Page 28 of This Is How It Started
“Coming out of the Fairmont.”
“As in the Fairmont Hotel?” It’s the only Fairmont I know but am hoping there’s another one that doesn’t include beds and six-hundred-thread-count sheets.
“The one and only.” Adam hitches his brows in challenge. “Smoking gun enough for you?”
“Not necessarily. There are restaurants in the Fairmont. What time of day was it?”
“Afternoon.”
“Maybe he was entertaining someone from out of town, and he wanted to show them the Tonga Room. It is a San Francisco institution.”
“And maybe I’ll get drafted by the 49ers. No one goes to a tiki bar for lunch. It’s a little early for mai tais.”
We could go round and round, me disputing everything Adam saw as purely circumstantial. What I wanted was details, something concrete that I could base an informed decision on and decide what to do.
“What did Stephen say when he saw you?”
“I don’t think he did. I was coming out of a coffee shop across the street on Mason.”
“Are you sure it was even him?”
Adam pierces me with a look. “As sure as I am that I’m looking at you now. He was holding the leather briefcase Hannah gave him that year for his birthday.”
“Did you recognize the woman?”
“Nope. She was blond. That’s all I can tell you.”
“You think it was the same woman you saw him with at Harry Asia’s?” That would mean Stephen had been seeing her for nearly seven years. The length of time Josh and I were together. For some irrational reason, I decide that infidelity is better if it’s multiple partners instead of just one.
“I couldn’t say. But the fucker clearly has an affinity for blondes.”
Or a blonde. My stomach roils the way it does when I have indigestion. Hannah’s a brunette, like the rest of the Golds.
“What do we do?” I ask, dreading the answer.
“Beats the hell out of me.”
Chapter 13
Going Home
Today I did something absolutely insane, like completely bonkers. That’s the thing about losing the love of your life, you feel like you have nothing else left to lose. Not your pride. Not your loyalty. Not even your sanity. Life simply becomes a succession of ways to survive the pain, using as little energy as possible.
This morning, I held my nose and called Brooke to ask if I could take up my old bedroom until I’m strong enough to find a place of my own, a place where Josh and I have no history, a place that won’t bring back a flood of memories of us.
Granted, it was a strange—and humbling—thing to do, given that Brooke and I aren’t close or even friendly. But I need the safety and familiarity of the house on Vallejo like a sick child needs her mother. I guess you can call it my shelter from the storm. And the house is large enough that Brooke and I never have to see each other.
Weirdly enough, my stepmother is being surprisingly accommodating. Perhaps it’s my imagination—or I’m that pathetic—but she sounds almost eager for me to spend time there. Maybe she’s lonely, though from the little I know of Brooke, she has lots of friends. Other nurses, doctors, members of her hiking group, and a crowd of friends she’s still in touch with from college. I know this because they surrounded her at my father’s funeral like a protective wall. At the time, I wondered if they were protecting her from us, the Golds. Needless to say, I don’t think she’s in want of company. Whatever her reason for letting me stay...well, I’m not going to question it.
Josie says she’ll help me pack. And Adam has volunteered to clean out Josh’s side of the closet, a chore I should’ve done months ago. My landlord is more than thrilled to break the lease, knowing he can jack up the rent another thousand dollars in this market. So, there’s no reason I can’t be out of this apartment and in my childhood home by the end of the week.
All I need is a truck to move. The only people I know who own trucks are Stephen and Campbell. I could ask Hannah if I can borrow it, but ever since Adam told me about Stephen, I’ve been avoiding her. And Campbell...I haven’t talked to him in more than four months.
I pick up the phone at least a dozen times, only to put it back down. On my tablet I do a quick Google search for moving truck rentals. The closest one is ten miles away. If I ask Mom for a ride to the rental place, I’ll have to explain that I’m moving into Brooke’s. I sort of want to wait on that until I’ve had time to work on my story. It’ll take some crafting. Two months ago, I probably could’ve used the pity chip. But I’ve more than likely used up the my-husband-is-dead card.
Believe it or not, there is a statute of limitations on grieving. I’ve learned that the hard way. Besides Josie, none of my friends call anymore. The only reason my family does is because they’re stuck with me.
I could ask Adam, I suppose. But he’s already doing the closet, and things are crazy with him at work, especially now that he has to get his company’s books in tip-top shape for the sale. So I pick up the phone again and rehearse a short speech in my head before I dial.
