Fade In (38 page)

Then I am lost. I sink to the rough floor, forgetting that I'm utterly nude.

Confusion sets in.

Why does it say that?

How could the hotel make a mistake like this?

The only Meade I know is Dr. Evil and Dr. Meade wasn't even invited. Besides that his name is Mark. Mark Meade.

I has to be a weird coincidence.

Had my vision gone haywire and now I'm seeing things that aren't really here? It doesn't make any sense.

I stare at that paper, willing it to say something else, willing it to rewrite itself for minutes before I finally register that Ben is saying my name.

“Tatum. What is that?” He hurriedly sits up.

In a voice that isn't my own, I answer. “It's a room receipt. Ben, it says Benjamin Meade on it. Why does it say Benjamin Meade on it?” My pulse quickens and a thin sweat breaks out over my hot skin. I'm so confused, but my gut tells me this isn’t a freak accident

When I finally find the courage up to look at him, his head is hanging forward and he's methodically running both hands through his hair. From his reaction, I can pick up that I’m not going to like any of this.

“Just hold on. Please,” he pleads.

“Why does it say this?!” I shout. “Just tell me it's a mistake. Tell me it's a big fucking mistake, Ben!”

As if my volume propels me into action, I'm on my feet again. I don't know what I'm looking for. My clothes? My shoes? A good enough reason to make this all a misunderstanding?

“Slow down. Please.” He finds a pair of jeans and hops into them, slowly coming towards me at the same time, pulling them up the rest of the way with one hand, and reaching for me with the other.

I flinch back. How is his last name Meade?

“What did you do?” I petrify right there, staring at him. “Tell me! What did you do?!”

“Just calm down and let me explain, baby.”

I don't know what part incited the flash of red. It could have been the calm down. It could have been the baby. It could have been the fact that I was somehow a huge fool.

“Don't. Don't,” I say as he comes closer still. “Where are my clothes? I've got to go.” I locate my dress and that's good enough. I just need my phone and my purse. It has my room key. “Don't,” I say one more time as he makes another play in my direction.

“I didn't know how to tell you. I messed up. It just got out of hand.” He's speaking so fast and following me around, ducking and swerving to land in my eye line.

“I. Said. Don't!” I whisper so quietly that I'm not sure he even hears it. It takes every ounce of energy I can summon, as it's draining away so fast, just to hold back my angry tears. I have to leave. I have to get out of here before it all hits me for real.

“We thought it was best to tell you after the wedding. Please. We didn't want to hurt you.” His usually calm and collected voice is broken and frantic.

So close to the door, now having my dress on and my things in my hand, I pause. Fuck my shoes. They'd take forever to put on anyway. Then one word registers in what he's just said.

We.

That one word kills my forward motion. It is a loaded bullet. Coincidentally, I know it will pierce me through the back.

Like anyone, I know the sound of my own voice. The woman's voice that leaves my lips isn't mine. She is ripping in half, her voice sounding of shredding hope and agony. In a sound so low, I ask, “You said ‘we,’ didn't you? Dammit, you said ‘we.’” My tears pour hot on my cheeks and my face contorts. “Who are you?”

“Benjamin Meade. Please don't leave, Tatum. Please, let me talk to you. Let me explain. Let me apologize. Cooper thought—”

I clutch my stomach at the mention of my brother's name. This is all impossible.

“Cooper thought what?” I choked out.

“Turn around. Look at me.”

Ben's voice is pleading, and my heart wants to look. I want to see if he looks like the Ben I know, but I can't.

“No. Are you Dr. Mead’s son?” I can't make heads or tails. Dr. Meade isn't old enough to have a child our age, surely. Ben told me about his mother and father and his… “He's your brother, isn't he?”

“He is.” From the closeness, I can sense that Ben is behind me. I can almost feel his hand touching my skin, but it isn't there. Only his shaky voice touches my ears.

“And he knew, too? Why?” I speak to the door.

“I don't know. I just wanted to talk to you that day. I didn't know you were hiring anyone.”

“What did you do in Washington?”

“Please stay.” I can hear the agony he feels, but I'm too numb to care.

“Answer me. Fuck. For once, just tell me!”

“I'm a doctor—a therapist. I work with injured vets. Well, I did, anyway.”

“Is that why Dr. Meade, you brother—whatever—sent you?”

“He didn't send me, Tatum. He didn't even know I went to see you until later.” His confession is quiet and measured.

My voice trembles as a more brutal betrayal surfaces in my heart. “And Cooper? When did he find out?”

“At his bachelor party. I told him everything.”

Why didn't Ben tell me? Why didn't Cooper tell me?

I can't believe that my own brother didn't tell me the truth. Didn't warn me that I was being lied to. That I fell in love with a stranger.

“And?” I question, desperate for some logic.

“And he said that I had to tell you or he would. I told him I'd tell you after the wedding. I didn't want to ruin everything. Please believe me. I don't want to hurt you or mess everything up. I just… I fucked up, baby.” I hear a sob choke him.

“Don't call me that!” I spit, hardened. I reach for the door, having heard enough. I want to go home. I want to crawl into a hole where no one will find me and disappear.

“You love me, Tatum. You have to let me fix this.” Sorrow clings to his words.

I've never sounded colder than I do when I say, “I don't love you. I don't even know you. I wish I would have told you to leave that day. I wish I’d never met you.”

“That's not true. You're just angry.” I hear an agonized crack in his deep voice and it breaks my heart even more.

Opening the door, I walk out, but I can't resist looking at him. He's on the floor now, on one knee, arms slack at his sides. The eyes that I grew to cherish are hollow, red, and dim.

I dreamt of Ben on one knee, and the image of him smiling hopefully is shattered and replaced with the one in front of me, my precious memory burglarized.

He mouths, “Please,” steadily over and over before his haunted eyes meet mine.

“You're fired.” Then I laugh like a mad woman. “I'm sure you'll find something, Dr. Meade.”

“I love you, Tatum,” are the last four words I hear out of his mouth. Something about that both fills and drains my soul at the same time.

My shaky hands shut the door before I can change my mind. Not sure how they're capable, my legs sprint me down the halls, and when I get to my room, I crawl into my bed.

I call the desk, pay for another night's stay, and instruct them to tell anyone who asks that I've left.

Not long after that, as I lie there, staring out of focus at the ceiling, Ben's voice comes through my door. First, I think I'm hallucinating. My mind must be conjuring up the sound because I want to hear it so badly.

“I'm so sorry. You mean everything. I'll tell you everything, baby. Please just let me in.”

I hold my breath, but only because I can't stop my heart beating. I shut my eyes tight and will him away, for not to be true.

“Tatum, if you're in there, please… I know you're hurting. Let me make this right.”

Then I hear what must be a member of the staff inform him that I've already checked out. Ben apologizes and says that he didn't know.

Then he's gone.

Another rush of misery and pain consumes me and weep.

Though I only woke up an hour ago, it seems like I haven't slept in years. I don't turn the TV on. I don't shower. I don't eat.

I'm just there, replaying this morning and the last three months over and over. It was only three months.

I probably wasn't even in love with him.

It was probably just purely physical.

Why would he lie to me like that? Why would Dr. Meade let him? Why didn't my brother tell me?

My emotions alternate between seething mad and anguished. That's the truth of it. I'm so sad. I'm sad that I finally found someone who I thought saw me. The real me. And despite all my shit, I thought he wanted me anyway.

I am a blind fool—in more ways than one.

I can’t get in touch with Cooper and Winnie unless I call their resort, which I'm not about to do. So the day after my monumental mope at the hotel, I lick my wounds and call Ray.

That poor man drives all the way to Martha's Vineyard to pick me up.

He's a saint.

I sit in the back and stay pretty quiet for most of the ride home, wondering if he knew. Did everyone know except me?

I'm sure they all got together and talked about the poor girl who thought she was dating her personal assistant, when in reality she was dating a stupid motherfucking, lying, deceiving, pain-in-the-ass therapist. If it even was dating.

I consider moving. Maybe I'll go to L.A. Maybe can go back to that house in The Keys, but as the thought of The Keys comes to mind, my eyes burn. Fuck The Keys. Fuck all of Florida, too. Fuck the coast lines and the oceans. Fuck Louisiana. Fuck California and the motherfucking Goonies. They all make my eyes burn.

The car ride sucks. I think Ray picked up on something being wrong, at the very least, but he doesn't utter a word. When we're about ten miles outside of the city, he asks me if I need to go anywhere on the way home.

I quip, “Yeah, back in fucking time.” He offers a kind, closed-lipped smile. The pity kind.

My apartment's eerily quiet when I return. It's an added surprise to learn that I now hate this place, too. I sleep in the spare bedroom since it is the only place we neglected to make any memories or have sex.

Over the next few days, I basically move in there. There's a television and a bathroom of its own, so it isn't like I am put out. I order Mexican food from my landline and then unplug it, plugging it back in only to call one of those grocery-delivery services to bring me wine and ice cream. I love this city.

By the next week, Phil buzzes me, asking if I'm all right and telling me that Cooper called the desk to find out if I'd been home. Of course, Phil said that I had but he hadn't seen me, so he offered to check.

“Ms. Elliot, it's Phil,” he says through the door when he comes up, probably being paid by my prick of a brother or some shit like that.

“I know it's you, Phil. You just buzzed me from down-stairs and told me you were coming up. What do you need?” I ask with no inflection.

“May I come in?” His voice is too cheery, and it hurts my head.

“No.”

“Are you all right? No one can get you on the telephone and they've called downstairs repeatedly.”

I was afraid of that. “Sorry. Tell them I'm fine and to leave me alone.”

“Cooper said he would be here tomorrow.”

“Don't let him up. He's a dick.”

“A dick, Ms. Elliot?” He clears his throat and regains his composure. “You've always gotten along well, I thought. Are you sure everything is all right?”

“Go away, Phil. I'll talk to them when I'm damn good and ready.” It isn't his fault, and I feel a little bad for having put him in the awkward situation. I'm not apologizing though.

“You had flowers delivered. I've brought them up.” He says it like it's supposed to cheer me up, but it does the opposite.

I suck my lip into my mouth, inhale, and then blow out a long stream of tormented air. “Are they from you?” Obviously, I know they're not.

“No. Of course not.”

“Then I don't want them. Put them in the dumpster.” Great. Now even dead foliage makes my eyes burn. Add it to the list.

“They're very pretty. Are you sure? What of the card?”

Poor Phil is only trying to do his job. I'm petulant and childish, but I can't find it in me to care enough want them. I don't want flowers or calls or visitors. I just want to be left alone.

Cooper buzzes from downstairs the next day like Phil said he would. I answer and he pleads to come up and explain, but I tell him that I'm not ready to talk about it and to leave me alone.

“I love you, Tatum. Don't do this to yourself,” he begs.

“I didn't do this to myself!” My voice rises louder than it has in over a week. “I didn't want this. I love you too, but not right now.” He's dismissed, but it hurts me so to do it.

A few days later, it is Winnie downstairs. I don't know what hand she had in this, but those two idiots never kept secrets before. I'm sure she knew, too. When she rings up, that's the only thing I ask.

“Did you know?”

When she says yes, I ask her to leave.

Eventually, my worn and haggard body cleans itself, mostly just going through the motions, but it's an improvement. I rid my apartment of the empty ice cream containers and wine bottles.

I even turn my phone back on. There are hundreds of messages and texts. Many from my family and only one text from Ben. It takes me a few hours to finally read it after powering the device back up. It’s short and simple.