Trainwreck 2 (Trainwreck #2) (8 page)

Frustrated and furious, I thought about stopping for a drink to chill out, but I was afraid in my state I’d drink too much and do something foolish. Like get into a bar room brawl or even worse, an accident. I had a son. A son I loved and needed as much as the air I breathed, and I couldn’t risk my life at any cost. Control, my shrink said, was part of my M.O., but when it came to Sarah, I totally lost it.

Getting a hold of myself with a deep breath, I speed dialed Olga at the next red light. Don’t ask me how, but I had a hunch that Sarah and that little Latin prick might be heading to her place. I gave her the address and told her to hang out there. And to keep me posted.

It took me a fucking long hour to get up to Eighty-Fifth Street. Valeting my car, I stalked up to my apartment. It was after seven and Ben was already sound asleep in bed.

“
Eez
everything okay,
Señor
Golden?” asked my perceptive housekeeper, Luisa, sensing my distress.

“Yes,” I assured her as calmly as I could, knowing that she was as worried about Cassandra’s reappearance as I was. “I’m going to my office to do some work.”

I could tell from her concerned expression that she knew something was off. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, Luisa. Thank you, but I’m good.” I did, however, stop at my well-stocked bar to pour myself a shot of brandy before heading to my office.

My office was located off the living room. It was spacious and as elegant as the rest of the apartment. The Art Deco desk I sat at had once belonged to my father, which made it special. It was uncluttered with just my large desktop computer and some family photos strategically placed. Sipping the brandy with my tie loosened, I reviewed my upcoming presentation to our Board of Directors and then tweaked the speech I was giving at the gala to raise money for my non-profit foundation, Meds Without Borders. Both were happening tomorrow, the former in the afternoon at my corporate headquarters and the latter in the evening at the Waldorf Astoria—the event I’d planned to take Sarah to until fucking Cassandra and Sarah’s damn boyfriend got in the way. As my blood simmered, my cell phone pinged. A text. My iPhone was right next to my computer and I grabbed it. The message was from Olga.

Air clogged my lungs and my chest tightened. In my face was a photo of fucking Fernando carrying Sarah up the landing to her brownstone. She looked unconscious. Limp. A blood-curdling mixture of anxiety and envy coursed through me. As concerned as I was about Sarah’s well-being, what drove me fucking insane was the fact that she was in his arms. My beautiful princess only belonged in one pair of arms. Mine.

Breathing in and out of my nose, I called Olga.

“Follow him.”

Sarah

I
heard my alarm go off. The shrill, painful ring echoed in my ears. GRRR!
No, no, no!
But my alarm didn’t hear me. Peeling one eye open, I took in my surroundings. It took me a few moments to get my bearings. I was home, stark naked in my bed. My foul-tasting tongue was pasted to my parched palate, and my head pounded. I had no recollection of how I got to my apartment. The last thing I remembered was Fernando hailing a cab. And I think I threw up a lot. Oh God! My fucked-up life had turned me into a drunken fool. Fortunately, Fernando was the kind of friend who was as forgiving as he was faithful. The clothes I’d worn last night were folded neatly on a small chair. Fernando must have undressed me, but because he was gay, I somehow didn’t mind so much. And probably whatever I wore yesterday reeked from barfing. A wave of nausea washed over me. A reminder. I was majorly hungover.

Thank goodness, I was taking the day off from work to visit my mother. I wouldn’t have to face Fernando. And I wouldn’t have to face the wicked bitch. I was in no condition to put up with her demands or threats. On Monday, I planned to go to human resources. No, I wasn’t going to file harassment charges—that was too risky—but I was going to put in a request for a transfer. It wouldn’t win me back the heart of my Trainman, but at least it would give my life a glimmer of sanity.

Opening my other eye, I glanced at the alarm clock on my nightstand. Shit. It was almost ten. I had a train to catch at eleven, which meant I had less than a half hour to get ready. Wrapping the tacky zebra print sheet around me, I rolled out of bed and staggered into the kitchen. Jo-Jo was already on the counter, waiting to be fed. After opening a can of cat food and pouring him some milk, I made myself some much needed coffee and took a couple of Advil for my splitting headache.

Even after the coffee, Advil, and a hot shower, I was still in slow-mo. Getting dressed was an effort. I threw on the first thing I could find, and after lacing up my combat boots, I grabbed my bag and headed out. Trudging down the rickety stairs to the street, I ran into Mrs. Blumberg on the second floor landing. She waggled a reprimanding finger at me.

“I saw you with another man last night. You’re gonna getcha yourself one of those sexually transmitted diseases.”

I sighed. I was in no mood for conversation nor did I have the time. Instead of responding to Mrs. Blumberg’s reproachful comment, I told her I was off to see my mother and was running late.

“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Before I could say another word, the old woman scuttled into to her apartment and then returned with a large baggie full of cookies.

“My famous
rugelach
. I baked them this morning. Tell her they’re from me and that I’ll be at
shul
tonight praying for her.”

With a wistful smile that I couldn’t help, I took the bag of pastries and slipped it into my roomy bag. “Thanks, Mrs. Blumberg. She’ll appreciate these…and your prayers.”

With a
zay gezunt,
which meant “stay well,” Mrs. Blumberg shuffled back to her apartment. As annoying as she could be, I was blessed to have her in my life. She was a good person who meant well. I promised myself to spend more time with her. A widow, she was probably lonely.

I continued my descent down the stairs until I reached the front door to the building. Stepping outside, I squinted my eyes. The bright sunshine, which contrasted sharply with my mood, hurt my bloodshot eyes, and didn’t help my headache. I should have worn the sunglasses Ari gave me when he took me to the Hamptons, but on second thought, they would have only been a painful reminder of all the good times we had.

With a weighty heart, I trudged to Penn Station. No matter what time of day, the country’s biggest train hub was always hot and congested, and as I puttered through the stinky catacomb-like warrens, nausea again rose in my chest. Then an unsettling thought crossed my mind. Would I run into Ari on the train? Chances were I wouldn’t since he likely took an early morning commuter train. I should have felt a sense of relief, but instead a wave of sadness swept over me. My heart ached.

The ninety-minute train ride to Philadelphia only added to my gloom. I was in the crowded economy class, sitting next to a smelly, overweight man who kept belching. Someone who was nothing like my beautiful Trainman. Memories of that fateful ride last Friday danced in my head. I longed for Ari as I penned ideas for Combat Wombats. My heart just wasn’t into it. I couldn’t concentrate. Halfway through the trip, I closed my heavy-lidded eyes and dozed off. I was lucky I didn’t miss my stop. 30th Street Station.

While I’d been in 30th Street Station several times before, this time was different. I stood in the middle of the vast station and spun around, taking it in like a panoramic camera lens. My eyes landed on the VIP mezzanine, and gazing up, I relived the moment of seeing him there for the very first time. My beautiful Trainman. That golden-haired Adonis who had held me, kissed me, and made delicious love to me. That sex god who had awoken every fiber of my being. That bastion of masculine perfection to whom I had given myself, unconditionally and oh so passionately. Only a week ago and yet it felt like a lifetime. The pain of giving him up constricted my chest. Was it a selfless decision or a stupid one? Tears pricked my eyes.

I took a deep breath. Enough. He wasn’t magically going to reappear. Here or anywhere else in my fucked up life. The hurt in his eyes last night when he saw me with Fernando weighed on me. With a heavy heart, I exited the station and headed west on busy Market Street until I reached the hospital on Spruce Street. It was a short, mile-long walk, but with my leaden feet, it felt like forever.

HUP—The Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania—was a venerable institution renowned for its clinical and research excellence as well as for its world-class patient care. I was glad that my mother had been selected to undergo an experimental but promising cancer treatment. But now with the federal grant sponsoring the treatment about to run out, hope was dwindling. With no solution on the horizon and my job in jeopardy, a dark cloud loomed over me. Plus, I still didn’t know how I was going to break the bad news to her. Dread filled every crevice of my being.

My mother’s room was located on the top floor of the Perelman Center for Advanced Medicine, a modern state-of-the-art building adjacent to the main hospital. I always got depressed when I stepped out of the elevator. Roaming the halls were men and women of all ages and races, hooked up to IVs, their skin ashen and their heads bald. Some walking like zombies. I always thought this floor was just a stop away from heaven. And maybe for a few, a stop away from hell.

The door to my mother’s room at the end of the east wing was opened. She was propped up in her bed, sketching. She looked up from her sketchpad and gaped when she saw me.

“Sarah, what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing, Mom.”
Everything,
I solemnly thought as I padded over to her bed to kiss her. She looked good. Her head was wrapped in a bright scarf, and she had some color in her hollow cheeks that was not there the last time I saw her. And she wasn’t coughing.

“My darling, you look so pale and thin.” Alarm widened her warm caramel eyes.

I couldn’t hide a thing from my mother. No matter how hard I tried. Overcome with emotion, I sat down on the edge of her bed, and the tears I had held back all day ran down my cheeks. I began to sob.

“Oh, Mom,” I spluttered. “Everything’s so messed up. I’m a total trainwreck.”

“Oh, honey!” She leaned forward and wrapped her stick-thin arms around me, letting me cry into her bony chest. Oh how frail she was! Here she was taking care of me when I should be taking care of her.

I stayed in this position for a while. When my sobbing subsided, I told my mother everything about my week, sparing only the very explicit sexual details and Gwen’s bribe. How I’d lost my virginity to a stranger on a train and fell in love with him…only to find out that his evil ex-wife was also my evil boss who threatened to fire me if I didn’t stop seeing him.

“Oh, Mom,” I sniffed. “I miss him so much, and I think I’ve hurt him terribly by pretending to be in love with Fernando.”

My mother hugged me again and then framed my face like a painting with her withered hands. “My darling daughter, love is a disease for which there is no cure.”

My mother had never totally gotten over the heartbreak my father had caused her. Even after the news of his fatal overdose. With her haunting words whirling around in my head, I looked into my wise mother’s benevolent eyes and asked softly, “What should I do?”

She brushed away my tears with her long, elegant fingers. “Sarah, never forget that you were born wearing combat boots. You are a warrior princess. Don’t let that horrible boss of yours scare you. Fight for what you want. And for who you want. He sounds like a really good man.”

She lifted her sketchbook and flipped through the pages, landing on a portrait of me. The image shocked me. I was actually pretty, and in my big, brown, wide-set eyes, there was a fiery blend of intelligence, compassion, and determination.

“Do you like it?” my mother asked.

“Oh, Mom! It’s so good!” I studied the sketch. Yes, this is who I was. Sarah, Warrior Princess.

I gave my mother a big hug. Oh, how I loved her.

“Hi, Sarah.”

The voice, a vaguely familiar one, startled me. I spun around. It was my mother’s oncologist, Dr. Chernoff.

“Can I have a word with you outside?”

My pulse accelerated. I knew what he wanted to talk about.

Outside in the hall, Dr. Chernoff discussed my mother’s condition.

“Is she doing well?” I ventured, avoiding the inevitable.

“Yes, Sarah, she’s responding extraordinarily well to her treatment, but unfortunately, the grant underwriting the clinical trial is expiring. It terminates at the end of next week. Didn’t you receive my letter?”

I pretended like I’d never received it. “Can’t you talk them into it?” I pleaded. “Maybe extend coverage for just one more month? I’m sure I can figure out a way to pay for it.”

Dr. Chernoff planted his large hands on my shoulders. “Sarah, I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. Call me on Monday, and we’ll figure out an alternative course of action.”

My heart numbed as he disappeared down the hall. With my dire financial straits and precarious situation at work, I didn’t know what I was going to do. Fear and despair pulsed through me. A tear escaped my eye. I couldn’t lose my mother!