for a day or a damned month.
After she’d gone home, showered and had a cup of coffee, she finally lay back on the guest room bed and turned on her phone. There were two dozen voice mails, but she started with the texts. Though there were many more, they were all largely the same.
Oh, you poor dear. Please LMK if you need anything!!
We’re praying for you. God is good—miracles happen!
Chris is a wonderful man. Thank the Lord for the time you two still have together.
Heart sinking, she set the phone on the nightstand and rubbed her eyes. Every last sender meant well, but every last message hurt. Of course, they weren’t lying when they said to ask if she needed anything. They just weren’t expecting her to respond that she needed “a quickie divorce,” “a chance to vent about what an ass my husband is without people telling me how terrible I am,” or “to change places with him, and not for the reasons you think.”
She had no idea how to respond to them. Or what she was supposed to do now that she was home and Chris’s illness was becoming more real by the day. How do you comfort someone you want to escape from? How do you grieve for someone you don’t want to see again?
Swearing aloud, she buried her face in her hands.
I’m a terrible person. A terrible, terrible person.
But feelings were what they were, even if they were selfish and, well, terrible. She couldn’t make herself grieve the way she was supposed to any more than she could make others understand why she was grieving the wrong way. All she could do was smile when she was supposed to, cry when she was supposed to, and wait until she was behind closed doors to wash the real emotions away with something good and strong.
“ I really wish you wouldn’t drink this way. ” Chris’s voice echoed in her mind.
“I only drink this way when I don’t know what else to do,” she whispered into the silence, dropping her hands into her lap. Now that the words were out, she cringed. Was she turning into an alcoholic?
Oh fuck. Who cared? But a shot or three of tequila suddenly sounded—
Her phone chirped and startled her. It was a different text tone entirely. One for a number she’d blocked until very recently.
Acid rose in her throat as she picked up the phone.
Could you swing by my office?
She rolled her eyes. What now?
But God forbid she ignore him. He’d probably send his PA du jour down to get her, or he’d use the emergency intercom he’d had installed to summon her in case he needed medical help in some remote part of the house. Either way, the longer she took to go to his office, the more he’d get on her case for ignoring him before he got on her case about whatever he’d called her in to discuss.
What’s he going to do? Ground me?
The thought made her laugh. At least that beat crying, which was what she really felt like doing.
Maybe he wouldn’t ground her, but he’d certainly let her know he was displeased. Not that she cared all that much about pissing him off anymore, but she wasn’t in the mood to deal with it. Facing him now would be the lesser of two evils.
So, she went upstairs to his office and tapped on the door.
A second later, a pretty blonde who couldn’t have been more than twenty-five—or bigger than a size two—came to the door. “You must be Joanna.”
“I am.”
The girl extended her hand. “Hilary. I’m Chris’s assistant.”
Of course you are. Joanna made herself smile and shook hands with Hilary. She didn’t ask what had happened to Vanessa, the assistant Chris had hired a couple of months before Joanna left for Tillamook. She really didn’t want to know—the woman certainly had been Chris’s type. So was this one.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, injecting as much pleasantness into her voice as she could.
“You too.” Hilary’s smile seemed genuine. Then she stood aside and gestured for Joanna to come in.
Chris was, of course, at his desk. Hilary took a seat at the
After she’d gone home, showered and had a cup of coffee, she finally lay back on the guest room bed and turned on her phone. There were two dozen voice mails, but she started with the texts. Though there were many more, they were all largely the same.
Oh, you poor dear. Please LMK if you need anything!!
We’re praying for you. God is good—miracles happen!
Chris is a wonderful man. Thank the Lord for the time you two still have together.
Heart sinking, she set the phone on the nightstand and rubbed her eyes. Every last sender meant well, but every last message hurt. Of course, they weren’t lying when they said to ask if she needed anything. They just weren’t expecting her to respond that she needed “a quickie divorce,” “a chance to vent about what an ass my husband is without people telling me how terrible I am,” or “to change places with him, and not for the reasons you think.”
She had no idea how to respond to them. Or what she was supposed to do now that she was home and Chris’s illness was becoming more real by the day. How do you comfort someone you want to escape from? How do you grieve for someone you don’t want to see again?
Swearing aloud, she buried her face in her hands.
I’m a terrible person. A terrible, terrible person.
But feelings were what they were, even if they were selfish and, well, terrible. She couldn’t make herself grieve the way she was supposed to any more than she could make others understand why she was grieving the wrong way. All she could do was smile when she was supposed to, cry when she was supposed to, and wait until she was behind closed doors to wash the real emotions away with something good and strong.
“ I really wish you wouldn’t drink this way. ” Chris’s voice echoed in her mind.
“I only drink this way when I don’t know what else to do,” she whispered into the silence, dropping her hands into her lap. Now that the words were out, she cringed. Was she turning into an alcoholic?
Oh fuck. Who cared? But a shot or three of tequila suddenly sounded—
Her phone chirped and startled her. It was a different text tone entirely. One for a number she’d blocked until very recently.
Acid rose in her throat as she picked up the phone.
Could you swing by my office?
She rolled her eyes. What now?
But God forbid she ignore him. He’d probably send his PA du jour down to get her, or he’d use the emergency intercom he’d had installed to summon her in case he needed medical help in some remote part of the house. Either way, the longer she took to go to his office, the more he’d get on her case for ignoring him before he got on her case about whatever he’d called her in to discuss.
What’s he going to do? Ground me?
The thought made her laugh. At least that beat crying, which was what she really felt like doing.
Maybe he wouldn’t ground her, but he’d certainly let her know he was displeased. Not that she cared all that much about pissing him off anymore, but she wasn’t in the mood to deal with it. Facing him now would be the lesser of two evils.
So, she went upstairs to his office and tapped on the door.
A second later, a pretty blonde who couldn’t have been more than twenty-five—or bigger than a size two—came to the door. “You must be Joanna.”
“I am.”
The girl extended her hand. “Hilary. I’m Chris’s assistant.”
Of course you are. Joanna made herself smile and shook hands with Hilary. She didn’t ask what had happened to Vanessa, the assistant Chris had hired a couple of months before Joanna left for Tillamook. She really didn’t want to know—the woman certainly had been Chris’s type. So was this one.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, injecting as much pleasantness into her voice as she could.
“You too.” Hilary’s smile seemed genuine. Then she stood aside and gestured for Joanna to come in.
Chris was, of course, at his desk. Hilary took a seat at the
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