Moving slowly, as if the air around me was mud, I got behind the wheel and started the engine. She sat as far away from me as she could, arms crossed, legs together, jaw set. How insane that an hour ago, I’d been inside her, and she’d welcomed me in. I’d never feel that again.
My walls started to crumble.
“Margot, look. I—”
“Don’t. Don’t say my name, don’t talk to me, don’t even fucking look at me.”
Exhaling, I put the tuck in reverse and backed out of the driveway. I should have been relieved that she wasn’t crying anymore, that she wasn’t going to make this any harder for me, that she was going to go back to her pretty world and forget I ever existed.
It was exactly what I wanted, wasn’t it?
Twenty-Nine
Margot
The ride back to the cottage was agony. I couldn’t believe the way he’d turned on me. My head was spinning!
It was just sex.
It was?
But he’d waited three years. He’d come after me. He’d asked me to stay. He’d confided in me. He’d shared deeply personal feelings. It wasn’t just sex! So what the hell was this sudden withdrawal? I racked my brain, trying to piece it together.
Had he just pretended to be a good guy? Was this asshole next to me the real Jack Valentini? Had the entire week been one big charade just to get in my pants? I found that hard to believe, but I was reeling. A couple hours ago, we’d been laughing and kissing and talking.
What had gone wrong? Were all men just manipulative bastards? I couldn’t accept that Jack was like Tripp.
Maybe having sex in the cabin had been too overwhelming. Maybe it felt like cheating for him. Maybe he felt guilty for enjoying it so much. Despite what he’d said, there had been something different about it tonight. Something intense and real and big. Something good. I’d felt it, and he must have, too.
I stole a glance at him and caught the usual stubborn body language and expression out of the corner of my eye. But there was something else…his right hand was nervously tapping on his thigh. I’d never seen that before. Something had him wound up. Something was making him nervous—scared, even.
That’s it.
It hit me all at once. His biggest fear—letting go of his past.
Maybe he started to let go. And it terrified him.
A little sadness tempered my anger. Why did he torture himself this way? Why wouldn’t he forgive himself and move on? Why wouldn’t he let me help? Why was he so fucking loyal to his pain? And after everything he’d told me, did he think I couldn’t see what he was doing?
I wanted to shake him. Hug him. Scream at him. Plead with him. Hurl accusations at him until he admitted the truth—he felt something for me.
But what good would it do? He’d never admit it. In fact, pushing him like that would only make him retreat further. It was hopeless. Until he made a conscious decision to move on, there was nothing I could do. And if the last few days hadn’t been enough to convince him, I had to face the fact that maybe it wasn’t going to happen. Blinking away fresh tears as he pulled up at the cottage, I had my hand on the door handle before the truck even stopped moving.
“Margot.”
I froze. Refused to look at him.
“I just…want you to know. I’ve…” He struggled for words. “I’ve had a good time with you.”
“Oh my God.” Now I glared at him. His words felt like a slap in the face. “Really? That’s what you have to say to me right now?”
He jerked his chin at me. “What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to admit the truth, Jack!” I yelled, cursing these damn tears that wouldn’t quit. When had I become so emotional? “You feel something for me, and you’re scared of it.”
“Don’t tell me what I feel,” he said angrily, fidgeting in his seat. “You have no idea what it’s like to be me.”
“You’re right, I don’t. But I know you’re choosing to be that way. Closed off. Miserable. Lonely.” I wiped my nose with the back of my wrist and softened my voice. “It doesn’t have to be that way, Jack. We could be good together if you’d let yourself move on.”
He started to say something, then stopped. His right hand clenched into a fist. “The night I asked you to stay, you said you didn’t need promises.”
“I didn’t! And I don’t—I’m not asking for a promise, Jack. I’m asking for a chance. That’s all. A chance.” My heart beat frantically in my chest as he weighed my words against his misguided convictions. His lips trembled and slammed shut. His forehead creased. His fingers curled and flexed. I could see the struggle in him, the temptation to give in to me versus the strength of his guilty conscience. Which would prevail? Our eyes met, and for a second, I thought he’d choose me.
But he didn’t. He looked away. “I’ve got no chance to give you.”
Devastated, I got out of the truck and ran into the cottage, choking back tears. When the door was closed behind me, I locked it and ran to the bedroom, throwing myself onto the bed. Gathering his pillow in my arms, I sobbed into it for what felt like hours.
I cried for Jack, for the life he lived and the life he was wasting. I cried for myself, because I hadn’t been enough to change his mind. I cried at the thought of going home and trying to forget we’d ever met, kissed, touched each other.
And I cried for what would never be, a chance that would never be taken.
Thirty
Margot
I was up the entire night. Even after the tears ran dry, question after question nagged me. Was this my fault? Had I pushed too hard? Had I rushed things? Had I imagined something between us that wasn’t there? Was I crazy to be this upset over someone I’d known for a week? Had the amazing sex clouded my judgment?
Then there were the maybe’s. Maybe I’d romanticized the whole hot farmer thing. Maybe I was only attracted to him because he was the anti-Tripp. Maybe the affair was just one big rebellion against rules for Thurber women. Maybe I’d get home and realize he’d never have fit into my life, I’d never have fit into his, and thank God he’d broken things off when he had.
But there were what if’s too.
What if I’d come here for a reason? What if he was the something missing from my life? What if I wasn’t supposed to give up on him? What if he needed me to help him heal? What if I never met anyone who made me feel the way he did? What if we were supposed to be together?
The mental and emotional anguish was too much. I craved the familiarity of home, the feeling that I belonged somewhere. At six the next morning, I packed my bags, left a message for the property manager and the key on the counter, and drove home.
On the two-hour drive, I chugged crummy gas station coffee and cringed repeatedly at the memory of his rejection. It was like reliving the breakup with Tripp all over again! What was the matter with me? Why didn’t anyone want me? Was I fundamentally unloveable? Was the prospect of a future with me so terrible? Did I smell? I sniffed my armpits.
Since it seemed like my deodorant worked, it had to be something else, and by the time I got home, I was convinced of my general worthlessness and repugnance.
Dumping my bags at the door, I went straight to my room, traded my shorts and blouse for pajamas, and flopped into bed. But I’d had so much coffee on the drive that sleep was impossible. I lay there, getting more despondent by the minute, until I finally gave up and called Jaime.
“Howdy,” she said when she answered. “How’s life on the farm? You get your four orgasms already today?”
“Not even close. I’m not even at the farm anymore.” I pictured the sun coming up over the lake, shining on the horses in the pasture, creating shadows behind the barn perfect for kissing in. Was Jack awake? Had he even slept? Was he doing chores and remembering when I’d helped him?
“What happened? You sound miserable.”
“I am.” I closed my eyes. “Maybe I shouldn’t be, but I am.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Y
es. Where’s Claire? Can you have lunch?”
“Crap, I can’t. And Claire’s looking at houses this afternoon. How about drinks right after work? Around six?”
“Where?”
“Bar at Marais? You probably missed your fancypants martinis.”
“Not really,” I said glumly.
“Damn, you are depressed. I’ll text Claire.”
“OK. Hey, can you do me a favor?”
“Of course!”
“Can you call Georgia Valentini and tell her I had to come home suddenly but I’ll be in touch tomorrow? I’ll forward her contact information.” I couldn’t bear to talk to her.
“Consider it done. Now go get a massage or something. A mani-pedi. Or a blowout! Those always perk you up.”
“I’ll be fine. Maybe I’m just tired.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. “I’ll take a nap and see you after work.”
We hung up, and I messaged her Georgia’s number before tossing my phone aside. I didn’t want a massage or a manicure or a blowout. None of those things would make me feel better, and in fact it kind of made me feel shallow and vain that I was the sort of person who regularly enjoyed those luxuries. Why didn’t I use my resources for more meaningful things? What was I even doing with my life? How was I contributing to the greater good? Millions of people lived in poverty and I did nothing to help them! No wonder no one loved me!
I curled into a ball, knees tucked under my chest, butt in the air. “I’m a terrible, useless person,” I moaned into my pillow. “My life has no purpose.”
Eventually I got hungry, so I went downstairs to find something to eat, but even the contents of my fridge depressed me—suspicious cheese, expired milk, a jar of pickles, rotting lemons, mysterious takeout containers—and the freezer contained only ice cubes, a bottle of gin, and some frozen meals for one that spoke of my sad single status and inability to cook. “This is my life,” I said as clouds of cold air billowed out. “Gin, loneliness, and Lean Cuisine.” Sorta sounded like a country song.
In the pantry I managed to find a box of crackers that had probably been left over from a cocktail party in 2014, and I ate them while sitting on the kitchen floor. They were stale and tasteless. I sniffed at the cheese and decided I wasn’t that desperate, so I ate the entire jar of pickles instead. After that, I went back to bed and hid under the covers, where I eventually fell asleep.
I woke to the ring of my phone around five. Georgia Valentini calling. Chewing on my lower lip, I debated taking it. Could I fake cheerful well enough to fool her? Old Margot wouldn’t have thought twice. Was she still inside me somewhere?
I did my best to summon her. “Hello?”
“Oh, Margot, hi. I thought I’d get your voicemail. Your business partner called a bit ago and said you had a family emergency. I hope everything is OK.” Georgia sounded concerned, and I felt guilty about the lie.
“Yes, everything’s fine. It turned out to be no big deal.” Just my own existential crisis.
“Glad to hear it. I just wanted to tell you how grateful we are that you took the time to come here and jumpstart our efforts at marketing more effectively. You did your research, came prepared, got to know us, and really delivered.”
“Thanks.”
“And you inspired us to get moving on our restaurant dream, too. Even if the Oliver place doesn’t work out for us, we’re motivated to keep pushing toward it.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Any news on the house?”
“Nothing too encouraging,” she said. “But we’re getting some estimates on what it would take to renovate the place, and Brad’s helping us come up with a plan to apply for a business loan.”
“I’m keeping my fingers crossed for you.”
“I appreciate that, thanks.” She paused for a minute. “Margot, I hope it’s not out of line to ask if you’re OK? You sound different.”
I sighed. “I’m OK. I mean, I’ll be OK. I guess.”
She laughed sympathetically. “That does not sound good.”
“I just…got my hopes up about something I shouldn’t have.”
“I understand.” A few seconds went by. “Margot, he’s sad too.”
“I doubt that.”
“Why?” Georgia sounded genuinely surprised.
“Because he’s the one who broke things off. He doesn’t want me. Not enough, anyway.”
She sighed exasperatedly. “He does, though. I can see it. He’s just so damn stubborn.”
“Anyway,” I said, “it’s done. And it’s what he wanted.”
“I’m sorry, Margot. I really wish things were different.”
“Me too.” I needed to hang up before I started bawling again. “Bye.”
She said goodbye and we hung up. Flinging an arm over my eyes, I wondered how she knew Jack was sad. Was he moping over coffee this morning? Had he been short with her? Lashed out? The thought made me angry. How dare he take it out on other people! He did this to himself!
Grumpy and depressed, I wandered into the bathroom, and looked at myself in the mirror. Yeesh. My hair was matted and tangled, my face was puffy, and my eyes were red-rimmed with circles underneath. “You know what?” I said to my reflection. “This is the real me, and if people don’t like it, they can fuck off.” I snapped a pony tail holder around my hair, threw on some old jeans with my Vassar T-shirt, tugged on some socks, and shoved my feet into sneakers. I didn’t feel like the old me, so why should I look like her?
The Mercedes was a bit of a problem with my new image, but I’d think about that tomorrow.
“Wow.” Jaime blinked at me. “That’s a different look for you.”
I’d gotten to the bar first and was sitting on one of the velvet sofas along the wall. My friends had just slid in across from me. “I feel different,” I snapped. “Why shouldn’t I look it?”
“No reason,” she said with false brightness and a glance at Claire. “Want to tell us what’s going on?”
“What’s going on is that I’ve come to the conclusion that my life is meaningless.”
“Margot, what on earth?” Claire asked, brows furrowed. “Your life isn’t meaningless. Why would you say such a thing?”
“Because it’s true,” I said, lifting my expensive gin martini to my lips. After struggling with it for a few minutes, I’d decided a life without purpose was no excuse to drink cheap booze. “I don’t contribute to society in any meaningful way. The world is full of terrible things like poverty and hunger and disease and abuse, and I don’t do anything about it. I will live and die, and humanity will not be any better off.”
“Wow,” Jaime said again as the waitress approached. “Hold on, I’m going to need a drink for this.” She and Claire gave their orders and sat back again. “OK. What happened?”
I didn’t even know where to start.
“Is this about the farmer?” Claire’s expression was quizzical. “Jaime told me about him, but last I heard, things were going well.”
“They were.” I took another drink. “But then he must have realized I’m a spoiled rotten city girl who doesn’t care about anyone but herself.”
“Oh, Jesus.” Jaime rolled her eyes and sat forward. “Do I need to remind you of the work you do for free while I am trying to keep the lights on at our office? You’re the most generous person I know, Margot!”
Claire nodded in agreement. “You’re constantly attending charity lunches and volunteering at things. I don’t know how you find the time!”
“OK, so your family has bags of money,” Jaime allowed, “but there’s a reason the hospital has a Lewiston wing and the art museum has a Thurber gallery. It’s because they give so much.”
“And remember last year when I mentioned the fundraiser at my school for that family who lost everything in a fire?” Claire said. “You were the first in line to write a check, and I happen to know it was the biggest one.”
“But it’s all so impersonal,” I complained. “I don’t feel like I’m really doing anything worthwhile except writin
g checks. And I’ve led this completely sheltered life. I don’t know how to mow a lawn, change a tire, or grill a burger!”
“What the hell difference does that that have to do with anything? You’re a good person, Margot.” Jaime reached across the table and touched my wrist. “You’re loving and smart and funny and successful and beautiful.”
I arched one brow at her.
“Well, yes, you’re looking a little ragged at the edges right now,” she conceded, “but any other day, you’re what every woman aspires to be.”
“Then why didn’t he want me?” I closed my eyes and felt tears on my lashes. “Why doesn’t anyone want me?”
“I hope you’re not talking about Tripp,” Jaime said. “You wasted enough time on him. And as for Jack, I don’t know, honey.” Her voice got softer. “Maybe he just wasn’t ready to want you. Maybe he’s not over his wife yet.”
“I guess that could be it. But I don’t get that feeling.” I chewed my lip for a moment. “He talked about loving her, and I have no doubt that losing her broke his heart. But he never said anything like ‘I’ll never get over her.’ Although,” I went on, the corners of my mouth turning down, “he did say he’d never get married again.”
“Why not?” Claire asked.
I sighed. “He said he knew what he had, and it doesn’t happen twice.”
“Maybe he’s crazy.” Claire reached out and patted my arm. “Because I cannot imagine why any man wouldn’t jump at the chance to be with you.”
“Well, he didn’t.” Sighing, I lifted my glass to my lips again. “And it’s got me messed up in the head. I really felt something for him, you guys.”
“So soon?” Jaime asked as the server set their drinks on the table between us.
“Yes. At first I thought it was just a really intense physical thing, but…” I shivered, remembering the night he’d bared his troubled soul. “It was emotional, too. And it felt good, at least to me.”
“So why did he break it off?” Claire wondered.
After We Fall Page 20