Soaring (Magdalene #2)(198)

Heck, Mickey’s business was all set to go. He had two big jobs lined up to start on his return (contracting work, which was more money) and he was quitting Ralph his first day back to work.

I couldn’t imagine what had gone wrong.

Except in all that goodness, I was still me.

Boring Amelia Hathaway, no job, no drive, no ambition, spending her time baking and decorating and volunteering at an old folks’ home.

“Amelia,” Josie called.

I glanced her way, mumbling, “I’m not hungry. Do you mind if I take off?”

“Think you should stick with your girls, baby,” Alyssa told me gently.

I looked to her. “You have to get back to work and so does Josie.”

I, however, did not. It was one of the few days I didn’t go to Dove House.

With my kids at Conrad’s, I had exactly nothing to do.

“I’ll juggle an appointment,” Alyssa offered.

“I make my own hours, Amelia,” Josie reminded me.

I shook my head, digging in my purse at my side to pull out some bills. I took out a lot of them and threw them on the table.

“Lunch on me,” I said, not looking at either of them and sliding out of the booth.

“Amelia, stay,” Josie cajoled as I grabbed my jacket off the hook that was on a high bar that led up from the end of each booth.

I looked to her. “Really, I just need some alone time to think.”

“Babe, you should—” Alyssa started.

“Later,” I interrupted her, and pulling on my coat while juggling my bag, I made my escape.

I went to my house, walked in from the garage and stopped by the glorious dining room table on top of which, weeks before, Mickey had f*cked me.

Then right there, he’d told me he loved me.

There were no used pop cans or cake plates with crumbs or cookie tins with the top askew along with no kids at my bar.

There was a fabulous chaise lounge with standing lamp and a table on a magnificent rug on the landing by the windows, this courtesy of a good find by Josie’s interior designer.

The space was huge.

Huge and beautiful.

Huge and cold and empty.

And I found myself standing there, staring at the beauty I created, thinking that I hoped when my kids went to college that they did it far away and never came back to Magdalene.

Because after Mickey ended it with me, once they were gone, I was moving from my show home across the street from the Donovans.

I didn’t know where I’d go. I didn’t even know if I’d survive those years living across from Mickey and his kids.

I just knew I’d be gone.

* * * * *

I was on my chaise lounge under an afghan with my book, and I was taking a sip from a glass of wine when my phone rang that evening.

I looked down at it on the table beside me, saw who was calling, set aside my wine and took the call.

“Mickey,” I greeted.

There was a pause before he said, “Hey.”

I said nothing.

“You there?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Perfect,” I lied.

“The kids with you?” he went on.

“No,” I told him.

He fell silent.

I didn’t jump in.

He ended the silence with, “We’re back tomorrow.”

“I remember.”

“Early flight here, get back late there.”

“Yes.”

A pause before he asked, “You sure you’re okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“You don’t sound right.”

I wasn’t.

I was head over heels in love with a man who no longer wanted me for no reason at all.

“I’m fine,” I lied again.

“You don’t sound fine.”

“Well, I am.”

“Amy, what the f*ck? Talk to me,” he ordered.

Now, after weeks of me gently trying to get him to talk, he wanted me to talk to him?

“About what?” I asked.

“What’s up your ass,” he answered irately.

I would not rise to the bait. I couldn’t imagine why he wanted a reaction from me, but he couldn’t have it because I didn’t have it in me.

“Nothing’s up my ass, Mickey. I was having a glass of wine and reading when you phoned. And it isn’t exactly early here.”

“It’s nine thirty,” he stated.

“Yes. And I’m relaxed and was into a book. I had lunch with the girls today. No Dove House. Not a big day. Nothing to report. I’m mellowed out and am probably going to go to bed soon except I’m into this book so it might keep me up reading.”

He took a moment as if to digest that while assessing its veracity (and there was absolutely no veracity) before he said, “Then I’ll let you get back to your book. But I gotta ask you somethin’ tough and that is, keep your kids at your ex’s tomorrow. Once I get us home and the kids settled in, I’m comin’ over. We gotta talk.”

So he wasn’t wasting time.

“Text me when you’re on your way over,” I told him.

“Will do. Now I’ll let you go.”