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Ben plays with the stem on his sunglasses. “I’m at ABC now.”
“Good for you.”
“I need you on my team.”
“No,” I tell him right off.
“Is there anywhere we can talk?”
If I don’t do this now, and do it decisively, it will never end. “Inside,” I say pointing to the Austen.
Ben follows me, glancing around while I go to the kitchen and get myself a tall glass of water. “Anything to drink? I have Diet Coke and Coke One. Pick your poison.”
“No, thank you. I had lunch in town.”
“You came a long way for nothing.”
“I’m prepared to make a very generous offer, Carrie. You can write your own ticket. Anything you want.”
“Anything?” I say leaning against the doorframe of the kitchenette sipping my water.
“Anything.”
“I want you to take no for an answer.”
Ben sobers, his smile fading quickly. “Are we negotiating? Is that what this is?”
“Jesus…I don’t remember you being this willfully thick. I’m not coming back. Not for all the rubies in the world. I have a good thing going here. I have my own column with the Gazette and there’s a good chance it’ll get syndicated.”
“I’ve read your column. It’s…sweet and…entertaining but––”
“But what?” All the old feelings of inadequacy come back. The rented mule syndrome. For so many years, I looked up to Ben and thought he hung the moon. It’s a knee-jerk reaction to want him to think well of my work.
“It’s not you. You’re hard news and breaking scandals. You’re not charities for kids and old ladies that play…what do you call that sport with the brooms and the pots of stone. Really stupid sport––”
“Curling. And trust me, it’s harder than it looks.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Ben.”
He smiles again. It’s his sly, victory smile. I’ve seen it a million times. “We’ll work out the details when you get to L.A.”
“Oh, I’m not coming back. I’m thanking you for making it easier. You just insulted my work and simultaneously made me realize that breaking scandals is not my thing anymore. So thank you, Ben, for helping to make the most important decision of my life an easy one.”
“You’re not coming back, are you?”
“No.”
Nodding, Ben looks around. “I have nowhere to stay for the night.” He sounds positively downtrodden. I’m getting way too much satisfaction out of this. “Do you think I could stay here? I have a 6 a.m. flight to LaGuardia.”
I have a man waiting for me next door.
“Lock the door on your way out tomorrow.”
There are times in life when one should exercise caution. This isn’t one of those times.
“I choose you,” I say to the man I love as soon as I step foot in the Hemingway.
Freshly showered, he’s in bed reading a book on child psychology. I’m pretty sure that was the sound of my uterus exploding.
He looks up and runs his eyes over me. I’m still in my hiking clothes, my cheekbones on the dark side of crispy, and I probably smell. Suddenly, I’m rethinking my grand entrance.
“Ben?”
“He’s staying the night and leaving tomorrow early––for good…I’m not going back to L.A. He was offering me everything I ever wanted and I said no.” I laugh. “I thanked him. I actually thanked the arrogant prick. He made me realize that everything I want is here…the column. You…Mostly you.”
“Come here,” he says, putting the book down.
Shaking my head. “Let me take a shower first.”
Jake gets out of bed and stalks toward me. Taking me in his arms, he picks me up and carries me into the bathroom where he undresses me. In the shower, he washes my body and hair, runs his big capable hands over ever inch of me while I return the favor.
He makes love to me in the shower like he’s pouring out his soul. And when he’s done, I pour out mine. “I want to scream it to the world that you weren’t driving that night, that it’s not your fault that Mike is dead. That he was the irresponsible one…but I won’t. I love you, and if this is what you want, then I’ll carry it with you…you don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”
Three days later the proverbial poop hits the fan. I’m driving into town, to go food shopping, when I notice a long line of black SUVs driving around. No big deal. We get a ton of VIPs and the summer music festival has started. It’s days away from the Fourth of July.
My feelers, however, go up when I start to see news trucks from local stations parked all along Main Street.
I grab a few items that I need and forgo the rest. I need to get back to the Cottages as quickly as possible and snoop around to see if I can find out what this is about. Who knows, maybe Martha Stewart is in town or something.
