Night Owl(48)

"I'm glad to see you. I wasn't sure..."

I paused on my way to my office.

I had been worried Matt would be there, camping on the steps of the agency, waiting for me. It was a relief not to see him—and it hurt, too. By that point, he hadn't begun his barrage of phone calls, texts, and emails. I didn't know if he would even fight for me.


His secret was out. His fun was over. Maybe he would simply discard me, a casualty of his double life. I couldn't put anything past him.

I turned and took a shaky breath.

"I love this job," I said as calmly as possible. I forced myself to meet Pam's eyes. Worse than her usual steely stare was the concern I saw in her gaze. "I have no reason to miss a day."

"No?" She smiled at me. Fuck, I was ill equipped to deal with this friendly side of Pam. I needed Pam the bitch, not Pam the shoulder to cry on. And I would start blubbering if she didn't quit with the soft eyes and concerned smiles.

I cried myself ragged last night. I cried through my shower that morning. My reservoir of tears was by no means exhausted.

"No," I said.

"Alright." Pam pursed her lips. "Matthew was asking about you yesterday. He sounded very concerned. In fact, he hung up on me."

I never want to learn how to say goodbye.

My eyes stung. I swallowed.

"We got in touch," I said.

Pam studied me a moment longer. I wondered how much she knew, how much she might have inferred. The big news to the literary world was that M. Pierce had a name, Matthew Sky. The big news to me was that Matthew Sky had a girlfriend.

I was reeling in my own private agony. Pam might have guessed as much.

"Alright," she said again, this time with a finalizing tone. The all-business fa?ade fell back over her face. "Today I need you to..."

I listened. I took notes. I did my job.

I went home, skipped dinner, and crashed.

I woke and repeated my hollow routine.

I won't say the pain inside of me dulled. Rather, I came to expect it. I even came to expect the fierce spikes of hurt I felt at random—when I saw my brother's Frisbee, when I saw a Lexus, when I heard a pop like fireworks.

Anything could bring it on. The smell of pine. A warm breeze. A certain sort of smile on a stranger's face.

Sometimes I thought I saw Matt in the city crowds.

I would look and find a tall stranger heading to work.

Chrissy tried to coerce me into vandalizing Matt's car.

"You know what they look like, Hannah. You know where he parks them! Take a baseball bat to that motherf*cker's windshield. He wouldn't do anything about it, the *."

I winced and walked away.

In spite of my anger and misery, and in spite of how idiotic and used I felt, the thought of hurting Matt galled me. I couldn't stop myself from watching the news and reading the articles about his life. I couldn't stop the surge of sorrow I felt when I learned about his parents and his botched suicide, his stay in the psych ward and his descent into addiction.

Matt. My Matt. I loved him, and I hated him.

My family watched helplessly as my appetite dwindled. I lost fifteen pounds. On the weekends, I went to bed at ten and slept in until two.

I couldn't stand to hear my own name. Hannah, Hannah, Hannah.

Matt used to say it constantly.

He growled it, he moaned it, he whispered it. He said it like a curse—like a plea.

Hannah, oh f*ck, Hannah.

Hannah, never deny me.

Hannah, I can't be apart from you.

Promise. Hannah, Promise. Promise you'll be here no matter what.

I couldn't stand to see myself. I avoided mirrors. I dressed plainly. I got a severe A-line haircut and began to straighten my hair.

When my family's vigilant concern became too suffocating, I got the condo in Denver and holed up. I had no friends to see and no desire to go out anyway. That bastard had been my life every day since I returned to Colorado.

And that bastard was still my life, even when August rolled around and I hadn't seen him in four weeks.

He was there because he wasn't there.

How could I make anyone understand?

He was still with me. He was the negative space.

CHAPTER 21

Matt

MY LIFE IMPLODED on Monday.

Hannah emailed me on Wednesday.

To this day, I don't know what I did on Tuesday. It was the first of my lost days.

I reread Hannah's email until I could recite it.

Subject: (no subject)

Sender: Hannah Catalano

Date: Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Time: 7:20 PM

Matthew,

I'll try to keep this brief.

You know I didn't come over on Monday, and you know why. By now you also know I won't answer your calls, texts, or emails.

Please stop trying to contact me. Please don't try to see me. I want to tell you "it's over," but it never started, did it?

Against my better judgment, I am keeping my job at the agency. The purpose of this email is to ask you not to attempt to see me there. I love and need the job.

If you have any respect for me (do you?), show me by leaving me alone. If you harass me at work, I'll have no choice but to quit. Please don't make me do that.

Hannah Catalano

* * *

She signed the email so formally. Hannah Catalano. I felt the cold anger stretching between us.