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Chapter Two
HAVE YOU TRIED TALKING WITH HIM?
The idea has taken root in my brain, growing and growing until I can hardly think of anything else. It’s not as if I’ve not been tempted before, when the loneliness seems unbearable, to dial his number just to hear his voice again, but I’ve always been able to stop myself.
This time it’s different. The need seems intensified, almost uncontrollable, so much that I’m almost sure I’m going to give in, that it’s only a matter of time.
I have no reason to talk to him, I tell myself, trying to be sensible. What would I say? What would be the point? It’s not as though the sound of my voice is some sort of catalyst that can change the fact that I mean nothing to him.
If he wanted to talk to me, he would have called me. He would have come to me. David’s not the kind of man to wait for opportunities. He creates them for himself. If he hasn’t created an opportunity to see me or speak to me in two months, it must be because he doesn’t want to.
So even though I’m dying to hear his voice, even though I want to know that he hasn’t forgotten about me, even though I want the assurance that, between his work and his business trips, there’s still a part of him that misses me the way I miss him, I’m not going to call him.
On my way out to the store, I run into Bea, the girl who lives in the apartment across the hallway from mine. She’s a recent journalism grad who works part-time as a barista in the café down the street, and writes fiction the rest of the time. She introduced herself when we bumped into each other in the hallway the day I moved in, and now most mornings we walk down to the café together on my way to the store.
“Hey you,” She greets me with a huge smile. She’s striking, with cropped burgundy colored hair and Disney-big, blue eyes in an attractive pixie face. “Looking glum, as usual.”
I chuckle despite myself. “Not everyone can be as cheerful as you Bea.”
“It’s a gift.” She agrees, nodding her head sagely.
It really is. It’s not as if she has nothing to be sad about. Both her parents died in a car crash during her sophomore year, leaving her alone without any close relatives. Once, when she was feeling talkative, she told me about Jet, the guy who used to live in my apartment. He broke her heart when he suddenly moved to New York. He didn’t tell her he was leaving until the day before, even though they’d been dating for more than a year.
As we cross the street, she starts to tell me another detail about Leticia Morse, the British heroine of the Young Adult series she’s currently writing, who solves mysterious crimes with her quick wits and intelligence, even though she’s just a teenager. Bea hasn’t had anything published yet, but she doesn’t let the rejections get her down.
“I still think you need a vampire in there somewhere,” I offer teasingly, as she explains yet another plot twist, “People love vampires.”
“Yeah, right.” Bea replies, giving the idea an emphatic thumb down. “Never.”
The café where she works is on the ground floor of a building a little further down the street from ours. A charming sign hangs over the doorway with the image of a steaming cup of coffee. The same image is etched on the glass of the door, which Bea pushes open, letting out the welcome scent of freshly brewed coffee.
I step inside, inhaling deeply. A few customers are seated at the tables drinking from steaming cups of tea or coffee. Behind the counter, Bea’s friend Luke is already wearing an apron and attending to a couple of customers on a queue. He’s a tall guy, cute, with unruly blonde hair and serious looking grey eyes. He looks up when we enter, and his eyes immediately lock on Bea beside me. His face softens as it always does when he sees her.
“Hey Luke.” I wave at him.
“Hey Soph.” He replies with a quick smile, and then he turns back to Bea. “Hey Bea.”
She says hi to him and quickly ducks under the counter, appearing almost immediately on the other side to pick up an apron hanging on the back wall, which she quickly puts on. I watch as Luke reluctantly tears his eyes away from her to go back to serving the people on the queue. He loves her. I realize suddenly, and she doesn’t know, she’s still stuck on Jet, who didn’t love her enough.
What a group we are. I think as Bea makes my coffee. We’re the walking wounded, all longing for something we don’t have, and trying to conquer the ache that never goes away.
“Here you go.” Bea says, handing me a Styrofoam cup with a thick paper belt, “have fun.”
I try not to roll my eyes. “I’m going to work, Bea.”
“Then have fun at work.” She says with a wink, unrepentant as usual.
I ignore her and wave goodbye to Luke before making my way to the door. I’m already reaching out to push it open when someone pulls from outside and steps in, almost bumping into me, and narrowly escaping a hot coffee bath. I start to apologize for almost scalding him before I realize that I know who it is.
His face is still boyish, but his brown hair is sporting a more grown up cut. He looks older and in his suit, more mature than I remember, but it’s undoubtedly Eddie Newton.
He’s looking at me, and I see a whole lot of expressions cross his face, a little embarrassment I think, and some pleasure.
“Sophie?” The exclamation is almost a question.
I smile awkwardly, remembering the last time I saw him, almost a lifetime ago. I’m still not sure why he came to my apartment that morning back in Ashford, right after David and I had made love for the first time. I remember the terse words he and David exchanged, and David’s assumption that Eddie was in love with me.
Well, Eddie does look very pleased to see me, but that’s not proof of love. Not that I know what counts as proof of love, I reason, if I had any idea I wouldn’t have allowed myself to be fooled into thinking that David’s passionate lovemaking had anything to do with love.
