Lost in You (25 page)

I wanted to be angry but my heart quickened. My blood seemed to leap in my veins. It was an overwhelming sensation, excitement and affection and fear all rolled into one.

‘Brani …’ My hands warred with each other in front of me. I squeezed my fingers and clutched my hands and when Brani looked pointedly at them I dropped them immediately.

‘Gladys let him in. And then we realised … but we weren’t sure …’ She sighed. ‘Look, he’s in your room. He wanted to leave you a note and –’

‘God damn it,’ I groaned. I pushed past Brani, wanting so badly to be angry but simply feeling helpless instead.

I rushed down the hall and it wasn’t lost on me that part of my urgency was just to set eyes on Dorian again. I was in denial about a lot of stuff, but not so far gone that I was oblivious to the urge to see him. To touch him. Even if it was just to calmly put my hands on his arm and ask him to leave.

‘Sure. That’s it.’ I hesitated outside the door for just a heartbeat. Down the hall I could hear Brani and Gram talking softly to each other. Probably speculating what I’d do. Or chastising each other for the hand they each had in this disaster.

I pushed the door open, expecting him to be sitting right there. To be waiting and staring and anticipating me. Instead, I saw a single piece of yellow legal paper on the bed. The pad he’d torn it from was on the floor, a pen next to it. Scrawled on the paper in atrocious drunken handwriting was: DON’T BE MAD. I THINK I LOVE YOU.

I glanced around, more than a little confused. ‘Dorian?’ I meant to call out but it drifted past my lips, a mere whisper.

I was half afraid, I realised, that he was here. And half that he was not.

‘Dorian?’ I said again. I walked slowly across the floor and pushed open the bathroom door. I bit my lip and almost laughed at what I saw. Dorian Martin, rich boy, hometown good boy – or bad, depending on who you talked to – face down on my fuzzy purple bathroom rug.

He was out cold. His right leg bent, left leg straight. Right arm up over his head, left arm lowered. He looked like he was climbing a wall to nowhere. I did laugh a little then. The absurdity of it all. Avoiding him, running from him, wanting to be near him but pushing it away. All the drama and the turmoil coming to a head in the most uneventful way. Him, oblivious on my bathroom floor.

I considered waking him but the red caught my peripheral vision. The mirror. He’d written on it. It said, in drunk-man scrawl: I LIED. I DO LOVE YOU. I’M SORRY I ACCUSED YOU OF DADDY ISSUES. I’M JUST SORRY. I HOPE YOU CAN AT LEAST LISTEN TO ME. WHEN I’M NOT SO … SLIGHTLY DRUNKEN.

‘Slightly?’ I whispered.

I shut the light and fan off and left him there. I wanted to – a lot of me, anyway – wake him and bring him to my bed. A small part of me wanted to wake him and kick him out. The selfie of him and Natalie being the thing that haunted me.

‘But you had a date tonight,’ I reminded myself as I stripped out of my clothes and found a pair of flannel pyjamas. They were covered in hamburgers, fries and shakes. Neon signs all over the jammies said OPEN ALL NIGHT. Brani called them my slutty pyjamas. And Gram always swatted her when she said it, but laughed anyway.

I snuck down the hall and used the guest bathroom. I wasn’t sure why I was sneaking. The two nosy old women in the living room would hear me. They would know. But I was too tired to care. I was ready for my bed. I’d put on some headphones, watch a show on my iPad and then sleep. If he woke up, we’d talk. If not, it could wait.

I crawled into bed and heard that he was snoring softly. Drunk-person snoring. I smiled and rolled onto my belly, deciding to forgo the show. I’d just lie there and listen to him. I fell asleep doing just that. I dreamed of Nantucket and lobster, laughter and my bound hands, his lips on mine and him saying, ‘I’m going to tell you I love you now.’

At some point the dream shifted and it was back in that small cramped space. Back in that panic-laden rip in my reality that I visited often. The hammering, the banging, my pounding heart. Me clutching at everything, at nothing. Fear sliced through my insides, lighting me up with sickening heat, making me reach out for anything – anyone – solid.

I heard myself cry out even though I tried not to. I was trapped in that past memory and even though some part of me knew that I was home and safe, the small, young part of me that had suffered the trauma clamoured for some sense of safety.

I floated up towards reality to feel a hand on my head. Fingers sifting through my damp hair. ‘Shh, sweetheart. It’s OK.’

I tried to open my eyes, but exhaustion won the battle and I thrashed somewhere between awake and asleep. The fingers stroked my brow, cupped my cheek, smoothed along my eyelids. ‘It’s OK, Clover. It’s just a dream. Just a dream …’

The voice made my heart thud in an entirely different way from the dream.

I moved to grab his hand but missed. A gentle kiss on my forehead and he whispered, ‘You’re not alone. It’s OK. You’re safe.’

I woke fully but didn’t open my eyes. I could sense him watching me and I panicked. I wasn’t sure what to do. Or what I’d say. It didn’t matter anyway. I was shocked to realise he was sneaking away from me now that I’d calmed, opening the door and leaving. He hadn’t even tried to wake me. He’d simply left.

It had just been a nice gesture. Him soothing me. I could only assume he’d felt coming to me had been a mistake. Maybe he’d been right.

* * *

I poured cream into my coffee and let Brani and Gram stare. They’d been up when he left. It was like the reverse walk of shame. Sneaking out after nothing had happened. It was worse than sneaking out after a good night of fucking, wasn’t it?

‘So, you two, did he say anything when he left?’

‘I didn’t see him,’ Brani said. ‘I was making coffee. I just heard the front door.’

My eyes went to Gram. She had pressed her lips tight together the way she did when she was displeased. Who was she displeased with? I wondered.

‘Well?’

‘He said he was sorry,’ she said. She toyed with her coffee spoon and took a sip before wiping her mouth with a napkin.

‘To you or … what?’

‘He said he was sorry he’d come in like that last night. That it wasn’t fair for me and Brani to have to deal with that. That he’d acted like a teenager. Acted like the boy he’d …’ She folded the napkin and then unfolded it. Nervous habit. ‘The boy he’d been once. The boy who’d disappointed everyone. He said it had been unfair of him to do it and stupid and to tell you that you deserve better than his nonsense.’

‘Nonsense?’

‘OK, he said “bullshit”. But you know how I feel about cur–’

‘Yeah. I know how you feel about cursing. OK. Great. So he comes here, waits for me, falls asleep, never speaks to me and gives up on me.’ I felt the horribly embarrassing bite of tears in my eyes.

‘I don’t think it’s you he’s given up on, Clover,’ Gram said. ‘I think he’s lost. I think he’s given up on himself. But it’s just temporary. There’s a lot of …’ She waved her hands around trying to find the right word. ‘There’s a lot of cracks and crazes when it comes to –’

She stopped right there. Her eyes darted to Brani before returning to me.

‘Comes to what?’

‘Love,’ Gram said.

‘Please,’ I snorted. ‘He doesn’t love me.’

‘Clover, if you really think that then you are a fool. And you’re blind and deaf and certainly dumb.’

‘That’s not what they mean by dumb,’ I said.

‘I know. But it’s what
I
mean by it.’

In the corner, Brani snorted.

I was out in the parking lot before I realised I had no car.

‘Damn.’

I heard shave-and-a-haircut tapped out on a horn and turned towards the sound. Matt’s truck idled by the main entrance. He raised a hand out of the open window and yelled, “Thought you might need a ride!” I waved back, hurrying his way.

‘Great. Just what I need. To start my morning with Mr Wrong …’ I muttered. But I put on a smile because I was grateful and, if I weren’t so tangled up in Dorian Martin and my own impossible knot of issues, I’d probably think that Matt the marble guy was the bee’s knees … as Gram would say.

Wind picked up my skirt and tossed it above my knees. Luckily I had on black tights and black boots. I shoved it down and wrapped my long sweater around my body more tightly. Chilly had turned almost cold. Small leaden raindrops hit my face. The wind flung them hard enough that it felt as if little bits of metal were hitting my face instead of just water.

I climbed into the truck and took a deep breath. The cab smelled of coffee and clean man. He handed me a cup. ‘Good morning?’

‘Is that a question?’

Matt inclined his head and turned the radio off. ‘It is. You look a bit flustered.’

‘Flustered is a good word,’ I said, settling back. ‘That word reminds me of a bird. A startled bird. And that’s pretty much on the money how I feel.’ I took a sip of the coffee. Two sugars, enough cream to make it light. ‘God bless you,’ I said, practically moaning.

‘Did I get it right?’ he chuckled, putting the truck into gear.

‘Perfect.’

‘I took a shot in the dark.’

‘You shot right.’

We turned out of the parking lot and onto Block Lane. ‘You OK?’

‘Fine, why?’ I felt like a big fat liar just saying it.

‘You seem like you have a lot on your mind this morning.’

‘Just the normal stuff.’

Matt nodded. I could tell by looking at him that he didn’t buy it.

When we were almost to my car he put his hand on my hand. I felt myself stiffen before I could help myself. He smiled, still facing the road, not me. Then he removed his hand.

‘Don’t worry, Clover. I’m pretty astute. I kind of figured last night was our one and only date.’

‘I –’ I didn’t know what to say.

He pulled into a spot down from my car. ‘It’s fine. I know how it feels to be hung up on someone. Even if someone nice comes along. Maybe someone you’d be really interested in any other time. And yet …’ He turned and took my hand again and kissed it. ‘It’s just not the same. And it’s fine. But do me a favour?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Keep me in mind if you ever find yourself not hopelessly in love with someone who isn’t me.’

I smiled. ‘Who said I’m in love?’ I asked. I heard the resignation in my own voice.

Matt chuckled. ‘Your face? Your demeanour? You don’t wear your heart on your sleeve,’ he said, cutting the engine. ‘You wear it head to toe, kid.’

I shook my head. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. Just remember that favour for me.’

‘I will.’

‘Really?’ He was smiling at me again. It was a kind of sad smile.

‘Yes, really. If I wasn’t so stupid and turned around right now, I’d be giddy over a date with a guy like you. You’re a pretty good catch, Matt. Not sure if you know.’

He gave me a brisk nod, handed me the keys to my car.

I unlocked my car. He was a good catch, but if you were already all stupid and moony over someone else, good catch or not, it wasn’t going to work.

* * *

My radio went off. I had only been at the desk for a few minutes when I heard its scratchy call. Then it was a comedy of errors with me trying to get the stupid thing unhooked from the back of my skirt.

‘Clover? Did you hear me?’

It was Marilyn from Ed’s office.

‘I’m trying! I … um …’ I fumbled with it and had half turned my skirt around when I finally managed to unclip it and hit the button. ‘Yes, hi, um … sorry. I got stuck. What can I do for you?’

‘You’re needed up in the records suite.’

‘OK. For what?’

‘Baby, I have no idea. I just do what I’m told. I got an IM from Ed that said to send you to the records room. They’re moving that big painting into the dedication space today, but I don’t know what that has to do with anything. Sweetheart, I am just the messenger.’

‘Got it,’ I sighed. Not in the mood to trek all the way up to the business floors. It was one flight of stairs beyond the marble Matt had fixed. Hopefully he’d cleared out and I wouldn’t have to do the awkward hey-we-almost-dated head nod.

Plus, I’d have to walk past the small nook that I’d last been with Dorian in. It would be impossible to pass that recess in the wall without imagining me with my ass perched on it, legs wrapped around his waist as he took me.

I gasped and realised the button was still depressed.

‘Are you OK?’

‘Fine,’ I said, quickly. ‘Just tired. I yawned.’

‘Sweetie, that so did not sound like a yawn,’ Marilyn said and then: ‘Over and out, roger that, check … whatever the hell you’re supposed to say on these things.’

Then she was gone.

I hurried up the hall and was grateful I’d worn low-heeled boots. Outside, the weather was grey and chilly and the sprinkles had turned to a full-on deluge. It made me sad. It made me think of my time stuck there with Dorian.

Which made me think of this morning. Him talking me down out of my recurring dream. Knowing what it was and pausing to soothe me out of it. I smiled despite myself. If only he’d stayed and let me talk to him. I could have probably found the nerve if he’d given me a minute or two.

The elevator had a sign on it that informed me it was out of order.

‘Excellent,’ I sighed.

Up what? Four? five? flights of marble steps. I started jogging. On the third flight I felt some vertigo. By the time I hit the records room I realised I didn’t have a key.

‘Fuck. Fuck!’ I whispered. I banged on the small reinforced-glass window. ‘Hello? It’s Clover! I don’t have a key card. Hello?’

I smacked the thick glass again and peeked inside. The room was dark but for a light all the way down the hallway where the record-room clerk would usually be. But there was no clerk right now, of course, because with the exception of restoration crew and certain necessary staff the place was shut down.

‘Hello?’ I whispered, pressing my face to the door. ‘Ed?’

The door swung open and I had a moment of utter panic. This was a little horror-movie-ish for my taste. I hesitated. I couldn’t see who had opened the door.

‘It’s me. Will you come in and talk to me?’

As soon as I heard his voice my body relaxed. My shoulders unbunched and my heart sped up. ‘Dorian?’