by Anah Crow
Julie caught sight of Nick and nudged Holly’s elbow to get his attention. Holly needed to work on his manners, though. He abandoned his conversation the moment he saw Nick and came over, barely managing to keep a sedate pace.
“Hey.” There was that brilliant smile again.
“Hey.” God, Nick couldn’t tell Holly what had happened, couldn’t let him find out. He would know it was because of the way Nick had helped him, and the knowledge would be crushing. Nick couldn’t do that to him. He managed a smile and pulled Holly into a quick hug. “I’m on my way out, and I wanted to see you before I go.”
Holly hugged him back tightly and then let him go, but his hand lingered on Nick’s arm. “I’m glad you did. We’re going down to Baltimore tomorrow. Dann’s got some MTV thing to shoot, and he wants me there. That show where they let high school kids try to turn pro at their dream sport. I’m going to stay with him and Jules for a while if that’s okay with you.”
It felt like Nick was losing everyone who mattered. He had to let go, though. He had to let Holly live his life.
“It’s okay,” Nick said, resting his free hand over Holly’s. “It’s good. I’m so proud of you, Holly. You’re doing great.”
“Because of you.” Holly squeezed Nick’s arm gently. He looked sad and young. “I feel like I’m running out on you. First to Aspen, now this. It feels weird. I’ll come back if you want. Whenever you want.”
Nick couldn’t do that to Holly. Not now, not when his life was falling apart around him. His wife, his job…Nick didn’t know what he was going to do.
“You’re not running out. You’re living your life. That’s what you should be doing.” He couldn’t do anything to jeopardize this new life Holly had made for himself. No matter what Holly said or thought, he’d done all the work. Nick had just taken care of him long enough for him to be ready.
“Okay. Thanks, Nick. I can’t say it enough times. I’ll come back and say it. It’s not like I’m going to China. You want me to keep the GPS card?” Holly’s smile suggested he wouldn’t mind. “Then you’ll always know where I am if you want to find me.”
Nick smiled, a real smile he felt all the way down to his gut.
“Keep it,” he said, clasping Holly’s shoulder and leaning in to press a kiss to Holly’s forehead, the way Holly so often did to him. “I like knowing where you are, that you’re safe.”
“I will, then.” Holly hugged him once more, fiercely, without warning. “I love you,” he murmured. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” Then, just as suddenly, he let Nick go. “I’ll let you know when I get settled. Be good.”
The text message the night Holly got hit by the cab was the only other time he’d said that to Nick, and the words were startling.
“I love you too. Take care of yourself, Holly. I’ll see you later.”
Not goodbye, Nick told himself as he walked away, dropping his glass off at one of the tables and heading out the door. Even if Holly was leaving him, moving on, they’d still see each other. It wasn’t like Caroline, like Max. Things between him and Holly—they were still good. Nick thought they were still good. He hoped they were. He’d been wrong about so much…
***
It didn’t quite feel real until Nick came home—not that it was home anymore, and he sure as hell didn’t want to stay here—and found the cabinet cleared of wedding china and the closets half-empty. It was really over.
Now it was time to clean up the debris.
Nick looked around the living room at the few pieces of artwork Caroline had left, and realized he hated them all. None of the paintings held any meaning for him. The Bickman piece, an angular stainless steel sculpture in the corner, was hollow, just like his life with Caroline had been. He didn’t want any of it.
Packing his clothes was the easy part. Nick dumped them into boxes, hangers and all. Suits, tuxedos, jeans, shirts—it didn’t matter. He could deal with it later.
Once the closets were cleaned out, though, Nick found boxes of things he’d almost forgotten existed, relics from a person he’d almost forgotten he’d ever been. To Caroline, they had been nothing more than detritus.
“I don’t know why you insist on keeping those things.”
And so he’d tucked it all into nondescript boxes and hidden them in the back of the bedroom closet, certain Caroline would never get rid of enough clothes to find them and get pissed. Opening the boxes was like digging up a time capsule.
He set aside the clippings from his college newspaper, slightly crumpled, in favor of the cardstock-bound amateur literary magazines produced by various college organizations. Opening one on top, he turned to the table of contents.
Bed of Sorrows by Nicholas Addison
He ran his fingers over the words, feeling the heavy grain of the paper interrupted by the slick lines of ink.
“I found a magazine I think might be a good fit for this one. I’m going pick up some stamps from the bookstore tomorrow and send it off.”
“Why?” Caroline’s voice had been so flat, as though she’d been offended he might want something more than her vision of their life together. “You’re not a fiction writer. You’re a journalist.”
He pulled his hand back and let the cover fall closed. Beneath the clippings and magazines, Nick found his a pile of old steno pads. He flipped one open. His slanted handwriting was smeared with graphite dust, but he could still read it. The rest of the boxes were filled with steno pads, filled to overflowing with stories, so many stories.
Once, they’d filled up his head just like that. To overflowing. He hadn’t been able to keep from writing them. Once. Not anymore. He hadn’t written that way in years.
Caroline had never been interested in his stories. Holly, though…If he flipped through more of the steno pads, he’d find Holly’s tight scrawl in the margins, detailing his reactions in whatever color pen or pencil was within reach while he was reading. Holly’s notes had made the stories feel real. Like they mattered. Nick was sorry he’d ever had to fumble for an answer to the question of what Holly did for him.
***
It only took two trips in a cab to move everything Nick had decided to keep. Everything else, all the furniture and artwork, went to a storage locker.
None of that stuff would fit in Holly’s apartment. Nick needed a place to stay, and he still held the lease. And, in low moments when he couldn’t be anything but honest with himself, he admitted he felt safe there. Where he’d made choices that helped Holly get back on his feet. Where he hadn’t screwed everything up.
He didn’t have the energy to unpack the boxes. Most of them, he left where they landed—all over, except for paths from the bed to the couch, front door, kitchen and bathroom. A few, he opened up so he could get to his clothes and toiletries. It was like living out of a suitcase while on a business trip, except the suitcases were cardboard and this was his life.
It was only temporary. Just until he figured out what he was doing next.
He called Senator Ingalls a few times, as well as her former interns, putting together a story he could maybe sell freelance. With all the inquiries into her husband’s activities, the party nomination was no longer a sure thing, even though the senator was the incumbent. That could be a good angle. Political blogging was a big deal now. Maybe he could get into that, do stories for an online magazine. He’d look into it once he had a pitch ready to go.
Getting a pitch ready turned out to be harder than he’d thought. It wasn’t like he hadn’t prepped for pitch meetings at the Gazette, but this was different. Same process, different life.
Crumpled yellow balls littered the floor around the couch and, once that was impassable, the bed as well.
Can infidelity be a good thing? Senator Ingalls is using her husband’s indiscretions as motivation to focus on her goals.
A good thing. A good thing? The paper snagged and tore when Nick scratched out the words, but they were still there, still visible around the tattered edges. A go
od thing? The pen smacked against the brick fireplace and clattered to the floor; the paper fluttered to settle limply on the handle of the poker.
It wasn’t enough. He grabbed for the balls of paper and flung them across the room too, all of them, watching them arc and patter to the floor in a pile that grew and shifted until the hearth disappeared.
This wasn’t him anymore. Maybe it never had been. He’d been wrong about so many other things. Maybe he’d been wrong about journalism too.
The phone trilled, startling him out of his anger and melancholy, and he touched Answer before realizing whose picture was staring at him from the screen. “Caroline.”
“Nick. We need to talk.” She sounded as confident as ever, full of certainty that the world would fall in line with her desires.
Habit had Nick agreeing before he could think better of it. “Do you want to meet somewhere for coffee?”
“Oh, Nick,” Caroline said, her tone somehow both disappointed and amused. In the background, Nick heard Max’s voice.
He’d made a terrible mistake. Again. “What do you want to talk about, Caroline?”
“I left the Bickman piece when I packed my things. I’m just calling to make arrangements to have it picked up.”
The Bickman piece was an angular mass of stainless steel Nick had hated from the moment Caroline bought it at a gallery opening two years ago.
“I sold it for scrap metal,” he said flatly. He hadn’t, but he would now. He wanted to throw the damn phone across the room to join the mountain of discarded paper but settled for hanging up on her instead.
Fucking Caroline. Had she ever really loved him? Had he ever loved her? Or had she simply been the right woman to marry to complete the façade of a perfect life? Nick didn’t know. It didn’t matter now.
When the phone rang again, Nick dropped it on the floor. For once it didn’t matter who was calling. He couldn’t face anyone from his old life—his pretend life—not even Holly. Leaving everything where it lay, he crawled into bed. He was done with this life, with pretending he knew anything, with the man he used to be. Finished.
Chapter Ten
Holly was packing for Mexico when the office phone in his Baltimore apartment rang. His cell phone was off, and if that was Danner calling again, Holly was going to drive over to the main office and gently, lovingly, strangle him into unconsciousness. Both of them hated flying, but Holly was beginning to grasp that the true hell of air travel was flying with Danner. He threw two boxes of Dramamine and half a bottle of Xanax into his carry-on with the GPS tracker.
The phone fell silent before clicking over to voice mail. He didn’t have much to pack. They’d pick up a lot of their clothes at the Baja store. His tux, at least the jacket and pants, was already hanging in the garment bag. He’d wear it with a Stone Age Sports T-shirt and skate shoes. The phone beeped, and Holly straightened, listening to see if the caller would leave a message. Julie never left anything more than five words. Danner, on the other hand, would run out the allotted message time and call back with more.
“Hollister?”
Who the hell called him Hollister? Even Dad had given up on that.
“It’s Joaquin, your brother.”
Half brother. Holly found himself at his desk, staring at the phone.
“Your office said you’d be at home. Devon wants to talk to you.”
Devon, Joaquin’s daughter. Holly hadn’t seen her since the party when he’d graduated from college. He picked up the phone. “Hi, Joaquin. Uh, sure, yeah, I’ll talk to Devon.”
Holly tried to work out how old she’d be now. She’d been fresh out of kindergarten and ready for first grade when he saw her—a proper young lady in her white Mary Janes and carrying her very own parasol. Joaquin’s son, Dylan, had been overly solemn at nine, with a little bow tie on his dress shirt and dress shorts and sandals. That had been back when the family had thought he’d turn out like his half brothers. When they’d had some hope for him. He hadn’t turned out like them, and they’d stopped hoping and calling.
“Devon, I’ve got Uncle Hollister on the phone for you.”
There was a squeal and a scuffle. “Uncle Hollister?” She sounded half-grown-up already.
“Hi, sweetheart, what’s up?” It was so alien, the reminder his family was more than himself and his mother and the distant satellite of his father.
“Why didn’t you tell me you worked for Danner Stone?” Devon’s shriek nearly shattered Holly’s eardrum.
“I had no idea you’d want to know.” Holly moved the phone to the other ear. He wasn’t used to thinking of Devon and Dylan as family; Joaquin and Jonah, Holly’s other half brother, hadn’t cared for him at all, because his mother had “stolen” their father away. They were both older than him, and as a kid he hadn’t gotten to know them very well. There’d been a brief time when he was in college, the same college they’d gone to, when they’d had some interest in him, but it had faded.
“I saw you on TV,” she squeaked. “Me and Dylan recorded the whole thing! Dylan has, like, so much SAS stuff it’s sick.”
“I don’t have that much.” The light, rusty voice drifted into the conversation, filtering past Devon and down the line from wherever Dylan was hovering on the edge of things. “Just a few skateboards and stuff.” Someone was at that “too cool for his cool stuff” stage. Holly was a bit relieved to know he’d outgrown the whole bow-tie thing.
“Well, now that I know, what can I do for you?”
Holly felt ridiculously warm and happy. Working for Dann and Julie was great, but this, a phone call from a niece he hadn’t thought would remember him at all, was the best perk ever.
“If you could get me his autograph, that would be so sick.”
“If you don’t stop saying sick, I’m going to be sick. You are such a loser.” Yes, Dylan was definitely fifteen. “Give me that phone.”
“You have your own phone. Don’t touch mine!” There was a thud in the background. “Dylan’s stupid. Don’t get him anything.”
Holly couldn’t help laughing at that. “Do you want anything other than an autograph?”
“Oh, um…” Holly was pleasantly surprised she didn’t have a list. He wanted to strangle half the kids who came into the Stone Age Sports stores. Spoiled little crapheads. “I don’t know. Ooh, can you find out where Julie gets her awesome shoes?”
Ah, Julie and shoes. A love affair only slightly less torrid than Julie and Danner’s. “I can ask her, sure.”
“Eee, yay! I love her pink skate shoes with the bows on them. They’re sick.” It definitely sounded like Devon was still all girl. “And her skateboard with the bunny skulls. I would totally learn to skateboard if I had a board like that.”
“You would not.” Holly thought he’d heard a click on the line—sure enough, Dylan must have found another phone. “She cries if she breaks a nail.”
“You don’t skate with your hands, moron,” Devon shot back. “And Julie has the sickest nails ever. Mom says I can get manicures when I’m thirteen, anyway, so I’ll get acrylics. So there.”
“All right, you two.” Holly was enjoying listening to them go at it—maybe his yearning for a sibling was why he’d harassed Nick so much—but he thought he should say something adult here. “I’ll see what I can do for you, Devon. Does Dylan want anything or does he already have too much stuff?”
“Uh, well…” Holly could tell Dylan was conflicted—should he be cool or ask for something. “You know that Firestarter board Danner had at the exhibition in Aspen?”
“The new snowboard? Sure, I know it.” Holly’d just finished signing a pair of twins from the Olympic snowboarding team to the new ad campaign for SAS winter gear.
“Are they selling it yet?”
“No, not until next fall.” But it wasn’t like Danner wasn’t tripping over a dozen prototypes and first-run versions scattered all over his office. “But we might have one or two left over after we finish shooting the ads.”
“He tota
lly wants one,” Devon blurted out. “He already asked for it for Christmas and his birthday. More than a new dirt bike, even.”
“Dev!” Dylan’s voice cracked. Little sisters must be terrible, the way they ruined a guy’s cool. Holly had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. “It would be kinda cool,” Dylan allowed.
“Well, I’ll see what I can do for you too, then,” Holly promised. Maybe Joaquin wouldn’t mind if he delivered them in person.
“Eee!”
“Thanks, Uncle Hollister.”
“It’s Holly.” It felt wrong for them to be calling him Hollister. Everyone he liked called him Holly. “And can I talk to your dad again for a minute? I need to get your address and everything.”
“Yeah, I’ll get him. See ya.” There was the clatter of the phone dropping and then a distant bellow. “Da-ad. Uncle Holly wants to talk to you.”
“You are the awesomest,” Devon chirped. There was a funny noise, and Holly realized she was kissing the phone. “You have to give Daddy your cell number so I can text you. Oh, here’s Daddy. Bye, Uncle Holly!”
“I’ve got it, Dylan!” There was a click, and then Holly heard his half brother clearly again. “Hey, Hollister. Thanks so much. Dev would not leave me alone until I called. You know how kids are.”
Well, Holly didn’t, but he wasn’t far from acting like one himself most days. “Not a problem. It was good to know they remember me.”
The conversation dropped into uncomfortable silence. Oh shit. Holly realized that hadn’t come out quite right.
“No, no. I mean…Look, don’t worry about any of it.” Holly had no idea how to say, I totally understand why the nice side of the family doesn’t have anything to do with me.
“Maybe we can just not go six years without seeing you this time,” Joaquin said, helping smooth things over. “Dad’s been worried about you.”