Soaring (Magdalene #2)(41)

I forced myself to slow to a walk, a swift one, one that took me through the lobby, out of the cineplex and directly to my car as quickly as I could get there.

I got in.

I dumped my purse in the passenger seat.

I started up.

And I got the f*ck out of there.

I drove home and I shouldn’t have. I should have breathed deep. I should have gathered my thoughts. I should have calmed myself.

I didn’t.

But by some miracle, I made it home safely.

And when I got home, I didn’t want to. I’d been avoiding it. The last thing I wanted to do considering the fragility that was me was that.

But as had become their wont, my feet decided for me.

So I found myself in my bathroom, flipping on the lights and positioning myself in front of my mirror.

I looked at myself. I had to. I couldn’t avoid it.

But I did it being absolutely certain I didn’t actually see me.

Right then, my eyes refused not to take me in.

And it was worse than I expected it to be.

Not worse than it could be. My mother had drilled a regime into me since my fourteenth birthday, when I was allowed to wear light makeup.

So I cleansed. I moisturized (daily and nightly). I exfoliated, and twice a week did this deeply prior to slapping on a facial.

But other than that…I didn’t look after me.

My shining, brunette hair had strands of gray. Silvery-gray that may, when it took over, be stunning.

Right then, it made me look like I didn’t care.

I had lines at my forehead, but not many.

But my skin was sallow. My cheeks were sunken. My eyes looked huge and not in a good way. My makeup was there, but it was uninspired, doing absolutely nothing for me.

And I already knew my clothes were conservative, high-quality and older than my years. I wasn’t a spry twenty-something and they were still older than my years.

I looked past it.

I looked like I gave not…one…shit.

Because I didn’t.

I had not gone for a proper facial since moving to Magdalene. I had not had a manicure or a pedicure. I had not had my hair cut even before I’d moved to Magdalene. And I’d never dyed it, the gray started coming in when Conrad left me (and, incidentally, I blamed each strand on him regardless of the fact that, at my age, it was time) and I’d left it at that.

Robin had said things, cautiously, sensitively. Mother had said them too, not cautiously or sensitively.

I’d acted like they didn’t even speak.

I’d let myself go.

Mickey clearly had different tastes, taller, possibly younger, trendily dressed, beautiful red hair (though his woman had big bosoms and I did too but that was the only thing we shared).

But staring at the disaster that was me, it was no wonder Jake Spear didn’t even allow his eyes to wander to my hair. And it was no wonder that boxer in his gym paid no mind to me.

I was no longer young.

“But I’m not dead yet,” I whispered to my reflection.

On that, I shrugged my purse off my shoulder so it fell to the counter. I dug my phone out. And I made the call I needed to make.

“Hello, Amelia, how’s your evening?” Josie answered.

“I need lunch.”

There was a heavy pause before, “Sorry?”

“You. Me. Alyssa. Lunch tomorrow. Emergency,” was all I could force out, my eyes still glued to the mirror.

“Are you okay?” she asked, concern heavy in her tone.

“No. No, I am far from okay,” I told her.

“Do you need me to come over now?” she went on.

“Lunch,” it came out as a squeak. I was losing it. I could feel it happening. “Tomorrow. Can you call Alyssa?” I closed my eyes tight, fighting my thoughts telling me I was being dramatic, selfish, thoughtless, demanding, weak. Telling myself these were good women, they’d get it. If I let them, they’d get me. I opened my eyes, whispering, “Please, Josie.”

“Anything, Amelia. Anything you need,” Josie whispered back. Yes, a good woman. “I’ll call Alyssa. Are you going to be okay until then?”

“Yes.” It came out hoarse. I cleared my throat. “Yes. I’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” she said as if she didn’t believe me. “I’ll text you with where and when.”

“Okay, Josie,” I replied.

“You sure you’re going to be okay?”

No.

But I was sure I had to keep trying.

At least for a little while.

“Yes, I will be and Josie…?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” I said softly.

“As I said, anytime, Amelia. Anything.”

Yes, I so very much liked her.

I just hoped she would keep liking me.

“See you at lunch tomorrow,” she continued.

“See you at lunch, Josie.”

We said our good-byes and rang off.

Then I went directly to the garage and got some boxes, went to the kitchen and got the packing tape and went back to my bathroom.

Unless they were absolutely necessary to remain clothed for the next two days, I boxed up everything.

Everything.

Clothes. Shoes. Belts. Handbags.

I also tossed in all my makeup.

I dragged it all to the garage, took a shower, got into the only nightgown I’d left for me and got into bed.