“You’re sure?”
I hesitate only a moment, then nod. “I just need to go to the bathroom. Then I want to find Jamie. We haven’t looked at all the booths yet.” I am proud of myself. I sound so steady even though I’m anything but.
Damien’s phone buzzes and he glances at the screen, then types out a quick response before sliding it back in his pocket.
“Not important?”
“Charles,” he says. “He’s at one of the cash bars and wants to have a quick talk. I told him I was with you, and business could wait until morning.”
“Can it?”
He looks right into my eyes. “Right now, the only thing I care about is you.” He takes my arm. “It looks like the ladies’ room is over there.”
While Damien waits, I go in—then immediately clutch the counter. I’ve been working so hard not to let Damien see my cracks. Susan Morris. My mother. The rumors of sex for money, of being a whore. It’s all tied up in my head like so much noise and I want to sort it out. I want Damien—but I know he blames himself, and if I can just gather myself a little. If I can just make one tiny inroad on keeping myself collected …
I look around for something sharp, but there is nothing. Only the granite counter, the mirror, and the ceramic soap dispenser.
I remember the apartment and the glass vase that Damien shattered. I close my eyes, feeling the imaginary shard in my hand. Glass cuts on all sides. It’s perfect. It’s like a tiny miracle biting into the palm of your hand.
Wildly, I open my eyes and look around for something with which to break the glass. I snatch the soap dispenser, stand back, and start to hurl it.
That is when I see my reflection. Oh, God. What am I doing?
My fingers go slack, and the dispenser crashes to the ground—and in the back of the room, from behind a closed stall door, I hear someone yelp.
I jump—I hadn’t realized anyone was in there—then immediately relax when I see it is Jamie. Her face is splotchy and her makeup is smeared, but I must look worse because she takes one glance at me, looks down at the ceramic shards on the floor, and says, “I’m finding Damien.”
“Jamie!” I call, trying to get her back, but it’s too late. She’s out the door, and only moments later, Damien is in the ladies’ room.
“I didn’t,” I say immediately. “I just dropped a soap dish. That’s all. Jamie overreacted.”
He is looking at me with such intensity that I am certain he can see the lie inside my head. “All right,” he says slowly. “Now tell me the rest of it.”
I sigh, then drop my gaze. I count to five, and then look back up to him, my composure restored. “I was going to,” I say. “But I talked myself out of it. And then, really, I dropped the dispenser. It’s slippery.”
“You talked yourself out of it.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“I saw my reflection in the mirror. I was going to break it with that,” I say, nodding toward the gooey mess on the floor.
“You were going to break a mirror in a public restaurant instead of talking with me?”
I graze my teeth over my lower lip. I don’t answer.
“I see.”
“I didn’t want to make it worse for you. But I guess I did that, anyway.”
“But you’re okay now?” He is speaking very carefully.
“Yes. Just a momentary glitch. System completely reset now. It was just that woman. That horrible woman.”
“All right,” he finally says. He takes my hand; his is warm and reassuring. “Let’s go. We’ll let the janitors worry about the mess.”
I nod and follow him. Already I feel better, just knowing that Damien is at my side. In the restaurant, I search for Jamie, but I don’t find her anywhere. “I’m worried about Jamie,” I tell him. “She was a mess.”
“Do you know why?”