed like Barbra Streisand, remember? Anyway, he’s helping us. I’m sitting at the bar with Bart. Mitch is two tables away from Sam and Trish with his back to them and he’s called Bart on his cell, and Bart is right here…what? What did she say?”

“No. Curtis, don’t. I don’t want to know. I’m not spying anymore. Please don’t.”

“Shh!”

“Curtis, no! Please stop.” The idea that the guys were going to relay Sam and Trish’s conversation made me nauseous.

“You don’t want to know what they’re saying?”

“No! It’s private. Please don’t.”

Curtis paused. “Oh. Oh, all right. It’s okay, Bart, she doesn’t want us to.” My friend sighed, irked with my lack of cooperation. “Well, Millie, do you at least want to know what they’re doing? It is a public place and all. It’s not like we need binoculars or anything.”

I hesitated and pressed my palm against my aching forehead. Sam was with Trish at a beautiful, expensive, romantic restaurant. Yesterday, you were in bed with me, Sam. You loved me yesterday. How can you be with Trish now? “Okay. Go ahead.”

“Great. Let me take a peek. Well, they haven’t eaten much. Trish is talking…. She’s wearing a yellow dress, some chunky topaz jewelry, very nice shoes, I think they’re Jimmy Choo…. She’s leaning forward, very intense, talking, not smiling—Hi, Mitch, hon, no, Millie pulled the plug, but thanks, you make a great spy—okay, now Sam is talking.” Curtis’s voice grew softer. “He’s taking her hand. Now he’s…okay, she’s crying, is she laughing a little, too?”

I felt as hollow as an abandoned mine shaft, echoing, empty, dark. “Curtis, that’s enough—”