I climb into the elevator with Trey. When the metal doors open again, I say, “Hold the elevator here. I’ll be right back.”
I step inside my suite. Where is my phone? I start searching the sitting room. Nowhere. I go into my bedroom. Eric is asleep in my bed and my cell is on the night table. I grab the phone, shove it my pocket and touch his brow.
Faking my ass. His head is warm.
I go back to the sitting room. Where’s Linda? I check the kids’ rooms. She wouldn’t leave him alone and pop up to her room, would she?
“Chrissie—” Linda says from somewhere and my heart leaps. Is Chrissie here? “It’s going to be all right, baby girl. You need to stop worrying.”
I rapidly scan the room. The terrace doors are open. I move back the drape. Linda is sitting on a chair with her tablet on a table propped up in front of her.
Damn.
FaceTime.
My eyes lock on the screen.
“He hasn’t talked to me since he left California, Linda. He only texted once. In Mumbai. Now he doesn’t reply to me. Is he going to bring my kids back? Just tell me he’s bringing my kids home. That he’s not going to try to take them away from me and keep them.”
My heart clenches.
Fuck, Chrissie, how could you think that?
Baby, I could never hurt you that way.
Linda lets out a frustrated breath. “Christ, you don’t understand him at all. He was angry when he left. He has every right to be angry. He would never take your children from you, Chrissie.”
“How do you know that?”
God, she sounds so tired and worried.
Linda laughs. “You’re being ridiculous. I know that he’s not going to try to take them from you because I know him. This trip is good, Chrissie. It’s been a good thing. They’re doing well together.”
“Tell me he’ll bringing them home.”
“Fuck, I hate that you force me to violate the trust with one of you to remain friends with both of you. Yes, he’ll bring them home. He’ll bring himself home. Be smart, Chrissie. Let him do this. It’s been good for the kids. It’s good for him. You need to stop worrying. Haven’t you figured out yet that he loves you?”
I drop the drape and step away from the terrace doors. I cross to the chair and sit down. I put my head in my hands. This is not what I wanted. Chrissie is unhappy. The kids are unhappy. I’m unhappy.
No, Linda, you are wrong.
This is not good.
I text Trey and tell him to go back to the lobby and tell Mrs. Barton to take the kids to the gardens without me.
Linda steps through the terrace doors. Her lids fly wide. “What are you doing back?”
“I forgot my phone. Eric feels warm. I’m going to stay behind today, Linda. You can cut out. Thanks for offering to watch him.”
Her brow crinkles. “Are you OK?”
I feel like an asshole, Linda.
Like a world class bastard.
I smile. “I’m fine. Tired.”
I watch her leave. I set my cell phone on the arm of the chair, sit back and stare at the wall. I know what this agony in me is—I will never get through this, put everything behind me without her. And that’s what I want. The pain to go away. The pain she gave to me and is the only one who can make it go away.
I don’t know if she can say anything that helps this make sense for me.
I don’t know if there are words that bring forgiveness.
I don’t know what the after will be when I reach for her this time.
I only know I can’t keep on like this.
My phone beeps. Apprehensively I stare at it. I won’t find the composure to do the necessary next step forward from here, nope, not if I see a notification from her.
I need control.
Calm.
To collect myself if I’m going to call her.
And that’s what I want, to pick up that phone, call her, and just jump on the fucking next road from where we are now.
Beep.
Fuck.
I pick up my phone. My lips tighten with a flash of sudden emotion.
Krystaclass="underline" ?????
Krystaclass="underline" It won’t be fun without you. You promised.
Krystaclass="underline" ; (
I press my middle finger and index into my eye. A soggy laugh rattles around in my chest.
Me: I’m talking to your mom.
A harmless lie. A half-truth. I’m preparing to call Chrissie, but I don’t need to tell a nine-year-old all that.
Krystaclass="underline" ; )
My laughter comes harder then melts and I exhale. I feel drained. Weak. But in a good way. I hit the icon with Chrissie’s picture to call and put it on speaker.
Ring.
Ring.
My nerves grow tauter.
Fuck, baby, please answer.
I don’t know how I got to this point.
I don’t want to lose it.
Ring.
“Hello?”
My senses jump. My mouth puckers. I take a moment to steady myself.
“Hi, baby, are you OK?”
A long pause and something that sounds like a sniffed-back tear.
“I’m OK. But I’m better now.”
I fight not to break down. Her voice is calm, poised and loving, but it’s a façade because I’ve known exactly what’s going on inside her from the moment I saw her face on the tablet in front of Linda.
Emotional stamina.
Fuck, where does she get it?
I lean forward in the chair. “I don’t want to talk about anything that’s happened. Not yet. That’s not why I called.”
“Then we won’t talk.”
The silence between us grows heavy and excruciatingly uncomfortable. Fuck, I don’t know what to say. I’ve loved this woman half my life and I don’t know what to say to her.
“Are you doing all right, Alan?”
I sit up. “Good, actually. Tour’s been good. I think even the kids are having fun.”
She laughs.
I laugh.
The laughter chokes in my throat.
“I’m going to send them home, Chrissie.”
“I know, Alan. I know you’re going to.”
I exhale a ragged breath. “No. That’s not what I mean. We’ve made progress together, but I think it’s time they go back to California and be with you. You’re a good mother. They love you. They’re lucky to have you. And they need to be with you.”
More sniffs.
“No. You were right about this being something you needed to do with them. Don’t send them back until you’ve finished everything you need to.”
I change the subject. “How’s Khloe?”
A small laugh. “Marvelous. Can’t you tell by the pictures I send?”
I haven’t looked at a single text from her since Mumbai.
Fuck, that’s what she’s been sending me in the daily messages.
Pictures of Khloe.
“You can’t tell everything from a picture, Chrissie.”
Oh fuck. For some reason that comment makes me want to cry.
“I should let you go, Alan. I’m glad you called.”
I tense. No. No. No. I haven’t finished everything I need to say.
“Chrissie?”
Silence.
Oh fuck.
“Are you still there, baby?”
A choking sound likes she’s swallowing more tears.
“I’m here, Alan.”
“I know I promised never to do this—”
“—Oh, Alan. No confessions. I’m not strong enough to hear something I don’t want to know…”
My heart twists. She’s sobbing now. Fuck, what’s wrong with me? Why can’t I say one cogent sentence without fucking it up?
“Chrissie? Stop crying, baby. I need to say this.”
It takes a few minutes for her to calm.
“Fine, Alan. I’m listening.”
I brush at my cheeks.
Fuck, tears.
But it feels good just to stop fighting and let everything inside me flow.
It’s pathetic.
I’m a fool.
I love her.
“Hop on a plane, baby. Now. Just come and be good to me.”
I click off the phone.
* * *