His pity hits in a way that hurts. I step back, out of his embrace, and turn to my bag. I try to laugh, and it comes out strangled. “It’s fair, Nathan.” I stuff my makeup bag into the duffel. “We both knew what this was.”
I don’t ask him why he is taking her back. I don’t ask him if he struggled with the decision, if I entered his head, if I was ever anything more than a pawn in the Get Cecile Back Game. I don’t ask the questions, because I am afraid of the answers. I am afraid of more pity, afraid of kind words, and afraid of the truth.
Instead, I pick up my bag, and flash him a smile that would have made Rosit Fucking Fenton beam with pride. I smile, I wave, and I walk out of his life.
CHAPTER 53
Mark pulls up my car, idling it next to a bright white Maserati that must be hers. He steps out, and pops open the trunk. “Where are you headed?”
I blink at Mark’s questions. Where indeed? I stepped out the front door intending to go home, but where is home? I haven’t missed a single part of the life I deserted.
“Oh.” Mark dips back into the car, and pulls out my old purse. “This is yours.”
I unzip the purse and peek inside, pulling out my old cell phone. There is a new charger for it in the purse, a bit of thoughtfulness from Mark. I wonder how long ago he purchased the charger, how long he has been expecting to return my items and send me on my way. I turn on the phone, the battery charged, and scroll through numbers, each one a reminder of how sad and empty my old life was. I don’t want to reconnect with any of them, and I’m pretty sure the emotion goes both ways. I turn it off, and push it back inside.
“I’m not sure,” I reply. “But thank you for all of your help.”
We hug, an awkward move between two strangers, and then I am in the Mercedes, watching the gates open, and exiting this life.
At the first gas station, I pull over, putting the car into park and re-opening the purse. Pulling out the contents, I examine foreign objects from a life I barely recognize. A sequined thong, the color garish, material rough, its cheap fabric causing me to wince in recollection of how far I had fallen in life. A tube of blood red Maybelline lipstick. Mascara. Tic Tacs. The keys to my house, my car.
There is an envelope, the handwriting on the front neat and tidy. Not Nathan’s. I open it, sliding out a plain white card and a thick wad of bills.
Candace, The items from your house are in a storage unit in Destin, the rent is paid through the end of the year, and the address is below. Doris is the manager; she can provide you with a key. Your car was sold, the cash from the sale added to your departure funds, which are enclosed. You will need to arrange payment for your cell phone; we have covered that bill during your time with Nathan. I will call you once the paperwork is in place for the divorce. Please do not change your phone number; we will need to stay in contact with you until this process is complete. After that, there will be no need for future contact.
Mark
I read the note twice, surprised at the coldness I feel in its parting. There will be no need for future contact. I don't know what I expected. An invite to their wedding? Baby showers?
I flip through the cash, counting it—fourteen thousand, five hundred dollars. Generous considering my Accord couldn’t have fetched more than a thousand dollars. Skimpy considering that our marriage earned Nathan so much.
I return the cash to the envelope and place it, and the cell phone, in the glove box. Rolling down the window, I pull up to a trash can and drop the purse, and all of its contents, into the can.
Then I pull out, and head to my father.
Dad is doing well, his improvement holding steady, which only means he is toeing the right side of death’s line. I sit and hold his hand, my heart lifting when he opens his eyes and smiles at me.
“Go back to sleep,” I whisper. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“It’s not Wednesday,” he says in confusion.
I smile. “No. I’ll be here more often now. I’ll explain it later. Go to sleep.”
I need his sleep. I need to look over and see him in serenity while I make sense of the fucked up reality that is my new life. I feel Pam at my side and look up.
“Did something happen?” she asked, taking the seat to my right. “With you and Mr. Dumont? You both looked so happy in the Bahamas.” Her face is tight, and I realize that she has been living my fairytale right along with me, the tabloids her peephole into our world.
I sigh. “Yes.” I can’t generate much more conversation than that, and she takes her cue and lets me be.
CHAPTER 54
I check into a Residence Inn three blocks from Crestridge, and spend the first few days at my father’s side. He is overjoyed about the constant companionship, but seems worried, his watery eyes often on me, his mouth frowning without him even aware of it. Whenever I catch him watching, he straightens, fixes his mouth into a smile, and reaches out to grip my hand.
I will tell him soon. I just can’t right now. It’s too soon, and I won’t be able to speak without crying.
Today, I have a meeting with the billing department at Crestridge, then a realtor. I need to find an apartment, preferably one with room for my father—should he ever improve enough to leave the hospital.
I pull into Crestridge, following the long, curved drive, my eyes picking up on all of the details that combine to create exorbitant billing. A huge gated estate with acres of gardens and rolling lawns, in an area known for high property values and ridiculous taxes, the security guard who waves me through with a familiar hand. The building, a complex that houses four floors of cutting-edge medical technology, a cafeteria that puts Ruth’s Chris to shame, and a patient-to-staff ratio that defies all financial logic.
I am reminded, with every glance, at how much this all costs. I am reminded of Nathan’s obligation, and my fear that he will default on our contract. I park in front of the building, and reach for my purse, willing my nerves to still.
Third floor. The elevator doors open to a place that reeks of obligations. I am cheerfully greeted by a receptionist and ushered to Mr. Hinton’s office.
The man, one tall and thin enough to be a basketball player, looks up with a smile, taking off his glasses and standing to shake my hand.
“Mrs. Dumont, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I take it that you are here to confirm the payment?”
I pause, halfway to my seat. “The payment?” I hadn’t exactly had a clear reason for coming, other than to find out the status, and current balance, on my father’s account.
He tilts his head, squinting at me slightly. “Yes. I assumed you knew. Your husband called earlier, and made a payment on Mr. Tapers’s account.”