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Greer
Halloween was just a week away. I tried to sleep after Jace left, but I couldn’t. Instead, I lay in bed listening to Garbage honk around the yard—up to no good, I’m sure—and thinking about Halloween in New Orleans, where Wade and I took a road trip last year dressed as characters from that baseball movie, The Sandlot. Wade went as “Squints,” and I went as his lifeguard crush, Wendy.
I’d felt sexy in my red one-piece, my hair tied up in a ‘50s ponytail, cat-eyed sunglasses perched on my nose, and a whistle around my neck. On Bourbon Street, the excitement had been palpable, the drinks endless, and the night thick with magic. It was a special night, a night I’d remember forever, and with another Halloween approaching, I couldn’t think of a night when I’d felt more…myself. The year that followed was a tough one professionally that had culminated in my firing. And while a few days ago—when I was happy and sated in Jace Blackwell’s arms—I would have told you everything that led me to that moment was worth it, now I wasn’t so sure. I wasn’t going to go down for murder, but what magic did I have now? An old house? A book deal? A lover who no longer loved me?
Suddenly missing the sultry Southern heat, I decided to take my sorry ass downtown. It wasn’t too late, and the weather was holding—cold but dry—the only water a mist coming off the river, not rain pouring from the sky. Eugenia had left this morning and still hadn’t come back. I had no idea whether or when she would. All I knew is that I needed to get out of my own head, stretch my legs. I could always walk the woods that surrounded the house, but it didn’t feel safe.
It’d be an easy drive to the boardwalk. There’d be other people around, enjoying their evenings out. Maybe I’d spot a sea lion; I knew I’d hear their barks.
I made the trip in record time, pulling the Bronco into an angled space at the start of the wooden walkway that meandered the length of downtown Astoria along the river. I turned off the engine. Under the streetlight, I met my own eyes in the rearview mirror and didn’t recognize the drawn, chalk-white face staring back at me. Resisting the urge to lower my forehead to the steering wheel and cry—as if I was even capable of crying at this point—I vowed to make it a short walk. Just something to get my heart beating again. Something to tire me out so I could go home and sleep.
It was dark, but streetlights lit the boardwalk at five-foot intervals, further aided by the lights inside the long cluster of bars and restaurants that lined this part of town. As I suspected, plenty of people were out walking. There were tourists taking in the city at night, runners getting their exercise after work, and couples emerging from the bars heading home. I peered into each window as I walked past, taking in the groups of friends and happy couples enjoying each other’s company.
I slowed when I saw Jace through the window of a popular dive bar. He leaned forward, speaking intently to whomever was in the booth with him. I raised my arm to get his attention, stopping midair when I got a better look at his companion. Marina.
I spun around hard, nearly colliding with the dog walker keeping pace behind me.
“I’m so sorry,” I sputtered, walking back toward the Bronco as quickly as my legs could carry me, enjoying the spike of adrenaline that had managed to break through the veil of Xanax still cloaking me. I didn’t think he’d seen me. I don’t know why I cared whether he had or not, except that if he had and hadn’t come after me, that meant something. It meant I wasn’t just imagining that our relationship was already falling apart.
Back in the Bronco, I worked to visualize the scenarios I knew so well from my sessions with Penny, but every time I thought about having a husband, children, a happy life, all I saw was Jace. And instead of me in a white dress walking toward him, it was Marina, and I was a guest, watching heartbroken from afar.
My phone rang, the volume turned up so loud it startled me. I looked at the screen. Wade.
“Hello?”
“Hi, darlin’.”
“Wade…where are you? I can barely hear you it’s so loud.”
“Funny you should ask. I’m at the airport.”
“The airport.” I blew out a breath, frustrated. I hadn’t spoken to Wade in days. He had no idea what had happened, what was happening to me. He’d managed to call when I’d needed him the most—all I wanted was to talk things through with him right here, right now, but I couldn’t when he was at an airport. “Where are you going? Did George send you on some cool assignment?” I managed to inject my tone with at least some enthusiasm.
“No. Nothing like that. I…I told George I needed a few days off. Said it was a personal matter.”
“What? What’s going on? Is it your mother?”
“No, darlin’. It’s you. When I said I was at the airport, I didn’t mean in Shreveport. I’m in Portland.”
“What—you’re serious? Completely serious? You’re here?”
“Here and freezing my ass off. I’m gonna catch a ride to Astoria. I’ll be there right quick if you can tell me your address.”
“No—don’t do that! I’m coming to get you.”
A few minutes ago, I had the weight of my entire fucked-up life resting right on top of my shoulders, and I was sinking. But the thought of Wade, in the flesh, standing by at Portland International—the knowledge that he’d flown here to support me—was a lifeline.
“It’s a two-hour drive, darlin’. If you come and get me, it’s a four-hour drive.”
I sighed. “You’re right. I just can’t believe you’re here. I can’t wait to see you.”
“Why don’t you take a nice bath and read a book, and the hours will fly by.”
“Wade?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Please hurry. I have so much to tell you.”
