by Anya Sharpe
“Derrick! You’re here!”
“Hey, babe. Sorry to keep you waiting. How was your day?” The kiss he gives her is almost too intimate for this group setting. I don’t want to watch, but can’t look away, either. Irritation swells inside me.
“Good. Yours?” They hold each other’s gaze while he traces her neck with a fingertip. The urge to rip his hands off her hits.
I don’t want to eavesdrop, but they’re sitting right across from me, and I’ll admit I’m curious. After ditching her all week, I want to see how things play out. Derrick greets everyone and signals the waitress. He always orders a gin martini. A classic lawyer cocktail.
“How’s your big case going, Derrick?” Yeah, I’m poking a hornet’s nest, but I can’t resist.
“Moving along. We go to trial in a few weeks. Still a lot of work to do, though.” The guy does look beat. I watch him loosen his tie, place an arm around Erynne’s shoulders, and plant a light kiss on her cheek. This gesture irks me, too. Which is stupid. He is, after all, her husband, I remind myself. Get a grip, Giamatti.
“I made us a reservation for Table One next week.” Now he’s, stroking her hair.
Erynne’s smile lights up the bar.
“That’s a pretty fancy place.” I take a sip of my beer, hoping to take the edge off my ridiculous inclinations. “Special occasion?”
“Our anniversary.” Derrick grins. “I proposed to her there.”
How original…
“Ooh! I forgot about your anniversary.” Maya chimes in, giddy. “They had the best wedding.”
“That was five years ago, Maya, geez. Not exactly yesterday.”
“You were a gorgeous bride, babe. The best day ever.” His eyes gentle on her, and his hand lightly strokes her face. He can’t keep his hands off her. Can’t say I blame him.
I shake my head. I can’t get a read on this guy. I’m not sure why I feel the need to anyway. He’s her husband. They’re clearly in love with each other. I’m being creepy. I’m looking for something that’s not there and doesn’t concern me.
Yeah. I’m a creep who’s got a thing for my co-worker. My married co-worker. This is just effing great. Giamatti, you’re a first-class idiot.
How the hell did this happen?
How do I get it to stop?
I need to line up some dates. It’s been a while. I make a mental note to make some calls as I scrub a hand over my face and head to the bar for another beer. Watching Derrick fawn over Erynne is pissing me off. “I’m such a damned fool.”
Done scolding myself, I return to our table. Derrick is frowning at his phone, then taps Erynne on the arm, drawing her attention away from her conversation with Maya.
“Hey, babe. I hate to do this, but I gotta go. Morgan texted me. Something came up with one of the depositions we’re doing tomorrow morning. It can’t wait. I’m sorry.”
“Seriously, Derrick? You’re leaving again?” Her voice is low, and disappointment is written in bold letters across her face.
“I’ll make it up to you, babe.” With a quick peck on her cheek, Derrick tosses some cash on the table for drinks, and leaves. Erynne is crushed. Maya appears concerned for her friend and leans over to say something. Erynne slowly nods her head, staring at her glass of wine.
I feel a strange ache inside at her sadness.
****
I pace the sidewalk in front of First Avenue while I wait for Becca to arrive. Giving her a call was a good idea. Why am I so damned nervous? We’ve casually dated on and off for about a year, but I haven’t seen her in more than a month.
It occurs to me we’ve never even had sex, which, when I think about it, is kind of weird. Random one-night stands aren’t my thing, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get my fair share of in-the-sack-time either. I’m a guy. I love beautiful women. I love sex, but being “in a relationship” isn’t a requirement. I’m just…let’s say choosy about who I’m going to hit the sheets with. Which is why I’m surprised Becca and I haven’t managed to do the horizontal mambo. She ticks all the right boxes.
What the hell has held us back? Maybe tonight we can round that base. Frankly, I’m long overdue in the getting laid department.
Becca steps out of the cab.
“Hey, how are you?” As I kiss her on the cheek, I decide I’m definitely gonna hit this. A certain sudden tightening in my body is the green light. I’m glad I gave myself a talking-to and called Bec earlier this week.
“You look terrific.” She does. Long, dark hair, big, brown eyes, legs a guy could spend hours admiring, touching. Our hands have done a bit of exploring. In fact, mine mapped those legs a few times in the past.
“You too. You went radio silent. I thought you might be avoiding me.” She flashes a sexy smile.
“Nah. New job. Busy getting the lay of the land and the life sucked out of me.” She nods and I grasp her hand. “Shall we?”
“Absolutely.” We head into the restaurant where we’re quickly seated.
Dinner turned out to be a reminder of how much I enjoy Becca’s company. Yeah, I should do this more often with her.
“More wine?”
“Of course.”
As I pour the last two glasses from a splendid bottle of Cabernet, my thoughts are moving ahead to the rest of the evening. I’ve almost convinced myself to bring her back to my place, when I hear a familiar voice call my name.
“Evan? What a surprise to see you here, too.” Erynne’s genuinely pleased as she greets me, Derrick at her side. I’m pretty sure someone upstairs hates me.
“Erynne, a definite coincidence.” Standing, I give her a polite peck on the cheek—bad move because she smells great—and extend a hand to a smiling Derrick.
“Becca, this is Erynne and Derrick Sommers. Erynne and I work together. This is Becca Stone.”
Erynne’s smile is huge as she reaches for Becca’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Becca. Evan’s been working too hard lately. I was beginning to think the guy had no social life. Thank God that’s not true.” She winks at Becca, who beams, figuring out work truly is what has made me scarce. No doubt she’s pleased to guess she must have been at the top of my list for tonight. She was. Number one, in fact.
After exchanging a few pleasantries, they head toward the exit. Derrick slips an arm around Erynne and pulls her close, planting a kiss on her temple as they stroll out.
“They seem like a nice couple,” Becca says, as she reaches for my hand across the table.
“Yeah. They do.”
I wish we hadn’t run into them tonight. Suddenly my plan of hitting the sheets with Becca has lost some its luster.
Chapter Five
Erynne
“Derrick?”
“Yeah, babe?” He answers absently while scrolling through texts and emails.
“What’s going on?”
I’m sitting next to him on the sofa the following evening, a Netflix movie playing on the television. I couldn’t tell you what it was about. Derrick’s incessant attention to his phone is irritating me. All through dinner he repeatedly checked notifications. He didn’t even compliment the meal, which is unusual. I’m not exactly a needy person, but I do like my dinner companion to converse with me—and maybe make eye contact with me once in a while. I might as well have dined alone.
“Huh?” He finally glances over at me.
“What’s going on?” I’m pressing him, and I can tell he doesn’t like it.
“We’re watching a movie? Why?” He’s perplexed by the simple question.
“I’m watching the movie.” Sort of, anyway. “You’ve been playing with your phone the whole time.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Derrick, you’ve barely looked at the TV. All during dinner, you answered texts. Who’s messaging you so often that you can’t pay attention to me?”
A swath of anger sweeps across his face.
“Are you serious, Erynne? It’s not like you to be so clingy.”
“Clingy? It’s not like
you to ignore me all night.” I don’t bother to hide the fact I’m upset. I want answers. “What’s going on, Derrick? You’re withdrawing. Why?”
“Withdrawing?” He snorts. “I’m under the gun here. Jesus, Erynne, you know this case is consuming me. Please don’t pile on now, too.”
A prickle of unease tells me something about his expression and mannerisms is off. He stomps into the kitchen, and I follow. He’s not getting off so easy. He sets his phone on the counter, and leans into the fridge to extract another beer.
“What are you keeping from me? There’s more going on than your stupid case.”
“Stupid case?”
His phone buzzes with an incoming text. Before I can read anything, he snatches it up and stuffs it into his pants pocket without looking at it. Or me.
“Who is that?” My stomach clenches and I’m trembling. This isn’t right. I can feel it in my bones.
“None of your…” He stops himself, squeezing his eyes closed for a few seconds. “Nothing. Business stuff.”
“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow. My mouth goes dry. Fear of the unknown rolls through me like a sand storm.
“Erynne.” He spears me with narrowed eyes. “Are you accusing me of something? If so, just spill it.”
I swallow hard. “No, I…What’s going on with us lately? Something’s not right.”
“Give me a fucking break, Erynne. I’m under a lot of pressure.” He turns away from me after shouting.
“There’s more, and you know it!” I’m shouting now. I never yell. We never fight. Not like this, but he’s giving me no choice.
“Stop being a bitch, Erynne.” He spins around and grabs my arms, squeezing so hard it hurts and glares at me. A vein in his temple throbs, while his normally gentle brown eyes are like dark pits sunk into an angry red face. His lips—the ones that have turned my entire body liquid with desire—are slammed tight together in a thin line. This Derrick scares me.
“What did you say to me?” The blood drains from my face. Derrick has never called me anything awful before or been this rough. When I wince in pain, he looks down at his hold on me.
“Dammit.” He releases me as if he’s been shocked and marches to the front door, where he grabs his keys from the dish on the side table. The door slams behind him, the sound echoing through the now silent apartment.
“What the hell just happened here?” I whisper into the quiet room while my body trembles.
It takes a long time to calm down, during which I waver between whether to call Maya or my mom, or simply riding this out alone until Derrick returns. I decide to wait in bed, certain he’ll be back soon ready with a remorseful apology.
I lie in under the covers alternately staring at the ceiling of the dark room and peering over at the clock.
11:05 p.m.—No Derrick.
12:43 a.m.—No Derrick.
2:02 a.m.—No Derrick.
My stomach pitches at random intervals until I finally doze off. The soft glow of sunrise peeks through the blinds, waking me from the light, restless slumber I slid into somewhere in the early hours.
6:22 a.m.—Derrick never came home last night.
My head pounds, and I’m sure I’m going to puke, so I rush to the bathroom and do just that.
****
“You okay, Erynne?” Evan’s watching me from across the table.
I’ve kept busy shuffling papers and pretending to work for some time now, because my brain is stuck on last night’s argument along with Derrick’s disappearance. Every once in a while, I’m aware of Evan’s eyes on me, trying to decide what to say to me.
“Mostly.” I doubt he believes me. “Jeez, it’s warm in here today. They must have the heat cranked up.”
I stand and remove my sweater, tossing it on the chair next to me. I had chills earlier. Now, I am practically sweating. Good grief, I hope I’m not coming down with a cold or the flu.
“What the hell’s that, Erynne?” Evan’s voice booms.
“What’s what?” I glance around the room, but there’s nothing worth noting. In a flash, Evan is next to me, holding my arms out in front of me.
“Where did you get these bruises?” He’s mad.
“What bruises?” I look down, and sure enough, dark purple fingerprints have sprouted on both arms. “Holy shit,” I whisper, sinking into the chair. A mirror isn’t necessary to tell me I’ve paled by about five shades.
“How did this happen?” Evan’s on his knees in front of me, sounding concerned, yet compassionate.
“I…I…don’t know?” I can’t meet his eyes. How could I not have noticed these bruises this morning when I showered and dressed?
I was too busy being miserable.
“What happened last night, Erynne?” He speaks gently, holding my hands and letting his thumbs rub soothing circles on each.
I blink back tears and shake my head, afraid to speak. What should I tell him? Any answer isn’t going to be good. A knock on the door is a reprieve.
“Yeah? Come in.”
“Delivery for you Ms. Sommers.” Elmer, one of the security guards, brings in a huge flower arrangement. “Can I set it on your desk?”
“Sure. Thanks, Elmer.”
“You’re welcome. Nice flowers. Your birthday or something?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
After Elmer leaves, I stare at the bouquet. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure who they are from, and why he sent them. I would have preferred he come home last night.
“Aren’t you going to read the card?”
“Oh. Yeah.” Tentatively, I pluck it from the arrangement with shaky hands, suck in a breath, and open the envelope.
Erynne—
I am so sorry about last night. Please accept my apologies.
Love, Derrick
Short and sweet, but not enough. The words are not heartfelt. “Because they’re not,” I mutter, tossing the card on the table, and moving to the window to stare outside. His secretary could have written the card.
“Erynne.”
I’d forgotten Evan was here. I turn around, to find him holding the card and standing directly in front of me.
“It might not be any of my business, but what happened? I’m worried about you.”
I force a weak smile. “We had a fight and he walked out on me. I’m sure it will be fine.” I’m not sure I believe my own words.
Evan tips up my chin with an index finger. “He hurt you.”
“I know you think so, but he didn’t…really.” I’m trying not to let tears flow in front of this man. My heart is lodged in my throat.
“Yes, sweetheart. He did. You have bruises. That’s not okay.” His words are gentle, caring. He smells good. Why am I noticing this? Why do I have the urge to be wrapped in his arms and comforted?
“It was an accident. He’s never done anything to hurt me. This was…out of character. Honestly.”
His expression tells me he doesn’t believe me. I glance at the clock on the wall—four-thirty. I’m exhausted.
“I, uh…I’m going to take off early. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
Plus, sitting here next to Evan anymore today is uncomfortable. I gather my sweater, jacket and purse, as he silently watches me.
“Erynne…” he starts, as I head to the door.
“I’m fine. Thank you, Evan. Lock up for me?” I walk out before he can say anything else.
****
After a hot shower and a light salad for dinner, I try to read my novel, but I’m not able to focus. Derrick hasn’t called, come home, or otherwise contacted me since storming out. I’m worried. Where is he and what he is doing? Maybe he’s too embarrassed to face me.
Gathering my courage, I send him a text.
Me: Hey—when are you coming home? Shouldn’t we talk about what happened?
Him: Yeah. We should.
Me: So…when will you be back?
Him: Soon.
Me: What does that mean?
He doe
sn’t respond to the last text. Hurt and anger well up inside me. I don’t understand what’s happening, but it’s more than the stupid trial and it’s shredding my heart. My mind races with theories that scare the crap out of me. I’m exhausted, yet I doubt I’ll be able to fall asleep. By eleven o’clock, Derrick’s still not home.
I rummage in the bathroom until I find half of a sleeping tablet, and climb into bed, waiting for it to take effect.
****
I’m drowning in deep grief. I’m aware this is a dream, but can’t wake myself up. It’s like I’m watching the whole scene unfold in my subconscious from a spot on the bedroom ceiling. An unseen weight is crushing my chest. Hot tears leak down my face, burning my skin, and wetting the pillow. Everything hurts.
The sadness is so real, so heavy, and I can’t figure out why I’m this sad. All I see is dark figures moving through a swirling, thick, gray mist, amid harsh voices which make no sense. The weight of grief, longing, fear, consumes me.
I awake with a gasp to the stillness of the bedroom. Time. What time is it? The sheets are knotted around me. Once I manage to get untangled and smooth out the covers, I roll over and squint at the clock—1:53 a.m.
The space next to me is empty again. Jesus. Derrick isn’t home yet. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I stumble in the dark to the bathroom. The room is hot, so I splash cool water over my sweaty face and take a few deep breaths. This can’t go on. Derrick and I need to talk about the hours he’s keeping, and everything else tomorrow. He’s never been this absorbed in a case before. I’m sure if Jamie was aware of this, he wouldn’t be pleased. Perhaps I should call Jamie myself. All that would do piss off Derrick. In the long run, it’s not my place.
As I’m settling back into bed, I hear the click of the front door. Instead of turning off the bedside lamp, I leave it on and wait for Derrick to come into our room.
“Hey, babe. Sorry I’m late.” He speaks quietly and looks like hell. Rumpled. The knot in his tie is yanked down low, and the deep circles under his eyes are dark craters.
“Where have you been, Derrick? It’s almost two a.m. I was worried.” Why we’re talking whispering, I have no idea. We don’t have any children who could wake up.