Dean looked down at his daughter and started to move, but he was stopped when she tugged at the hem of his shirt. She asked him something, but all I could hear was my own heartbeat in my throat.
There were fight people and there were flight people in life. I was most definitely the latter, and this was my only chance to flee.
I turned my back to them and, with shaky hands, tried to punch in my access code.
Access denied.
“Charlie, wait.”
Shit.
I prayed silently that I could get it together and punched the code in again for the second time.
The little light went green and I yanked the door open. One of the concept boards fell, but I didn’t stop to pick it up. I couldn’t.
He couldn’t follow me with his daughter there, or so I’d hoped. But I wasn’t willing to take the chance of waiting to find out. Instead, I bypassed the elevator and ran into the stairwell.
I ran up all three flights in knee-high heeled boots, like some descendant of Wonder Woman, but I didn’t cry until I hit the hallway to my apartment.
Then the tears fell in rapid succession. It still amazed me I had any left to give, but this was too much, so, without fail, they came.
Dean had been gone almost ten years.
He had a daughter.
His daughter looked about ten years old.
He’d abandoned me for another woman?
He didn’t come back when Henry died, not even for his funeral.
He never loved me?
It took me three tries to get my key in the keyhole with my tears blurring my vision. Finally inside, I slammed the door shut and slid down it until my butt hit the floor.
I couldn’t breathe.
Making slow fists, I dug my nails into my palms before stretching my fingers wide and repeating the motion.
Then again.
Then again.
I demanded my chest to breathe.
“Breathe, dammit!” I shouted into the hallway.
“Breathe!” The last plea was a whisper.
This woman was the worst of me, the human part of me, and I’d grown to hate her in these moments.
I hated that she made me so fragile.
“Henry Jon Smith was both a beloved son and brother…” the pastor of our church began to speak, but I could barely hear him. All I heard was the wind.
We stood gathered under the willow tree on the beach.
Henry loved this old tree.
He loved this beach.
He loved life too much, too much to have left it behind.
He loved me too much to have left me behind.
My tears splashed into the sand and I felt Mom’s hand slip into mine.
I looked down the beach in hope, but I saw nothing but the waves.
My hope had been in vain.
I thought maybe he’d have come back today.
That someone who loved me couldn’t possibly let me bury my brother alone.
He never came.
He stayed gone.
They both did.
Leighton’s text tone sounded from the remnants of the mess I’d dropped on the floor. Leaning forward, I kicked a few things around before dragging my purse towards me.
I’d suddenly become exhausted.
The sound of the whistle tone went off again, and I sighed when I finally located my iPhone with the screen undamaged from its fall to the floor.
Leighton: I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.
Leighton: (martini glass emoji)
I needed to leave the house, but I wasn’t ready to see him again.
Unzipping my boots, I kicked them to the side and crawled onto my knees then my feet. I padded barefoot to my living room windows and looked down. My unit faced the front and thus looked over the spot where I usually parked my SUV, and subsequently, it also looked over the entrance to the building.
I scanned from left to right, right to left, and then did it again.
Dean was gone.
His daughter was gone.
I saw no construction trucks parked anywhere on the road.
I typed out a response to Leighton.
Me: See you soon.
Walking to my bedroom, I ditched the sweater dress and coat I had on, for my ripped black jeans and a low cut but loose fitting white sweater. Stopping in the bathroom, I assessed the damage to my makeup.
It was bad.
There was no way she wouldn’t notice.
I did my best to fix it with concealer and powder. Adding some more mascara for good measure.
Satisfied this was the best I could do in the short period of time, I found my tasselled Steve Madden ankle boots on the floor—well, one under the bed—and zipped them up.
It took a minute to find the jacket I was looking for, but I eventually found it hanging behind the bedroom door. It was a forest green Michael Kors with black leather sleeves and gold buttons.
I loved it.
Scooping up my purse, which was still across the hardwood floor in the entryway, I shoved some of its contents back inside and locked up.
True to form, at exactly ten minutes from the time of her last text message, my best friend was waiting at the curb in her silver Lexus.
I looked both ways as I walked out of the building, but saw no first love or his daughter.
Fate seemed to laugh at my relief.
Walking across the sidewalk, I pulled open her passenger door. “Hey.”