Marie wondered why Elizabeth would take that risk, after going to such lengths to hide her identity in the others. What she feeling more comfortable with Alistair? Had she made plans to leave her husband? Or did she just not give a fuck anymore?
“Why do you think she hid her face in all of these?” she asked Nishi.
“Well, the introduction back there said it was because her husband was a senator.” Nishi studied the painting in front of them. “That’s what I would have done, I guess.”
“Is that what I should have done?”
Nishi responded without taking her eyes off the painting. “Only you know the answer to that question. But whatever it is, I don’t think it should depend on Richard’s reaction to it.”
Then she launched into a dramatic reading of the letter hanging on the wall. Out of the corner of her eye, Marie could see T. Rex just a few feet behind them.
“My most beloved A, you must think clearly about this. I will survive, but they will ruin you,” Nishi read.
If I stay, Richard will ruin Luc. There was no question in her mind about that.
She was leaving her heart behind in DC. Who had ever said that before? Washington wasn’t the kind of place where you lost your heart. Your soul, maybe. Your moral compass, certainly. But not your heart. It wasn’t that kind of city.
Maybe it was best to put some distance between herself and her heart anyway. It might hurt less if it was no longer with her. But damn, it hurt now and seeing him last night had only made it worse.
“I’m going to move away,” Marie said.
Nishi looked at her in surprise.
“You think that will make him file again?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’m hoping that if I’m not around, just not an option, he’ll go ahead and marry Maya. He’s still seeing her anyway.”
“And you’re going to just walk away from Luc?”
Marie shrugged. “I don’t know what else to do. If I stay, I’m going to find myself drugged and waking up in rehab. I’ll be stuck with Richard at least until the election, after which he won’t need me anymore. And Luc will have moved on by then.” Her voice cracked as tears threatened to spill. “It’s just not meant to be.”
“Hey.” Nishi turned and gently took Marie’s face in her hands. “You get to decide if it’s meant to be. After you move, call him. If he loves you, he’ll come see you. These are all decisions you get to make, love.”
Marie shrugged again. “That still leaves us living in two separate places.”
“You need to really force Richard’s hand on this. Just running away might not be enough. He can just spin that as his wife went on another bender, blacked out and woke up in Phoenix. You need to humiliate him. Do something that is so beyond the pale he won’t want you back.”
“Jefferson High students, bus leaves in ten minutes.” A chaperone appeared in the doorway of the gallery and the teenagers—their cover—began moving toward the exit.
T. Rex stood up from the bench where he was sitting, sensing the opportunity the exodus of students presented. Marie and Nishi were about to be alone in the gallery. But he was outmatched in Nishi. She was a professional, too.
“Are you hungry?” Nishi asked, checking her watch. “The café here isn’t bad.”
They strode arm in arm past T. Rex and went downstairs to Tryst. Marie bought sandwiches while Nishi scanned the dining area for the best table. When Marie turned away from the register, Nishi had settled in at a small table in the corner, fronted by two occupied tables. T. Rex wouldn’t be able to get close enough to listen in. Nishi gave him a little finger wave.
Marie dug into her sandwich. She was hungry all the time these days because she was afraid to eat at home and it was a hassle to run to the store or the deli for every meal.
“I might buy you a second sandwich, the way you’re inhaling that one,” Nishi observed.
“Sorry,” she mumbled through a mouthful of chicken caesar wrap. “I didn’t bother with breakfast this morning.” She chewed and swallowed, one eye on T. Rex who was impatiently giving the stink eye to everyone sitting at a closer table. “So where do I go? New York is not far enough away, I’m thinking.”
Nishi took a long swallow of iced tea, considering the question. “L.A. or San Francisco. Dallas, maybe. A place that has bigger fish to fry than you. It can’t be a small town with a two-bit police department that will jump when a pissed off senator calls and says ‘jump.’ Not Chicago, either. They’ll trade you to Richard for something.”
“San Francisco. I might like that. Not that I’ve been, but I’ve seen pictures.” She smiled. “Fly or drive?”
“Fly, definitely. You don’t want every cop from here to the west coast looking for your car. Just dump it at the airport and go. I know a ton of people in San Francisco. Friends from college, an aunt and uncle, a bunch of cousins. You can stay with somebody until you get on your feet. Plus, we have an office out there. Smaller than DC but I might be able to get you an interview there.”
“It’s expensive there, isn’t it?”
“Yup. But what price for your freedom?”
Just my heart.
Nishi’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it quickly. “I’ve got to get back. But I need to use the ladies room first. Care to join me?” She tapped her phone with her finger, before putting it back in her purse. “I’ve got an early Christmas present for you.”
T. Rex followed them to the ladies room, where Nishi turned and addressed him directly. “Ladies only. Sorry guy. See you in a minute.”
Inside, Nishi flipped the lock. “I wouldn’t put it past him.” She pulled Marie to the back of the room and reached into her purse. She pulled out a cell phone in a black case.
“Here. Your new phone, in Imran’s name. We picked one that’s identical to your other phone, but don’t let Richard get too close to it. Just in case.”
Marie threw her arms around her friend. “I owe you, I owe you, I owe you.”
“Nonsense.” Nishi extricated herself from Marie’s death grip. “This is what friends do. Help each other go on the lam.”
Chapter 28
Christmas Eve dawned sunny and bright, with a blinding white winter sun. Melting snow dripped past the windows. If ever there was a candidate for worst Christmas ever, this was going to be it.
When she came downstairs, Marie was surprised to find Richard standing in the kitchen, pouring coffee into a mug. She never saw him at home in the morning. She assumed that was because he was spending his nights at Maya’s apartment, which was—granted—more convenient to the Hill than Great Falls. She took in his suit and tie.
“Working on Christmas Eve?”
“Yes, goddammit,” he spit out like thanks for reminding me. “We need to get an emergency spending bill nailed down before the end of the year. Why we have to debate the debt ceiling every five fucking minutes, I don’t know.”
Because you’re in Congress and that’s all Congress does these days? But she held her tongue. It served no purpose to get Richard riled up.
He pulled a second mug from the dishwasher, filled it with coffee and held it out to Marie. She took it, warily and with zero intention of drinking anything that had been touched by Richard. Once burned, twice shy and all that.
“There are bagels on the counter,” he added. “I put the cream cheese back in the fridge.”
Again, no shot in hell of her eating those. Was he doing this on purpose? Taunting her with food?
Just act normal.
“So my parents are expecting us tomorrow morning. Then we’re going to your family in the afternoon?” She already knew this to be the case—her mother had been over it with her multiple times already—but she needed to lull Richard into complacency, if she could. Make him think she was “with the program” now, had come around to his position on things.
“That’s the plan. Provided I’m not in session tomorrow, too.”
He brushed past her on his way to the garage. He never did take
a drink of his coffee, curiously enough. As soon as she heard the garage door open and his car start, she poured both cups down the drain. Then she leaned back against the cold granite countertop and looked around. How had this place ever felt like home? How had she ever imagined raising children here? Or even raising children with him? And why couldn’t her mother see how arctic cold he was?
She walked through the first floor. When they bought the house, she had been so excited to move in. The house was gorgeous! The kitchen was huge! With pro-style appliances and a walk-in pantry! The great room had a soaring ceiling and a massive, custom stone fireplace. She had imagined years of family celebrations in that room.
How easily she had been taken in by appearances ... by mere things. None of that mattered to her now. She hadn’t been any happier in the beautiful house than she had been in her tiny apartment. Less happy, actually. The house was a perfect metaphor for her marriage. All shiny on the surface, hollow on the inside.
She peered out one of the front bay windows. T. Rex sat in his SUV, his earpiece cable caressing his cheek, as usual. She almost felt sorry for him, having to sit out in the cold, babysitting her on Christmas Eve. Did he have a wife or a girlfriend? Kids? What a crappy job he’d chosen. Maybe Richard would give him Christmas Day off.
She was hungry and dying for coffee, but it was cold out and she’d rather wait to venture out until closer to lunch time. Traffic would be nuts on Christmas Eve. Best to deal with it just once. And she wasn’t up to toying with T. Rex today. She suspected he hadn’t reported the little museum trip to Richard because Richard had said nothing to her about it. Richard certainly would have wanted to know what she and Nishi had talked about, and T. Rex didn’t know. Maybe he didn’t want to admit that to Richard.
She sunk into the oversized sofa. Just six weeks ago, she’d been entertaining the idea of spending Christmas Eve with Luc at his home in Middleburg. They’d cook dinner together or maybe go out to the Red Fox Inn, his favorite restaurant, then spend the evening in front of a roaring fire in the fireplace. And “by spend the evening” she meant ravish each other’s body into the wee hours of the morning. She had even pictured snow falling outside. A white Christmas. If you’re going to dream, why not go all out?
Now there would be none of that. Luc would probably spend Christmas with Sam, who would chew him out over the show. Marie would spend the day pretending to be happy with Richard, in front of her parents and his. She hadn’t even bought anyone presents. The prospect of shopping with T. Rex in tow hadn’t exactly put her in the Christmas spirit.
Her sketchpad and pencil were lying on the floor, right where she’d left them last night. She picked them up and gazed around the room, looking for something to draw. After a month, there wasn’t much left that had escaped her pencil. Luc would be proud of her. Her heart clenched at the thought. Even though her lessons had ended, she continued to work on it, to try and “see” the way he did. She would be taking that with her into her new life, if nothing else.
When she got settled into San Francisco, she would write him a letter and thank him for all he’d done for her. Even though it had ended horribly, she was grateful for the time he’d spent with her ... and for all he’d taught her. But she wouldn’t invite him to visit. A clean break would be easiest, for Marie at least. If he visited, she would just have to say “goodbye” at the end of the visit. She didn’t think she could bear that.
She tapped her pencil against the blank page. Something was off about the great room and she suddenly realized what it was. There was no Christmas tree. Richard hadn’t gotten one this year. In the past, they had always put it right there, in the corner next to the fireplace. She wouldn’t have predicted that this would be the last straw, no Christmas tree. It was though. Hot tears began to spill over her lower lashes, and she let them.
What a crappy, shitty, sucky year it had been. First, the divorce. Then, no divorce. She lost her job—with her own mother for god’s sake. Then she got her job back. Then she lost it again. Her husband drugged her, then told the whole world it was her fault and she needed rehab.
And she had fallen in love. Oh yeah, that too. Really, truly fallen in love for the first time.
She needed a good cry—a long, heaving, soul-wracking cry—and she let herself have it. Why hadn’t she thought to cry before? It felt good to cry. And terrible. And exhausting all at the same time. But she let herself do it, sobbing until the top pages of her sketchpad were buckling beneath the weight of her tears.
When there were no more tears to heave out and she was cried dry, she took the sketchpad upstairs into the guest bathroom. She sat down on the edge of the cold porcelain bathtub, looked at her pathetic face in the mirror and began to draw on the wet paper.
She drew the puffy eyes. The splotchy cheeks. The mouth that was swollen into a vague parody of lips. The forehead creased with worry and fear and disappointment.
For a few brief weeks, her life had felt great. Really, truly great. Then it all went to hell.
The drawing wasn’t bad, if you overlooked the subject, she thought. Maybe it was easy to capture ugliness. Ugly was simple, raw, elemental. It didn’t change. It didn’t have to. She let the sketchbook slip from her fingers and fall into the tub. Then she crawled back into bed.
* * *
When she awoke, it was grey outside, the morning’s bright sun gone. She squinted at the alarm clock. Three pm. Her stomach rumbled. She was starving. She had skipped both breakfast and lunch. She stretched her arms and legs, listening to the rest of the house, trying to determine whether Richard was home yet. But all was quiet.
She had to go out for food. If she waited any longer, the Christmas Eve panic shopping traffic would make it impossible to get anywhere. She changed out of her sleep-rumpled clothes into more presentable jeans and a red sweater—her one nod to the holiday—then hit the road. The sight of T. Rex’s head snapping up as she drove past him on the street drew a smile from her. He must have been napping if he had missed the sound of the garage door opening. He recovered quickly though—she gave him credit for that— and easily tailed her to the gourmet grocery store.
The store buzzed with a mixture of holiday cheer and holiday stress. She hurried past people picking through the turkeys and hams, squeezing freshly-baked loaves of bread, and trying to make up their minds about cookies and pies. Christmas carols floated through the air, while the red-coated Salvation Army folks rang their cheery bells just inside the door.
Marie headed straight for the salad bar, where she built a huge salad with all the toppings. Chicken, bleu cheese, avocado, walnuts, olives. She piled it all on. At the flower shop, she picked out two large bouquets of flowers—one for her parents, one for Richard’s. They would serve as her gifts, even though they all deserved lumps of coal this year. A dump truck’s worth of coal, in fact.
At the bakery, she perused the stacks of cakes frosted in red, green and blue; cases of neatly-arranged muffins in every imaginable flavor; and exquisite chocolates, dark and gleaming like that one last chance to be naughty. She selected two tarts laden with berries and carefully set those into her cart with the flowers. Her mother would be mildly offended by the gift. Eileen Witherspoon prided herself on her holiday desserts, but Marie was mindful of the facade she needed to maintain tomorrow. Both families would be watching her like a hawk. Normal. Everything has to look normal.
She was at the very edge of the bakery department when she suddenly pulled up short, causing T. Rex to bump into her from behind.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
She ignored him. Cupcakes. Cupcakes were like a third party in Washington, practically. Georgetown Cupcakes. Cake Love. Baked and Wired. She and Nishi considered themselves to be connoisseurs of them all.
The store had a decent selection: salted caramel, lemon coconut, strawberry buttercream, red velvet. She stood there for a moment, trying to choose.
What the hell. It’s Christmas.
She had the girl behind the counter
package up a dozen, six to a box. She would eat one box after her not-so-healthy salad and then ... champagne. She would drink a glass or two of champagne tonight and gaze upon an imaginary Christmas tree. Those were her big Christmas Eve plans.
She glanced back at T. Rex. She would give him the other box of cupcakes, as a Christmas gift. He could take it home to his wife and kids, if he had any. Or just sit in his car and eat them himself.
A tiny bit of Christmas spirit was beginning to seep into her Grinchy heart.
“There’s one more thing I need to get,” she said to him.
“Take your time, ma’am. I got all night.”
She wove her way between the oak wine barrels and stacks of wooden crates. She stopped to eye the specials written in white chalk on the blackboard. A local photographer was selling prints of his trip to Tuscany, creating a small traffic jam of shoppers around his table.
Her eyes scanned the shelves of foil-capped bottles, sparkling beneath festive strands of white lights. The labels were gibberish to her. She knew nothing about champagne.
The ache in her heart, which had been dulled temporarily by her incipient holiday spirit, flared to life again. Luc would know what to buy. He would have strolled right in here, gone straight to the bottle he wanted and plucked it from the shelf like he was a damn sommelier.
The one thing she wanted for Christmas was the one thing she couldn’t have: Luc Marchand. Her holiday spirit was deflating so rapidly, there was about to be a sonic boom. The bottles blurred. Apparently she was not as all cried out as she had thought. She took several deep breaths and bit her lip almost to the point of blood. The pain cleared her mind, not entirely, but enough. When she felt composed, she turned to T. Rex.
“Do you know anything about champagne?”
He looked startled at being directly addressed again. “No, ma’am. Not really.” His face flushed slightly.
“It must really suck for you to have to work on Christmas Eve.”
Surprise flashed in his eyes, but he recovered himself quickly. “A little. But I’m being paid.”
Drawing Lessons Page 24