“If anyone can do it, you can.”
Annabelle smiled at her sister’s confidence. She would miss the daily support she offered and hoped she could survive without the safety net her family provided. Until two months ago she’d never lived alone, and tonight would be her first night in her entire life alone in the city. Insecurities threatened to cripple her every time she let herself wander down the treacherous slope that always ended with her dying alone. No, the fear of being alone was just another in a long line of things she’d learned to clamp down on. Those emotions never went away. Sadness was her constant companion. She kept from being consumed only by pushing toward whatever next step she needed to take. Happiness was a thing of the past, as were laughter, humor, and real enjoyment, but she had productivity and the shred of satisfaction that accompanied it.
With that in mind, she hugged her sister one last time and pulled out of her driveway. She felt no excitement at the start of her new adventure, and only a modicum of nervousness. This journey was just one more joyless step she had to take, whether she particularly wanted to or not. The emotions would overtake her eventually. She’d cry when she got to the hotel tonight, but she wouldn’t give herself that luxury before then.
*
Nic threw another tie into her trashcan. It was too stained to salvage, at least by her sub-par laundry skills. She wasn’t helpless. Growing up the way she had, she’d learned early to separate whites from colors and to tumble-dry delicates. When she’d started climbing the corporate ladder, she’d also learned to be friendly with a dry cleaner, but she couldn’t beat the stains. Belle could take a white shirt dribbled in chili or khakis caked in grass stains, and within an hour she’d have them looking like something in the window of a designer boutique.
Belle.
God, she missed her.
She missed the security and the comfort, the unconditional love and steady support. She felt aimless, unmoored, and unsettled to the point that a silly stain left her almost morose. Not to mention frazzled by all the day-to-day details she was left to consider alone instead of simply handing them over like she used to.
Now the damaging mix of ketchup and grease she’d let leak from her cheeseburger had claimed her last lavender tie. She’d run out of baby-blue ones last week. She would have worn darker colors, but the men in her line of work often found it hard enough to handle a woman in a tie, so she stuck to more feminine colors. Maybe if she went without a tie and just left an extra button undone at her collar no one would notice.
She glanced at her reflection in the plate-glass window of her office, trying to decide whether a well-kept butch would be more pleasing than a disheveled femme. She could shed her suit coat, which was rumpled after she’d failed to hang it up the night before, but that revealed the way her shirt bunched up at the waist of her slacks. She’d put on a few pounds in the last couple months. She thought she’d get skinnier without Belle’s Southern cooking, but apparently substituting Kentucky Fried Chicken for the homemade variety wasn’t an even trade in either taste or fat content. She needed to get to the gym more, and by more she meant she should actually go instead of working until ten every night, then snuggling up with her fast food and ESPN until she fell asleep.
The absence of excitement was the price she paid for what she’d done to Davis. No more verbal sparring, no more spur-of-the-moment adventures, no passion, and no sex. In her attempt to chase both roots and wings, she’d ended up cutting off both. Not that she sulked. She rarely let herself feel any genuine emotion beyond remorse or regret. She didn’t deserve sympathy or even sadness. She’d made her bed, and she’d sleep in it…alone.
“Hey, Nic.” Wade Williams stuck his head in her office door. “You coming to this meeting?”
“Yeah, I’m on it.” She grabbed a leather-bound portfolio off her desk and joined him as they walked through the massive office complex.
“What’s your read on the Dillon contract?”
“Pretty standard. They’ve been advertising with us for almost a decade. Steady income, mid-level package, solid, but nothing to write home about.”
“Have you talked to the old man recently?”
“Not in person, but we touched base about two weeks ago.” She eyed him suspiciously. Wade reminded her of a young George W. Bush. He was puny, standing two or three inches shorter than she, and a bit skinnier, too. His expensive suit was wasted on his lesser frame. His frat-boy demeanor and goofy grin would’ve made him a joke at this level in business if not for his trust fund and his daddy’s social connections. “Why? You got something going on?”
“Nah, like you said, nothing to write home about.”
“Really? ’Cause I’m your senior regional manager and—”
“Hey, dude.” Wade raised his hands and smiled without a hint of embarrassment about being ten years too old to call anyone dude. “You don’t have to pull rank on me. I’ve just been shooting the breeze.”
She stopped outside the door of the conference room. “I’m not pulling rank, but if you’ve been shooting the breeze with one of my clients, you have a responsibility to report it to me.”
His smiled faded to a smirk, but he offered no further explanation as he held open the door and said, “Ladies first.”
She scowled as she moved past him, and he at least had the good sense to look away from the daggers she shot him with her eyes as they took their seats. She nodded at her regional vice president. “Mr. Clarke.”
“Hey, Joe, how’s Tami?” Wade asked with a familiarity that made Nic want to slap him upside the head. She always addressed her bosses with their formal title to show respect for their position, even if she didn’t carry any admiration for them as people. “Mom said she missed her at the gala this weekend.”
“We spent last week in Athens.” Joe Clarke was not a big talker. He did his job well with little fanfare, and he rarely missed a detail. He expected the same out of his subordinates.
Wade raised his eyebrows at Nic, no doubt noting that their boss and his trophy wife had been on Nic’s home turf, or they would have been if Nic still lived in Athens, which she didn’t, but no one at work needed to know that. Especially Wade.
A couple more sales reps took their seats before the meeting got under way. They went over each account, updating information, reviewing contracts, and making suggestions on how to pitch certain features to niche markets. Nic tried to stay focused, but she was bored and distracted by her lingering unease about her earlier conversation with Wade. That little snake was up to something, and she needed to figure out what before she got blindsided.
Suddenly it occurred to her that the room had gotten very quiet and everyone was looking at her. Damn, what had she missed?
“Dramatic pause before revealing the composite numbers, Nic? You’re always the salesman, huh?” Vince Ruckle said. He was about thirty and the only African-American in the room, or their entire district for that matter. Nic had always liked his self-deprecating but steady approach, both in and out of the conference room. “I wish I had your flare for storytelling.”
Nic smiled and tried to silently convey her thanks for not only cueing her into what she’d missed, but also offering a plausible explanation for her delay.
“All right, without further ado,” she said, pulling the meeting back into her wheelhouse, “we’re up six percent on the quarter.”
Nods of approval came from all around the table, but most notably from her boss as he added, “Good work, everyone.”
She sat back, relieved to have dodged that bullet and getting to deliver some good news in the process. She was about to give herself a metaphorical pat on the back when Wade cleared his throat.
“Well, I’ve got a little bit of good news to pile on top of that. Not sure if it’ll go on this quarter’s numbers or next, but I golfed in a foursome with the Dillons this weekend and talked the old man into bumping his package up to the next level. That’ll be a thirteen-percent increase on our third-biggest district accou
nt. That’s got to help the overall picture a bit too, right, Nic?”
“Those numbers will go on next quarter,” Nic said, behind what she hoped was not a too-transparent smile, “after I confirm the details of the contract.”
“It’s all confirmed, Boss Lady,” he said, just cheekily enough to hide his condescension. She wanted to choke him. “Contract is getting vetted by legal right now. Any idea how that will affect our projections?”
Nic flipped through her folio quickly, her panic rising along with her anger. She wanted to believe she wasn’t seeing her projection spread sheet because she was simply too flustered with Wade to focus, but she might’ve forgotten to bring it to the meeting altogether. Unfortunately this sort of thing happened more frequently than she was comfortable with. “You know what, I don’t want to jump the gun on anything. Why don’t I review the numbers this afternoon, and you’ll all have the adjusted figures in your in-boxes tomorrow morning.”
She had another full night of work ahead. It wasn’t like she had anything to rush home to, anyway. She didn’t really feel like she had a home anymore. The cheap efficiency apartment she rented hardly qualified. Why did it feel like she was working harder to make less progress? Forgetting numbers, losing focus in a meeting, getting scooped by one of her own reps—none of it was acceptable. Work was all she had left. Wade had gone from being just a nuisance to a real problem, and she already had all the problems she could handle.
Chapter Twelve
“Oh, for the love of all things holy, would it kill you to open your blinds occasionally?” Cass was barely through the front door before she started in on Davis.
“Good morning to you, too.” Davis didn’t try to keep the caustic edge out of her voice. She’d never been a morning person and was even less so now that she’d developed the habit of working until two or three am.
“Is it morning? How do you know if you can’t see the sunlight, Vampire Queen?”
“I didn’t want to see the sunlight. I wanted to sleep in this morning. Hence—” Davis nodded down at her pajama shorts and tank top.
Cass gestured to her own impeccably tailored pinstripe suit. “And here I am woefully overdressed, except for that fact that it’s almost noon on a workday in the middle of a bustling city.”
“Good point. I should let you get back to that high-powered job of yours.” Davis started to close the door, but Cass caught it.
“Get dressed. I’m taking you to lunch.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I know this bereavement diet of yours has you down a whole pants size, but I got stood up for a house showing, and my next one is right in your neighborhood. I refuse to spend the next hour bumming around Midtown like a hobo.”
She rolled her eyes. No one anywhere could mistake a striking six-foot blonde in designer clothes and freshly manicured nails for a hobo, but Davis acquiesced, pulling on shorts and a clean T-shirt. She hadn’t been outside in two days, and while she’d never admit it to Cass, part of her did worry about slipping into an oblivion she couldn’t pull herself out of.
“Can you at least find it in your bitter little heart to put on khakis and something with a collar? I thought I might splurge for a restaurant where the flatware isn’t plastic.”
Davis shot Cass her best “don’t push it” look.
“Okay, The Flying Biscuit it is.”
They strolled down the street, the slow rhythmic smack of her flip-flops against the blazing hot concrete providing a lethargic baseline to the light click of Cass’s two-inch heels. August in the middle of Atlanta brought temperatures a few degrees warmer than Hades. It was the only time of year she wished she had a car because the thought of riding a bike in this heat made her want to punch someone. This year had been better so far because she had zero desire to go anywhere or do anything anyway. If not for the coffeehouse on the corner or Cass dropping in uninvited, she could go weeks without talking to another human being.
They took their seats at a table near a window so they could see all the people passing by on the sidewalk and feel grateful to be in the air-conditioning.
Cass ordered a warm chicken salad and managed to refrain from making a snarky comment when Davis ordered eggs with both cheese grits and home fries. Comfort food had been the one traditional post-break-up luxury she allowed herself. She rarely had any desire to eat, so when the urge did arise, she felt entitled to a little bit of bad etiquette. Cass rarely tolerated any hint of wallowing, so her silence on the double helping of starch made Davis suspicious.
They shared an uncharacteristically polite conversation about the weather and exchanged some politically correct comments about the gay community’s most recent attempts to gentrify a neighborhood adjacent to Midtown. The longer they went without bitching at one another, the more surreal it felt. They were nearing the end of a perfectly civil hour in a public place before Cass said, “Now, darling, doesn’t that feel good?”
Davis glanced at her empty plate. “Are you asking if my lunch went down all right?”
“No, I was referring to being a social member of society. You know, fresh air, conversation, people passing by without you hurling insults at them.”
“Is that why you brought me out? Was this some sort of a test of my social fitness?
Cass smiled. “If it was, you passed. You’re fully capable of functioning outside your cave of pity. Let’s do it more often, okay?”
“I really appreciate you trying to help me—”
“Help you? Oh, you know I’m more selfish than that, and I’m bored out of my skull without you.”
“I’ve seen you work a women’s bar too many times to believe you lack for company.”
“Do you really think any of those women serve as a substitute for my best friend? Nic has had six months of your life, and I hate her for that, but mostly I miss you. I want the old Davis back.”
Davis had no snappy remark for Cass’s sudden bout of sincerity. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be that person again. I don’t think I’m grieving anymore. It doesn’t feel temporary.”
“So that’s just it? No more nights on the town? No more trashy movies and martinis?” Cass looked deflated. Her shoulders slumped and she stared into her iced tea. “I’d even let you drag me to the park or to some hippie art festival or, God forbid, on a bike ride.”
Davis felt her lips quirk into a near smile. Offering to do something outside was a major concession for Cass, and while she didn’t feel like doing anything other than going back to her apartment and slipping on some sweat pants, she couldn’t stand to see her cool and confident friend so dejected. “You’d really ride bikes in the park with me?”
Cass grimaced. “I’d ride a bike or go to the park, not both.”
“Okay, look, I can’t promise to be good company, but if you’re willing to try that hard, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Much like my luck in the clubs these days. I’ll take what I can get and make it work.”
“That’s the Cass I know and love.”
“I’m also the Cass who needs to get back to work. I’m meeting a new client across the street in like two minutes. Walk with me?”
“Sure.” They left the restaurant, but Davis took only two steps into the steamy afternoon sun before she went cold. She stopped and shook her head, trying to erase the vision before her. It had been months since she’d been overwhelmed by the image of Annabelle standing on the corner in front of the bookstore, but there she was. Davis dreaded the flashbacks of watching her crumple to the sidewalk or hearing her sobs, but she prayed that’s what she was experiencing now. Surely this ghost would fade or vanish, slipping away silently like she did in her dreams, but Annabelle remained standing across the busy intersection staring blankly at the empty bookstore patio.
“Oh, that must be her. She’s supposed to be an elementary-school teacher. Looks the part, doesn’t she?” Cass’s voice sounded far away over the hammering of Davis’s heart. “You want me to just come by your place tom
orrow night for our park trip?”
Davis couldn’t process the question, much less answer. It took everything she had to breathe. The pain and confusion all rushed back, dragging her into that awful moment when she’d seen Annabelle in that spot for the first time. She wanted to run, and even started to back up, but Cass caught her with an arm around her waist. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head but couldn’t say anything yet.
“Davis, good Lord, are you having a stroke?”
“No.” She kept shaking her head, which only made her dizzier. “I just…God, I didn’t think it could still hurt like this.”
“What hurts? Where?”
“Seeing her. It hurts to see her.”
“Who? My client?” Cass felt her forehead. “Or do you see something else?”
“Annabelle.” Davis took a deep breath, steadying her nerves. “Your new client.”
“Yes, Annabelle Taylor, I think.”
“Nic’s Annabelle.”
“Oh, shit.” Cass looked over again. “You were right. She looks like a modern Southern belle.”
“Don’t call her ‘Belle.’”
“I’m not going to call her anything. I can’t work with her.”
“No.” Davis found her voice again, and the blood slowly returned to the upper half of her body. “Don’t be silly.”
“Silly? You almost passed out at first sight, but I’m silly?”
Davis tried to steady her voice, both for her own sake and for Cass’s. “I was surprised to see her standing in the same spot where it all happened. I’d just let down my guard—”
“Right, you finally let down those walls. I don’t want them to go back up. She can find another realtor.”
“No, Cass.” Davis grabbed her wrist, maybe tighter than she meant to. “Please help her. None of what happened was her fault.”
“It wasn’t your fault, either. You don’t have any responsibility to her.”
“I know.” And she did know, intellectually anyway, but memories of Annabelle’s anguish had been almost as hard to escape as her own pain. There was something so fragile about her, something Davis had the urge to protect, maybe out of her own guilt or perhaps something deeper. “Please, just help her.”
Does She Love You? Page 16