Jesus, now I’m rambling like Ophelia. I swear, Callaghan Entay nukes all coherent, rational thoughts I normally have in my head.
There is no way in hell I can reach out to him.
I don’t respond and darken my phone, putting it face down on the couch next to me. I try to watch TV, but I can’t focus. The phone sits there, taunting me. I know that article on ESPN.com is crap. And Chassen Donato is getting away with putting misinformation out there.
That’s not what a responsible journalist does.
Gah!
I flop down, burying my face into a cushion. I should put my personal feelings aside and reach out. Even if it is an assistant, perhaps he or she could help.
I pick up my phone and do the responsible thing.
Me: I need to know the whole story.
About four paragraphs from Ophelia later, I’ve gleaned that the only thing in that article that’s true, aside from the fact that Xavier’s family owns a hawkery, is that the agent is as crooked as the day is long and that he steered his client in the wrong direction.
Ophelia also informed me that their marriage is no longer fake, but that it also won’t help Xavier get his American citizenship. No duh. A quick google search could have told her that.
But I get the feeling that Ophelia acts on impulse rather than research.
I want to help her if only to shut an irresponsible journalist down. But also because I like her. She’s hard not to like.
Though helping her means I have to contact him. I have to. I know I do.
I still don’t want to.
The past is bound to come up. The horrible aftermath that took my life and my career and my plans. The fallout from one stupid dare. One stupid night. I can’t totally blame him. It was a fluke thing. But it still happened, and I shut down for a long time.
He got to live his dream. He’s had it all, and I’m finally trying to start at thirty-two.
No, it’s not his fault.
The analytical part of me knows that. The bitter, resentful part of me wants to blame him. Why do women always get stuck with all the shit afterward?
At least I didn’t get pregnant.
From what I hear, Callaghan’s been named in several paternity claims, though none of them ever proved he was anyone’s father.
Crap. I have to do this. If not for Xavier and Ophelia, for responsible journalism everywhere.
Me: Hey—I need a favor.
