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Afterward, we lie in the dark. Once again, I tell him about my plan to find new friends. I tell him I need to find a new broker. And then I say, “Maybe it’s time to move. Think about it—we could just pack up and go. Mooney wouldn’t know where to find us. Just like that—all our problems solved.”
“We’re not running away,” he tells me.
I let out a dramatic sigh.
“You’re a thousand times better than any of those women,” he whispers in the dark. “And that’s the problem. They know it.”
“That’s sweet.”
“No,” he retorts. “It’s the truth.” He rolls onto one side, reaching out and touching my face. “Why do you think they’re always obsessed with all that self-help nonsense?”
I shrug.
“Because they’re deeply unhappy with who they are.”
“Why does it feel like Jack Mooney appeared in our lives and then everything started falling apart?”
“Maybe it’s not,” he answers. “Maybe it’s coming together.” He sits up and faces me completely. “Speaking of… I’m going to call Eric about that job.”
“That was six months ago. At least.”
“Yeah, and if I know Eric, and I do—it’ll still be open. He doesn’t move on anything quick.”
My mouth twists. “But this is your dream.”
He shrugs. “And as with all dreams, at some point you wake up. We tried,” he says. “We really, really did. We just couldn’t get it off the ground.”
I want to tell him no. I want to say he’s wrong. I want to tell him to keep trying, to keep fighting. But the reasonable part of me can’t bring myself to say the words.
Chapter Twenty
I drop the girls at school and then slide into the drive-thru line at Joe’s Coffee Haus. Flipping the visor down, I check my appearance in the tiny mirror, noting the dark circles under my eyes and pallor of my complexion. It’s been a rough morning, and it shows. This is the kind of exhaustion I’m not even sure a double espresso will fix, but I need something. The Thanksgiving holiday knocked us all out of our routines, making it difficult to fall back into them.
It’s Monday, which means the line circles around the building. It also means that if I hit traffic, which is likely, I’m going to be late. I should have known better. This is not going to work. I pull out of the line. The thought of foregoing coffee almost brings tears to my eyes, but I can’t afford to be late. Not for this.
I head straight for the botanical gardens, making record time. I’m a few miles away when I change lanes to avoid a slow-moving truck. It’s the second time the gray sedan behind me has done the same. This isn’t odd for this time of the morning. Diving in and out of lanes like a crane over the ocean, ducking in and out, is par for the course. Still, something feels off. I put on my blinker and shift all the way over to the slow lane, where I take the first exit I come to.
The sedan isn’t far behind.
“Siri, call Alex.”
“Calling Alex.”
My breath hitches when he answers on the first ring.
“I can’t meet you,” I stutter.
Silence.
“I’m being followed.”
“Are you sure?”
I slow, making a right turn into a strip center parking lot. When I check my rearview, the gray car has followed suit.
“Pretty sure.”
“Okay…” He takes a deep breath in and exhales quickly. “Can you see the driver?”
