The Art of Inheriting Secrets(39)

Chapter Ten

When I returned to the hotel, the pub was bustling, which surprised me considering that it was only four p.m. on a Sunday afternoon. A big sign at the door advertised a Sunday roast with all the trimmings, showing a discolored photo of a plate of roast beef, potatoes, carrots, and yorkshire pudding. It didn’t look the slightest bit appealing, and I felt irritable at the sound of all the voices.

Even when I got to my room, I could still hear them. Not like the karaoke crowd, but waves of voices and laughing and screechy female commentary. I thought there might be an athletic event of some kind on TV.

Restless, I changed my clothes back to jeans and a soft long-sleeved T-shirt. My leg ached from all the standing, so I sat with a heating pad I’d picked up at the pharmacy and checked my email.

The first one was from Grant with the subject line “Are You Ghosting Me?”

Crap. I’d forgotten to send him my new number. And maybe, honestly, I was subconsciously ghosting him, but that wasn’t fair. I opened up the email.

I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for days. Is everything all right? Nancy won’t share anything with me about the sale of the house, and I tried to get some information on your mother’s paintings at the gallery, but they wouldn’t share either. I’m at a loss here, Olivia. What the hell is going on with you? Whatever it is, we can talk it out. I love you, and I’m here for you.

A sense of guilt burned my gut. Whatever was happening, Grant deserved to know.

If I was honest with myself, I didn’t feel anything over his email. He’d already faded to sepia in my emotions, a lover I’d once cared about.

No longer.

Not something I could write in an email. And as I’d learned many, many times, nothing difficult grew easier in the waiting. I made a cup of tea, turned on the fire, calculated that it was early but not hideously so, and dialed his number.

He picked up immediately. “Olivia! I’ve been worried to death. Is everything okay?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m sorry, Grant. I’m juggling a lot of tasks right now, and I got a new phone, and I forgot to give you the number.”

“Forgot?”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Did you lose the old one or something? Why did you get a new phone?”

“There’s just a lot to do here, and it’s going to take a little while. It was cheaper to get a new phone rather than trying to use the old one.”

“What are you talking about? You can’t stay there! We have to sell your mom’s house. Bill and Joaquin want an answer over this apartment—whether we can buy it or not—so they can put it up for sale. I’ve been out here scrambling, and you’ve been totally out of touch. What the hell is going on? Why can’t I get any info from the gallery or Nancy?” Exasperated, he took a breath, and I saw him in my imagination—slapping one big, paint-stained hand on his leg. “You can’t just be tra-la-la-ing in England right now.”

“Well, it turns out I can. I’m here.” His tone, his bossiness, hardened what I’d realized only the past few weeks. There was no point to continuing the charade any longer. “Grant, I don’t know how to say this except straight out. You can’t access information because I told them I don’t want them to communicate with anyone but me.” I took a breath. “I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

A deep hush greeted my words. Then, “Oh, sweetheart, you’re just grieving your mom. It makes life look stupid, makes everything look ridiculous, but we’re a team, me and you.”

“Are we, Grant? We weren’t much of a team when I spent nine days in the hospital and you breezed in for an hour a day, maybe, if I was lucky. We weren’t a team when I ended up going to my frail mother’s house to stay instead of coming home because you couldn’t be bothered to get things ready for me at our apartment.”

“That’s not fair! I was finishing work for an exhibit when all of that happened. You know that! I was doing my best.”

“No. Your best would have been being there for me,” I said without rancor. “I nearly died, Grant. I could have.”

“I know. I let you down. I was scared.”

“And how do you think I felt?”

“I’m sorry. I love you, Olivia. You know I do.” He was silent for a moment, but I didn’t have anything to place in the silence. “Look, maybe this isn’t grief, but don’t they say you shouldn’t make any major decisions for a year after a big death? Why don’t we just wait until you get home, talk it all out then?”

For one cold, terrifying moment, I wondered if he was right. Was I only reacting to everything that had happened?

But again I thought of my loneliness at the hospital, my sense of being marooned at my mother’s house, and shook my head. “We were broken before the accident. I just didn’t want to give up the life we had. I didn’t want to admit it, but it’s over.”

“Wait! What about the apartment? All your things?”

“I don’t care. I want my mom’s paintings, but there’s nothing else there that I can’t do without.”

“You’re serious.”

“Yeah, I am. I’m sorry.”

“This is just crazy. Olivia, we’ve been together for eight years! Eight!”