Page 18 of Nothing Less than Magic
It’s Austin. The man never lets up. I let it go to voicemail. But as soon as he disconnects, he starts calling again.
I finally relent and answer, trying to sound as composed as possible. “Hello, Austin.”
“I heard what happened after you left the Top of the Mark. Jesus, Chelsea, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just a few cuts and bruises.” I don’t tell him about the headaches and my loss of memory. What’s the point? As soon as I return to San Francisco, I’ll see a specialist. I’m sure there’s medication I can take or some other remedy. Modern medicine.
“Why didn’t you call me?” he says. “I could’ve come to the hospital. I could’ve made sure you got home alright. For God’s sake, Chels, you don’t have . . .”
“I don’t have . . . What, Austin? What don’t I have? Spit it out!”
“I just meant . . . well, a person who’s been badly injured shouldn’t be alone.”
“I’m not alone, Austin. I’ve got plenty of friends up at the cabin. And Lolly and the kids are coming. Uncle Sylvester, too.”
There’s a long pause. Then, “You don’t have to put on a brave face for me. Say the word, and I’ll come up and make sure you have everything you need.”
“That’s very kind of you,” I say between gritted teeth, because what I want to tell him is I wouldn’t be in this position in the first place if it wasn’t for him. But that’s not really fair. I’m the klutz who walked into a cable car. I should’ve been paying attention. “But it’s unnecessary. I’m getting all the care I need.”
“Are you sure?”
Even though I don’t want him to come, I’m angry that he’s given up so easily, which is incredibly passive-aggressive of me. It’s something I spend a lot of time discussing in my courses and books. How damaging and unhealthy passive-aggressive behavior is. How instead of confronting anger, you let it fester just beneath the surface, thwarting any hope of resolution.
“Absolutely,” I say. “Well, thanks for calling.” I start to disconnect, but he stops me.
“What’s the big hurry? Can’t we talk for a few minutes?”
“I’m tired, Austin,” which is the truth, despite having slept a good portion of the day away.
“But it’s not even ten o’clock yet. I thought you were feeling fine?”
“I was out last night and got up early this morning to go on a long hike.”
“Out last night? Where?”
I’m about to take a page out of Knox’s instruction book and tell him to “kindly fuck off” but decide it’s better to be an adult about it. “The Ghost Inn.”
“The Ghost Inn? Why?”
“I popped in for a drink.”
“You go to random bars now?”
“Random bars? You make it sound like I’m a barfly. It’s a beautiful hotel, and the lounge is lovely. My friend is a mixologist there.” I don’t know where the mixologist part came from, but I want Austin to know that we’re not talking about some saloon at the O.K. Corral.
“Chelsea, it’s not like I don’t know the place. I’m not casting aspersions at the Ghost Inn, for God’s sake. It’s just out of character for you to hang out at a bar, any bar, is all I’m saying.”
“Oh is it? Did you ever think that maybe you don’t know me anymore? We’ve been divorced for a year. A lot has changed, including how I choose to entertain myself.”
“I’m surprised is all. There’s no need to get pissy about it.”
I modulate my voice, as if I’m talking to one of my clients. “Do I sound pissy? I don’t think I do, Austin. Perhaps you’re hearing what you want to hear.”
“Look, Chels, I’m not trying to turn this into a fight. I called because I was worried about you. When you didn’t return my calls, I became even more concerned. Now that I know you’re all right, I feel better. I’m glad you’re at the cabin, safe and sound. And I hope you enjoy your stay there. Okay?”
“That’s very kind of you, Austin.” It’s all I can do to keep from saying, I hope you and Mary choke on your wedding cake. “Thank you for calling and good night.” I hang up before he can get the last word in.
Now I’m wide awake and angry. To make matters worse, I’m a little sick from all the chocolate I’ve eaten, and my headache has returned with a vengeance. I go in search of a bottle of Advil and stub my toe on the console. Dammit! I wish I’d never answered the phone.
