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Disgusted with herself, she headed back to the house.
The next morning her phone rang while she was at her computer. She dragged herself out of her stupor and squinted at the display on her cell. It was Aaron. He’d flown to Kansas for the weekend to celebrate his father’s sixtieth birthday. She cleared the muzziness from her voice. “How’s the family reunion?”
“Fine, but Chaz is sick. I just got off the phone, and she sounded really bad.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She wouldn’t tell me, but she almost sounded like she was crying. I told her to find Bram, but she doesn’t know where he is.”
Not in Malibu, Georgie thought, trying to win me back.
“I’m worried about her,” Aaron went on. “Do you think…”
“I’ll drive over,” she said.
As she pulled out onto the highway, the sitcom began to play again in her head. She saw herself walking into Bram’s house and discovering balloons everywhere. Dozens of them floating at the ceiling with their ribbons drifting in the air. And she saw Bram standing in the middle of them, his expression soft, anxious, tender.
“Surprise!”
She punched the accelerator and pulled herself back to reality.
Not a single balloon floated in the empty, quiet house, and the man who’d betrayed her was nowhere in sight. With the paparazzi once again staking out the end of the drive, she’d left her car at Rory’s and slipped through the back gate. She set down her purse and called Chaz’s name. There was no response.
She made her way through the empty kitchen into the back hallway and up the stairs to Chaz’s apartment above the garage. She wasn’t surprised to find it simply decorated and scrupulously neat. “Chaz? Are you okay?”
A moan came from what seemed to be the only bedroom. She discovered Chaz lying on top of a crumpled gray quilt, her knees pulled to her chest, her face pale. She groaned as she saw Georgie. “Aaron called you.”
Georgie hurried to the side of the bed. “What’s wrong?”
She clutched her knees tighter. “I can’t believe he called you.”
“He was worried. He said you were sick, and obviously he was right.”
“I have cramps.”
“Cramps?”
“Cramps. That’s all. I sometimes get ’em like this. Now go away.”
“Did you take anything?”
“I ran out.” Her words were nearly a wail. “Leave me alone.” She turned her face into the pillow and said, more softly, “Please.”
Please? Chaz must really be sick. Georgie fetched some Tylenol from Bram’s kitchen, made a cup of tea, and carried it back to the apartment. On her way to the bedroom, she saw a GED workbook open on the coffee table along with a couple of used yellow pads and pencils. She smiled, her first one of the week.
“I can’t believe Aaron called you,” Chaz said again after she’d taken the pills. “You drove all the way from Malibu to give me some Tylenol?”
“Aaron was pretty upset.” Georgie set the bottle on the bedside table. “And you’d have done the same for me.”
That drew Chaz out of her misery. “He was upset?”
Georgie nodded and held out the hot, sugared tea. “I’ll leave you alone now.”
Chaz pulled herself up far enough to take the mug. “Thanks,” she muttered. “I mean it.”
“I know,” Georgie said as she left the room.
She picked up a couple of things she’d left behind, being careful not to even glance in the bedroom. As she came back downstairs, a wash of golden afternoon light splashed through the windows. She’d loved this house. Its nooks and spaces. She’d loved the potted lemon trees and Tibetan throws, the Aztec stone fireplace mantel and warm wooden floors. She’d loved the bookshelf-lined dining room and brass wind-bells. How could the man who’d designed such a welcoming home have such an empty, hostile heart?
