Leaving Amy (Amy #2) (27 page)

My fears that he wouldn’t make it on time were realized when I walked in the waterfront restaurant and saw the couple sitting by the window at the hostess stand. “Hello. It’s so good to see you both.”

I shook their hands and they both seemed to be in good spirits, despite my three minutes being late. And my husband being a no-show at this point.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

Frank’s tummy raised and fell as he chuckled out his answer. “Heavens no. Just got here ourselves.”

“It’s beautiful.” Susan looked around at the wall, marveling at the string of lights the manager had strung for the holidays. White birds with glittery wings sat on tree branches woven through fish netting.

Our hostess appeared and directed us to our seats. I felt the need to apologize every other word for my missing-in-action husband. I prayed he didn’t have a hangover when he got there. Surely twelve hours was sufficient time to shed the layer of immaturity he’d stumbled in the house with. Or shall I say, “layer of fun.”

“Well, look there.” Frank stared off somewhere toward the back of the establishment. “Isn’t that Tom?”

Just the mention of his name made my hopes spring up and down. I’d gone thirty-two hours without talking to him. Oh, there were moments when I’d type out an entire message on my phone, remarking how I’d seen that dip at the store we loved so much, or inquiring whether the caterer sent over the last menu for the party, or—and this was sad—whether he’d remembered to turn off the coffee pot before going to work. I’d caught it on a few times after he’d left.

“Tom?” I tried not to seem like an eager puppy seeing where the bacon was hidden.

“Why sure, over there with that group of people.” He pointed, only to have his wife place her hand over his, as if showing him how to lower his weapon.

“Don’t point, dear. It isn’t polite.”

“Well, Tom doesn’t care. That rascal beat me at racquetball before graciously buying me a round of drinks with my associates. He’s good stock, that man.”

Indeed, he was. Not someone who was late to dinner. I checked my watch under the table. Wesley was five minutes late.

I tried to change the subject. No need in comparing good stock with the obvious late stock. “So are you two out of that hotel yet?”

I sat up straight, trying to seem unaffected by Tom sitting twenty or so feet away. I reached behind my neck and pulled at the tiny hairs, trying to focus my attention.

“Well, now, you see, funny you should mention that. We were stood up today by our realtor. Seems she forgot we had an appointment.”

“It’s not the first time,” Susan chimed in, placing her glass of water back down on the table. “She was twenty minutes late on Monday when we had our first meeting.”

I plucked a hair, just cringing at how Wesley was giving them the same impression by not being here. That’s when Tom strolled to the table.

“I thought that was you, Frank.” He smiled as he extended his hand to shake with the jolly fellow.

Oh, pa-lease.
Tom was there that night at the party when Frank said we were meeting here this Wednesday.
No need in trying to fool anyone, Tom.

“Susan.” He took her hand and gently shook it.

I looked up at the precise time his eyes had settled on mine.

“Amy. It’s always a pleasure.”

He took my hand and my central circuit board began to glitch. “Tom, it’s good to see you.”

“Say, you wouldn’t know of any realtors, would you, Tom? I was just telling Amy how we’re not having any luck with ours. Stood us up today, wouldn’t you know it.”

“I do know of one. She’s actually got her own company now.” He took his phone from his jacket pocket.

“Here, sit down.” I pulled out Wesley’s empty chair while Tom fumbled with his phone.

“I know it’s here somewhere.”

I suddenly became nervous with how this would look when Wesley came to the table. If he ever came to the table.
Where was he?

“Here, give it to me.” I offered to take it and help in the search.

Tom, bless his heart, still didn’t have the hang of this new smartphone. When I took his Blackberry, it was as though I took his index finger. Working with only four fingers wasn’t proving too effective for him.

“She gets me this phone and tells me it’ll even show me how to get places.”

I try not to look up, but I see Frank shoot a look to Susan. My paranoia levels are climbing.
Where is the contact list on this thing and why isn
’
t it working?

“Ah, here. It’s Mary you’re looking for, right? Mary Rollins?” I look at Frank and Susan. “She is fabulous. And trust me when I say she will never miss an appointment. She was my parents’ realtor.”

Susan found a piece of paper in her bag and took down the number. “Thanks, we’ll give her a call.”

I looked up when I heard someone clear their throat. It was Wesley.
Finally.

“Hey, where have you been? Traffic bad?” My thoughts were jumbled with Tom still there.

Tom rose from the table and shook his hand. “Wesley.”

Wesley seemed confused. “I’m sorry I’m late. A client kept me over at the office.”

Yeah, right. Client Coors Lite.
And it was more like last night.

“Well, have a seat. The waiter has been circling. I’m sure he’s ready to tell us his specials.” I looked down at the table, feeling as though we’d all been caught having fun with Tom in Wesley’s absence.

“Well, I’ll shove off then. I hope you have a good meal. Try the crab cakes; they’re really good tonight.”

“Thanks for coming over, Tom. It was good seeing you. I’ll be in touch with a re-match.” Frank grinned like a little boy after saying it.

“Good-night, Tom.” I tried my best to say it like Frank. Simple, plain, and without much inflection.
It didn
’
t sound too needy, did it? Good-night?

Wesley took his seat and the rest of the evening was vanilla. The conversation was rehearsed, the food was great, and my thoughts wanted desperately to wander out of the restaurant with Tom. Wondering whether he would go home and watch television, work late at the office, or whether any of his thoughts were of me.

“Oh look, the furniture came!” I said, as I stumbled into the front room of our house.

It was beautiful. I got it on sale over at Miller and Sons. The saleslady let me have it at fifteen percent off. End of year something or other.

“Yeah, I didn’t want to say that’s why I was late tonight. It took them forever to get it through the door and unwrap it.”

I kicked my shoes off at the door and went to touch it. Soft and chenille-like. It was almost white; real white was too scary with Wesley eating and drinking on it. Off-white could still camouflage dirty butt stains and chip oil.

“Where’s our old furniture? I thought you had movers who were bringing it over here. With your other things.”

Yeah, about that. Number one, I didn
’
t have the key to the moving truck. Number two, I didn
’
t want to bring all my other things along with it. There was something about being half committed to this thing. I
’
d find my cement somewhere and throw down some, therefore sinking my shoes into the messy stuff and realizing this was the last stop. Here with you
…
Wesley. The man I married. Then watched in a coma for weeks after leaving me. Only to find out about what
’
s her name and you were
…
.

“Amy? I asked where our other stuff was?”

“Oh, right. I just wanted new sofas. Is that all right?”

“Sure. What am I saying? Of course it is. In fact, let’s just buy a new house!” He grabbed and swung me around.

“Wesley, what’s gotten into you?”

He pressed me hard against his body. “Amy, the money came through. Jeff had it wired today!” He released his grip enough that I could take a breath. “And the guy I was working with found someone to sublet the restaurant in Nevada. After I pay the penalty for getting out of the apartment lease, I’ll be finished with that part of my life. We can celebrate!”

I casually backed out of his swing-dance. “That’s great news.”

I wanted to ask what he learned from all this. Especially considering it’d all disappeared within a few short months. No life lessons there if he didn’t feel the crunch at least a little day by day. No, with just a stroke of the check and a nod from the restaurant guy, Wesley got to go on vacation from life and escape it without a scar.

I had to stop thinking this way. I didn’t want him to go through life suffering. Well, not
all
his life.

“So, that’s a chapter behind you, I guess.” I tried to control my nostrils from flaring.

“The worst chapter of my life. I don’t know how I could’ve done it without you.” He moved closer to me, pulling me in.

On reflex, I pushed my hand against him.

“Amy, what gives? I want to thank you.” He put his hand behind my neck and pecked me on the lips. Unaffected by my doorstop of a hand against his chest.

“I’m just on edge, I guess.”

“On edge? Why on earth are you on edge?”

I backed away from him and sat down on the sofa.
Wow, that felt great. Plushy and comfy.
“Are you going to be able to pull the firm out of the brink?”

He sat down next to me. His hand caressed my arm. “Of course. It’s not as bleak as Nick is making it out to be. I’ve got all the clients I’ve been working with, and they’re not going anywhere. We still get a percentage of Mason’s and Curtis’s clients. And with Frank Cabrella on board, we’re looking at a healthy New Year.”

“I don’t know. Frank could go either way.”

“What does that mean?” His body tensed. “And why was Tom sitting at the table before I came in? Are you trying to sabotage what we’ve got, Amy? You do realize he owns a large law firm that is in direct competition with ours.”

See, I thought he was referring to what
we
had: Wesley and me, not the firm. I had to re-check the question before I answered.
Take off the guilty-edged response. Keep it business.

“Of course not, Wesley. The firm was my father’s too. I want to see it prosper. Tom was just saying hello to Frank. They play ball together, or something.” I didn’t need to be so spot-on with my information.

“I think it’s a little convenient that Tom is so chummy with you, and he plays ball with Frank Cabrella.”

“It’s not a conspiracy, for goodness’ sakes. Anyway, Tom and I were friends before Frank and Susan came to town.”

“Yeah, and I can’t say I’m a fan of it.”

“What?”

“You and Tom. I mean, you have matching tattoos, am I right?”

“Well, they’re not matching exactly.”

“My point, Amy, is that I couldn’t even get you to go jet-skiing last summer, in the bay where there’s very little waves, and you go out and get permanent ink injected under your skin with a needle, with this guy?”

Jet-skiing made me nervous. Wesley liked to intentionally scare me, given the chance. I could only imagine getting behind him at the wheel of a water sport.
No thanks.

“It’s tiny, Wesley.”

“I know. I’ve seen it.”

He moved closer and played with my hair. “Which brings me to the next point I wanted to celebrate.”

“Which is?” As if I didn’t know. All the signs were there. Foreplay of hair playing had commenced.

“You returning home. It was so nice seeing the kitchen and bathrooms clean this morning.”

Well, at least he noticed. How many years was it never mentioned?
Of course, I’d rather have him liking me home for more reasons than I could shake a brush at the toilet. But whatever. I felt bad enough not being overly excited about my return. I just needed time to get acclimated, I hoped.

“You're welcome. They were atrocious, by the way.”

He nuzzled into my neck, kissing it softly. His hands wandered down my thigh.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered in my ear. “In ways I’d like to show you.”

I swallowed hard. A snapshot of Tom clicked in my brain. Fooling with that stupid smartphone. Of course it couldn’t be of him kissing me.
What kind of sick fantasizer was I?

“Let’s go upstairs.”

I cleared my throat. This was it. This was placing the wax on the end of the brass plate and sealing the envelope shut. Once I made love to Wesley, I knew there was no going back on my decision to return. Even if I still had the moving van safely tucked at Tom’s house. Might as well call the tow truck and haul my sorry things home now. I wasn’t the type to sleep and run.

I took the hand that was outstretched to me, beckoning me to consummate our back togetherness. We were almost up the stairs, me with a knot in my stomach and him pulling on me like a stubborn mule, when we heard something on the porch. I stopped first.

“What is that?”

He stared at me, waiting for it to make another noise. When it did, he let my hand go and crept back down. Before he could make it to the door, it swung open. I stretched over the banister to see. My nightmare had just begun; it was my sister, Ashley.