“Joanne?” I call when we get inside. There’s no answer. “I guess she must be out. Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll get the takeout menus.”
He sits down on the couch in an exhausted slump. He lets out a sigh, then checks his phone for the millionth time. He places a call. Probably calling Olivia. Again.
“What do you want to eat?”
He lowers the phone, covering the mouthpiece. “I don’t care. Order whatever you want.”
I walk into the kitchen, pick up the pile of menus from the counter, and shuffle through them, hoping one of them will magically stand out. The phone in the wall rings loudly next to me.
“Hello?”
“Lassie.”
“Hey, Greer. What’s up?”
“What’s up? That’s all you have to say to me?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play coy with me, minxy. Joanne told me you didn’t come home last night.”
I close the swinging door between the kitchen and the living room.
“She what?”
“Calm down. She was worried about you.”
“Yeah, right.”
“She thought you’d fallen off the wagon, but I assured her you were simply indulging in another vice.”
If you only knew.
“Joanne was really worried about me?”
“She was.”
“So, is she, like, your new best friend?”
She laughs. “Don’t be daft. Now spill.”
“Um, well nothing really happened, and he’s kind of here right now, so . . .”
“Nothing happened? Even after that kiss?”
“What . . .” I stop myself. Telling Greer that I don’t remember the kiss (The kiss? We kissed? Damn you, alcohol!) is going to raise way too many questions. “It wasn’t that good, was it?”
“Looked that way from where I was sitting.”
Then why did Henry say that nothing happened?
Why do you think, idiot?
“So, you spent the day together?”
“Yeah.”
“Sounds serious.”
“No, it wasn’t like that.”
“He’s cute.”
“Uh-huh. Anyway, I’m supposed to be ordering food right now.”
“OK, lass. Run along. But call me tomorrow. I insist on receiving more details.”
Right. Just as soon as I remember them.
I hang up and look down at the menus. The one on top is from an Indian place that’s pretty good.
“Hey, Henry,” I say as I walk into the living room. “You like Indian?”
“Sure.”
“Would you mind ordering?” I hand him the menu. “I need to use the bathroom.”
He agrees, and I walk down the hall and close the door to the bathroom. I examine myself in the mirror. I look like hell. Hangover city. No wonder Henry didn’t want to admit he kissed me.
And kissed me real good, according to Greer. Why, oh why, can’t I remember it?
I run a brush through my hair. The phone rings.
“Let the machine pick it up,” I yell.
The phone rings once more, then stops, but I don’t hear the loud clicks our old answering machine usually makes. I guess whoever it was hung up.
I finish up in the bathroom and head back to the living room. Henry is standing with the phone receiver in his hand. He looks stunned.
“Henry? What is it?”
He replaces the receiver slowly but doesn’t say anything.
“Henry, you’re freaking me out. Who was on the phone? Was it something to do with Amber?”
“Yeah, it was something to do with Amber.”
“Is she OK? Who called?”
He meets my eyes with a blank expression. “It was Bob calling to remind you that your article is due on Friday at five, no excuses. And he’d also heard that Amber was MIA, and wanted you to follow up.”
I suck in my breath, frozen in place.
“You answered my phone?”
His face hardens. “Is that all you have to say? Jesus, Kate. Give me a fucking break.”
“Henry, it’s not what you think.”
“Oh, really? So, you’re not writing an article about Amber’s time in rehab for a fucking gossip magazine, and you’re not working me for material?”
“No. I’m not working you for material.”
“Kate, will you stop lying to me? Will you please just stop?”
He’s angry and disappointed and disgusted. And that’s exactly how I feel. I’m angry and disappointed and disgusted with myself. At least we can agree on something.
All the tiredness I’ve been holding at bay descends. I don’t have the energy to lie anymore.
“I’m not sure I know how to stop.”
“What am I supposed to do with that, Kate?”
“I don’t know. What do you want me to say? What do you want me to do?”
He stares at me. I wait for him to yell, or scream, or walk out. But instead, after a moment, all he says is, “Start at the beginning.”
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,” He
nry 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 fucking 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 cou
rse, 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 assholes still downstairs?”
His eyes flit to mine. “Yup.”
“How the fuck do they always know when something’s going on?”
“Beats me. Any idea, Kate?”
Oh fuck.
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. Fucking 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?”
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