“How did you finally figure it out?”
“He clearly wanted me to know,” Aubrey said. “Left his laptop open on the counter. I went to look something up, and there was his Excel spreadsheet waiting for me.” She tried to keep her voice light to hide the hurt. “A list of all his conquests over the past twenty-two years, starting with when he went to college. Forty-eight of them. Very orderly. Like he was collecting data for a research paper. First name, age, brief physical description.” She paused and swallowed a lump. “And a rating on a scale from ‘one’ to ‘ten.’”
“How do you know he slept with them?”
“I was on the list.” Aubrey tossed back the rest of her wine. “Number thirty-six.”
Which meant Jackson had been intimate with twelve women in the eight years since they’d known each other. And when she’d confronted him about the spreadsheet, his answer had been, I’m dealing with insecurity issues. I thought you, of all people, understood that.
She had screamed at him and called him names, but that hadn’t changed things. She’d allowed herself to be duped.
She ran her fingers over the ruts in the butcher-block countertop. Jackson didn’t use cutting boards. She remembered him slicing limes with a giant knife, each cut slamming against the wood top, chipping away a bit at a time. Just like he’d been doing with her all these years with his nasty barbs about her going into psychology because she was so screwed up.
Maybe he’d been right. If so, dumping him had been a great first step to fixing herself.
Trish rubbed her back. “What a dick. I’m sorry.”
“And he didn’t even give me a good rating.” Aubrey attempted a laugh as she shifted away from Trish. “A ‘seven.’ Of course, I was only twenty at the time, and practically a virgin.” She refilled her wineglass.
“You realize he took advantage of you,” Trish said. “The older, sexy, charismatic professor preying on his student.”
“No, Trish. This isn’t about the halo effect, and I wasn’t a victim. It was right after my dad left my mom. I was angry with him, worried about her health, upset my family had just fallen apart. Jackson helped me through it.”
She thought back eight years to the first day of the elective poetry class she’d signed up for because she had needed emotional relief from science and statistics. To when Jackson had stood in front of the class and recited, in his deep, sonorous voice, one of his poems about ice-covered love.
It had been as though he’d written it just for her.
“If you say so,” Trish said. “But I see a master predator at work.”
“He certainly had plenty of help from me,” Aubrey said. “I was looking so hard at what I wanted to see that I ignored everything else. Like in the Invisible Gorilla video we show students. Most can’t believe they don’t notice the person in the gorilla suit walking across the court because they’re so intent on watching the players pass the basketball.”
“What did you want to see?” Trish asked.
Aubrey took a sip of wine. “I suppose I wanted to believe Jackson and I had an honest relationship. Something truer than what my parents had.” She shrugged. “But you and I both know the tendency to repeat behaviors we’re trying hard to avoid.”
“Good news is you’re no longer repeating them,” Trish said. “You saw the problem with Jackson, and you’re moving on.”
“Hear, hear.” Aubrey clinked her glass against Trish’s.
But was she really past the problem? Even before college, she had ignored situations she feared would blow up if examined too closely. Her parents’ marriage had clearly been fragile, but she’d been so desperate to keep her family intact that she had spent her childhood afraid to do anything that could cause their relationship to implode.
But growing up a “pleaser” had come with consequences. She had gone off to college with no sense of who she was or what she wanted. It was why she had decided to go into social psychology, hoping once she learned to perceive herself in relation to her family, she’d be better able to sort herself out.
Apparently, she was still a work in progress.
She held up the wine bottle. “More for you?”
“No, thanks,” Trish said. “I’m heading over to the Deep Sleep to meet Sarah and Julia. Come with me. There’s nothing better than a cheeseburger and sweet-potato fries for a heartover.”
“Thanks, but I’m fine. Really. The toughest part is losing Wolvie.”
Trish hugged her. “You were far too good for that louse.”
Aubrey blinked rapidly before any tears leaked out. She hated when anyone felt sorry for her. “You’re a good friend.”
“Call if you need anything,” Trish said, heading toward the foyer.
“I will.”
“And lock the door after me.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not letting Jackson in anymore. I’m done with being hurt by him.”
Trish gave her an approving nod, then left.
Aubrey locked the door, retrieved her wineglass from the kitchen counter, and then stretched out on the weathered leather sofa. It had scratch marks from where Wolverine liked to dig. She glanced at the beige shag rug, expecting to see their scrawny, gray, long-haired mutt panting at her, begging with his black button eyes to be allowed on her lap.
That empty pang again. Wolvie was Jackson’s dog. Part of the package.
The best part.
The snow was still coming down, blurring her view of the old redbrick buildings in downtown Providence. It was as if she were inside one of the snow globes she had collected as a child. Silent glass bubbles, each preserving a safe world—what she had always wanted for herself. What she’d believed Jackson would provide.