Arranged (27 page)

Chapter 27

A Book of Revelations

A
week after Sarah’s wedding, I’m sitting in a coffee shop, waiting for William to show up, when I see Stuart come through the door.

I haven’t laid eyes on him since the day I walked out of our apartment a year ago, and my first reaction is to duck under the table.

Come on, Anne. This is completely ridiculous. It’s just Stuart.

I pick up the newspaper I was reading, nervously wondering if he’s going to notice me. Do I even want him to notice me?

I reach for my coffee and end up spilling it all over the table. Perfect.

“Anne?”

I drop the napkin I’m using to contain the mess. “Hi, Stuart.”

He’s wearing the blue corduroy jacket I gave him for his birthday two years ago and a pair of dark jeans that fit him perfectly. He looks like he’s been on holiday somewhere warm. He looks great, as always.

“Wow. Long time no see,” he says.

“Right.”

“Do you mind if I sit down?”

“I guess not.”

Stuart turns an empty chair around and sits on it, his arms resting across the back. “Well, well, well. Anne Blythe. Looking good, Anne.”

I’m wearing a light blue cashmere pullover my mother gave me for Christmas, and my hair is pulled back in a ponytail. I can’t remember if this is how Stuart liked me to look. Hair up or down?

Who the fuck cares, Anne? This is
Stuart.

“Thanks.”

“How the hell are you?”

“Same old, same old. You?”

“Yeah, you know. Same old, same old.”

He glances around, already looking for something else to focus on. He always used to do this. He always needed to be stimulated by something more than me. Hence the cheating, I guess.

His eyes trail back to me. “I hear you published a book.”

“True.”

“Is it any good?”

Typical. Stuart never read anything I wrote when we were together. Of course not. It wasn’t about him, so he wasn’t interested.

“Some people seemed to think so, I guess.”

He laughs. “Always so serious. I read it.”

“You did?”

“Of course. I liked it. And I could totally tell you’d written it.”

“Really? How do you mean?”

“It had that destined-to-be feeling to it. I remember you always thought that you’d just know if two people were meant to be together.”

Holy shit. Stuart Johnson is showing some kind of insight about me. Hell must be about to freeze over.

“Yeah, I did think that.”

“You ever think that about us?”

Sadly, yes.

“Maybe. Sometimes,” I tell him.

“Such a sweet kid.”

God, he really is an enormous asshole. I was kind of hoping my memory was exaggerating. No such luck.

I give him a tight smile. “So you always said.”

“You with someone?”

“I was with someone, yes.”

His eyes mock me. “And were you meant to be?”

I thought so. To be honest, I’ve been thinking so again, ever since I stayed up all night reading Jack’s book.

“Oh, I don’t really believe in that anymore,” I say.

Stuart looks at me intently. “You’re still in love with him.”

Yup. Hell has just frozen over.

“Why do you say that?”

“C’mon, Anne. I’ve known you for a long time. I can tell you’re still into this guy.”

“Well . . . we broke up.”

“That’s too bad,” he says gently. Surprisingly so.

“Thanks, Stuart.”

“Whether you believe it or not, I only want the best for you.”

I look at him, and it’s as if I’m seeing him for the first time. And he’s not a monster. He’s not a god. He’s just a man I once knew.

He glances at his watch. “Hey, sorry about this, but I kind of have to go. Do you mind?”

“No problem. William will be here any minute.”

“You know, I always thought he was in love with you.”

I laugh. “How much simpler life would be if that were true.”

“See you around?”

“Sure.”

He stands up and turns to walk away.

“Stuart.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“What for?”

For reminding me what I don’t want. For being enough of an asshole that I was forced to change my life. For everything. For nothing.

“It’s complicated.”

He grins. “You know I hate complicated.”

“I know.”

A
few days later, I’m on my way to meet Sarah at the bar. She’s just gotten back from her honeymoon in Greece. It’s a cold night, a reminder that winter’s almost here and I really should be wearing a warmer coat. The stores are lit up, waiting for the after-work crowd to get in some early Christmas shopping.

I still love the feel of this neighborhood: the people on the street, the laughter and smells spilling out of the restaurants, the quieter streets behind the strip. No matter what my mood, walking these streets always makes me feel lighter, happier.

I get to a street corner a block away from the bar and hit a red light. The light changes, and something fluttering across the road catches my eye. I think for a moment that it might be the flyer for Jack’s book launch, but when I pick it up, it’s just a flyer for an exhibit at the art museum.

Jack’s book launch is taking place tonight a few blocks away. He sent me an invitation, and I left it lying around my apartment, unable to throw it out, half wanting to go, half not sure I was ready to see him yet. Jack’s book cover was on it, and a picture of Jack, a picture I took one day on the beach in Mexico. If you look closely enough (and I did), you can see me holding the camera in the reflection in Jack’s eyes.

A horn blares. I’m in the street. I cross to the other side and start walking faster, not paying attention to where I’m going.

I slam into someone. “I’m sorry,” I mutter, trying to get past her.

“Anne? Is that you?”

I look more carefully at the person I almost plowed down. It’s Margaret. She’s wearing an oversize black puffy coat and a knit hat with a pom-pom on top. Her nose is red from the cold.

“Yes, it’s me. Hi, Margaret.” I try to smile. “How are you?”

She gives me a big grin. “I’m great!”

I realize after a moment that she’s rubbing her belly; she must be six months along.

“That’s great, Margaret. I’m so happy for you.”

“Thanks. What about you guys? Any kids yet?”

“No.”

She smiles sympathetically. “I guess you’ve been too busy.”

She looks so happy, I can’t bear to tell her what I know. About Jack. That Brian was probably just randomly chosen and isn’t her perfect match.

“Something like that. Listen, I’ve got to go . . .”

She nods. “Sure. You’re going this way, right? I’ll walk with you.”

Before I can ask how she knows which way I’m going, we’re walking in the same direction, and Margaret has hooked her arm into mine.

“I read your book, Anne. It’s great. I’ve recommended it to all my friends, and my book club’s going to read it next month.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem. I tell everyone I know about it, and that I know you. Not where I know you from . . . don’t worry.” She giggles conspiratorially. “I mean, just because all my friends know where I met my hubby doesn’t mean they have to know about you. Right?”

I wonder when I’ll be able to escape her. Where’s she leading me, anyway?

“And I can’t wait to read Jack’s book. Have you read it? Of course you have. It’s so funny I ran into you, because I saw a poster for his book signing today. Coming here was really a spur-of-the-moment decision, you know me, and then I run into you and everything—”

“Listen, Margaret, I’m meeting my friend, and I think I walked past the bar a block or so ago.”

“What are you talking about, Anne? The bookstore’s right here. You’re going to Jack’s book launch, right?” She blinks slowly, her eyes all wide and innocent.

“Um—”

She grabs my arm again. “Come on, silly. What’s wrong with you today?”

She pulls open the door and nearly drags me into the bookstore. I let her take me through the lobby and up to the second-floor mezzanine, where there’s a short line of people waiting for Jack to sign copies of his book. I can half see his head bent over an open book and his hand scribbling away. I tuck myself behind the person in front of me, hiding.

Is this what a heart attack feels like?

“Why don’t you go up to the front, Anne?”

“Um . . . I thought I’d surprise him.”

She gives me a look. “You two are so funny.”

I peer around the person standing in front of me to sneak a peek at Jack. There’s a woman standing behind him. She’s tall, blond, and tanned. Very pretty. She leans forward and puts her hand on Jack’s shoulder, speaking next to his ear.

“Is that Cameron Diaz?” Margaret asks.

“Of course not.”

Jack smiles at whatever it was the beautiful girl said to him.

“It really looks like her.”

“It’s not Cameron Diaz, Margaret.”

But . . . oh, shit. Didn’t Jack tell me way back in Mexico that his ex-girlfriend looked like her? Getting back at me for my Pierce Brosnan reference, I thought then. Only this must be Kate. Kate from his adventure-racing book. Or whatever her real name is.

I need air.

My phone rings, and I dig around in my purse trying to find it, wishing it were quieter.

Please don’t look up. Please don’t look up.

“Hello,” I whisper into the phone.

“Where the hell are you, Anne? I’ve been waiting for twenty minutes.”

“Sorry, Sarah. I ran into someone I know, and . . . can you wait a second?”

I duck down and skulk away from the line of people waiting for Jack. I get some funny looks, but I don’t stand up again until I’m outside the bookstore.

“Sorry. I ran into someone I knew from Blythe and Company, and she assumed I was coming to Jack’s book launch. She kind of dragged me here.”

“Have you seen Jack?”

“Not really. Just from a distance.”

“Are you going to talk to him?”

“I don’t know. I think his ex-girlfriend is here.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I saw him talking to a girl that . . . It’s too complicated. I’m just pretty sure that’s who it is.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

I sit down on a bench facing the entrance and place my head between my legs.

“Anne? Are you okay?” Sarah asks.

“I don’t know.”

“What? Speak up, I can barely hear you.”

“Anne? Are you all right?” a male voice asks.

I look up at Jack. My heart is pounding, and my throat is dry. He’s wearing khakis, a dark blue pullover, and a blazer, all properly pressed. He looks like he did all those months ago when we first met.

“That has yet to be determined,” I say.

Shit. Why did I say that? Why am I repeating something he said to me back when everything was good between us?

I can tell by Jack’s expression that he realizes I just quoted what he said that morning on the beach in Mexico. He’s trying to figure out if that’s a good thing.

I snap the phone shut on Sarah. She’ll understand.

“What’s going on?” he says tentatively.

“I, um, felt sick.”

I start shivering. I don’t know if it’s from the cold or from Jack’s presence. Maybe both.

“You want to go inside?”

“Not sure.”

I stand up. My legs are wobbly. Jack takes off his blazer and drapes it over my shoulders. For a second he’s standing so close, it’s like I’m in his arms. Then he steps back, and I’m merely enveloped in a blazer that’s too big for me and smells like Jack. I feel dizzy.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Did you want to talk to me about something?”

Did I? Why did I let Margaret lead me here? Why am I standing here, lost in his jacket?

“You invited me.”

“I know, but . . .”

“But what?”

Jack expels the breath he’s been holding. “Did you come here for a reason?”

I look at Jack. This man I married. This man who broke my heart. This man who still makes it beat, beat, beat—and I have a revelation. You know those moments when you look at something obvious and it’s finally obvious to you?

I want to forgive Jack. Maybe I already have.

“I read your book,” I say.