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“Why the hell not?”
My frustration is clear as we stand, and my hands flank my hips. I must understand what’s changed in her psyche, and why she’s denying herself happiness.
“I’m sorry.”
She moves to step past me, and I block her progress.
“Let me go.”
“Not until I know why you’re bleeding self-doubt. I refuse to abandon you in this state. Whether you realize it, I’m falling in love with you. I’ll swear on the bible. I don’t care what secret you're hiding, we can—”
“Damnit, Bentley! Stop! Stop caring about me. Stop promising me a happy ending. You won’t forgive me.”
Oh God. The next words from her mouth will shatter my world. My bones are already cold.
“Ted dumped me because I was cited for drunk driving, and he didn’t want his reputation tarnished. He was ashamed of my behavior, and rightfully so. My dreams don’t matter anymore. I’m renting a car and driving home. For good.”
My knees buckle as tears stream down her cheeks. She unlocks the door and rushes out of the restaurant, taking my heart with her. I swore I’d never forgive the man who killed Sydney. Unless I reconcile my demons and make peace with the events, I’ll also lose Penelope.
Several women glare as I exit the bathroom. I drop three hundred-dollar bills on the hostess stand and rush to the street. Penelope’s gone.
My fist pounds the brick building. I never thought God could be this cruel, stealing a second woman for whom I breathe. When I reach the Mercedes, my head slumps against the steering wheel and I cry for the first time since the funeral. I cry for failing to recognize how fleeting life can be, and for harboring deep resentment over the past year.
Forgive me, Syd, for putting you in harm’s way. Forgive me for not fully appreciating the gift of your love. I need a miracle to save my battered soul. Her name’s Penelope. She’s strong, smart, and embodies your compassionate spirit. Please, I’m begging you. Help me find her before it’s too late.
Penelope’s house lights are off, and she doesn’t answer after five minutes of knocking. A woman in the next-door apartment shouts profanities in Spanish, and I laugh to ease my nerves. I search the dark complex until I locate the landlord’s unit.
“Coming!”
I halt my pounding, and a beer-bellied man answers. He’s dressed in a white tank and holiday boxers. He may not be Santa Claus, but he’ll do.
“My girlfriend’s not answering her apartment, unit 3b. She left work with a one-hundred-two-degree fever, and I’m scared she’s come down with the virus.”
I’m already on the naughty list. What’s a little lie.
“What’s her name?”
“Penelope Parks.”
“Where’s she from?”
“Minneapolis.”
“Alright. My service isn’t free.”
I slide him five Benjamins, and he leads me back to her door. The lock unfastens, and he turns on the light.
“Miss Parks, are you here?”
Nothing.
My feet push forward into the bedroom. The covers are neat and the bathroom’s empty. Relief calms down my rapid heartbeat to see her toiletries on the countertop. She hasn’t left town, a minor miracle.
“When I saw her yesterday, she was flushed and mentioned an upset stomach. Maybe she’s at the urgent care down the street.”
“I’ll call. Do you mind if I wait here? It’s late, and I’m worried sick.”
His shoulders shrug, and he closes the door behind him. My calls and texts to Penelope go unanswered, further nauseating my stomach. I’m not used to begging, but God owes me one.
