Part of me wanted to stand there and watch from outside as she stepped onto the elevator, because I couldn’t take my eyes off her, but I forced myself to turn and walk away, toward my car. I smiled as I walked down the street. I’d never felt such euphoria.
But then I checked my watch. It was well past midnight. Melanie must be wondering what had become of me. My body went cold, and my smile died away as I imagined the look on her face when I arrived. She would be in a very unhappy state. I quickened my pace and dug into my pocket for my keys.
CHAPTER 17
MELANIE
New York, 1986
You mustn’t fall apart, I said to myself when Dean finally pulled into the parking lot and got out of his car. Stop crying.
But this was unbearable. I had been waiting all night for him to arrive. I had been checking the clock since ten, getting up from the sofa every fifteen minutes to look out the window and watch for him.
Why did he keep doing this to me? He knew how his absence brought me down. But for weeks now, he had been distant and detached, even though I’d done everything in my power to make him see how much I loved him and needed him. Surely he understood that he was the source of all my happiness, that the time we spent apart was meaningless to me. It was as if the earth stopped spinning and the sun grew dark—until the moment he walked through my door and smiled at me. Then all was right with the world, and the sun would come out again.
Why, then, had he not called to let me know that he would be late? Or at least to let me know that he was thinking of me?
Backing away from the door, I took a few deep breaths and reminded myself that he had been with rich, beautiful people tonight. Do not shout at him. Be supportive. Or he might leave you.
He knocked, and I tried to pat down the puffiness under my eyes, but what was the point? My whole body was puffy. All I’d done over the past month was stuff my face with ice cream and potato chips. I hated myself. I hated the way I looked, and I had to force myself to move forward, release the dead bolt, and open the door.
There he stood on the landing with his hands in the pockets of a brand-new dark suit and tie, shiny new shoes as well. The sight of him looking so elegant and handsome filled my head with distressing thoughts of the glamorous dinner party and the socializing and all the stylish women who must have been there. I imagined them in Gucci gowns, high heels, and expensive French perfume. Meanwhile, there I stood in my small kitchen wearing old cotton pajamas with a stretchy waistband and a shabby old bathrobe. Was it any wonder that I was struggling? That I feared Dean was going to desert me?
“Hi,” he said, looking sheepish.
Suddenly and overwhelmingly, I wanted to grab hold of his lapels and shake him violently, plead with him to never do this to me again. He couldn’t stay out late and keep me waiting and wondering what he was doing or who he was with.
“Come in,” I said and took a step back.
He entered, and I shut the door behind him, secured the dead bolt. “That was a late dinner. Is this a new suit?”
“Yes. Caroline wouldn’t have been happy if I’d shown up in the rumpled suit I wore to my high school graduation, so I had to rush out after work and get something.”
“You look handsome.”
“Thank you.” He shrugged out of the jacket, hung it on the back of a kitchen chair, and moved to kiss me on the cheek. “How was your night?”
He seemed tired. Listless.
Oh God! What’s happening?
I couldn’t bear his quiet manner. He seemed indifferent toward me. He was bored. Unhappy.
“Fine,” I replied as I fought to conceal my panic and sudden rising anger. “How was yours?”
He followed me to the sofa, sat down, and loosened his tie, as if he were relieved to be home at last. But I didn’t believe it for one second, because he refused to look me in the eye. He kept his gaze fixed on the television, even though the volume was turned down.
“It was interesting,” he replied and began to speak in a more animated fashion. “You should have seen the place. The lobby was all marble, and there was a doorman in a uniform. The family owns three of the top floors of the building with separate outdoor terraces and views of Central Park, and there was a butler who answered the door and a bunch of servants. Everyone was dressed up like it was a formal event, but apparently, they dress up for dinner every night.” Finally, he met my gaze. “What a strange way to live, don’t you think?”
I studied his expression carefully. “Yes, that is strange. But you had a good time?”
“I did.” I sensed he was trying to play it down. “Caroline was happy. She wants to impress Mr. Hamilton, and I had a good conversation with him about grief counseling. Who knows what might come of it?” Dean shrugged a shoulder, making light of everything, but I could see right through him. I wasn’t a fool. I knew he was impressed by that world.
“If Caroline opens a few new clinics,” he added, “she might put me in charge of one of them. That could be a game changer for me.”
“For us,” I firmly reminded him.
“Of course.” But he kept his gaze fixed on the television.
My blood began to boil. I watched him intensely, willing him to look at me, but he just kept staring at the stupid TV. I hated him for it. I loathed him with every cell in my body.
“What’s going on?” I asked desperately, taking hold of his arm and shaking him. “Why won’t you talk to me? I feel like something’s wrong.”
His chest heaved with a sigh of defeat or frustration—I wasn’t sure, but either way, it only exasperated me further. I clenched my jaw and squeezed my hand into a fist while I fought the raging desire to howl and cry and hit him and shout accusations. Why did you stay out so late? Were you with someone? Someone rich and beautiful? Olivia Hamilton?
“There is something,” he said, “and I’m sorry. I hope you won’t be too disappointed. But they invited me to go on their yacht on Sunday. For a cruise up the Hudson River. I know we made plans to go for a drive to Long Island, but I just couldn’t say no.”
“Why couldn’t you?” I asked miserably, expelling the words on an inconsolable sob.
At long last, he comprehended the level of my anxiety and faced me on the sofa. “I couldn’t say no because it’s for work. And Caroline wants me there. I told you why.”
“Yes, but . . .”
Why is this happening? Why is life so unfair to me? Nothing ever goes my way!
“But I was so looking forward to Sunday.” I was desperate to appeal to his sense of responsibility, to his concern for my well-being. If he truly cared for me, it would matter to him, wouldn’t it? “I wanted us to spend the day together.”
“I wanted that too,” he replied, “but this is important. These are important people.”
I glared at him. “And I’m not important? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Of course that’s not what I’m saying.”
“It sounds like it.”
I didn’t understand how he could be so willing to break our date on Sunday. We had planned it over a week ago. I had been dreaming of it every day, imagining all the things we would do, what we would say to each other. I thought it would be my chance to recapture the passion we’d had in the beginning.