Intent (2 page)

“Wow,” I remark to Daniel, the security guard. “These are gorgeous. Someone is lucky.”

“Someone?” he chuckles. “These are all for you. They started arriving last night and have kept coming, almost hourly. Someone loves you.”

“All of these are for me?” My eyebrows disappear into my hairline, my jaw is slack, and my eyes are transfixed on the dozen or so vases of flower arrangements.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies. “Jim and I called you last night, but we didn’t reach you. Do you want us to take them up to your apartment for you?”

The shock of the moment wears off, and I quickly step away from the desk as if it’ll burn me. My gaze flits over each one and I finally see the small, square card sticking out of each arrangement. No doubt there are various renditions of “I’m sorry,” “I love you,” or “I’m a fucking bastard who deserves to have my balls cut off and force-fed to me,” marring the perfectly designed generic florist cards.

My rage has returned full force when I meet Daniel’s eyes again. “No. I don’t want them. Any of them,” I say through gritted teeth. “Throw the cards in the garbage and give the flowers away. Take them home to your wife, Jim’s wife, your neighbors’ wives. Whatever. I don’t care. Just make sure they’re gone before I get back.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies. He keeps his tone even, his posture relaxed, and his eyes neutral, as if he’s heard this demand every day. I can’t tell him how much I appreciate it, as that would break the facade, but I do give him a single nod of appreciation. He understands, returning the nod and doesn’t make another comment.

The good part of this encounter is that it seems to have infused steel back into my spine and helps me to face the day ahead of me. I have no doubt I’ll be assaulted with sights, sounds, and smells that remind me of Bobby all day. Hopefully, this anger and desire to cause him bodily harm will see me through until I can fall apart privately at home tonight.

“
G
ot a second
?” Marcia Bettis, my supervising attorney, asks with a single rap on my open door.

“Sure. Come on in,” I reply as I look up from my laptop.

Marcia closes my door behind her, and my stomach settles somewhere near my ankles. It’s never a good sign when the boss wants to talk, privately, behind closed doors. She sits in the chair across from my desk, tilts her head to the side, and gives me a small smile. “How are you doing, Layne?”

“I’m okay,” I lie. It’s been three and a half weeks since I caught the cheating asshole and the skanky ex-best friend together. I’ve told no one at work about what happened because of my intense need to keep my worlds separate. “Why do you ask?”

“Honestly, I’m concerned about you. You don’t seem like yourself anymore. You’ve completely missed a few staff meetings when you’re normally the first one in the room. And just now, before I spoke, I stood in your doorway for a good five minutes while you stared at your laptop, and you never realized I was there,” Marcia replies, warmth infused in her tone. “Talk to me, Layne. What’s going on with you?”

“I’m experiencing a few problems in my personal life, Marcia.” I choose my words carefully not to give too much away and to shift the focus from my shitty personal life back to work. “I admit I didn’t realize it was affecting my job so much. But now that you’ve brought it to my attention, I will immediately step up my performance.”

Marcia regards me for a few uncomfortable seconds. In her later fifties, she’s around the age my mom would be now, and despite her tough-as-nails demeanor in the courtroom, she’s been incredibly supportive and nurturing toward me. She took me under her wing when I first started working here during my summer internships. She knows me too well.

She nods her head slowly. “That was a great, politically correct response. But that doesn’t answer my question.” Her eyes lock on to mine and her determination is clear. She won’t leave until she gets her answers. She won’t give up until she’s satisfied she’s squeezed every last ounce of truth out of me. And she uses sneaky tactics to trip up her victims, tactics I haven’t learned, much less perfected, yet.

But I know she has my best interests in mind.

“I hope you have a few spare minutes,” I sigh, conceding defeat.

“For you? Always.”

Her simple response makes tears spring to my eyes. The support, the love, the friendship that she so easily gives, and I’ve so recently lost. To hide my emotionally charged response, I take a moment to close my laptop and take a drink of water. When I’m sure I have myself under control, I take a deep breath and tell Marcia the entire story, from start to finish. From my relationship with Bobby, to the agreement I made in exchange for a baby, to finding him in bed with my best friend, I share my every shameful secret and every hidden desire with Marcia.

“We need to roofie them both, shave their heads completely bald, and superglue their genitals closed,” Marcia replies, sounding completely serious.

I laugh for the first time in a long time. I desperately needed that release right now.

“Why are you laughing?” she asks incredulously. “I know people.”

“Thank you, Marcia. I really needed that laugh today,” I reply. “No superglue needed. Although, the whole roofie and head-shaving idea has merit.”

“If you change your mind, you know where to find me. And I know where to find the guys who can make it happen,” she replies with raised eyebrows. “Until then, I think you need to take some time off.”

“What? No,” I object vehemently. “That’s the last thing I need.”

Deep down, I know she’s right, and I think I’ve known it for the last couple of weeks. A week after I caught them together, I finally snapped out of my dazed stupor and dove headfirst into depression. I think I actually prefer the stupor, when I was still shocked and didn’t fully experience the feelings. Now I feel everything. Every. Little. Thing.

“Layne.” The tone and inflection of Marcia’s voice scold me for my mental disappearing act. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re not okay.”

She moves around the side of my desk to stand beside me. She places her hand on my shoulder and softens her voice. “Layne, I’m giving you some time off to get away from here and clear your head. Between school and work, you haven’t had a real break in years. Do you remember about three years ago when you went to Georgia with me on a case?”

“Yes, I remember. Small town. Nice. Peaceful,” I sigh.

“That’s right, in Oak Grove. I have a vacation home there I haven’t used in years. Go stay there for a while, enjoy the slower pace, and put all of this behind you. Your job will be waiting for you when you get back.”

Inhaling a deep breath, I prepare to begin my rebuttal. Just as I open my mouth to speak, Marcia cuts me off with her stern look and take-charge demeanor.

“I won’t take no for an answer. Take off until the end of summer and enjoy my house in the Georgia mountains, or pack your desk and leave here for good. Your choice.”

My face completely falls, and whatever thoughts I had formed to argue just flew out of my mind. “Marcia,” I gasp in a pained whisper.

Her face softens and she gives me a sad smile. “It’s for your own good, Layne. Trust me and do this for both of us.”

“It’s not because I’m fucking up my job?” My bottom lip quivers as I ask, but somehow I keep the tears at bay. Amazing, since they always seem to be just under the surface, waiting to burst forth at a moment’s notice.

“Not at all,” she consoles me. “I’ve known you for a long time, and I know you’re exceptionally good at your job. But I think this time away is more important than anything else, and I think you’ll realize it once you step out of the rat race. It’s a few months of paid leave in a beautiful mountain community. Anyone else in this firm would kill for the opportunity.”

I nod slowly, the idea of a peaceful, relaxing retreat firmly taking grasp in my mind. As I picture myself window-shopping along the quaint sidewalks of the small town, the stress starts to fade away. The sweet aroma from the flowering shrubs that adorn the landscape fills my senses, calming my racing heart. The warm spring sun heats my skin and makes me feel alive. The cool water of the river laps at my feet as I stroll along the bank, beckoning me with its promise of complete and total relaxation as I float weightlessly on the slow-moving current.

“Okay, Marcia. I’ll go to Oak Grove for a few months, just until the end of summer,” I agree. “I don’t know how to thank you for this. Let me pay you whatever you normally charge to rent it out, at least.”

“Not a chance.” She shakes her head from side to side. “And don’t argue with your boss. I hear she’s a tough old bird.”

“She’s not so bad.” I smile affectionately at her. “She has a soft spot, if you know where to look for it.”

“Don’t say that too loudly. You’ll ruin my bad reputation.” She winks.

Before I can stop myself, I stand and wrap my arms around her neck. “Thank you, Marcia. You’re the best, and I appreciate this more than you’ll ever know.”

She hugs me tentatively at first, and I worry that I’ve way overstepped my bounds. But then her arms tighten around me just before I feel her body shake slightly. A soft, strangled cry follows and I’m not sure what to do. I’ve always known that she looks at me as a daughter, but I didn’t realize my predicament bothered her so much.

“Don’t worry about me, Marcia. I’ll be all right. After a few days at the river’s edge, I bet I’ll be ready to come back to work early.”

She sniffles and pulls away from me. “Don’t even think about doing that. You’re staying the whole time. Then we’ll talk about how you’re doing.”

We spend the next hour making arrangements for my absence both at work and from my apartment, along with my travel arrangements to Georgia. Marcia’s assistant is the most organized and thorough person I’ve ever met. It would’ve taken me all day to handle what she’s completed in no time. The corporate jet will take me to the small airport closest to Oak Grove, where a company car will be waiting for my use. Now all that’s left to do is go to my apartment, pack my clothes, and mentally prepare myself for my flight tomorrow.

Marcia must see the apprehension and anxiety written all over my face. I suspect my feelings would only be hidden from a blind person. “Here’s the name and number of the Realtor who manages my property,” she says as she quickly scribbles it on my notepad. “Call me when you get settled in so I know you’re all right. Then, have some fun, let go of the stress, and enjoy your stay. Don’t stay cooped up in the house.”

My gaze falls to the paper in my hand as I nod in agreement. “Marcia, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. Or how guilty I feel because I don’t deserve this. I can’t imagine you’d do this for just anyone.”

“You’ve never been just anyone to me, Layne,” she admits in her soft voice. “You’ve always been more like a daughter to me.”

Though I can’t bring myself to meet her eyes, I hear and feel the reassurance in her voice. It washes over me and covers me like a comfortable, secure blanket. Memories it evokes are even harder to cope with than my feelings toward Bobby and Cyndi. Wishes that my mom were still here to hold me, comfort me, and tell me how to make it all better flood my heart and soul. The softball-sized lump in my throat prevents me from replying verbally, but I’m sure she sees the love and appreciation I have for her when I finally look up at her.

“Go now, before you make me ruin my mascara,” she says jokingly, making me laugh again.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I promise. There’s no way I can say the word “good-bye” right now. “And probably every day after that.”

When I walk into the lobby of my apartment building, the most efficient assistant in the world has already briefed the security guards on my sabbatical. They’ve assured me they will make certain everything is taken care of, so that when I return, it’ll be as if I never even left. A big part of me hopes that’s not entirely true. When I get back, I hope this empty hole where my heart used to be has been repaired.

“Laynie, baby.”

A voice calls out to me tentatively as I turn away from the security desk, and it makes me stop dead in my tracks. A slow-motion movie effect seems to have been utilized for this scene as I turn to face the owner of the voice. My eyes innately narrow with intense anger, disgust, and the sharp pain shooting through my chest.

Bobby.

When my brain registers he used the affectionate nickname he always called me, a hard layer of ice forms around my heart, cooling the fire inside that had threatened to consume me just a moment ago. My quickened pulse slows, the breath that seized in my chest resumes normally, and only the extreme disgust remains.

“Are you going somewhere?” His eyes dart back to the security guard. He was obviously eavesdropping on our conversation.

My eyes rake over his abnormally unkempt appearance. The Bobby I’ve known for seven years would never be seen in public with his hair a mess, his clothes disheveled, and an apparent lack of overall hygiene. The scruff on his face is uneven and scraggly. His clothes are wrinkled and the dark circles under his eyes are telltale signs that he hasn’t had much sleep in the last however many days.

From my peripheral vision, I see the security guard straighten his back and square his shoulders, ready to intercede as soon as I give the word. After the day I’ve already had, I just don’t have it in me to go another round with Bobby. Tomorrow, he’ll be literally one thousand miles behind me. For the first time in weeks, I feel the need to put the same distance between us figuratively. My walls are now securely erected around my heart.

I cut my gaze over to the security guard. “Mr. Shaw no longer has any business in my apartment. Can you also see to it that my locks are changed?”

He immediately understands the underlying message. “Yes, ma’am.”

He’s rounding the desk, walking toward Bobby to escort him from the building, as I wordlessly continue on to the elevator. Bobby’s pleas for just five minutes of my time fall on deaf ears. He had the past seven years to say everything he needed to say. Five extra minutes of talking to me today won’t change a thing.

“It’s time to open you and drain you dry.” I pull out the bottle of wine I’ve been saving for a special occasion and immediately open it as soon as I step inside my apartment. I haven’t had a drop to drink since I’ve been trying to get pregnant—just in case. Since that’s not happening anytime soon, there’s no reason why I should deny myself the pleasure of the sweet nectar of the grape gods any longer.

Three extra-large glasses of wine later, I’m pouring the last little bit of liquid left in the bottle and I have absolutely no idea what I’ve stuffed into my suitcases. With the music blasting loudly, I essentially clean out my entire closet and drawers into every piece of luggage I own. As it turns out, a whole bottle of wine on an empty stomach makes me numb to all my problems. Or to caring about what clothes I picked to take on a journey that’ll last over the next several months.

The blaring noise of my alarm clock wakes me, and I’m temporarily disoriented. I’m in my bed, fully clothed from last night, and my bedroom is in shambles. So much for my efficient packing skills. After seeing the condition of my dresser drawers, I’m afraid to even look inside my suitcases. Since I can’t stand to leave my bedroom in this condition, I rush to clean up the mess I made before the driver arrives to take me to the corporate jet.

“I’ll just buy whatever else I need there. It’s almost summer weather in the South. Shorts, T-shirts, and flip-flops are all I really need anyway,” I reason aloud as I climb into the shower. The hot water begins to wash away the fogginess the bottle of wine left behind.

Security calls just as I finish everything I need to do before I leave, and within minutes, the driver is waiting in the hall to take my luggage down to the car. Before I close the door to my apartment, I stop and take one last, lingering look around. Sadness suddenly engulfs me as I walk away from the only life I’ve known for the last many years. As painful as it’s been the past few weeks, I finally feel like the closing of my apartment door behind me is symbolic of how my former life is ending, and a new one is beginning.