So for now, I waited. He’d said he might call, but I was choosing not to remember the might. Because if I thought about him leaving tomorrow without seeing me again and talking to me again, I’d lose my mind.
The early afternoon became late afternoon. I’d eaten a quick lunch, perhaps lingering in the doorway to my bedroom for two or twenty minutes. The bed was still messed up, pillows on the floor, comforter twisted into a ball at the bottom, and a very large dent in the middle where two entwined bodies had left their impression. The room smelled like sex. Weird and gross? No, naughty and naughty . . .
Fudge.
Dusk fell, and I still hadn’t heard from Lucas. Should I call him? Should I bother him while he’s probably packing and saying good-bye to his family?
I sat at the counter, chain-eating pudding for dinner. After the pudding, I paced. Sammy Davis Jr. paced with me for a while, but eventually he realized Mommy was nutso and went back to his bed by the fireplace.
By ten o’clock I’d finally had enough of the silence, and I grabbed my phone. Before I could dial, it rang in my hand. It was Lucas.
“Hey!” I said, a bit too enthusiastically.
“Hey,” he answered back. His voice was curt. Chilly. My skin broke out into goose bumps.
“How was your day?” I asked. This man was inside you less than twenty-four hours ago, and you’re asking him how his day was?
“Productive. Got everything packed up, signed off on things at the clinic—which is the reason I called.”
“Oh?” I asked. Now he needed a reason for calling?
“I wanted to give you a heads-up about the fighting ring you discovered. It looks like charges of animal cruelty are being filed against the property owners. Since I’m leaving in the morning, the police came down today to ask me some questions, take some pictures, stuff like that. I didn’t want you to be surprised when they call you too.”
“Sure, okay,” I said. Then a thought occurred to me. “I’m not in trouble for trespassing or something, am I?”
“No, you totally did the right thing in calling them. But promise me next time you wait for the authorities to get there before you go barging into some barn filled with fighting dogs. You were very lucky last night.”
“I’ll say,” I replied softly. “I knew I should have waited, but—”
“I’d probably have done the same thing, but wait for the cavalry next time, okay?”
“I will,” I agreed. “So . . . I know you said your dad was driving you to the airport in the morning, but . . .” My voice trailed off, hopeful. Interrupt me! Ask me to take you to the airport!
“But what?” he asked. He knew what I was but whating, but he wasn’t going to let me off the hook.
My heart settled somewhere very low. Dark side of the duodenum low. “So, I guess I won’t see you before you leave,” I managed.
“The day just got away from me.” His voice sounded careful, cautious.
“Twelve weeks. That’s a long time.”
“Chloe,” he said. But then he said no more.
Usually, any silence between us was comfortable. This silence was heavy and dark, and I didn’t like it one bit.
“Can I call you?” I finally asked. “While you’re down there?”
“Not sure how great the cell reception is down there.”
“Didn’t you get an international plan?” I asked.
“Yeah, I did.” Translation: he didn’t want me to call him. “Listen, I’ve still got some stuff to do before bed, so I just wanted to make sure you knew they’d be contacting you about the dogs, okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, gripping the phone hard. “Lucas, I’m so sorry that—”
“Chloe, just don’t—okay? I can’t get into all this. Not before I go,” he said, sounding so tired. “I’m sure I’ll see you when I get back.”
Oh my God. This was so very bad. “Yeah, okay, Lucas. Be careful down there, okay?”
“Will do. You too. I mean it about waiting for the cavalry next time, Chloe.”
“Sure,” I said, my throat all lumpy.
“Bye,” he said, and that was it.
Ten minutes later I was still pacing around my living room, trying to decide whether I should call him back, when my phone rang. “Thank God,” I muttered, racing to pick it up.
But it wasn’t Lucas. It was Charles.
“Hello?” I asked, stunned. We hadn’t spoken in weeks, other than a quick phone call about sending back some gifts.
“Hi, Chloe, how are you?” he asked.
“Uh, I’m good. You?”
“Good—great, actually. How are things up north? Your mom told me about the ranch you started up there—a charity for stray dogs?”
“Kind of. I run a rescue shelter for abandoned pit bulls.”
“Ah. Interesting.”
“Did you need something?” I asked. It was almost eleven o’clock. Why were we making small talk; what was going on? Weird.
“I do need something, actually: your signature.”
“On what?”
“Your name is still on my life insurance, and we need to get that switched over.”
“No way. I’ll just kill you and retire.”
There was silence, then he laughed. And just like that, we moved into normal. As normal as you could be with an ex-fiancé.
“Sure, I’ll sign whatever you want. Just email it and I’ll turn it around.”
“Notarize it, please.”
“Fancy,” I said. “So who’s your new beneficiary?”
“My new fiancée, actually. I’m getting married in six weeks.”
“What? Wow!” I sat down in surprise. “Who’s the lucky girl? Anyone I know?”
“Becky Von Stuffling.”
“I’ve never met her, but I’m sure she’s lovely.”
“She is lovely, and quite fun.” His voice sounded light. Hopeful. Intoxicated. “And a little bit twisted.”
“Twisted? Heavens, not that.” I laughed. “Is this the part where I say I’m happy for you?”
“Only if you really are.”
I flashed on all the good times I’d had with Charles; we used to laugh a lot. He was stuffy and pretentious, without a doubt. But he was a kind, decent man, and he deserved someone better suited for him. “I am happy for you, Charles. Very happy.”
“I was really angry with you, Chloe.”