“By the way,” she called, stopping him from leaving. “Virginia called.” Virginia being Bartlett’s vice president of marketing. “She wanted to set up a meeting to discuss the company’s NBA campaign.”
“Did you?”
Anna’s eyes widened again. “Um, you were on the phone at the time. I wanted to find out who else should be included.”
Since sighing a second time would only make the girl more jittery, Simon settled for gripping the top of her cubicle wall. Delilah would have handled the entire thing on her own.
He reminded himself that Anna was new and still adjusting to his idiosyncrasies.
She also wasn’t Delilah.
“Schedule the meeting based on her schedule. We’ll coordinate who should attend later,” he told her. “And upload that media buy.”
“Which do you want me to do first?”
Heaven help him. “Both.”
He headed back to his office, wondering how late this setback would keep him at the office. Not that he minded the extra work these days. Just as the board had hoped, the Bartlett account was a major boon for CMT. In addition to avoiding layoffs, all three offices had to hire additional staffing to accommodate the increased workload. The board was so thrilled that his father had actually used the word proud.
Funny how his father’s pride always seemed to be inversely proportionate to how fraudulent Simon felt. Oh, sure, from the outside, the agency looked to be more successful than ever. They couldn’t see how unsteady Simon felt. Day in, day out he struggled to find solid footing. It was as though he was trying to walk on top of the swimming pool. His new assistant’s inability to read his mind only compounded the unsettled feeling.
Delilah could read his mind. From the very start she had this uncanny ability to know what he needed. Even in resigning. He’d been shocked to find out she’d called Jim Bartlett to let him know she’d taken a new position, going so far as to word her lie the exact way he’d planned to. Then again, he really wasn’t surprised at all.
“I have to admit,” Bartlett had said when he told Simon about the call, “I was looking forward to her being part of the team. You two had a real rapport. But I’m sure whoever replaces her will be equally good.”
No one would replace her, Simon had wanted to say. She was the best assistant he’d ever had.
Delilah was the best period.
God, he missed her like breathing. Every day for the past two weeks, she’d been everywhere he looked. Walking past the filing cabinets, he’d see her ponytailed head bent over a drawer. Her laugh would drift to him from the back of the elevator. Hell, while swimming the other day he swore he saw her shiny black flats waiting for him by the pool’s edge. He kept telling himself letting her go had been for the best. Every time, he heard her parting words mocking his choice. To let those bastards keep you from having a full and true life. That’s the real cowardice.
Coming around the corner, he nearly drew to a stop. Crap. As if his day couldn’t be worse, Chloe Abrams stood chatting with one of the other account assistants. She didn’t speak to him directly, but he could feel her eyes on him.
He pretended they weren’t trying to freeze holes in his body and smiled. “Good afternoon, Chloe. We haven’t seen much of you lately.”
What was he thinking? They hadn’t seen much of her because she wasn’t here visiting Delilah. A fact Chloe jumped on immediately. “Not much reason to be on this floor anymore, is there?” Simon wondered if his smile looked as false as hers. “I was just leaving.”
“Actually...” Don’t do it, the voice in his head screamed. Don’t open the wound more than it’s open already. But he had to. He needed to know how Delilah was doing. If she’d moved on.
“Before you go, could I have a word with you in my office?”
“Something you need, Mr. Cartwright?” she asked as soon as soon as he closed them inside.
Simon hesitated. From the glint in Chloe’s eyes, she knew exactly what he wanted. In a way, he was glad. It saved him having to try and be subtle. “Have you talked to Delilah lately?”
“We had drinks last night as a matter of fact.”
“She’s doing okay?”
The brunette quirked a smile. “About as well as can be expected, considering the circumstances.”
Considering, Simon silently repeated. Still, he needed more. Problem was, the questions he wanted to ask—Was she missing him? Did she still love him?—weren’t questions he had a right to ask. “Is she working?”
“Not yet. She’s had a couple interviews, but nothing’s come of them yet.”
“Something will break for her soon. She’s too good...” Breaking off, he walked toward his desk. “Would you tell her that if she needs a reference or if I can make any calls on her behalf...”
“No offense, but I don’t think she wants anything from you.”
Couldn’t blame her there. “She’s still angry, then.” Such an obvious thing to say.
“Angry?” Chloe replied. Out of the corner of his eye, Simon caught the end of her shrug. “More like sad. Really, deeply sad.”
So was Simon. He reminded himself yet again Delilah’s leaving was for the best. The more time passed, the less weight those words carried.
Behind him, Chloe could be heard nervously shifting her weight. “Is there anything else?” she asked him. “Otherwise, I should get back downstairs.”
“Of course,” he replied. “Thank you.
“Chloe!” He spoke up just as she was about to walk out. “Would you tell her...” Tell her what? Anything he wanted to say would only make the situation more painful for both of them. “Never mind.”
She gave him a long, scrutinizing look that made his skin itch and for a second he thought she might say something back. He was wrong. She gave a quick nod, and slipped out the door.
Give it a few more days, he said when his chest started to hurt. Things will improve.
A few days became another week and the pain lingered. At the month mark, Anna and her frightened eyes were replaced by Leon who, while far more organized, still didn’t fit quite right.
The mark left by the stapler reminded him that no one would. Because no matter how skilled or efficient his next assistant may be, he or she would never fit as perfectly as Delilah.
He still saw her ghost in the office and at night, when he collapsed in his empty bed, it was her voice he heard whispering in his head.
That night, after another tedious charity event with another insipid date, Simon took a long look at himself in the mirror. In his reflection, he saw what the rest of the world saw: a successful, powerful businessman. A mover and a shaker, one of the industry magazines called him. He’d always considered those compliments false, knowing as he did that beneath the accomplished exterior lay the truth—that he was nothing more than a scared, scarred nerd of a kid pretending to be a better man than he was.
You only see what happened to you; I see how you rose above it. He rubbed the back of his neck while snatches of Delilah’s words repeated themselves over and over. Not to have a full and true life. You rose above.
Had he? Risen above? Delilah certainly believed so. Said she loved him even. Flaws and all.
Exhausted, he let his head fall against the mirror. You, Simon Cartwright, are an idiot. Delilah loved him. A lifetime of happiness was his for the asking if he had the guts to take it.
Delilah was right. He was being a coward. And it was high time he stop.
Suddenly he knew where he had to go. It was time he visited the past once and for all.
* * *
The building hadn’t changed much in fifteen years. The gray shingles were still pale and mossy, the walls still worn and weather-beaten. In fact, the only significant change was the padlock dangling from the latch.
Fortune was on
his side. The lock was open. Inside, the place had changed even less. Sculls lined the sides, life jackets hung on the walls. Someone had painted the letters BNA in bright blue on the peak over the riverfront door, in case rowers forgot which school they represented.
Simon got halfway to the door when the shaking started. Beginning from deep inside, and rippling outward like waves on the shore, they kicked the knees out from under him, knocking him to the ground. As he clung to his middle, he realized why. It was here, on this very spot. Details came rushing back, memories he’d tried so hard to drown. He saw their eyes, heard Chip’s drunken laugh. Where you going, freshman? The party’s just started... And he saw his teenage self, standing in the same spot, arms pinned behind his back so he couldn’t escape. He remembered now. He’d tried to struggle. He’d begged. They wouldn’t let him go.
“No,” he groaned at the memories. “No, no!” His fist pounded the wooden floor in time with the chant. “No!” he screamed. Over and over until all the rage and humiliation he’d pushed down deep boiled over in a long, anguished scream.
When the final rageful sound had pushed it way out, he collapsed to the ground. Lungs raw, tears staining his cheeks, he grabbed his knees and he let himself cry. He cried for the boy whose childhood died that day and he cried for the boy who wasn’t allowed to grow up whole. For the man he became. The shattered, guarded man whose heart wanted so badly to let someone in. And he cried for all the years he lost to fearing this memory. He cried until there were no more tears left to cry, and all he could do was lie there and listen to the sound of his ragged breathing filling the musty air.
Little by little, his breathing eased, revealing another sound. Splat-splish. Splat-splish. Below the floor the river lapped the shoreline.
Fifteen years ago he’d heard the same rhythm. It had entered his soul, soothed his anguish. In that sound he’d found the strength to get up and go on with his life. For fifteen years he let what happened in this building define him and in doing so, he’d failed to see the rest of the definition. Delilah was right; the boy he called a coward had a lot more strength than he gave him credit for.
Drying his eyes, he lay and listened. Lap by lap, the river began to wash away the dirt and shame, filling the cracks of his shattered soul. Simon closed his eyes, and tried to imagine the pieces coming together. What he saw was a pair of soft, welcoming eyes the color water should be. One by one, the pieces snapped back in place, until all that was left was one Delilah-shaped hole.
I love you. Broken pieces and all.
What a fool he’d been. So much time wasted.
He hoped it wasn’t too late.
With his hands shaking, he fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed the office. “Leon,” he barked, “I need you to put me through to either Chloe Abrams or Larissa Boyd. I don’t care which one. Whichever one you can reach first. And tell whoever answers it’s urgent.”
* * *
“I’ve narrowed my decision to two choices. Which one do you like? Historical Long Island or Mexican destination?”
Chloe picked up the first of two brochures Larissa had laid on the restaurant table. “Shouldn’t Tom be helping you make the decision?”
“He’s no help. Every time I ask him, he says, ‘It’s up to you.’ Which one do you like best, Delilah? Del?” She waved a hand in front of Delilah’s face. “Are you there?”
“Sorry,” Del replied. “What was the question?”
“Which venue do you like?”
“Shouldn’t Tom be helping you pick one?”
On the other side of the table, her friends exchanged a look. Realizing the question had already been asked, Delilah apologized again. “I guess my mind wandered,” she told them.
“No kidding,” Larissa told her. “You’ve been spacing out all night.”
“I’m sorry about that too.” She picked at the corner of her Bartlett’s Ale label. Why she ordered the brand in the first place, other than for strictly masochistic reasons, was beyond her. She didn’t even like the stuff all that much.
“I guess weddings aren’t my favorite topic at the moment. Or anything else remotely related to romance for that matter. Yesterday I got teary-eyed at a fabric softener commercial.”
“Exactly why we dragged you out tonight,” Chloe said. “It’s been a month since you quit. You can’t keep staying holed up in your apartment. It’s not healthy.”
“I go out.”
“For job interviews. How’d today’s go by the way?”
“Good.” The label tore. She stripped off a long, thin line. “Placement agency thinks they’ll offer me the job.”
“Fantastic!” Larissa exclaimed.
She supposed. The job was with a smaller, midtown agency. Nothing at all like CMT. Actually, none of the agencies Delilah had interviewed with had been like CMT.
Because none of the other agencies had Simon.
Delilah suppressed a sigh. She always considered herself a resilient person, but hard as she might try, she couldn’t move on. Four weeks later and she still spent her days fighting memories. Since walking out of his office, she’d seen Simon’s face twice. Both times it was in the gossip columns. In both pictures, the women he escorted wore huge, happy smiles. But really, who wouldn’t smile having Simon hold them? Lord knows, she’d beamed all that Saturday night.
In the pictures though, Simon’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.
That sad expression...that was the reason she couldn’t let go. It killed her not to know how he was doing. Chloe and Larissa wouldn’t tell her. She’d made them promise not to, and they were, unfortunately, honoring her request. Lack of information was killing her. For all she knew the sadness in Simon’s photos was a product of her imagination.
One thing was certain. She definitely had a new appreciation for her mother’s grief. Delilah’s insides felt like someone had cut a three-mile-wide hole through the center. Too big to be filled by anyone not named Simon Cartwright.
She had the bad feeling she was about to follow in her mother’s footsteps. Spending the rest of her life half-living and alone.
Shoving her beer bottle aside, she reached for her pocketbook. “I’m sorry,” she said for the third time. “I appreciate what you’re doing, but I’m not going to be very good company. How about we take a rain—”
“No!” Larissa interrupted. “You can’t go. Right, Chloe?”
“Right,” Chloe agreed. “We need to celebrate your potential job.”
“I promise we’ll celebrate if I get the offer.” Right now she wanted nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep.
“But I need some advice about barista boy.”
Delilah might have believed her if she didn’t see Larissa nudge Chloe with her shoulder. Having seen it, however, the hair on the back of her neck began prickling. “All right, you two, what’s going on?” she asked. “Why are you so desperate to keep me here at the bar?”
“I asked them to.”
Delilah swore her heart stopped. Sure enough. There, at the table’s edge, stood Simon. Rumpled and unshaven, he looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
Her first instinct was to leap to her feet. She didn’t. Instead she turned her eyes on the two sheepish women sitting with her.
“Don’t be mad,” Larissa said. “We didn’t tell you because we were afraid you wouldn’t come.”
“I’m not mad,” Delilah replied. She didn’t know what to feel. Scared. Hopeful. A zillion emotions rolled around inside her.
“Good,” Chloe said. “Because we’d head-slap you if you were.” As she slipped out of the booth, she gave Delilah’s shoulder a squeeze. “Hear him out,” she whispered. “He misses you.”
And she missed him. Simply reappearing in her life, however, wasn’t enough. She was done chasing while he ran away.
“S
o you got my friends to help trick me,” she said once Chloe and Larissa vanished. “Whatever you told them must have been pretty convincing. Chloe’s a hard sell.”
“I told her the truth. I wanted to talk with you. I miss you.”
Missed her, huh? “Funny, I didn’t hear my phone ringing.”
“I didn’t think you’d take my calls.”
“Of course I’d have taken them,” she said, reaching for her beer. He knew darn well she’d take them. She only declared her love on the way out the door.
A hand plucked the bottle from her fingers. “It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere?”
“What can I say? I’ve acquired a taste.” He returned the bottle, but no longer thirsty, she set it out of reach. “You said you wanted to talk with me? What about?”
“Do you mind if I sit?”
“Go ahead.”
She gestured for him to take a seat on the other side of the booth, but to her surprise he slid next to her, drawing so close they touched thigh to thigh. “I went back,” he told her.
Back? Until this moment, she’d refused to give him a second look, but hearing his statement, her head shot up. “You mean?”
“To the boathouse.” He picked up her bottle and took a long drink. “After you quit, I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said. About me being a coward.”
“I should never have said—”
“Don’t apologize. You were right.” He shifted so he could face her. Delilah was shocked to find his eyes clear and bright without a trace of the anguish she expected. “I was being a coward. Not then. Now. I spent all these years beating myself up for something that wasn’t my fault. I don’t want to beat myself up anymore.”
“I’m so glad,” she whispered. Maybe now, finally, he could let himself heal.
A tear had slipped down her cheek. She moved to brush it aside, only to feel the warmth of Simon’s touch. “Me too,” he told her. “I’m done running away from what I want.”
It was Delilah’s turn to be afraid. She’d misread his words before, only to have her hopes dashed. She needed to hear him say the words. And so she held her breath.
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