Page 14 of Queen of Ruin

I barely have time to register anything before she says her goodbyes, a gust of wind whipping through the café as the door slowly closes in her wake.

“Flat white!” the barista calls out, and I take my drink to one of the empty tables by the window.

Someone left an old copy of The Post, and I notice the photo on the front of Kerry and Merrill’s memorial at the National Cathedral. I flip through the pages to get to the rest of the article and see a picture of Darren and me entering the church. I’m pleasantly surprised that there isn’t a mention of when we married, just a caption listing our names: Darren and Evangeline Walker. I can’t help but notice our hands clasped together as we take the stairs to the entrance of the church.

My phone vibrates against my thigh.

“Hi, honey, how ya doing?” Cleo’s clear voice on the other end brings a smile to my face.

“I’m okay,” I sigh, folding the paper and pushing it to the side.

“Uh oh, that doesn’t sound good. Is Darren freaky? Let me guess, he has a playroom – likes pain – does he make you dress up in a maid’s outfit?” Cleo teases, and I can’t help but laugh.

“No, but I did have to dress up like Jessica Rabbit and wear a mask, does that count?” I give a light laugh.

“Ooh, kinky,” Cleo laughs undeterred.

“Not quite, it was for a charity event,” I explain.

“You don’t sound happy,” she notices.

I can hear the creak of the couch as she shifts her weight, most likely curling up like a cat. I’ve never felt more homesick than I do now, and that’s probably why I haven’t called her.

“If I was getting five million dollars to marry a man as young and handsome as Darren Walker, I would dress up like Jessica Rabbit every day,” she whistles.

I chuckle into the phone. “Money isn’t everything,” I remind her.

“I’m covering my ears and pretending I didn’t hear that,” she jokes.

“It’s just very different then I thought it would be,” I admit.

“What’s different?”

I want to say that I didn’t expect to have all these emotions swirling around inside me, but that would open me up to Cleo’s scrutiny. She doesn’t know that I live in the house of a man that I pined over for four years. I can barely admit it to myself.

Instead, I say, “I didn’t think I would be roped into the board of a charity foundation.” An expectation that Darren didn’t mention anything about to me. Was I really expected to take something on like that with legitimate wives of politicians, doctors, and well-to-dos? Not to mention, I have no experience working on a charity. I can’t help but wonder if Darren didn’t say anything to me on purpose.

“Is that really all?” Cleo challenges. “Because working on a charity sounds like a good thing. How else are you going to spend your time – besides shopping?”

Her question strikes me like an arrow, because I don’t have an answer. I didn’t think that far ahead. I’d spent so much time just keeping my head above water that I never had a chance to think about the future. Now, I have what seems like an endless amount of time.

“I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it,” I sigh. “Tell me, what have you been up to?” I ask to take the heat off myself, and mostly so that I can hear her voice some more.

* * *

My walk hadn’t cleared my mind. It only served to make it more cloudy. When I get back to the house I head straight for the gym. I’ve only used it a handful of times, preferring to get in a run outside, but the weather has turned into the cool, wet fall I had always imagined as a kid who grew up in the desert. I wasn’t used to different seasons and the way the weather can change so drastically throughout the day. I find myself enjoying the rain, and the way the trees change colors and lose their leaves as if shedding away the old to make way for the new.

As I finish my set, Darren stops abruptly in the doorway.

The silence in the gym is tangible. Our eyes lock in the mirror. I once thought the house was too big for only two people, but now it feels suffocatingly small. He breaks the stare by sitting down on the weight bench behind me. His perpetually messy brown locks fall into his eyes as he leans down to set his water bottle on the floor. There’s a two-day old shadow of hair along his jaw. He’s wearing a navy Hoyas t-shirt that stretches across his chest, annoyingly too small, showing the definition of his youthful physique.

I watch as he lays down on the bench, sliding under the barbell. Hesitating for a moment, he looks in my direction, catching me watching. The grin on his face causes me to look away. “I would ask you to spot me, but after you almost took my eye out, I’m not sure if you’d try to suffocate me, too.”

“Probably a good call.” I set the bar back on the rack and grab my water bottle.

“You could have caused permanent damage to my eye,” Darren grunts, taking a drink from his sports bottle.

“Don’t be dramatic.” I sit on the mat, wiping sweat from my forehead.

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