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“I’m sure there’s someone else—”
“There are only a handful of days left, as you said. Certainly he can’t get himself in too much more trouble, especially in his condition.”
They’re both out the door before I can catch the next sentence. Mr. Haymore seems to have forgotten I exist.
I lean back against the wall for a moment, letting the back of my neck rest against the cold tile. I’m confused. Carolson is keeping Ward on? Even after this? I glance around. The other guys seem just as stunned as I do. A couple of them are still talking to the security guards, but even the men who weren’t involved in the fight seem too startled to get right back to work.
There’s something going on here.
I push myself off the wall and walk slowly back toward the main part of the building. As much as it would have disappointed me, I wouldn’t have blamed Carolson for sacking him. I mean, Ward is clearly a danger to this project—both to the physical property and the general employee morale around here. This display of leniency seems odd, to say the least.
And he called Ward’s work exceptional. He said they wouldn’t be able to find someone who matched his skill. It’s weird that someone as “above” this project as Carolson would single out the work of a single subcontractor. And it’s almost unimaginable that he’d actually defend someone in Ward’s position. Is Ward’s work really that good?
I think about the passion in his voice when he spoke about this house. And I saw his finished work on the window in the Welcome Center—as much as I hate to admit it, it looks exactly like the original. Maybe he’s more talented than I suspected.
Either way, though, that doesn’t change the fact that he’s seriously injured right now. That friggin’ idiot. What was he trying to prove? And why did he have to spit in Carolson’s face on the way out?
Calm down, Lou, I tell myself. There’s no reason you should be getting so upset about this. Ward’s just a coworker. A distraction. An amazingly sexy distraction, sure, but still someone who shouldn’t be entering my emotional sphere right now. He’s made his own bed. He can deal with the consequences of his actions.
And I need to focus on dealing with the consequences of mine. I’ve been avoiding it all day, but I can’t hide from it forever: I need to call Ian. I need to apologize for everything that happened last night and set things right between us once and for all. It was cruel to let him come here, but it would be even worse to let things drag out any longer.
I don’t go straight back to my office. I have my cell on me already, so instead I take a walk. I wander through the halls, quickening my pace whenever I pass someone so it looks like I’m on an errand. I don’t have a specific destination in mind, but I find myself heading toward the northern section of the western wing. There aren’t a lot of people in this area of the house, and that’s fine by me.
Eventually, I come to the room that once served as my family’s private theater room. Curious, I push open the door and peer inside.
The room looks like it always did—rows of stadium-style seating facing a huge projection screen—so I guess they realized a movie room might be a nice amenity for guests. I walk into the room and sink down in one of the cushy seats.
I was never really into television or movies, but my father was. Once a year he’d force me and Calder to sit down for a James Bond marathon, even when year after year I’d fall asleep halfway through Dr. No. I wonder where all of those movies are now. Did Calder take them? Did he sell them?
I lean back in my seat and turn my head, pressing my nose against the cushion. Maybe I’m just imagining it, but I swear it smells the same as it always did. Like a bit of my father still lingers.
My eyes start to burn, and I sit up again. What would my father have said, seeing all of this? Seeing what they’ve done to this place? Did he even realize we’d have to sell it to take care of his debts? Or did he just assume we’d find a way to protect it and keep it in the family? Is he up there right now, staring down at me and Calder and thinking we should have done more?
I’m just one person. What am I supposed to do? Beg Carolson to reconsider his decision? Legally, he can do whatever the heck he wants. And though I might chip away at this place bit by bit, stealing wine or doing other petty little things, it won’t make a difference.
I press the backs of my hands against my eyes. I didn’t come here to feel sorry for myself. I snuck away so that I’d have a chance to talk to Ian in private, and I won’t let myself put it off any longer.
I pull out my phone and find Ian’s number.
Don’t be a coward, I tell myself. Do the right thing. I push the button before I can come up with any excuses for putting this off. I bite down on my lip as it rings on his end.
But he doesn’t answer. I’m not sure whether the relief or the disappointment is stronger as his voicemail message picks up, but I take a deep breath. Maybe it’s cowardly to spill everything in a message, but I tell myself that it’s better to get it all out there as soon as possible.
“Hey, it’s Lou,” I say, leaning back against my seat. “I… I just wanted to tell you that I’m really sorry about how I behaved last night. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have… shouldn’t have let things go as far as they did. I’m so sorry, Ian. You have no idea how sorry I am.”
My voice shakes slightly, and I’m sure I sound like a crazy person, but I press on.
“I’m so sorry,” I say again, a little stronger. “I don’t want to be the person who brings you down. Not anymore. I want you to go on and have the happiest life you can possibly have. You’re going to help so many people, Ian. You’re going to do amazing things.” Just not with me, I add in my head. “Thank you. For everything. For being there for me.”
I swallow, trying to sort out the thoughts and emotions rushing through my head.
“I just want…” How exactly do I say this? “I just want to give you the chance to have everything you deserve. Because you deserve better than this.” Better than me. He needs to see that. I refuse to take advantage of him anymore.
I don’t know what else to say, how to make this whole send-off any less awful. But there’s no way to make this okay. So rather than drag it out any longer, I decide to leave it at that.
“Goodbye, Ian,” I say finally, my voice no more than a whisper. I hang up and let the phone fall into my lap. My head drops back against the seat, and I close my eyes.
