The Rom Con(95)
“You misunderstand me,” he interrupts. “I’m not accusing you of anything. Just the opposite. I’m asking if you’d object to me running your byline in thirty-point font so that moron can’t miss it.”
My heart and stride stutter simultaneously, nearly sending me tumbling off the curb. I hardly know how to respond, the sentiment behind his words leaving me tongue-tied.
He exhales. “Look Cassidy, you and I don’t know each other that well and my loyalty is to my friend, but the guy’s acting like a total jackass.”
I finally recover my voice. “You don’t have to—”
“You were good for him,” Tom cuts me off. “He was happy with you. Happier than he’s been in a long time, and he deserves that more than anyone I know. You may have fucked up first, but Jack’s the one fucking up now.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at his blunt assessment. “I was happy too,” I say thickly, and swallowing’s never been so difficult. Just when I think I’ve banished that lump for good, it rises from the ashes like a damn phoenix. “He was . . .” . . . the love of my life. I clear my throat and try again. “He was good for me, too. Minus his temper,” I amend. “I could do without that.”
He snorts. “You and me both.”
“I want you to know, I regret the role I played in all this. I know it affected you, too.” I take a deep breath. “And even if I am mad at him, I still wish I could fix things . . . but I think Jack’s made up his mind about me.”
“The man’s stubborn as hell, always has been. It’s both his best and worst quality.”
I hate that he doesn’t even try to contradict my statement—and the worst part is, as his best friend, Tom would know exactly how Jack feels. Any residual hope I may have felt bubbling up vanishes as if pricked by a pin.
“Well, it certainly seems to have paid off. What with the deal, I mean,” I say, trying to steer us back into neutral territory. “I’m glad everything worked out. I know how important it was to him.”
He hums his agreement. “He’s been ready to move on for years, though I sure did everything I could to get him to stay. I can’t be too upset with him, though. We had a good run.”
I pass a house with several giant leaf piles dotting the front lawn; some kids would have a field day jumping in those. “What about you? Going to cash out and live the high life?”
“Me? Hell no. I’m going down with the ship.”
I chuckle at that. “Hope it’s not too lonely up there at the top.”
“One thing I rarely am is lonely,” he says wickedly. A cad ’til the end.
I make a gagging noise. “Set myself up for that one, didn’t I? Forgot who I was talking to.”
He laughs, and there’s a brief lull in the conversation as I fight a losing battle against the question I swore I wouldn’t ask. “How is he, Tom?”
There’s a pause. “He’s doing okay. He won’t really say much about what happened, but that’s sort of par for the course with him. When he’s upset about something, he throws himself into work. Although now . . .” He trails off. “Anyway, you don’t need to worry. I’m keeping him busy.”
Something about the way he says it—or maybe it’s his reference to never being lonely—just makes me feel worse. What does “keeping him busy” even mean? Knowing Tom, he’s probably taking him on an exhaustive tour of New York’s finest strip clubs.
I feel sick. All this time, I’ve been imagining Jack alone in his ivory tower, shut away in his apartment full of extravagant, untouchable objects, mourning the loss of our relationship like a younger, hotter Miss Havisham. But who am I kidding? Jack’s not sitting home alone, licking his wounds. I’m sure there’s a long line of women who’ve been waiting in the wings for their chance to win over one of New York’s most eligible bachelors . . . who are only too willing to help him forget the duplicitous ex who once tried to screw him over.
“You know what, Tom, I’ve gotta run.” Literally run, away from the disturbing visuals now invading my brain. My hands start shaking in my pockets and I ball them into fists. “I’ll email over the story as soon as we hang up.”
“Sounds good. And hey, Cassidy—take care of yourself, alright? Don’t make me have to look after you, too.”
I force a half-hearted laugh, promise him I will, and hang up.
I exhale slowly, staring up into the rapidly darkening sky and taking a couple of cleansing breaths—then pivot and march back to the house with those leaf piles. Because why the hell not? Kids shouldn’t have all the fun.
I pick the biggest one, throw my arms out, and fall backward into it like a snow angel, trusting that the world’s going to catch me.
Chapter 20
I’m back,” I call out a couple of weeks later as I let myself in the front door, trying not to drop any grocery bags as I shrug off my coat. So Gran won’t be left home alone, I time my errand-running to coincide with her thrice weekly in-home physical therapy appointments or, in this case, a visit from Lois, her longtime friend and neighbor.
“We’re in here,” Gran calls out from the kitchen.
“Guess who I saw at the store,” I singsong as I head their way. “Your favorite, Bernie the butcher. And the first thing he did was ask about you, so you can lord this over Dottie’s head at your next bridge—”