Fade In

by Mabie, M.

  “What did you do in Washington?”

  “Please stay.” I can hear the agony he feels, but I'm too numb to care.

  “Answer me. Fuck. For once, just tell me!”

  “I'm a doctor—a therapist. I work with injured vets. Well, I did, anyway.”

  “Is that why Dr. Meade, you brother—whatever—sent you?”

  “He didn't send me, Tatum. He didn't even know I went to see you until later.” His confession is quiet and measured.

  My voice trembles as a more brutal betrayal surfaces in my heart. “And Cooper? When did he find out?”

  “At his bachelor party. I told him everything.”

  Why didn't Ben tell me? Why didn't Cooper tell me?

  I can't believe that my own brother didn't tell me the truth. Didn't warn me that I was being lied to. That I fell in love with a stranger.

  “And?” I question, desperate for some logic.

  “And he said that I had to tell you or he would. I told him I'd tell you after the wedding. I didn't want to ruin everything. Please believe me. I don't want to hurt you or mess everything up. I just… I fucked up, baby.” I hear a sob choke him.

  “Don't call me that!” I spit, hardened. I reach for the door, having heard enough. I want to go home. I want to crawl into a hole where no one will find me and disappear.

  “You love me, Tatum. You have to let me fix this.” Sorrow clings to his words.

  I've never sounded colder than I do when I say, “I don't love you. I don't even know you. I wish I would have told you to leave that day. I wish I’d never met you.”

  “That's not true. You're just angry.” I hear an agonized crack in his deep voice and it breaks my heart even more.

  Opening the door, I walk out, but I can't resist looking at him. He's on the floor now, on one knee, arms slack at his sides. The eyes that I grew to cherish are hollow, red, and dim.

  I dreamt of Ben on one knee, and the image of him smiling hopefully is shattered and replaced with the one in front of me, my precious memory burglarized.

  He mouths, “Please,” steadily over and over before his haunted eyes meet mine.

  “You're fired.” Then I laugh like a mad woman. “I'm sure you'll find something, Dr. Meade.”

  “I love you, Tatum,” are the last four words I hear out of his mouth. Something about that both fills and drains my soul at the same time.

  My shaky hands shut the door before I can change my mind. Not sure how they're capable, my legs sprint me down the halls, and when I get to my room, I crawl into my bed.

  I call the desk, pay for another night's stay, and instruct them to tell anyone who asks that I've left.

  Not long after that, as I lie there, staring out of focus at the ceiling, Ben's voice comes through my door. First, I think I'm hallucinating. My mind must be conjuring up the sound because I want to hear it so badly.

  “I'm so sorry. You mean everything. I'll tell you everything, baby. Please just let me in.”

  I hold my breath, but only because I can't stop my heart beating. I shut my eyes tight and will him away, for not to be true.

  “Tatum, if you're in there, please… I know you're hurting. Let me make this right.”

  Then I hear what must be a member of the staff inform him that I've already checked out. Ben apologizes and says that he didn't know.

  Then he's gone.

  Another rush of misery and pain consumes me and weep.

  Though I only woke up an hour ago, it seems like I haven't slept in years. I don't turn the TV on. I don't shower. I don't eat.

  I'm just there, replaying this morning and the last three months over and over. It was only three months.

  I probably wasn't even in love with him.

  It was probably just purely physical.

  Why would he lie to me like that? Why would Dr. Meade let him? Why didn't my brother tell me?

  My emotions alternate between seething mad and anguished. That's the truth of it. I'm so sad. I'm sad that I finally found someone who I thought saw me. The real me. And despite all my shit, I thought he wanted me anyway.

  I am a blind fool—in more ways than one.

  I can’t get in touch with Cooper and Winnie unless I call their resort, which I'm not about to do. So the day after my monumental mope at the hotel, I lick my wounds and call Ray.

  That poor man drives all the way to Martha's Vineyard to pick me up.

  He's a saint.

  I sit in the back and stay pretty quiet for most of the ride home, wondering if he knew. Did everyone know except me?

  I'm sure they all got together and talked about the poor girl who thought she was dating her personal assistant, when in reality she was dating a stupid motherfucking, lying, deceiving, pain-in-the-ass therapist. If it even was dating.

  I consider moving. Maybe I'll go to L.A. Maybe can go back to that house in The Keys, but as the thought of The Keys comes to mind, my eyes burn. Fuck The Keys. Fuck all of Florida, too. Fuck the coast lines and the oceans. Fuck Louisiana. Fuck California and the motherfucking Goonies. They all make my eyes burn.

  The car ride sucks. I think Ray picked up on something being wrong, at the very least, but he doesn't utter a word. When we're about ten miles outside of the city, he asks me if I need to go anywhere on the way home.

  I quip, “Yeah, back in fucking time.” He offers a kind, closed-lipped smile. The pity kind.

  My apartment's eerily quiet when I return. It's an added surprise to learn that I now hate this place, too. I sleep in the spare bedroom since it is the only place we neglected to make any memories or have sex.

  Over the next few days, I basically move in there. There's a television and a bathroom of its own, so it isn't like I am put out. I order Mexican food from my landline and then unplug it, plugging it back in only to call one of those grocery-delivery services to bring me wine and ice cream. I love this city.

  By the next week, Phil buzzes me, asking if I'm all right and telling me that Cooper called the desk to find out if I'd been home. Of course, Phil said that I had but he hadn't seen me, so he offered to check.

  “Ms. Elliot, it's Phil,” he says through the door when he comes up, probably being paid by my prick of a brother or some shit like that.

  “I know it's you, Phil. You just buzzed me from down-stairs and told me you were coming up. What do you need?” I ask with no inflection.

  “May I come in?” His voice is too cheery, and it hurts my head.

  “No.”

  “Are you all right? No one can get you on the telephone and they've called downstairs repeatedly.”

  I was afraid of that. “Sorry. Tell them I'm fine and to leave me alone.”

  “Cooper said he would be here tomorrow.”

  “Don't let him up. He's a dick.”

  “A dick, Ms. Elliot?” He clears his throat and regains his composure. “You've always gotten along well, I thought. Are you sure everything is all right?”

  “Go away, Phil. I'll talk to them when I'm damn good and ready.” It isn't his fault, and I feel a little bad for having put him in the awkward situation. I'm not apologizing though.

  “You had flowers delivered. I've brought them up.” He says it like it's supposed to cheer me up, but it does the opposite.

  I suck my lip into my mouth, inhale, and then blow out a long stream of tormented air. “Are they from you?” Obviously, I know they're not.

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Then I don't want them. Put them in the dumpster.” Great. Now even dead foliage makes my eyes burn. Add it to the list.

  “They're very pretty. Are you sure? What of the card?”

  Poor Phil is only trying to do his job. I'm petulant and childish, but I can't find it in me to care enough want them. I don't want flowers or calls or visitors. I just want to be left alone.

  Cooper buzzes from downstairs the next day like Phil said he would. I answer and he pleads to come up and explain, but I tell him that I'm not ready to talk about it and to lea
ve me alone.

  “I love you, Tatum. Don't do this to yourself,” he begs.

  “I didn't do this to myself!” My voice rises louder than it has in over a week. “I didn't want this. I love you too, but not right now.” He's dismissed, but it hurts me so to do it.

  A few days later, it is Winnie downstairs. I don't know what hand she had in this, but those two idiots never kept secrets before. I'm sure she knew, too. When she rings up, that's the only thing I ask.

  “Did you know?”

  When she says yes, I ask her to leave.

  Eventually, my worn and haggard body cleans itself, mostly just going through the motions, but it's an improvement. I rid my apartment of the empty ice cream containers and wine bottles.

  I even turn my phone back on. There are hundreds of messages and texts. Many from my family and only one text from Ben. It takes me a few hours to finally read it after powering the device back up. It’s short and simple.

  Ben: I'm still Ben.

  Then I cried again, reassuring myself that it'll be the last night of crying. That the next day, I'm leaving my apartment and getting on with things.

  I'll call Neil. We'll find me another personal assistant and a new optometrist. I'm going to go to work and start working on season openers for Just Kidding and try like hell not to feel the ache in my chest anymore.

  Neil is more than happy to help me find another PA. He actually interviews everyone himself first and then lets me choose from three. Why didn't we do this before?

  I don't bother calling Dr. Meade's office. Instead, I ask my new doctor, Dr. Meyer, have his staff call for my records. Charlotte leaves me a few voicemails and asks me to call her back, also leaving Dr. Meade's personal cell phone number for me to call him. I never do.

  I'm still a clean-break kind of girl. Some things don't ever change, and I'm a little glad to find one of them.

  The Devons have been working in the office for a few weeks already. Devon and Cynthia are an official couple, approved by HR and everything. They're very cute and I hate it. My desk gets moved to the other wall that very day so that I don't have to face reception and watch their heartwarming antics.

  Winnie returns that Friday, bringing me chocolate and shoes. I let her in, having to know her side of story before I'd decide if our long-term relationship can rebound. Secretly, I know deep down that I have to forgive her and Cooper eventually. However, up until then, I’m just not ready to hear any of it.

  “Can I come in?” she asks timidly in my doorway on my third day back.

  “Whatever.” Yeah, not my most prolific moment. “Shut the door. Please.”

  “I like the new arrangement. It looks bigger in here.” She noses around, feigning interest in the new furniture set-up.

  “Cut the crap, Gwendolyn. What did you know? And when did you know it?” Still not in the mood for lighthearted banter, I go straight to the point. “Honestly, Tatum, I didn't know until our wedding night. After we—” I gag and that stops her before she says anything that will gross me out. She knows the rules. “Well, you know, we were talking about what you'd told me earlier about how you are in—” My hand flies up to indicate that there will be no talk of what I said. This was a bad idea. “Right. Anyway, we were talking about that and Cooper said that he had said that same thing to him about you and spilled his guts to him a few weeks ago.” She sits in her favorite chair in front of my desk tentatively. “I was pretty pissed, Tate. Cooper told him that if he didn't tell you by the time we were back we were going to, but Be—” My now-shaking hand cuts through the air again, waving for her to halt once more. “Right. He said he was telling you after the wedding that night.”

  Considering that she didn't know much sooner than I did, I side with cutting her some slack. She didn't even have a chance to tell me.

  “Well, since you didn't have much time to tell me and it was your wedding day, you’re off the hook.”

  She smiles before she thinks better of her timing and tames it down to a sympathetic grin. “What about Cooper? He's really worried and really, really sorry, Tatum. Will you please talk to him? He looks like shit.” Winnie's plight is pretty convincing.

  And I miss my brother.

  “All right, I'll call him,” I relent.

  “So how are you?” I can see the earnest concern in her pretty brown eyes.

  “I'm fine.” I brush some dust that isn't there off my desk and steel myself. “The season opener looks to be pretty badass. Wes will be in tomorrow and we can go over everything we have so far. The Devons shot a bunch of off-the-wall things over the summer. It's going to be a great season.” All of that is true, and it's all I've got right now.

  “That's good, but you didn't answer my question. How are you doing?” Winnie asks, pointing at me, giving me the ‘tell me’ best-friend eyes.

  I look to the sky for some help or something, because I have to tell her. That bitch won't let up. I can already feel that all-too-common swell of emotion in my gut.

  “Well, I lost my personal assistant, my boyfriend, and my optometrist of over twelve years. What's left of my sight is tanking and my heart is broken.” I have to stop and take a deep breath. I squeak out, “So, I've been better.” My lip does that Goddamned twitchy thing that I know means the burning eyes are straight ahead and I try to stop, actively attempting to right my face.

  Winnie brings herself around the desk and plops her big, beautiful ass on my lap, smoothing back my hair on my face. “Have you talked to him?”

  “No. I don't want to,” I pout against my will. Why did I let her in here?

  “Don't you think that he could explain things?” Her voice is soft and soothing as she tries to comfort me.

  I break a little, and I don't hide the tears from her, because I can't. “He lied to me, Winnie. He was a therapist. He was probably just trying to fix me, but he just broke me more. I feel so stupid. I thought I loved him, but I didn't even know him. How dumb is that?”

  Only good friends will cry with you, and Winnie's the best. She's blubbering and reaching for the whole box of Kleenex, putting them on her lap, which is perched on top of mine.

  “It all couldn't have been lies. He loves you too. I just know it. Tate, he told Cooper does.”

  “He didn't tell me.” Then I correct, “Well, he told me once.” My eyes meet her mascara-messed eyes. “When I left.”

  She makes a sympathetic O-face, squeezing my shoulders in a hug. “You poor thing.”

  “He was probably just saying it to get me to stay. I don't know.” That's that part that always confuses me.

  I shake my head to clear it. I blow my nose and kick Winnie off of me.

  “I'm going to be fine. I have you guys.” I hope that'll be enough. “Besides, he only texted me once and I haven't heard from him.”

  “Cooper called him and left him a message. He didn't call back but sent a text the next day asking if you were okay.” Her voice rises towards the end. Winnie's hopeful face is asking me what I think.

  “Did my ass-hat brother text him back?”

  She shakes her head. “He didn't know what to say.”

  When Winnie finally leaves my office, I send Cooper a message.

  Me: You're a dick. I still love you though.

  He replies quickly.

  Cooper: I love you, too, Tater.

  Cooper and I make up. He apologizes over and over, and frankly, I start feeling bad for him. He's my brother and I know that he didn't mean to hurt me. He even stood up for Ben, saying that I should have heard him out.

  I put the kibosh on that that conversation and compromise that I'll only be his sister again if he doesn't bring it up anymore.

  Just Kidding starts the season with amazing momentum and is bought into syndication. Reruns! That doesn't mean a lot to most, but to me it means that we did something right. The new shows are getting a lot of attention, and Winnie, Wes, and I even elect to hire a few new cast members.

  A couple of weeks into the season, Winnie rec
eives a movie offer and swears to keep her commitments to the show, but after Wes and I band together and promise to fire her if she doesn't take the offer, she finally accepts.

  My little Winnie will be filming a movie this winter where she's the lead. It's a romantic comedy, so I'm not going to see it even if my stupid eyes still work. I still don't have the stomach to watch anything to do with fictionally happy people.

  I've started seeing a Braille tutor, and I’m learning how to use a handy little device to type, should my sight fall away completely.

  I'm taking care of business. And truthfully, I’m quite proud. I can either face this thing head-on or let it drag me under. It took a little while after Coop and Winnie's wedding for me to get back on track, but I'm actually feeling strong.

  Still, the days have turned into weeks and then into months, but I haven't heard from him. Not once.

  The only thing I have left is the damn letter. Phil pitched the flowers as instructed, but he didn't scrap the letter that had been tucked inside of them. Instead, he put it in my mailbox.

  I knew it was from him, the handwriting too familiar. I left it in box, deciding that was a good place for it to stay.

  I told my new assistant, Jenn, when she was hired to leave it in there when she brings my mail up, but she brought it anyway. I found it on the counter yesterday afternoon.

  We're supposed to be getting a massive storm, and I've told Jenn to cut out early today. Everyone is making a huge deal out of it, but I just bought more wine and ice cream.

  Sandy-schmandy. Hurricane Sandy will be yesterday’s news by tomorrow.

  The weather stations are predicting it to be the biggest hurricane to hit New York, maybe ever. But I'm a tough New Yorker and pretty much think that they're talking bullshit. I saw people at the store buying water and milk just like they did for Irene, insisting that the world was going to end.

  Most of the schools are already canceled for tomorrow, and we told everyone to just stay home. It began raining this afternoon, and into the evening it is still coming down in sheets.

  Cooper calls to see what my plan is and to know if I want to go there. I refuse, saying that I'm fine and not to worry. It's just a storm.