Sick Day (14 page)

11:23 AM

G
ordon hates crowds. The farther north we walk, the antsier he seems to get. At the Water Tower building, he veers indoors, almost losing us. Hope and I share a glance like we used to, way back when, but follow him inside nonetheless. He heads to the escalators, stretching his arms into the air and rolling his head like he just played an intense game of basketball.

“Are you all right?” I ask him. On the second level, he points to a boutique clothing store.

“I need a bit of time,” he admits. “Might grab a sweater or something, spend more of that severance. Give me a minute.” He heads off in that direction, but stops and faces us, his forehead tight and stern. Using his finger for emphasis, he says, “Behave. Both of you. This isn’t high school anymore.”

I find Hope smirking once Gordon walks away. Alone with her, I start to ask the question that that has been itching at me since our interrupted lunch, but she recognizes the hurt and walks away before the words spill out.

“I love American Girl,” she says, heading toward the second-level entrance of the American Girl store.

“If Gordo finds us sneaking off…” I start, glancing back toward the store where he ran off to for some “time.” But I can’t see him, and I realize that spending as much time with Hope as possible might actually help my plight.

I walk a little faster to catch up to her, but judging by how she speeds up as well, I’m starting to think she might not want to have this chat. So I start it anyway. “Back at the restaurant, what you said—”

She stops at a display and, with a nervous chuckle, asks me, “Isn’t this crazy?”

I follow her attention to the display—an American Girl doll on a pony, wearing a helmet and horse-riding gear. Next to her stands another American Girl doll in coveralls and a plaid farmer’s shirt. A third doll wears those tight pants, riding boots, and a whip. “It’s the whip, isn’t it?” I ask, suppressing my grin.

Hope punches me in the chest, followed by, “Cameron!” and walks to the next display. My
pec muscle feels bruised, so I rub it to ease the pain before walking over to the next display with her—a sports themed one, all Chicago teams. But standing a safe two feet away this time, I take in all of her. She knows I’m close, I can
feel
her awareness, and it makes my heart beat a little faster. My hands ache for her like they have since that day at the airport after high school, since she walked away three years ago. I exist purely for Hope, and I’ll never forget that because nothing I do will allow it.

I step closer and wrap my arms around her from behind, fully expecting her to beat me away—hit me, kick me, scream—but she doesn’t. She allows me to mold myself to her, to breathe in her coconut hair, and just live.

“At the restaurant,” I try again, keeping my voice low, my lips close enough to her ear that she would feel the warmth of my words touching her skin.

“Stop, Cameron,” she whispers
her response. It sounds a little hesitant, like it still hurts or she’s afraid. “I can’t do this.”

Rolling out of my embrace, she starts back toward the mall, but stops. When I reel around, I see why. Gordon stands at the entrance to American Girl Place, his hands on his hips. I don’t know why he won’t enter the store, but he doesn’t.

“Come on,” he says with a tone of defeat. “You two are supposed to be adults.”

Hope exits the store, sidestepping Gordon and walking to the escalators that will take us down to the main level. Gordon doesn’t move, though. He has a firm disappointment on his face.

“Cam, what are you doing?” He keeps his voice low so as to not make a scene. “Riley’s all yours, she’s everything you ever wanted. You married that girl for a reason. Do you remember that?”

I stare after Hope, anxiety pounding in my head at the fear that she might keep walking, that our sick day together might come to an early end. When I try to sidestep Gordo like she did, he stops me.

“Listen to me,” Gordon says, firmer now, his eyes bulging with conviction. “You’re going to regret this for the rest of your life. Let this bitch go.”

I shake my head and shove past Gordon to hurry after Hope. “I can’t,” I tell him. Casting a backward glance at the only person who has ever truly stood by my side, I add, “This isn’t my choice. She belongs here.” I pat my heart, staring him down with the same conviction.

}
i {

Three Years Ago

B
y Friday, Gordon had introduced me to a full Rolodex of people he knew throughout the financial services industry—guys he had gone to school with, friends of his family, associates from previous positions at other firms. I felt like his little brother, but the reality was that I couldn’t keep up. I was exhausted, and I needed a break from the fast-paced lifestyle he led.

When Riley’s alarm sounded, I groaned. She rolled out of bed, and I buried my head in her pillow. I didn’t realize I had fallen back sleep until I felt her hand clawing up my back, her nails digging into my spine as a way to wake me up.

“Are you living like a rock star today?” she whispered into my ear, and the softness of her voice brought me to a place of instant peace. I imagined this was the same peace that someone who had quit smoking would find once he lights up again after years of breathing clean.

I rolled over and pulled her into bed with me, which earned me some playful laughter but nothing more. In her power suit, Riley looked as tasty as ever. I slid my hand inside her blouse, moving along her flat, soft belly. She smiled down at me, her eyes closing for a breath while I moved my hips against hers.

“Cam,” she whispered as my other hand reached between her legs. She stopped me, and I realized that, like the person who donned Stanley’s costume—the mascot for the Chicago Bears—once Riley stepped into her work attire, she was one hundred percent in character.

“I miss you,” I admitted, sighing. I meant it, because with Riley, the range of emotions seemed constrained, manageable. The highs weren’t too high, which meant the lows didn’t drop too deep either.

She allowed a chuckle that sounded about as genuine as a two-headed quarter. “I’m sure the golfing yesterday has helped to numb that pain, huh?” Despite the bite of jealousy, she gave me a quick kiss, then backed out of bed, rolling the creases out of her suit as she stood above me. “So, what’s on your and Gordo’s travel itinerary today?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. I’m ignoring his calls and having lunch with Raj.”

Her eyes twitched just enough that I detected her worry. “I don’t know what’s worse, you being away all week with no means to support the kind of lifestyle that your mentor leads, or having lunch with a serial cheater.”

Touché
. I chuckled. “First off, Gordo has been paying my way this week. He’s pretending he wants me to connect with people who can get me a new job, but I know the truth. And secondly, Raj is not the kind of guy I would sleep with.”

My joke lightened the mood a little. Still, Riley checked the time on her Gucci watch, then admitted that she needed to run. “But,” she added, stopping at the bedroom door, her eyes a little dreamy and defeated. “We still need to talk about Hope and what she means to our wedding plans.”

Hearing Hope’s name on my fiancé’s tongue felt blasphemous to my ears. It also gave me a sinking, drowning feeling because no matter how much I had tagged along with Gordon this week, I still had a lot of unfinished business with Hope. I had reread the story she emailed me last week, squinting to make out the words on my phone during those rare idle moments of watching the markets close at Landon’s, docking at the yacht club on Josh’s boat, waiting to clear customs in the Turks and Caicos islands for a day-long snorkeling (and drinking) excursion, and then again while sitting out on some of the more difficult holes at the golf course yesterday.

I loved and hated the story she had sent me because part of me believed that the few chapters were entirely
our
story, not something a woman named Emma Payne had written.

I snapped back to reality and discovered that Riley had slipped away without saying anything else, without the slightest indication she left. Once I heard the front door close behind her, I pulled the pillow back over my head and sought a little more sleep.

}
i {

A
lthough we had planned on lunch, Raj preferred that we grab something quicker to eat, something we could take to-go and sit outside to eat. His suggestion surprised me because it was a warm day and he wore a jacket.

Rather than argue with him, I agreed, and we ordered our meals at the same Panera Bread that, in three years, would bring me face-to-face with the woman who would ultimately crush me. Of course, I didn’t realize it at the time.

“So, where are we going to sit and eat?” I asked him, following him farther west.

He had a smirk on his face that made me wonder what his plans were. Riley’s distrust for him didn’t help. “There’s this private and quiet spot right on the river.” He winked at me. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

During the two-block walk, I asked Raj if he’d spoken with any employers recently, and he gave me a firm and decisive nod. “Between us, Second City Financial is replacing their VP of Human Resources.”

Not even a full week had passed, and Raj already had a job lined up. I suspected he hadn’t had to build the connections like I had, either. Most likely Raj already had them.

“They could use someone like you, Cam,” he said, and it didn’t feel like his words were spoken out of pity. “The company needs to see some restructuring and growth. If you don’t mind starting low on the ladder, let me know. I’ll make sure you’re looked after.”

Unbelievable—the many faces I had met, courtesy of Gordon’s introductions, flashed across my memory. None of them had offered to help me like Raj just had. It seemed they enjoyed partying, but felt I had to start in a C-suite level role because partying with a regular manager was frowned upon, slumming it.

“You appear disappointed, Cam,” he said, frowning at me.

I swallowed the deliberation and gave him a thankful smile as we reached a stairwell that led down to the water. “No, not disappointed at all. I need this.”

Raj waved me ahead of him. I climbed down the worn stairs that were a clear safety hazard and came to a small ledge a couple of feet above the water. The landing was large enough to accommodate a bistro table, but not much else. And of course, there was no bistro table—just the ledge. Raj removed his jacket and laid it on the ground like a picnic blanket. There wasn’t a whole bunch of room left for me to sit on the jacket, so half of my ass stayed clean and the other half would need to be brushed of the dust and dirt.

“Have you enjoyed your week, Cam?” Raj asked me, opening the sandwich wrapper in his lap and taking a healthy bite.

I told him about my adventures with Gordon. “And you?”

“Heartbreaking, actually.” He let out a sigh and hung his head. “Remember
Katja?”

The Russian beauty who worked in the mailroom at Harris and made most men smile. Between her Eastern European accent, fine looks, and skimpy outfits, she could make a priest smile. How could anyone forget about
Katja?

“Well, we broke up,” he said with a shrug. “I really loved that one. She had the tightest—”

I nearly choked, interrupting Raj from finishing his thought. He handed me my bottled water, which I sipped and confessed to him that I didn’t know he and Katja were in a relationship. “I thought you were married.”

He nodded. “I am. But, Cam, sometimes one woman can’t satisfy all of your needs.” Some kind of memory put a super-big smile on his face. “
Katja really, really satisfied me.” And then the smile disappeared, and he shrugged again. “I love my wife, but we do not…” he seemed to search for the right word, “… I will say we do not ‘connect’ on certain things that are vital in a marriage.”

I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew that
Raj’s wife was an amazing, kind, and gentle woman. She often cooked delicious ethnic dishes and desserts for the group at Harris, and she remembered my name, which always made me appreciate her. But the other reason I had lost focus on the conversation about Raj’s infidelities was that I saw Hope across the river, on the patio overlooking the water.

“Marriage isn’t an easy thing,” Raj continued, but I barely heard the words as I rose off the jacket, still staring across the water. “Sometimes you do whatever it takes to make it work, and in that quest, you find yourself between another woman’s…Cam, what are you doing?”

Climbing the stairs two at a time, my eyes remained locked on Hope. She was sitting at a table with another man, probably eating lunch as well. I could tell she wore a skirt, her long legs a beautiful sight, even from this distance. I missed those legs, missed the taste they left on my tongue, and suddenly my hunger shifted to a more voracious one.

“Cam!” he shouted, but his voice seemed distant, like four-blocks-away distant when he was really only a stone’s throw down and back.

Halfway across the bridge, I chanced a glance back at Raj’s secret nook. “Sorry, Raj. I’ll call you later.”

He chuckled with a what-the-fuck-just-happened confusion on his face.

Sprinting the rest of the way across the iron bridge, I noticed that the lunch between Hope and this much older man was probably one neither of them wanted interrupted. Was this her live-in boyfriend?

The geriatric fuck reached under the table and put his hand on her knee, squeezing it. It killed me to see that, but then she swatted him away. He laughed, and she didn’t seem impressed. I felt better about that; it meant I wouldn’t have to embarrass him too much.

In fact, as I came closer, I wondered what I had planned to do in the first place.
What am I doing here?

My sprint slowed to a casual walk as I approached their table. Now within earshot, the geriatric dickhead looked up from Hope, and we made eye contact while he was mid-sentence. He kept talking, though, and Hope didn’t bother to glance back. He was good, the kind of guy who could have dinner with his wife and eye-fuck the waitress without anyone knowing.

I kept walking past their table, my heart pounding in my chest.
Shit, shit, shit.
Taking a deep breath, I glanced back over my shoulder. Hope saw me. She recognized me. And unlike her slick lunch date, she wasn’t so good at eye-fucking without getting noticed. The old dude obviously noticed that Hope’s attention had strayed, so he turned around in his chair and looked as well. But by then, I had faced forward and just kept going.

At the next street, I stopped and deliberated.
Deep breath.
I glanced back and noticed that Hope’s smile had gone away and, for a moment, I hated myself for that. I checked on Raj across the river, saw him eating his sandwich. Somehow he could see that I was looking his way, so he offered a friendly wave. Shaking my head, I ignored him and turned toward the building.

The entrance on this street was not as elaborate as the other entrance, the one that overlooked the terrace, but it would work just fine. Stepping inside, I looked around. There was a café a little farther up, stairs to the mezzanine level, a bunch of elevators closer to the other entrance. I decided on the café and purchased a bottle of water to help with my suddenly dry mouth. By the time I paid the cashier, I noticed that Hope and the geriatric
fucktart were holding hands and waiting for an elevator.

The geriatric
fucktart didn’t see me, but I knew Hope had. Not that her eyes found me, but she seemed to be focusing really hard on not noticing me. Even though her eyes refused to shift in my direction, I knew she sensed me. Because I could sense her.

“Sir?” a man asked. The voice came from behind me.

I didn’t want to take my eyes away from Hope, as if I knew she would be gone by the time I could return to her. But I did, and it felt as painful as ripping a Band-Aid from your forearm.

“Your change,” the man said, handing me the eighteen dollars in change for the bottled water. He smiled like he had just saved my retirement from the market collapse of a few years ago.

“Thanks,” I said, hiding my annoyance about being distracted. Sure enough, when I glanced back toward the elevators, Hope and her grandfather were gone.
Shit.

I hurried toward the elevator bank where I had last seen them and stared at the numbers. There were four shafts—one stopped at thirty-eight, the next at twenty-nine, the third at thirty-seven, and the fourth at fifteen. None of the elevators were moving, so I memorized each floor.

Then I waited. Determined to find Hope, I boarded the first elevator and rode up to the 38
th
floor, but it was nothing but security cameras and closed doors. I walked around to the bathroom so I didn’t look too suspicious to the attentive folks watching the cameras, washed my hands, splashed water in my face, then rode down to the 37
th
floor.

This floor was an accounting firm with a smiling receptionist to greet me.

“Is this KPMG?” I asked, stepping toward the counter and putting my best charming smile on my lips.

She swiveled in her chair and waved at the company’s large, blatant sign—
Lankin, Halpern, Norris & Associates. When she came back to me, she blinked so hard that I swore it was Morse code for “Are you illiterate?”

“Oh, sorry,” I said. As I turned to walk away, I felt it—a skipped heartbeat of sorts—before I even noticed Hope stepping into the lobby area from another set of doors.

The receptionist noticed how my attention hovered on Hope a little longer than it should have, unless we knew one another. When Hope caught me standing at the reception desk, she made sure to ignore me even though her geriatric companion wasn’t accompanying her.

Without wanting to draw unwanted attention to myself, I focused on the receptionist again and asked, “Is KPMG in this building?”

Still with that patronizing smile, she shrugged. “It’s possible they are among the fifty or so tenants, but you’d have to check with the directory downstairs.”

As much as I wanted to strangle her for her patronizing nature, I heard the elevator
ding
behind me. “Thank you,” I said, then hurried to catch the elevator, but the doors were already closing.

I watched Hope stare straight back at me, unmoving as the gap between those doors narrowed. As a grin surfaced on her face, I hated her for letting those doors close without me on board with her.

With just an inch or less to go for those doors to shut, there was another
ding
and the doors re-opened. I hadn’t pressed the button—wasn’t close enough to—but saw that Hope had pressed the
OPEN
button at the last possible instant.

“Heading down, sir?” she asked with the polite tone of a complete stranger.

“Thank you,” I said, blinking hard as my heart pounded in my chest.

She held the door as I boarded, not acknowledging me. Even though there was nobody else on the elevator, I did the same and when I regained my bearings I noticed some sort of recognition on the receptionist’s face. Did she see the history between Hope and me? Could she sense the tension, the love, whatever the fuck this really was?

Once the doors eased shut, Hope punched me in the arm. Hard. “What are you doing here?” she hissed, stepping closer to me, then shoving me backward against the elevator wall. It wasn’t an affectionate shove either.

I fumbled for the right words. “I…I saw you…”

She shoved me again, her lips tight and one mistake away from an outright, teeth-baring sneer. “
He
saw you! He fucking saw you!”

“Hope,” I begged as she shoved me again. This time, I seized her wrists. She normally hated that, but this time, I pulled her hands down to her side, forcing her to step closer to me. Our bodies were so close, I swore I could feel her body heat radiating through mine. The wrist-restraining also calmed her.

I edged closer to her, our faces inches apart so that when I breathed, her hair danced gently around her jaw. “I see
you
,” I said. “I see you everywhere. I can’t stop seeing you.” I shook my head, averting my eyes for less than a second. When I found her again, her hands moved to my face.

She was forceful—not quite hungry or desperate, but forceful—as she seized my face and pressed her lips against mine. My mouth opened for her tongue, and I tasted her. Whatever hunger was missing earlier suddenly surged through my body. It was the same awakening as when we kissed on the grass, arousing the realization that I had missed her without ever admitting to it.

I stepped forward, forcing Hope back against the opposite wall with enough of a
thud
that the entire compartment rattled along its tracks. I didn’t know whether we were thirty floors from the lobby, or two…I didn’t care.

With my right hand, I reached down and grabbed her left, the one with the big shiny engagement ring, and pinned it above her head.

She wrapped her leg around my waist and pulled me closer, definitely feeling my erection pressing against her as she moaned, “Oh, Cameron.”

I nearly lost it as she suggestively rolled herself against me.

Reaching down, I put an end to this short dry-humping, sliding my hand past the waist of her panties, deeper, through the short hair that she still kept in a narrow landing-strip formation and between her warm lips.