persona.
“It’s about Ryan,” she continued.
“Yeah. I figured,” I said, lowering my voice and glancing at the cubicles surrounding mine. Murphy’s law had quieted the floor down in the one moment that I needed privacy.
“He told me he was seeing you,” she said.
“Yeah. He told me that he … told you,” I stammered as Gordon glanced my way. Ever since I’d told him about Ryan, I had the feeling he was more interested in my conversations.
“Right. Well. I debated calling you … And I know your relationship is none of my business.”
I said nothing, thinking this was a pretty major understatement.
“But I just … I had to …” Her voice cracked, making her sound both sad and desperate, and I felt an unexpected stab of sympathy. In one instant, she was no longer competition, just a girl who had lost her husband, perhaps the one man she’d ever loved. Maybe she still loved him. Maybe that’s what this was about. Her trying to get him back. Maybe she was actually manipulating me.
“Are you okay?” I asked, feeling disoriented.
“Yes. Thank you, Shea. I’m fine …” I heard her take a few deep breaths, and, when she started speaking again, I had the feeling she was reading from a script. “As you know, Ryan and I got divorced about a year ago. It was really hard and very, very sad. I loved him a lot … and we both really wanted things to work. But they just didn’t. They couldn’t.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, waiting for her to continue.
“Thank you … So anyway … I know that he started seeing you this summer … And again, I know your relationship is none of my business … But … God … this is a really hard thing to say … And I feel really shitty for telling you this …”
“You can tell me,” I said, feeling certain that she was about to confess that he’d cheated on me with her.
Instead she said, “What I’m saying is that Ryan has a really bad temper. Like … really bad.”
“Okay,” I said as calmly as I could, mentally switching gears.
“Our divorce is sealed … confidential … for privacy … and I don’t want to spread rumors about him, especially since I know you work for a paper now. I would hate for this to get out and hurt his career or reputation or endorsements … Or even what he has going with you … But I just had to tell you …”
I nodded, now in full-on reporter mode. “Wait. Let’s back up,” I said slowly. “When you say temper … what exactly do you mean?”
“Most of the time he’s a great guy. Really sweet and … wonderful,” she said, clearly evading the question. “But … he has a temper.”
I waited.
“He gets it from his father,” she continued. “Not that that’s an excuse. But … have you met his dad?”
“No. Not yet,” I said, thinking of our Thanksgiving plans.
“When you do, watch how Mr. James talks to Ryan’s mom. Really to all women,” she said. “He’s a classic misogynist and a horrible father. He put crazy pressure on Ryan when it came to football. If Ryan had a bad game, he’d chew him out. Throw his cleats in the dumpster behind the school. Make Ryan walk home. Five miles in one-hundred-degree heat … And that was the least of it … Have you ever asked him about that scar he has on his forehead?”
I knew exactly the one she was talking about. “The one he got the night of the high school state championship. His senior year,” I said, showing her how much I knew about him, how close we were.
“Oh, he did get it that night,” Blakeslee said. “Because they lost the game. And his father thought the quarterback was to blame.”
“Shit,” I said under my breath, feeling sure that she was telling the truth about at least this part of the story.
“And so … and so it’s not all his fault that he is the way he is,” she concluded.
“What way is that?” I said, needing her to spell it out for me.
Blakeslee was so quiet I thought we had gotten cut off. But when I said her name, she said, “When he gets angry, he can be really mean. And violent. And scary.”
Mean, violent, scary. The words swirled around my head as I reminded myself that Ryan was innocent until proven guilty. I clung to the hope that she wasn’t really saying what I thought she