“The police are on their way. Please go back into your place and lock the doors. You need to stay safe,” she insists but I have an idea.
It’s something Liz did to me when we were little. I hurry to grab one of the workout bands I bought the other day to add to my small home gym I was planning to put in the corner of the office. I go back to the door to the doctor’s apartment and wrap it around the doorknob several times until it’s tight. Then I pull it hard across the hallway and wrap it around the doorknob of my closed door. I wrap until it’s so taut, I am scared of the trembling rubber.
I back away, toward the elevator, and wait.
“Are you inside your apartment?” the lady on the phone asks.
“No, I’m at the elevator. The stairs are right next to me. If I have to, I can make a run for it.” My heart races. “Are the police almost here?”
“They’re outside the building. Coming now.”
“Okay,” I mutter and watch as the handle begins to turn.
There’s shouting and struggling. The door bangs and bangs and bangs but they can’t get it open. A nervous giggle leaves my lips as I recall the frustration of Liz doing this to me with her skipping rope.
A minute later the elevator opens. Four police officers walk out and I point down the hall. “The one on the right with the workout band tied to it.”
“Did you trap them?” one of the officers asks, laughing.
“Yeah.” I step into the elevator, not wanting the robbers to know it was me. “Police are here. Thanks,” I say to the lady and disconnect the call.
It’s not exactly how I expected the day to go. But if I’ve learned anything in 2020, expectations are rarely met.
Chapter 18
March 18
One day since Sam tried to kiss me in the elevator and I’ve worked at not thinking about it. Which means it’s consumed me every second since then. And now that the workday is over, it’s worse. I have no distractions, sitting here in the window seat in the living room, staring outside as it tries to snow again. It’s been a hideous week of snowfalls and frigid wind.
Romeo hasn’t noticed the snowflakes. He’s curled in a ball, purring softly as I stroke his back.
The two of us have become best friends as well as roommates.
He’s exactly my speed for a man in my life right now. Which is why Sam trying to kiss me is something I need to let go of.
A knock at the door draws my and Romeo’s attention. He jumps off my lap and runs to the door.
I only know one person in the building so I assume it’s Sam.
Walking to the door, I thank the gods of all that is holy that I put on makeup this morning for my Zoom meeting. He’s not getting the homeless version of me I rock most days. We’re friends, but not no-makeup friends. He’s way too hot for that.
I take a deep breath and answer the door. “Hi,” I say.
“How’s it going?” he asks, leaning on the doorway as Romeo decides to maul him.
“It’s going.” I step back so he can come in.
He hands me a manila envelope. “This was put in my mailbox and I opened it, thinking it was for me. I didn’t see the name on the front.”
“What is it?” I part the broken envelope and see the legal papers inside with Rod’s name on them. “Oh,” my voice is small.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“No—yeah. I mean, it’s weird seeing them. Divorce papers from a man who hasn’t come to tell me he’s leaving me.”
“He still hasn’t spoken to you?”
“No.” I pull the papers out and place them on the counter.
“I don’t think you should look at those without wine.” He goes to the wine rack and grabs a bottle, opening it and pouring us both a sizeable glass. He hands me mine. “You’re still only allowed one glass, so cheers.”
“Cheers,” I say and clink the glass against his.
The first gulp isn’t great. It needs to breathe and makes me shudder a bit. I stare at the papers. “Separation papers. Do those come first?” I ask, genuinely not sure how it works.
“Yeah, you get those and then at the one-year mark of separation you can file for divorce.” He takes a large gulp of wine, also shuddering. “It sucks that they make you wait the year. Like slowly taking off a Band-Aid.” I realize he’s speaking from experience and recall the story James told us.
“You’re divorced?” I make the statement sound like a question, giving him the chance to tell me his story.
“I am,” he mutters as a pained expression crosses his face. “We met in Ontario. She was a nurse—is a nurse,” he says. The pained expression changes to something deeper, haunted perhaps. His eyes widen and watching him I see he is reliving it. “She decided to take up with my best friend.”
“Not Shane?” I ask, recalling his best friend quite clearly. They were like brothers back then.
“Oh yeah.” He loses that haunted look and almost smiles at me. “I forgot you know him. Yeah, Shane. He and Sandy, my ex-wife, are now married. She’s going to have their third baby soon.” He lifts the glass of wine. “You are in good company when it comes to this particular heartbreak.” He drinks back the rest of the glass.
I pour him more wine, finishing off the bottle. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“Me too.” He stares at me, his dark eyes fill with intensity. “I’m sorry it happened to you.”
I sip my wine to break the stare but he doesn’t look away. Instead, he says something I have been dreading, “You know, when I saw you, I promised myself I wasn’t going to do it. But I have to.”
I’m internally screaming, Nooo.
“Why did you do it? Why did you disappear?” And he asks the one question I prayed he wouldn’t.
My heart stops and restarts with a jolt. “I didn’t—”
“Don’t lie,” he says and loses all the humor we had. “We both know I tried to find you. I called a hundred times. I emailed. And you just vanished.”
I tilt the glass and pour the liquid down my throat, fighting another shudder. The wine never had a chance to breathe.
“You can tell me. It’s been fifteen years—what does the truth matter now?” he asks, standing up straighter and walking to my side of the island.
I step backward, edging away from him until I bump into the sofa and stop.
He doesn’t stop. He moves until he has me trapped and takes the wine glass from my hand, placing it on the coffee table next to us. He’s so close I feel the heat of him, taste him in the air.
He looks down on me, whispering, “Tell me.”
My stomach twists and I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“It does. It’s always mattered.” His stare intensifies again. He lifts a hand to my cheek and runs his thumb down it. I close my eyes and lean into it. It’s been so long since someone touched me like that.
But it’s Sam and I can’t do this. I slide to the left and step away. “I can’t do this,” I say.
“Why?” He grabs my hand and spins me. He doesn’t let go. His thumb slides down the center of my palm.