Caleb Krause:Seems like she had quite a night before she ran into me.
Nadine Heywood:Itisa great shot—all while Harper wept into her pillow. Which I’m not making up, by the way. That’s apparently exactly what she was doing. I should have got the police onto her years ago if those are the sorts of details they can squeeze out of her.
Producer:And did you know then? What that would cause?
Nadine’s smirk falters. Then she hardens, pushing her shoulders back.
Nadine Heywood:I didn’t cause anything, darling. What Joel did with his jealousy had nothing to do with me. But no, I didn’t realize the impact that night would have until a good few days later when Harper turned up at my door screaming.
February 2003
I MADE IT TO SOHO AND INTO CALEB’S ARMS BEFORE I broke, just a small crack, a fissure for a single tear to leak through and the promise of pressure swelling beneath. This could blast through every foundation I’d steadily built. This could leave me shattered.
Yet the thought of not seeing it through felt worse. If I turned Harper in, I would obliterate all I had until there was nothing left to rebuild.
But maybe I’d made things worse. Maybe if she’d called the police she could have said it was self-defense, that he was trying to hurt her and she’d get a lighter sentence and public sympathy on her side. But if they found out now, this would be … murder. Perversion of the course of justice. Prevention of lawful and decent burial. Aiding and abetting.
I’d be locked up too.
But I hadn’t even thought about that—and that on its ownterrified me. Because last time I’d valued myself so little I’d ended up in rehab.
I stumbled from the taxi and didn’t make it into the club because Caleb was smoking outside and rushed to haul me into his arms and spin me like he had on the carpet, and, god, that felt like years ago.
“Oh, nice perfume,” he said. “Woody.”
I sorely hoped that wasn’t an indictment (or, frankly, an announcement).
When he put me down a frown tugged between his brows. “Hey,” he said softly, reaching to wipe a tear from the corner of my eyes. “You alright, Heywood?”
“It’s just a lot,” I said, which felt like the only honest thing I could give him.
“Yeah, it must be. Winning here on home soil without your parents? I’m glad you came and joined us, but do you want to leave?”
Yes. But I had to make sure there were pictures. “No, no I don’t. But … Caleb can you make sure I don’t touch anything tonight?”
A club like Charlatans? You could get anything.
I thought of New York, of the pulsing lights and the fast-melting tabs and how easy it was when you were Nadine Heywood. How tempting all those offers were …
Caleb’s concern disarmed me—his deepening scowl and the way he stepped closer, like he really did care. “Do you have a sponsor?”
I shook my head. “Not that kind of program. Sorry, I shouldn’t put this on you, I just …”
“I’m glad you did. Don’t worry, we can stick together. Look out for each other.”
I nodded. “I just want to dance and forget everything.”
He smiled and held out a hand. “That we can do.”
———
I thought of Harper when he held me, his hands on my waist as we danced. I thought of Harper when he smiled. And I thought of Harper when, weighted with unspoken suggestion, he offered to see me back to my hotel because he wanted to make sure I got home safe. (Harper had done that, followed me to my hotel door as I drunkenly made my way home.Why?Because the only bad thing that could happen to me was her? It all felt hollow, false, pointedly obtuse, and indicative of something so much larger that we were ignoring. Had, perhaps, been ignoring for some time.)
And I knew I couldn’t do it, couldn’t see it through, because my heart was not as practical as I had hoped. It was devastated and traumatized and screaming for me to stop doing the terrible things I’d been doing.
“Caleb, I really don’t want to be alone tonight,” I said honestly, without the flirtation we both might have hoped, and more like a defeated sigh.
“You can stay at mine, if you want. My hotel room has a sofa bed I’m more than happy to take.”
