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Chapter 40
I snuck out a service entrance in the garage instead of taking the Uber that Kieran had called, ignoring the Honda that was clearly waiting at the curb. Instead I walked home, ignoring the pain of the straps of my designer sandals dug into my swollen feet, ignoring the blisters that blossomed on the sides of my heels.
It took me five blocks to be able to walk and see at the same time, and five more to stop ugly-crying completely. I didn't know where exactly I was going, but eventually I found my way back to my apartment, where I tore off the beautiful blue dress and threw on clothes that felt more like me, less like I was playing dress-up and more like I was just Skylar, in all my horrible, imperfect glory.
In my favorite old jeans and a faded Harvard Law T-shirt, I pulled the remaining pins out of the hair and tossed them on my bureau before I twisted my carefully curled locks into a braid. With painful swipes across my cheeks, I removed all of the makeup, scrubbing my freckled skin clear so that it shined, ruddy from the crying and violence of my ministrations.
My eyes were puffy, my skin mottled between red and gray. I looked awful. I looked exactly how I felt.
My eyes caught the mass of shiny mahogany in the corner of my room: the piano from Janette. Its sheen mocked me––such a beautiful gift with such ugly intentions. Since Cape Cod, I'd actually started to play it, started to polish its surface, which was now stacked with sheet music. How could I have been taken in by her again? I was no better than my father.
With a strangled shout, I hurled the nearest, heaviest thing at the piano––a stone paperweight on my desk made of a blue agate geode. In certain lights, it sparkled just like Brandon's eyes when he was happy. When he looked at me with love. But the piano was a stalwart beast that barely retained a scratch; the geode cracked in half and fell to the floor in pieces.
I screamed into my pillow. I gazed around my bedroom, with its bright blue walls exactly the color of Brandon's eyes, the rumpled sheets that would probably still smell of his soap-and-almond scent, the stray pieces of men's extra-large clothing in my closet and in the dresser drawer I'd given him. I couldn't stay in a room I'd designed unwittingly to remind me of the man I'd just betrayed, the man whose heart I'd torn out and, in the process, torn out my own.
Just the thought caused another avalanche of tears. You shouldn't have broken my heart, he'd said, and God, I knew it. My own heart was like the geode, smashed completely, scattered all over Boston.
And worst of all, I'd done it to myself.
I yanked my purse off the back of my desk chair and pulled the leather strap over my chest. I stuffed my wallet into the bag, but decided to leave my phone, already full of messages from Jane, Eric, and Kieran, on my desk. I had to get out of here, yesterday, and I wasn't interested in anyone being able to find me.
I wandered around the streets of the North End for what felt like hours until I came to a nearly deserted diner near the highway, the kind of place that only old-time locals still went to because it was so far off the main streets. Gray and tube-shaped, it was grimy and empty––the only kind of place I deserved to be.
I grabbed a seat on one of the torn vinyl stools at the bar and ordered a coffee from the tired-looking waitress named Faye who had one of the thickest Boston accents I'd ever heard. When I took a drink, I scowled. It was weak and tasted like an ashtray, and I didn't even like coffee in the first place. So I took another sip, and then another.
The small TV above the counter had been turned to a local news station. A clip of Brandon popped onto the screen, and my heart twisted.
A low whistle came from Faye. She was older, with lines down her weathered skin and limp, graying roots showing at the scalp of her bottle-blonde hair. She watched the footage of Brandon on the red carpet with obvious appreciation.
"Could...could you turn it up?" I requested in a voice that still croaked a bit.
The waitress turned to me with a knowing smile. "Gorgeous, ain't he? Local boy too. I'd vote for that smile in a hot second."
She turned up the television to an audible level, and we listened together as the anchor narrated the events of the night:
“In a move that has been rumored for months, Brandon Sterling, CEO of Sterling Ventures and name partner of Sterling Grove law firm, has formally announced his bid for mayor of Boston. The DNC is expected to endorse the local businessman."
The screen cut to a brief clip of Brandon announcing his run to the roomful of reporters at the event I had just fled. My chest contracted. You couldn't tell he had just walked out of the room where I'd broken his heart, where I'd broken us. Every hair was perfectly in place, not a wrinkle, not even a crooked shirt cuff.
But I could see the slip of white paper barely sticking out of his jacket pocket. I could see the distance in his eyes as he made his announcement, and the dulled expression made my heartache even worse. I had done that. I had snuffed out that light in him that shined so brightly.
The anchor droned on.
"Despite an interview yesterday from Miranda Sterling detailing some of the recent troubles in their marriage, Sterling's relationship with his wife seemed to be as affectionate as ever as they appeared together after the announcement."
My face turned hot with fury as the screen cut to another clip of Brandon shaking hands with people in the room while Miranda stood by his side, her arm tucked easily into the crook of his. They looked so natural together, like they had done this time and time again. She was much taller than me, with movie star looks, likely perfected over the years with gentle nudges from a dermatologist, that matched her husband's. Together they glowed.
I wanted to vomit.
"Lucky bitch," the waitress murmured to herself as she watched the clip. She looked to me over her shoulder with a wry, raised eyebrow. "Am I right, or am I right?"
I couldn't speak, so I just nodded and took another sip of the ashy coffee. Lucky bitch indeed.
The anchor continued: "The announcement preceded an additional, surprising twist that Sterling intends to divest fully from both of his businesses in order to avoid any conflicts of interest."
Surprising to them, maybe, but not to me or anyone else close to his life. The clip cut away to pictures of Ray and Susan, who stood next to him with bewildered expressions. I wasn't the only one who was overwhelmed. I wondered how many times Brandon's tendency toward largesse made them feel like this.
The coverage cut to another clip from Brandon's speech, in which he spoke carefully and clearly, his voice radiating confidence and poise:
