A Woman Lost (22 page)

Maddie didn’t appear flustered at all. And Sarah beamed with happiness. I felt like vomiting.

* * *

The following Saturday, I met Ethan for coffee and told him all about Maddie’s visit and her car.

“How in the world did she get her car on top of an iceberg?”

“Beats me. Seriously, Californians should not drive in the snow. I’m surprised she wasn’t killed.” I set my cell phone down on the table. Ethan eyed it and sniggered. “I know. It’s ancient.”

As he grabbed my phone to get a closer look, he steered us back to our conversation. “Lucky that guy was there.”

“Yeah, if it hadn’t been for Evan, her car would still be there in April.”

“Thank heaven for Evan.” Ethan chuckled.

“You’re such a nerd.”

“You should talk. This coming from someone wearing a shirt with actual portraits of all of the Presidents of the United States on it, and not even the band‌—‌the actual politicians.”

“There’s a band called the Presidents of the United States?”

“Yeah they sing that ‘Peaches’ song.”

“Oh. I like peaches.”

“So, you’ve heard the song?”

“What? No.” I shook my head.

Ethan rolled his eyes. “Why do I even try?”

“They sing a song about peaches?” My voice filled with disbelief.

“Yes. It’s about how much they like them.”

“You listen to strange crap.” I leaned back in my chair and stretched my legs out under the table.

“Because a biography on Alexander Hamilton is much more thrilling.”

“He wasn’t even a president, so there.” I stuck my tongue out.

“Yeah, I know. I went to elementary school, remember.”

I looked down at his shirt. “Whatever. You have a
The Great Gatsby
shirt on.” I noticed, with some surprise, that it had a small stain near the collar.

“Let’s agree that we are both nerdy. But I’d rather be a nerd than a dork.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Literally, a dork is a whale’s penis. Figuratively, it’s a geeky person who is socially awkward.”

“And a nerd?”

“I feel a nerd is just someone who is passionate about his or her subject, or something, like you are passionate about history. Every day you have some nerdy history T-shirt on. Even when you’re teaching, your undershirt says something or has a historical quote.”

I shook this off. “Sarah made a comment that I didn’t understand,” I told him.

“Was it a three-syllable word?” He smiled.

“Oh, Ethan, you’re on a roll today. Anyhoos, as I was saying, she said she thinks Maddie is lonely and unhappy.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, do you think it’s true?”

“Lizzie, please tell me you aren’t
still
trying to steal your brother’s fiancée.”

Was I?
If I was, I wasn’t doing a splendid job. Something was holding me back.
What?

Ethan studied my face. “Let’s face it: your brother is an asshole. He works all the time. He dotes on your crazy mother, and he thinks your father is a banking god. That would be a difficult household for anyone to live in.”

“But she always seems so happy … well, most of the time. And she’s pretty funny.”

“You crack me up. Funny people can be sad. A lot of funny people hide their sadness behind their humor. Think about it, Lizzie. She’s never home. She practically lives up here. For someone who is about to get married, she spends very little time with her soon-to-be husband.”

This bothered me. Yes, it would be incredible to hook-up with Maddie. She was the whole package. Beautiful. Smart. Sexy. Confident. But she was more than that. Maddie wasn’t the type to be put on a pedestal to admire. She demanded respect. Was that holding me back from trying to seduce her? Would she want a relationship and not a casual fling?

Chapter Thirty-One

“Are you getting excited about your trip?” Ethan immediately ignored my answer and instead looked at his phone, reading the latest text message from his wife.

“I guess so,” I told him. “I’ve never been to New York. I want to see all the historical stuff, and Sarah is excited about seeing a show.”

“Why are you going to New York again?” He glanced up at me.

“Because I want to live in Boston.” His questioning annoyed me. Surely, I had already explained this to him! Was he actively trying to annoy me?

“So why not go to Boston? I bet you’d love all the tea party history and all that jazz.”

“I didn’t want Sarah to find out I want to live in Boston.”

Was I sure I wanted to live there?

“Does she know you want to move at all?”

“She knows it’s my last year at CSU. And she knows I will have to move when I find a job.”

“Are you looking for a job?” Ethan glanced sidelong at his phone again.

“No. I’ve decided to take some time off and finish my dissertation. I’m thinking of writing a book. I don’t know if working a regular job is my thing.”

“And you want to live in Boston to do this? Why can’t you do it here?”

“I think a change of pace will help me concentrate more.” I was making crap up as I went along.

“Have you ever been to Boston?”

“Nope.” I was tiring of his interrogation.

“But you want to live there?”

I knew what he was doing. Ethan always lectured me about running away from my problems. What did he know? He quit his program early.

The move to Boston may be perceived as rash to outsiders, but I felt that I needed to do it. Life was getting too comfortable. Too predictable. Stifling, in fact. What would become of me if I stayed?

“I’m not being a coward?”

“Would I say such a thing?” Ethan raised his eyebrows in mock amazement.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Ethan.”

“And what’s that, Lizzie?” he asked, searching my face.

“I’m not running away.”

“Of course not. You are just picking up and going to a city where you know no one, you don’t have any job prospects, and you don’t have a place to live. It all sounds perfectly reasonable to me.”

I mulled this over.
No prospects. No, don’t listen to him, Lizzie.

Stay strong.

Do not let yourself get tied down.

* * *

“Fuck.”

I rolled over in bed. “What’s wrong?”

“I think something bit me.”

I fumbled for the light switch on the hotel nightstand. Our flight to New York had been delayed, so we hadn’t settled down into our room until well after one in the morning.

“Let me see.”

Sarah held out her hand and pointed to her ring finger. I could see a slight red mark. That didn’t concern me as much as the fact that her finger was swelling. When I tried to remove the ring, she winced in pain.

“Here, let me try.” Sarah yanked on the ring, but it wouldn’t budge.

I called the front desk for a cab to the hospital.

“What are you doing?”

“Honey, we have to get that ring off your finger. I didn’t know you were allergic to insect bites.” I rushed around getting dressed and threw a pair of jeans and a sweater for Sarah to put on.

“I didn’t either. Will they have to cut the ring off?” She sounded deflated and tenderly rubbed the ring I had bought her for Christmas.

“I don’t know, baby. Let’s get you to the hospital, okay? We’ll see what can be done.” I kissed her forehead and whisked her downstairs to the waiting cab.

When the receptionist in the crowded ER department saw Sarah’s finger, a doctor was called immediately. Within one minute, she was receiving treatment. No rooms were available, so they led her to a gurney in the hallway. As she was being seated, a nurse jabbed a needle into her arm. Sarah hadn’t even seen it coming. She jumped about a foot and cursed, but the nurse was too busy to apologize. The doctor explained he would have to cut the ring off. He was holding something I assumed was a ring cutter.

Tears filled Sarah’s eyes. “Don’t let them cut the ring off.” She pulled her hand away from the nurse.

“We have to get this ring off.” The doctor eyeballed me like it was my responsibility.

“It’s okay, honey,” I coaxed. “We can get this ring fixed or we can get you a new one. But look at your finger; it’s turning blue.”

“But you gave me this ring.”

“And I can get you a new one. A better ring. Just let the doctor take care of your finger.”

“What’s wrong with this ring? Why would I need a better ring?”

I was astonished that she chose this moment to quibble about my word choice.

“There’s nothing wrong with this ring, but I don’t want you to lose your finger! All you have to do is tell me whether you want it fixed or whether you want a new one, and I’ll make it happen.”

“When can we replace it?” She looked up at me, tears streamed down her face.

The nurse looked at me like I was an idiot, and her eyes screamed,
Hurry things up!

“We can go shopping first thing tomorrow. I promise.” I placed my hand on her shoulder tenderly.

Sarah let them cut the ring off.

After several hours of observation, she was released from the hospital. I wrapped her up in my coat and took her back to the hotel. I had requested that the bedding be changed completely, but the hotel staff felt so bad they had upgraded our room. We now had a fantastic view of Times Square, and an extra night if we wanted. Sarah fell asleep at seven in the morning. I noticed the swelling on her finger had finally subsided, and I fiddled with the damaged ring in my pocket. Exhausted, I leaned against the wall and watched her for some time before I joined her in bed and closed my eyes.

* * *

“You did what?” Ethan exclaimed.

“I bought her a ring.”

“No … No! Wait.” He shook his head. “You bought her a diamond ring?”

“I know. I know. But what was I supposed to do? Her finger was turning blue, and I promised I would buy her a new ring. Ethan, her finger was blue … and the nurse‌—‌she looked like Nurse Ratched, by the way‌—‌was staring at me with a look that said I needed to act fast. So I acted: I promised her a new ring.”

As soon as Sarah had woken up after sleeping off all the medication they gave her at the hospital, she had asked when we were going shopping. Before I knew it, we were at Tiffany & Co.

“How big is it?” Ethan was clearly baffled.

“It’s not that big. It’s only two carats.”

“Two carats!” He slammed his cup down on the table. His high, falsetto voice rattled me.

“Is that big?” I felt helpless and stupid when it came to these things.

“I got my wife a one-carat, and I thought that was nice. How much did it cost?”

“Let’s just say it was a lot more than the amethyst one.”

“I bet.” He shook his head. “Did it come in a blue box?”

“What?”

“My wife told me that if the ring wasn’t in a blue box, it wouldn’t be good enough.”

“Did you have to buy a blue box?” I saw a silver lining. I didn’t buy one.

Ethan laughed. “Boy, you are a moron when it comes to this stuff. Tiffany & Co. has blue boxes. All women want their engagement rings from Tiffany’s.”

“Engagement ring? What the fuck are you talking about?” After purchasing the ring, I had done my best to banish this thought from my mind.

He stirred his coffee, smirking. “Did you buy the ring from Tiffany’s?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a diamond ring?” He examined me over the rim of his glasses.

“Yes.”

“What finger is she wearing it on?”

“Her ring finger.” I whispered, deflated.

“Yep, you’re engaged.” He got up for a refill.

I pondered the new pickle I was in. When he came back I said, “But I didn’t ask her to marry me. Don’t I have to ask?” I was grasping for straws.

“I seriously doubt she’s taking that technicality into consideration.” He laughed. “Can I be your best man?”

“But we can’t get married! It’s not legal here, thank God.” I was suddenly flooded with relief.

“It’s legal in Massachusetts, and you are thinking of moving there. It will be a legal marriage if you get married there.” His expression told me that he relished my situation.

“But she doesn’t know that.”

“You better tell her. If you pick up and leave, that will be considered abandonment.” He laughed some more. “You know, for someone who doesn’t want to commit, you sure know how to tie yourself down. A mortgage, a cat, and now marriage‌—‌a legal marriage, I might add. What’s next, a kid? I know a good adoption agency.” He winked at me.

So much for not getting tied down. I pulled my sweater off.

“What’s the matter? Is it getting too hot for you?” He howled with laughter.

“Oh, you’re so funny.” I rubbed my face.

It was getting hot. I groaned.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Ethan was running late, so I sat at a table and listened to my new iPod. When he walked in he started to laugh.

“What?” I pulled the headphones from my ears.

“You were actually rocking out. I didn’t know you could do that.”

“You didn’t know I could bob my head?”

“Nope. I didn’t think you had any sense of rhythm.”

“Well, show me your moves.” I wiggled my butt in my chair in an attempt to dance‌—‌a pathetic attempt, because I nearly toppled over.

“No way. The only time I showed my moves was on my wedding day. Never again. And I wouldn’t suggest using that move you just did.” He shook his head gravely. “By the way, has Sarah picked the song yet for your first dance as a married couple?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, startled.

“You are a relationship idiot. Don’t you know you’ll have to dance at your reception?” He waggled his finger in my face.

“Reception? Dance? What are you talking about? This isn’t what you call a traditional wedding.”

“For some reason, I don’t think Sarah will see it that way. I think she’ll want the whole nine yards. I’m going to grab some coffee. Do you need anything?”

I stared out the window. “What? Uh? No, thanks.”

When he returned, I asked, “So you think I will have to help pick out a cake, china patterns, a dress, and all that shit?”

“Yes, you knucklehead. You’re getting married. What did you think? You could just stand under the stars and make a promise. Weddings are a lot of planning and work. Who put the music on your iPod? I have a feeling it wasn’t you.” He pushed his glasses higher on his nose.