by M. Mabie
WHY HAD I ASKED HER again? Probably because I’d never learn and I’d had three drinks and hit send before I could stop myself. Still, if we were in a truce, maybe she’d actually show up.
I thought about little else as I traveled to San Francisco. Nora and little else.
Casey’s family was great. Micah, Blake’s best friend, was actually married to Casey’s twin brother. It was a challenge to keep everyone straight.
Micah planned a great surprise party for them. I guessed it was one part engagement party and one part some sort of shower, so there were many faces I didn’t know.
One face—other than my family—who I did know was there.
Melanie. Shit.
I’d fucked her at Blake’s first wedding, that wasn’t going to happen again.
“How’s it going, Reggie?” she asked next to the cooler. I’d needed another beer, but she’d been hanging close to it. Eventually, I had to go over.
“Pretty good. How have you been?”
She smiled then nudged my elbow, “Don’t worry. I’m seeing someone. I’m off limits.” She was teasing, and that eased my mind. I’d needed a weekend with my family, and with all of us in California—and getting to spend some time with Shane—I was actually enjoying myself.
“That’s good.”
“How did things turn out with that chick from Switzerland? You were pretty drunk—and so was I—but I remember you telling me you hoped her toes fell off.” She laughed, and even if I didn’t recollect that conversation, I couldn’t deny it. I also couldn’t hold in my chuckle. God, shit was so fucked up. It was ridiculous.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said and held up a finger to let Blake know I’d be right back to kick her ass in another game of washers. “It’s complicated.”
“Well, if Casey and Blake getting together, after all of this time, proves anything, it can work out. Sometimes it just takes a while.”
Sometimes it takes a while, and sometimes it was never going to happen.
Regardless, their party was a great time. Our parents and Casey’s seemed to get along great. Their friends were cool, and my sister looked right at home.
The next night, after poker and cigars for a make-shift bachelor party, my brother and I decided to do it up right. Late night.
“Reggie-man, I’m ready to head back to the hotel. I can’t drink anymore.” After being at the strip club, and never once getting a dance, I’d decided I’d let alcohol be my distraction. We’d found a belly full.
“Are you sure you don’t want one more?” I asked him.
“Nah, I’m ready to pass out. I can’t drink like I did when I was fat. I’m a light weight now.” He was right, he must have lost fifty pounds or so. I was happy to see my older brother finally starting to come out of his funk from his divorce.
“Yeah. Yeah. Let’s go then,” I told him.
I noticed when we were walking down the hall to our rooms, I was as drunk as he was. My shoulder ran into the wall time and time again.
“Okay, little brother,” he slurred and slipped his card through the lock. “I’m fucking out. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight,” I said.
I was drunk, but there was something I couldn’t quit thinking about. Something from her last email. Something I’d find little peace with, until I got off my chest.
TWENTY-NINE
PAST
NORA—Sunday, August 8, 2010
It was a peaceful Sunday morning. I sipped my coffee in my wing and flipped through the papers I needed to read through before I made my final decision—Ives would be there in a week.
Then my phone chimed.
REAGAN: Damn it, I wish you WOULD come to Blake and Casey’s wedding. I want everything to be different.
I looked at the time and did the math. It was late.
ME: Where are you?
REAGAN: My hotel room.
ME: How much did you drink?
REAGAN: Not enough.
REAGAN: Why do you say shit like that in emails, but you never say it to my face?
REAGAN: Huh? It’s like you know it, too.
ME: Know what?
REAGAN: That we fucked it all up.
I was afraid if I kept answering him, he’d say something that I wanted to hear—I’d always wanted to hear—but he was drunk. That meant he was likely to say something he didn’t mean. Or, maybe he would mean it, but he’d regret it.
ME: You need to fall asleep.
REAGAN: Fuck sleep.
REAGAN: I hate sleeping.
REAGAN: I hate being awake.
REAGAN: I hate being so many fucking miles away from you.
REAGAN: I hate seeing so much of you in everything, but you’re not there. You never go away even when you’re gone.
I knew exactly what that felt like.
There were places in my big old house that I thought I could still smell him.
Nights when I’d be blessed, and he’d visit me in my dreams. I’d hear his voice when it was still bursting with hope and desire. I’d hear his laugh. When I’d wake there’d still be tingles on my body where I’d felt him touch me as I slumbered.
Those nights were better than others, but the mornings after—when I’d be robbed of him and my alternate reality all over again—were the worst.
ME: You told me not to make promises I couldn’t keep.
REAGAN: So keep it this time. Come.
We had so much to talk about, but hearing him made me hopeful that we’d be able to come out of this alive. Made me think—even if it was different than before—I’d get to keep part of him. Maybe that small link would be enough.
ME: I’ll let you know when I’m in town.
REAGAN: I’ll make steak, Nora. Remember cooking and drinking wine and laughing and having sex all morning?
That’s all I remembered. If it weren’t—and I remembered all of the bad times more—why wouldn’t I just let him go? Every one of the things he mentioned were so dear to me.
ME: I’ve got to go.
All along, one of the things I admired about him had been his pride. I respected it and felt compelled to protect it. I wouldn’t allow him to keep going.
REAGAN: Yeah, another thing I wish you’d stop fucking doing.
He must have drunk a lot. It happened to the best of us. I’d been there.
When you drink to forget, you never know if alcohol will sour your heart instead. Sometimes I’d drink a bottle of wine by myself and blissfully almost forget. Sometimes I’d remember the good stuff. Then there were other bottles that spoiled in my gut, and everything went to hell.
I’d cry and scream—no one could hear me. Why not? On occasion, I had to do what I needed just to get through the night.
I’d been there. I recognized it.
He’d been right. It wasn’t healthy for us.
I turned my phone off and hoped he’d fall asleep.
“THANKS FOR COMING OVER, Ives,” I said. We were having dinner. I wanted to discuss some things. A few actually.
“Thank you,” he said and sat at my long, formal dining room table.
“How is the trial?” Their insurance companies were fighting it out in court. The driver—who was found guilty of driving longer than allowed in one workday in traffic court was being sued by them, too. It had been going on for some time.
The end was growing nearer, and I’d assured him I’d be there for the verdict.
She’d been my best friend, and I wanted to show my support.
“Getting there. I think it’ll end in a few weeks. I’m flying back tomorrow.”
I didn’t want to upset him, but I couldn’t work with him—in a professional capacity anymore. So after great consideration and channeling my inner Reagan Warren, I said, “I’m going to be there for you—for Janel—but you’re fired.”
I’d already make my mind up, and I didn’t wait for him to explain.
THIRTY
PAST
REAGAN—Wednesday, September 15,
2010
I sat in traffic.
I hated it. Waiting. I. Fucking. Hated. It.
I hadn’t heard from Nora, but I’d been expecting to. Unless she’d changed her mind after I messaged her.
The morning after, when I’d read them back, I was thankful she was busy. Otherwise, I might have gone on. I dodged that bullet, but she hadn’t let me know when she was going to be in town, and I was stressed wondering when she’d come and what it was she wanted to talk about.
I had to pay a stupid parking ticket—the one I got when I’d forgot my watch at home and parked illegally—but I’d needed the watch. It was precious to me. Even then.
At the rate I was going, I would have been late to my meeting, but I was grateful when Claudia called and said it had been pushed back until the afternoon. I wasn’t sure what it was about, but I’d been called by Craig the night before and told I was to meet with some of the board.
So between the ticket that I’d forgotten to pay, the traffic, and having a meeting with my bosses, I was already in a great mood.
Besides that, I was leaving for my sister’s second wedding in Oregon in the morning and still needed to pack.
Finding a place to park at the courthouse was a struggle, but I did it, and then set off to find the right department to pay my fine.
It felt like I was doing everything the hard way.
I raced to the bank of elevators and went up and paid the ticket.
When I stepped off the elevator on the first floor to leave, I saw them together by the doors on the other side. Nora and Ives. She leaned over and kissed his cheek.
I stared.
Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Zero.
Were they together now? Was that why she was back in Chicago—with him? Was that what she wanted to tell me?
He walked down the hall, and she stayed where she was by the glass exit. Her eyes caught mine. Blood rushed into my head, and it pounded in my ears.
She was wearing a white business suit. White.
Were they eloping?
No. That notion was crazy. My brain was a torrent of things. None of them good.
When I found the power to move—after counting backward twice more—I walked her way. She glanced nervously in the direction he went.
“Looks like you’re back,” I accused as I got near her. I balled my fists and flexed them over and over to omit some of the pulsing adrenaline flooding me.
“I was going to call you. I wanted to talk to you tonight, but I ran out of time.” She looked just as shocked to see me. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I should ask you the same thing. Wearing white. In a courthouse. With a lover. Has she even been dead a year?” I was thinking out loud, but that idea made sense. They shared a lifestyle. They’d both loved Janel. They’d been together in the past. She relied on him with her inheritance. All things I didn’t have with her. Things I was never privy to.
Her red face was the last thing I saw before she slapped me, but the pain of realizing maybe her relationship with Ives was what she needed killed me. It was a living nightmare.
I stood there for long, sluggish seconds wondering if it was real or something my convoluted brain fabricated as people walked past, stepping around us. We were in the way.
Her chest heaved, but she didn’t say anything to correct me.
I walked off and shouted, “Fuck this.” An eerie calm came over me on my way back to my car. That was possibly the end. The final scene for us.
Fuck all of it.
When I got back to work, I mostly stared at my computer screen in a daze.
“Reggie, it looks like they’re on the floor headed to the conference room down the hall. I thought you’d want to know,” Claudia said over the phone.
They were early; that was good. I didn’t know if I was being promoted or fired, or what the hell was going on, but I stood up, buttoned my jacket and readied myself for anything.
“Good afternoon, Reggie,” Mr. McClelland said from the head of the table when I walked in. “Have a seat.”
I walked to the nearest available chair, reached across the table to shake his hand, and sat. “Good afternoon.”
“As soon as Craig and the others step back in, we’ll get started.”
I poured myself a glass of water and drank it down as the others filed into the room.
Suits and leather portfolios, handshakes and greetings.
I looked around the table and tried to figure out what that particular group of men had been assembled for.
Mr. McClelland began, “Thanks for coming in, Reggie. We’re not sure about everything as of yet, a few things have come up this morning, but there are some we’d like to go over with you. Justin Beckham is no longer employed by Price-McClelland. He resigned yesterday after we met with him.”
Resigned? After a meeting? Like the one I was attending perhaps? That was a gracious way to say fired.
“That’s shocking,” I said, but no one else looked stunned like I was.
“What is your relationship with Nora Koehl and Koehl Worldwide?”
I took another drink of water and deliberated. I wanted to be honest, but damn it, I didn’t know. I smiled politely as I thought, aware that the longer it took me to answer, the more it would appear like I was lying.
“Sir, with all due respect, the nature of my past relationship with Nora Koehl is personal, complicated, and completely separate from my work. I have no relationship with her professionally and, therefore, no ties to Koehl Worldwide. The two are completely separate entities in my opinion.”
“Good, Reggie. Thank you. That’s mostly what we need to know for now. Everything is still being ironed out. We know you’re taking a trip this weekend so we won’t keep you much longer. There are some changes coming with regard to that account, and we’ll know more Friday. When you get back on Monday, why don’t you come up to my office?”
I no longer felt like I was fired, more corralled. “Mr. McClelland, is there a problem I should know about?” I’d neither attended a meeting where there were so many silent faces, nor one so brief. It gave me an uneasy feeling.
“No. We don’t think there is a problem anymore. You shouldn’t be too concerned. We thought we’d know a little more than we do now, but things have changed. We should have a game plan by Monday. Please, go on your trip and come back ready to work. I don’t think I speak for myself when I say you do an outstanding job for our company, and we only see you going higher and higher. With a senior partner position opened up, I think you’ll have a lot to think about next week.” He stood, smiling, and everyone else did, too. “Have a good weekend. We’ll talk more about this Monday.”
What he’d said reassured me. Maybe I was being promoted. Would I get the Koehl Worldwide account now?
I’d have to wait and see.
Making partner had been on my shortlist of goals, the next step in my big life plan. Looking into the face of it didn’t feel as sweet as I’d imagined.
I was still thinking about Nora. The courthouse. The slap. Seeing her with him. How none of it felt like a truce.
What had she wanted to talk about?
Would it even matter anymore?
There was a time when I truly believed I could have it all. Felt the power of promise and a bright future, and there it was before me. Dull and unfulfilling.
THIRTY-ONE
PAST
NORA—Wednesday, September 15, 2010
The pain in my heart was dull, but persistent.
I sat in the courtroom beside Ives, someone who had been a good friend for a long time. My tears were real, and some of them had been for my dear friends, but most of them were for me.
And for Reagan.
The look on his face when he saw me that morning was utterly catastrophic. I hated seeing fury in his eyes toward me. I’d planned on calling him after I left the courthouse. I knew it was the weekend of his sister’s wedding.
I’d hoped that m
eeting with him that night, over dinner discussing things, would make things different.
I was so scared—so nervous—that I’d put off calling him. I could add that to a long line of times when I’d hesitated and stepped further into this hell.
Still, I’d slapped him.
It wasn’t his fault, but the venom in his words caused me to defend myself physically. Because it hurt so bad that he’d think so little of me to say it. To even think it.
When the trial was over, and the outcome was won in Janel’s favor, I still felt like I’d lost.
Even though I wouldn’t be attending the wedding now, for sure, I still needed to explain things. Many things.
I stepped out of the cab at 750 Lakeshore Drive and took a look up the height of it. The sun was going down, and it looked like a wall of fire. I wasn’t sure if he’d be there or not, but before he left, I had to see him. He’d expected the worst of me, and I had to quit deserving that.
I had to tell him the truth.
“Hello, Ms. Koehl,” said the gentleman at the desk. It wasn’t Dirk, so I wasn’t as confident I’d be let up as easily as I was the last time.
“I’m going up to see Reagan,” I said and pointed to the elevators.
He stepped around the desk and started to walk with me. “Actually, Ms. Koehl, we’ve been instructed to call up all visitors for Mr. Warren. After Dirk let you up, he was let go, ma’am.”
Reagan had him fired? Poor, Dirk Dangler.
I stopped and faced him, and he did the same. Kevin Reinhart his name tag said. Kevin hadn’t been there long when I’d lived there. He looked worried, and I didn’t want him to get in trouble because of me.
“Kevin, would it be okay if I call Mr. Warren myself to let him know I’m here?” I tried to remain calm, all the while knowing I might not get up there to see him. Maybe he was done, and I was truly blocked out.
“I’d feel more comfortable if I called up,” he admitted. I took a breath and tried to hold onto my composure. My eyes stung, but I wouldn’t cry.