How Much I Feel - Marie Force Page 0,94
the old men, eating at Giordino’s, drinking at the Fontainebleau bar and sitting on Miami Beach.
When I realize I don’t have a single photo of the two of us together, I’m gutted by a feeling of loss so intense it takes me back to the darkest days of my life. I hate returning to that place, even if I continue to tell myself this is nothing like that. I’m learning that heartbreak is heartbreak, regardless of what causes it. With all the photos I took of him for Instagram, how could I not have thought to take a selfie of us together? I call in “sick” to Sunday brunch because I just don’t have it in me to answer questions from each of my overly concerned family members.
It doesn’t surprise me when my parents and grandmothers arrive at my door Sunday afternoon bearing brunch leftovers, enough food to get me through the week without having to hit the grocery store. That’s a welcome relief, as I don’t feel like doing anything.
I appreciate that they stay for only half an hour, during which we talk about everything other than the elephant sitting on my chest, before they depart to open for dinner at the restaurant. Once again they give me reason to thank my lucky stars to have been born into a family that cares the way they do, even if there are times I wish they cared a tiny bit less.
By the following Wednesday, I’m convinced my relationship with Jason was nothing more than a figment of my overactive imagination. If it hadn’t been for the clothing and personal items he left at my apartment, I’d think I dreamed the entire thing. I’ve taken to sleeping in one of his dress shirts that still bears the faint scent of his cologne. Don’t judge me. I’m trying to be strong, but I miss him, even if my rational self is convinced it’s absolutely crazy to feel this way about someone I spent one week with.
It was a really, really good week.
I’m at my desk on Thursday when Mona comes into my office and closes the door. I can tell with one look at her that she’s bringing me a scoop.
“What’s up?”
“The board is meeting in executive session.”
“About what?”
“Mr. Augustino said it’s a personnel matter and that he couldn’t say anything else.”
“Okay . . .”
“Debby in the cafeteria said she heard it’s about Dr. Northrup.”
My heart stops. “Really?”
Mona nods. “She heard he requested the meeting.”
I can’t. I just can’t. If I allow myself to go there . . . “Thanks for letting me know.”
“Have you heard anything?”
“I haven’t.” Mona is dying to know what went down between me and Jason, but I’m not telling her or anyone about that. It’s our business, and it’s in the past now, anyway.
Her cherubic face falls with disappointment. “Oh. Okay.” She clears her throat. “I’ll, ah, let you get back to work.”
“Thanks, Mona. Close the door when you leave?”
“Of course.”
When the door clicks shut, I release a long exhale. My skin feels hot and tight, my heart is beating fast and my mouth is dry. I want to text him and ask if the rumors are true, but if he wanted me to know, he would’ve told me. I haven’t heard anything from him since that one text more than a week ago.
I stand and stretch, walking over to the window that looks down upon the circular driveway where we first met. I think about Priscilla and Betty and my trip to jail, about Jason bailing me out and asking for my help in restoring his damaged reputation. I dream about kissing him and touching him and making love with him, of sleeping in his arms and waking to his handsome face on the pillow next to mine.
I blink back tears and give myself yet another pep talk, the hundredth one in the last week. I was fine before him. I’m determined to be fine after him. It was fun, and I’m glad I met him. I’m relieved to know I can have feelings for a man other than my late husband. These are all good things, and maybe if I keep reminding myself about them, I might just survive this.
CHAPTER 23
JASON
This has been a week straight from hell. The surgery was a cluster that included two follow-up surgeries, and we still didn’t get it all, which complicates the child’s prospects for recovery. Sometimes it comes down to a choice between getting all the tumor but