Spin A Novel

CHAPTER 24

Hold On Until You Can Let Go





So I tell him everything. Without embellishment. Without leaving anything out. From the day before my birthday until today. I tell the truth and nothing but. I even let him read the article, hoping the fact that it’s honest about Amber, but not harsh, will be the beginning of forgiveness.

As I tell him these things, I get some perspective. I finally realize a few fundamental things about myself. Things I already knew, that I’d already confessed to but never completely accepted. I am a liar. I have a problem with alcohol. My life has become unmanageable.

And, oh yeah, I think I’m in love with Henry.

These are the only things I keep back, but they’re so real to me that I’m sure he can see them too. Like skywriting. Little tufts of clouds that spell liar, alcoholic, and love.

When I finish, Henry sits silently on the couch with his eyes closed, moving his lips in and out.

I wait for the explosion. And come to think of it, why isn’t he yelling at me? Why isn’t he storming around the room freaking out? Why is he still here?

I watch him, waiting, hoping, nervous. “Henry? What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I’m thinking.”

“About what?”

“Shush, Kate.”

I shush, but my brain keeps spinning. I wish I could see inside his mind, like I’ve let him into mine. But then again, maybe not. Maybe he’s adding up liar + alcohol, and that definitely ≠ wanting me to be his girlfriend.

I stand up and walk toward the hall.

He opens his eyes. “Where are you going?”

“To get changed.”

“Stay.”

He wants me to stay! But why? Why does he want me to stay?

I sit next to him on the couch. He leans back and closes his eyes. This silence is killing me. I want to ask him a million questions: Why is he looking for Amber? Why isn’t Connor? Why isn’t he talking to Connor? What’s going on with Olivia? Does he like Indian food?

And how did he know how to find that many crack houses?

“Will you tell me what you’re thinking about?” I say instead.

“I’m trying to remember something.”

“About where Amber might be?”

“Yup.”

“Maybe you should go for a run.”

His eyes fly open. “What did you say?”

“I said, maybe you should go for a run. It helps me think things through, and you know how your brain gets all flowy when you run, so . . .”

Henry grabs my face and kisses me hard on the mouth, then pulls away. He looks confused and embarrassed.

“What was that for?”

He turns his face so I can’t see his expression. “Nothing. You solved it, that’s all.”

“I did? How?”

“I’ll show you.”

“She likes to hang out here sometimes when’s she’s upset,” Henry explains as we walk through the east part of the park along a path I’ve never been on. It’s dark and spooky, even with Joanne’s emergency-preparedness flashlights clutched in our hands. They crisscross on the path, searching, but all they reveal are leaves and branches.

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve seen her here on my runs, usually after she’s had a fight with Connor.”

We walk silently for several more minutes.

“Henry, I think we should talk.”

“About what?”

About the kiss we had last night that I can’t remember. About how I ended up in your bed. About how angry you clearly are, and why you haven’t left.

“About what I told you before. The article, all of it.”

“I don’t really think this is the right time for that.”

Fair enough.

“Will you at least tell me why you’re not talking to Connor?”

He moves the flashlight onto a dark shape on the side of the path. It’s a rock.

“Why do you think?”

“Because of Kimberley?”

“I don’t give a shit about Kimberly.”

“Then why?”

He smacks the flashlight against the palm of his hand. “Because I’m thirty-two years old, and I’m walking through the park at night trying to find his ex-girlfriend. Because I’m supposed to be teaching English to high school students.” He expels a deep breath. “Because the only person I can tell these things to is you.”

Take your pick. Any one will do.

I put my hand on his forearm. “I’m sorry, Henry.” I can barely make him out in the darkness. What I can see of him looks sad and serious. “I wish you were happy about telling me things, that you could trust me.”

He pulls away. “Kate, you’re the one who told me I couldn’t.”

I feel weary, and hungry, and defeated. “We should look for Amber.”

“We should.”

He walks ahead of me. As I watch the stiff set of his shoulders, I feel like he’s walking away from me forever.

“I think I see something up ahead,” he calls back to me.

I catch up to him. The path turns to the right to follow the arc of a man-made lake. The half moon is reflected in the water.

“I don’t see anything.”

He points across the water. “Look there.”

I squint. There does seem to be a round shape on the ground, which may or may not be human.

“Are you sure it’s her?”

“No, but I’m going to find out.”

“What if it’s some homeless guy who’s dangerous?”

“Kate, where do you think I’ve been all day?”

“Right, good point.”

We walk around the edge of the lake. As we get closer, it’s clear that it’s a person, a small one, sitting on the ground with their knees held to their chest.

“Amber,” Henry says gently.

She doesn’t look up, she just rocks back and forth.

“It’s Henry and Kate, Amber, don’t be afraid.”

A cry escapes her lips, and now I’m sure it’s Amber. We’ve found her.

We walk toward her cautiously, sidling up to her so we don’t scare her off. Her hair is a jumbled mess and the pantsuit she was wearing last night is dirty and torn.

I kneel down next to her. The grass is wet and smells like the bottom of a peat bog. I put my hand on her shoulder. Her skin feels cold through the thin fabric. “Amber, are you OK?”

Amber rocks back and forth on her heels. She’s gripping something in her hand. It looks like it’s made of glass.

“Give me the pipe, Amber,” Henry says.

Amber shakes her head vigorously.

“Come on, Amber. Give it to me.”

She shakes and rocks and grips her fist harder.

Henry crouches on her other side and takes her hand in his. He gently pries her fingers open. Lying in the palm of her hand is a glass pipe and a chunk of something off-white that must be crack.

“Amber, did you use today?” Henry asks sternly.

“No,” she says in a small voice.

Henry puts his finger under her chin. “Amber, be honest. Did you use today?”

“No. Not yet.”

“How long have you been here?” I ask.

She turns toward me. Her eyes look black. “Since Connor f*cking Parks shoved his tongue down that bitch’s throat.”

“Will you give that to me?” Henry says.

She closes her fingers and hugs her hand to her chest. “Why?”

“So I can throw it away.”

“No, I may need it later.”

“You won’t,” I say.

“You don’t know. I might.”

“No, Amber, you don’t need drugs anymore.”

“That’s right,” Henry says. “You’ve made it through the hardest part. You can do this by yourself.”

A tear slides down her dirty face. “But it hurts.”

I search for the right words. Words Saundra might say. “I know it does. And it’s going to keep on hurting, maybe for a long time. But this is going to hurt you more. This could kill you. And I know you don’t want to die.”

“Maybe I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve watched you this last month. And sometimes you’re unhappy, and you seem to think you need to punish yourself, but you don’t want to die, Amber. You have too many things left to do.”

“Like what?” she sniffs.

I search for something. “Like convincing Rodney to cast you in one of his films.”

I think I see a hint of a smile, but she doesn’t loosen her grip.

I catch Henry’s eye, and mouth, “Say something.”

He nods to me across her head. “Amber, if you give in now, you’re letting Connor win.”

“So?”

“You don’t want to give him that satisfaction, do you?”

She looks at him warily. “What do you care, Henry? When have you ever cared about anyone other than Connor?”

“Amber, that’s not fair. Henry’s been looking for you all day.”

She brushes away her tears. “Doing Connor’s dirty work, as usual.”

Henry’s mouth sets in a hard line. “No, Amber, not this time. I don’t work for him anymore.”

“You don’t?” Amber and I both say together.

“No. I quit last night.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Amber stares at him fixedly and he stares right back. Eventually, she extends her hand over his and tips the rock and the pipe into it. Henry dumps the rock on the ground and grinds it with the heel of his shoe until it disappears into the dirt.

“Thank you, Amber. Now, let’s get you home.”

When we get to Amber’s apartment, Olivia and Steph are waiting for us. They lead an exhausted Amber toward her bedroom.

Her top-floor apartment is an enormous ultra-modern loft. There’s a wall of arched floor-to-ceiling windows and a kitchen full of gleaming stainless-steel appliances. The furniture is all white: white angular couches, white Formica dining chairs, white shag rugs on the floor. The only color comes from a series of framed playbills that hang on the wall that separates the bedroom from the rest of the apartment.

Olivia and Steph shut the bedroom door firmly behind them, and Henry heads to the kitchen. He washes his hands thoroughly in the sink and pulls several containers and some Cokes from the fridge.

“You want something to eat?” he asks.

“God, yes.”

I take a seat on one of the bar stools and ladle some bean and couscous salad onto the plate Henry hands me.

“Sorry. All she seems to have is this macrobiotic shit.”

“Forget it. I’d eat just about anything right now.”

I tuck in. I’ve never tasted anything so delicious in my life, and I don’t even like beans or couscous. Of course, it’s been twenty-five hours since the quarter-dinner I ate yesterday. Coupled with the hangover and the puking, I can’t believe I’m still standing.

I grab a container of tofu spread that looks disgusting, but I’m still so hungry I don’t care. Henry’s also vacuuming up everything in sight.

He catches me watching him and smiles. “Feeling better?”

“More human, anyway.”

“Good.”

“Look, Henry, about before . . .”

Olivia’s heels click across the light wood floor toward us. She looks fabulous and formidable in a pair of skin-tight jeans and an ice blue halter top. Her skin is a perfect, even tan that has to be fake. “Henry, were those paparazzi a*sholes still downstairs?”

His eyes flit to mine. “Yup.”

“How the f*ck do they always know when something’s going on?”

“Beats me. Any idea, Kate?”

Oh f*ck.

I meet Henry’s gaze. Please let him believe me.

“No, Henry. I don’t have any idea.”

Olivia takes a plate out of the cupboard and serves herself some couscous. “I swear someone’s tapped her phone. I keep telling Amb to have it checked out, but she never listens to me.”

“Is she sleeping?” I ask.

“She’s taking a bath. I can’t believe she spent the night in the park. F*cking Connor.”

“Did you talk to him?” Henry says.

“Briefly. He didn’t seem particularly concerned.”

A flash of anger crosses Henry’s face. “No, he wouldn’t be.”

I don’t think I can stand another minute of this idle chit-chat. I desperately need to talk to Henry. To tell him what, exactly, I’m not sure. But this may be my last chance.

“Henry, can we talk for a second?”

Henry hesitates before he answers, and something about my tone draws Olivia’s attention. She gives me a look like she’s just noticed I’m here. That I came with Henry. That I’ve been with him all day.

“It’s Katie, right?”

Jesus, we only spent six hours together yesterday.

“Yes.”

She furrows her brow. “And what are you doing here, exactly?”

“She was helping me look for Amber,” Henry says.

Olivia looks from Henry to me. “I see. You guys met in rehab, right?”

“Yes, that’s right,” I say.

“So, you’re an addict?”

“Olivia!”

Thank you, thank you, darling Henry, for defending me. Even though you’re still mad at me, even though you may never forgive me.

“It’s OK, Henry.” I take a deep breath and return Olivia’s steady gaze. “Yes, I am.”

“So, are you like a Cocaine Girl or a Heroin Girl?”

Henry makes an angry noise in his throat. “I mean it, Livia. Knock it off.”

She pouts in his direction and some unspoken communication passes between them. I turn away from their obvious history. I’ve seen enough.

I stand up and walk my plate to the sink.

“Just leave it there, Kate. I’ll take care of it,” Henry says.

Olivia stands next to Henry, creating a visual unit. “Yes. We can take it from here.”

The “we” kind of breaks my heart, but that’s just me being silly and weak. I’ll be stronger tomorrow. I have to be.

“Will you say goodbye to Amber for me?” I say to Henry.

“Of course. Thanks for your help today.”

“Happy to do it.”

Our eyes meet one last time, and I force myself to turn and leave the apartment. It’s only when I get to the sidewalk that I realize I never told Henry goodbye.