Page 89 of Happy After All

“Saving all my love for you,” I say, flippantly, but it lands heavy, and I feel my face get hot. “You know. Metaphorically.”

He clears his throat. “Right.”

He gets off the bed and starts hunting for his clothes.

I do the same.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he says.

And I smile. “Yes. I’ll see you tonight.”

Chapter Twenty

I don’t know why I feel like I’m engaging in a walk of shame out of my own room, but I do. I move quietly around the courtyard, making my way to the reception desk, slipping into my pink chair.

I ask Elise to stop by the office when she gets back from dropping Emma off, and then I type in the password for my computer.

My Word document is still there, minimized. My crickets chirp at me, and I feel disoriented. Like I forgot what my real life is. Like I’ve forgotten everything except the last all-consuming twelve hours with Nathan.

The door to reception opens, and Wilma walks in, followed by Lydia. They each have a copy of my most recent book in their hands.

“Good morning,” says Wilma.

“Hi,” I say, typing a couple more words officiously in my manuscript.

“We just came to tell you how wonderful we think your new novel is,” Wilma says.

“Yes,” says Lydia, smiling.

“I don’t think you did,” I say. Because I know them, and I know that they’re up to something.

“It is good,” says Wilma. “But what we wanted to ask you about is what exactly happened when you went into that man’s motel room and didn’t emerge until the early hours of the morning.”

My mouth drops. “Are you spying on me?”

“No. You wereveryindiscreet.” Lydia looks at me meaningfully.

“It really is such a boon to your generation,” Wilma says. “We couldn’t be so obvious when we took a lover. You know, back in Charleston in 1959, I bedded a man who worked at the newspaper, and his endowments—”

“Wilma,” says Lydia. “We want to hear Amelia’s story, not about your days as the town bike of Charleston.”

“They were good days,” Wilma says, with a smile. “Tell us about how he is as a lover, Amelia.”

I want to be offended. I want to dig in and say that he in fact isn’t my lover. That nothing happened when I went into his room.

The truth is, nothing happened inhisroom.

But I can still feel the impression of his hands on my body from the morning spent in my room, so I feel that my protestations would ring hollow.

“I just felt like I was entitled to a little bit of fun,” I say.

Wilma laughs. “I knew it. And I knew you had electricity.”

The door opens again, and in walks Elise.

“We’ll let you gossip,” Wilma says, patting my hand as she and Lydia exit, clearly taking credit for my sex life.

My crickets chirp again, and I jump.

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