Em hadn't done it yet. She wasn't sure she wanted to talk to anyone at the moment. She wasn't sure how she felt about anything, except that she was angry at Colin. Not only for the things he said about her life, but for the lies that, in truth, shouldn't matter. She should only care if some part of her had respected or trusted him. Had she? It seemed impossible, but it was the only thing that explained why she felt this way.
Another message, this one left several hours later. "Emma. It's me. Colin. Please, I ... I need to explain my words, I think. I would like to talk to you, if you would only let me." A long pause followed, then Colin hung up.
Emma went out to dinner with a friend from her fitness class. She met Harriet for a drink at the girl's old hangout, a milestone moment since it was the first time Harriet had gone back there since her 'rescue' incident. Afterwards, Em caught a late-night showing of the latest action movie in a theater crowd of mostly teenagers. She did not return any of her phone calls, not even Frank's, although she had no real reason not to talk to him. As for Colin, she didn't have to talk to him ever again.
Chapter Twenty
"I shouldn't feel so betrayed. He was a stranger to me until just a few weeks ago, and he'll be one again. It just wasn't the end I had pictured after all these years of wondering what happened to him. To his alter-ego, I mean."
Em finished her coffee after these words. Across from her, leaning against the dividing yard fence, George tisked in sympathy.
"That's a lot to learn about a person in only a few days," he answered. "You feel fairly sure he was lying?"
"There's no other explanation," said Em. "He knew, I didn't. Case closed. At least it finally explained his problem with my work. I wish the explanation had been different, of course. That he just hated the sound of my voice." She grimaced, remembering Colin's compliment the night he kissed her.
"I don't know what to say," said George. "Except, of course, that there's nothing you can do except let it go. He was right when he gave you that advice."
"He was just being self-serving," Em answered.
"Maybe so. But it doesn't make it less true. If you hang onto it, you'll just torment yourself, Emma. You'll keep asking yourself over and over what you should have done differently, when there might have been no other outcome."
"I can't know that, can I?" she replied.
"Let me ask you this." George leaned forward. "Do you regret anything you did or said — the night you spoke to 'Charles,' and in the weeks you've known Doctor Ferris?"
Em considered this question for a long moment. "Yes," she said. "With Doctor Ferris, there were some moments I said things that were harsh. Harsh for me, anyway."
"Did you tell him that?"
Em squirmed. "Sort of. It wasn't the most perfect apology in the world, but I suppose it was one, all the same." She was thinking of their truce, most notably.
"Is there anything you wish you could say to him now?"
Was there? Em pondered the idea of standing face to face with Colin again. Would she apologize for not listening to whatever else he had to say in the elevator? Accept his apology for saying those things about Frank — and those things about her, as well?
Maybe. But there was nothing she could say that would change his mind about any of the opinions he held. It was too late for that.
"No," she said, finally. "There's nothing left for me to say."
"Then why worry about it any longer?" asked George. "Do what he said. Let it go. You'll be better off in the long run if you spend your time thinking about the people you know you've helped than the person you know you didn't." He opened his clippers and begin shearing off the sucker rose branches sprouting below the grafts.
George's advice was good advice. More comforting still was Izzy's affirmation of Em turning down the reality show — albeit a slightly reluctant one.
"It would have been good for us," said Isabel. "But, on the other hand, we don't want to kill you with torture, do we?"
"Thanks," said Em, sarcastically. "That's so nice of you to say."
Isabel took a sip from her soda bottle. "I think we should finish these promos and go to lunch," she said. "I'm buying. Stephen gave me six restaurant gift cards for my birthday, and wrote 'go out with your girlfriends, so I don't feel guilty about going out with the guys' below the birthday greeting. So it's my treat."
"I'd love to," said Em. "But somehow I expected something a little more romantic from your husband. He's a thoughtful kind of guy."
"Well, there might have been another gift or two," she answered, with a secretive smile.
A couples' thing, Em surmised. One of those inside jokes that only the two people connected understood, and the rest of the world was outside the boundary. The kind of experience she had witnessed, but never really experienced. Usually, it didn't bother her, but today it did.
"You okay?" Isabel asked. "You had a funny look on your face just now."
"Did I?" Em was jolted back to the present. "I don't know. I guess I just got lost in thought."
"Don't get too lost," said Isabel. "Anyway, what are you doing on Saturday night? Stephen has Sea Hawks tickets, and thought maybe you and Frank would like to come."
"That sounds great," said Em. "I'll have to ask him if he's free." She never knew Frank's schedule, except as a vague outline of book conferences, business dinners, and speaking engagements. Unless they shared plans, she never knew his activities from evening to evening. Was that normal?
Of course it was. It's not like she told Frank what she was doing when they weren't together. It's not as if she invited Frank to experience every part of her life, so why should he invite her to do it?
"Come on. You know whether he's busy," coaxed Isabel. "What would Frank be doing if he's not writing? His thing in Chicago's over, right?"
"Minneapolis," said Em, vaguely. "And, yes, you're right. Frank's not busy. He wouldn't be. I'm sure he'd love to come."
There. Problem solved. A few minutes of thought, and she knew the answer to her own question. Colin was wrong about her and Frank, and that's all there was to it.
"Where's your scarf?" Izzy asked.
"What?"
"Your scarf. Your pink one. You always wear it with that coat."
Rats. Where was it? Em racked her brain to remember where she had left it this time — the theater? No, she only had a box of popcorn on the seat beside her. Wait — the bar where she met Harriet. That's where she left it. Right on the bar next to her empty daiquiri glass when her cab arrived last night.
"Great," groaned Em. "I'll have to get it back after the show today. Remind me, will you?"
It was crowded at Harriet's hangout after five, proof that more than one office's singles crowd trickled there for social interaction. Em threaded her way between them to the bar. The waitress behind the counter searched through the lost and found box before presenting Em with her pink paisley scarf.
Em glanced around as she was leaving again. No sign of Harriet, Bobby, or anyone from Harriet's new social circle. No sign of the snobby Elton or Harriet's other former friends from the office, either.
Someone was approaching her, though. To her consternation, it was Colin. She recognized him despite his casual clothes. Maybe he was here socially — if so, then there was no reason for him to waste his time on a losing cause like herself.
"Emma," he said.
"I'm in a hurry, Doctor Ferris —"
"Emma, please, just give me a moment."
"I think it's better if I don't," she answered. "Go back to whatever social experience you were enjoying."
"I was waiting for you," he answered. "Your producer told me you were coming here when I called the studio. I was trying to reach you, but I thought ... I thought this would be better."
"Isabel told you where I was?" Em repeated.
"I persuaded her." Colin shrugged. "I can be very persuasive in some cases."
"That's something I find hard to believe."
"Regardless, that's the truth. I
came here because I wanted to part with you on better terms than we did after the last debate."
Em sighed. "I think it was better when you were being honest in your usual way," she answered, "instead of trying to seem sympathetic and human. Because I really don't find it convincing that you want to be friends."
Colin looked hurt. "But I do. I don't want your animosity, Emma —"
Customers were pushing their way in and out of the bar, making it difficult for the two of them to go on talking. Em was beginning to grow tired of being stuck here. What possible point could Colin make that mattered? Unless he was pretending to be sorry to persuade her to change her mind about the reality show.
Every second of this was uncomfortable for her. Couldn't he see that? Didn't he understand how painful his words had been to her?
"I have to go." She pushed open the door and left the bar as three more customers squeezed inside. Her steps were carrying her towards the street where her car was parked, a determined pace designed to carry her away from any further contact with Doctor Ferris.
"Emma." He was following her. "It was wrong of me to lie to you. I know it was. But I didn't lie to save your feelings, but mine. I didn't hide it to keep from hurting you, but hurting me."
The distance between them had widened, since Colin had stopped walking, but Em had heard every word. Her steps slowed, despite her resistance to this move. She turned to look at him.
"That night when I called you," he said. "That night when she told me the truth was the lowest point of my life. The pain of the truth ... the humiliation of her words ... it was a moment of pain I couldn't face again. It wasn't your advice that made me hide it. I was ashamed of myself, not you. The thought of having others know I was such a fool, clinging to that pitiful hope for her ...I'm ashamed enough of what I was that I can't face it, even now."
He stepped closer to her. "That's what makes you a better therapist than I'll ever be. You're willing to be vulnerable — to feel pain, weakness, and share those feelings with others. I've never been that way."
Em was still and quiet as she listened. "You could be," she said, softly. "No one sees you as weak or cowardly, not even when you're honest about your flaws." She was thinking of the moment between him and Harriet. "They only see you as human. It makes them admire you."
His gaze was still intent on her face, looking into her eyes. "I didn't lie about your voice's gift, Emma," he said. "Or your words. What you said made a difference to me that night. I ... I clung to those words later, to keep from becoming bitter. I never forgot them. Even when I finally faced the hard truth."
"I still failed," said Em. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be struggling with this."
"It's not a struggle with the past, but myself," he said. "I struggle to be honest with the world. It's not a new problem in the human race. Not the fear of what others think of us."
The fearsome, perfect Doctor Colin Ferris was afraid. Afraid of himself, of admitting that he loved someone blindly, even after they tore his heart out. Ashamed to think that no one would respect or believe a therapist who had labored to avoid bitterness and hatred taking root inside him afterwards. To win that battle and keep it a secret — except from those who knew the truth, and read between the lines of his book — how fragile must such a carefully-presented image be? It left Emma's mind reeling beneath the picture of his struggle.
"I'm grateful that you listened to me," he said. "Then, and now. And I'm glad that I inspired you in what you do. You made more of that moment than I ever have." He hesitated. "Will you forgive me? For all the things I've said which have hurt you?"
"Yes." Em's voice was trembling slightly. "I forgive you."
"Thank you."
A car honked its horn on the street behind Em, a warning for a pedestrian jaywalking to the clothes boutique on the other side. When Em turned around again, Colin was already walking away. The wind ruffled his hair and coat as he strode towards the traffic at the intersection ahead, where a car or two was obviously idling in traffic, their lights blazing in the dusk.
Chapter Twenty-One
Em let herself into Frank's apartment and was waiting for him. Obviously, he was still stuck at dinner — whatever dinner this was in Frank's never-ending calendar of business-social obligations. She sat down on the armchair near his writing desk, dropping her coat and shoulder bag to the floor.
She had forgotten to tell him about the Sea Hawks tickets this Saturday. Her encounter with Colin had driven it from her mind, as if he was still scattering her thoughts even from a distance.
Not that it mattered. Frank would want to go, she was sure. Everything was returning to normal, except for her newly-softened feelings towards Colin. She had said she had forgiven him. She had for some of his words, at least — the ones about herself. The rest, she was not certain about.
Frank using her. No, not true. She had given her help freely. Colin had been mistaken about that, feeling the contempt for a rival self-help author, no different than Frank felt for Doctor Ferris sweeping through the charts with his own success. It was exactly the same.
Nevertheless, she did something she had never before done. Instead of lifting the pile of chapters waiting on Franks' desk, she opened the drawer below Frank's catch-all one. The drawer where he kept the chapters not yet finished, not yet discussed or reviewed by the two of them.
There was nothing there. No typed pages, anyway — nothing but a handful of notes scribbled on others. The backs of old manuscript pages, on scraps of paper and blank printer sheets.
Repulsiveness of assumptions about individuals — like tastes, hobbies, beliefs....Add chapter about pros and cons of surprise shifts in character....women find it appealing when men surprise them with moments of perceptiveness about their partner; also, when they volunteer for chores, positions of leadership, tasks other people shirk, etc ... add section talking about how sensitive masculinity can be overplayed — pettiness, jealousy, self-deprecation — to detrimental levels, even with sensitive partners....Discussion section on what attracts/repulses women of various personality types, using the established perception groups of men. Draft a guide to men's potential pool of relationship partners based on his perceived type.
Page after page like this one were stacked in the drawer, about a dozen in all atop the pile of blank printer paper below. Em recognized many of the notes as things she had talked about — on her show, at dinner with Frank, other times when they had talked about relationships.
Most of these words were hers, in fact.
Em rifled the drawer, looking for other pages, then searched the other two drawers. Finding staplers, scissors, sticky notes, highlighters, but no chapters. On Frank's computer, copies of the chapters she had already read — ones with the highlighted changes they had talked about over dinners in Frank's apartment.
Nothing else. Not even an outline.
She was sitting in the chair beside the desk when she heard Frank's key turn the lock. He entered, pulling his coat off. "Hey, Em. Sorry I'm late. I think someone on my street's having a party tonight. There's no parking — did you notice?" He tossed his keys on the counter.
"Frank," she said. "Have you ever had dinner with Janet Fairfax?"
He paused in the act of hanging up his coat. "Yes. With you," he said.
"Besides that."
"Ummmm...yes. Once or twice, I think. You know, I've had so many business dinners, I can't recall who, what, or when half the time." He pulled off his scarf and hung it up also.
"Have you ever texted her? Emailed her?" Em looked at him.
Frank's expression was shifting. "What's this about, Em?"
"If I checked your phone," said Em, "would there be messages from Janet Fairfax on it? Personal messages?" Her voice was calm, although a little bit of emotion was trembling under the surface.
Frank sighed. "I don't know. Maybe." He sounded perturbed — he was avoiding her gaze, Em noticed. "What is this about, Em? Really?"
"This." She held up his book, a
nd the notes from the drawer. "Why aren't there any more chapters, Frank? Why aren't there any parts of the book that I haven't seen? Nothing but stuff we talk about — stuff we both agree on for the manuscript."
Frank relaxed a little. "Is that all?" he asked. "It's a work in progress, Emmy. I'm not a fluid, outline-driven writer. You know that." He took a bottle of water from his refrigerator and opened it, taking a long sip. "I like to take the writing process slowly."
A year's preparation, Em remembered. That was four years ago, when he was beginning his first book, and long before the publishers had probably begun to push for the second one's appearance.
"Who were you having dinner with tonight, Frank?" She looked at him as she asked this question.
He didn't answer right away, but she could see it in his face. She felt tears stinging her eyes, although she didn't let them fall.
Frank's face was still turned to hers. "I had dinner with Janet Fairfax," he answered, nonplussed. "Just a friendly, professional dinner."
She nodded. "I see." She laid the notes on top of the manuscript again. She rose and gathered her coat and bag. Frank's eyes were filled with concern now.
"Em, wait — nothing happened. This is nothing, all of this — what's made you even think about this kind of stuff —"
"There's nothing in your book, Frank," she answered. "Nothing that I didn't put there. Don't you realize that? Don't you realize how that looks to me — how it feels to me to know that?"
"How?" Frank asked. "You ... you inspire me. So? Isn't that a good thing? Em, I thought you knew that already. How valuable your opinion on my work is to me —"
"Valuable, yes. But this — this is more than that, Frank." She blinked back the tears that were trying to escape. "As for you and Janet — was she the first, Frank?"
"Em, don't be this way." Frank's voice was slightly pleading. In his body language, the way he squirmed and evaded her gaze, Em read the truth. Janet was not the first one.
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