Page 2 of His Promise

My eyes drift to the door when laughter filters into the kitchen. Sounds like Mr. Gruco knows how to butter up a crowd, which I guess is typical for a politician.

Jeremy cracks open the door and peeks out a few minutes later. When he turns around, he gives me the nod, and I take my tray of food and finish out the rest of the evening.

It surprisingly isn’t as bad as I expect it to be. It still feels familiar, but eventually I appreciate the fact that no one is paying attention to me. I don’t have to make polite conversation with my husband’s colleagues or impress anybody. It’s like I’m watching my old life from the outside, protected by an invisible barrier of social class differences. I can’t say I totally hate it.

I’m picking up half empty champagne flutes from a table when I feel the hand on my lower back.

I gasp and jerk forward, sending the champagne flutes balanced on a tray spilling onto my shirt and crashing to the floor.

“Shit!” I flick a glance at Kirsten standing behind me with a stunned expression and then I crouch to the floor. I throw the tray on the carpet and hurry to pick up pieces of glass. Kirsten bends and helps.

“I’m so sorry, Abs. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine,” I mutter. I go to pick up a piece of glass too quickly, and it slices my finger. I curse again and curl my fingers into a fist to keep blood from slipping to the already soaked carpet.

Well, I’m done. There’s no way I’m getting hired again by this company.

“Hey,” Kirsten grabs my wrist gently, and I turn my head to meet her gaze. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s a small cut, it isn’t a big—”

“No, I meanare you okay? You’re acting kind of, I don’t know, jittery tonight.”

The concern in her voice makes me notice my tense muscles, and the pain in my hand is suddenly too familiar. All of this is.

My throat clogs, and the back of my eyes begin to burn.

“What the hell is this?” Jeremy barks after he shoves through the kitchen doorway. Someone must’ve told him I stained the good councilman's carpet.

“I’m sorry,” I say, going back to the glass. I can feel him coming up behind us and Kirsten’s stare on me.

“Go clean up,” she says, bringing my hand away from the glass. “I’ve got this.”

There’s a look of pity in her eyes that makes me want to suck it up and shrug her worries off, but I find myself standing anyway.

“Sorry,” I say again to no one in particular, and then I rush from the room.

I hear Kirsten’s voice as I exit but don’t make out what she says.

Other staff for this party outside of the catering company litter the rest of the estate, cleaning up and taking down Gruco for Councilman banners off the walls. None of them seem to notice me as I pass by. I consider asking someone where the restroom is but figure there’s enough in this house that I’m bound to run into one eventually.

A couple of people arguing about candlesticks block my way just beyond a large marble staircase, and instead of awkwardly waiting for them to step aside, I slip up the stairs to the second floor.

Voices carry up the stairs, and I walk until I can’t hear them anymore. It’s only now that I realize blood is rushing through my ears, and the swoosh it makes in my head makes me dizzy. I come to a door at the end of the hall and throw it open hoping it’s a bathroom.

It’s not, but I hurry in and shut the door behind me anyway, slamming my back into it and taking a deep breath. And then another. I close my eyes and focus on calming the whooshing. I don’t think about my racing heart or the numbing sensation in my fingertips because they would only make my panic worse.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

I am not home.

I am far,faraway from home.

In.

Out.

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