Frontline (28 page)

Morning dawns gray and chilly. I’m grateful for the mountain of down blankets piled on top of me; a cozy nest instead of yesterday morning’s sauna. It takes a few seconds after my eyes open to remember where I am. The room looks altogether different in the bleak ashen light. Twitches between my legs serve as their own reminders of last night. I’m nervous, exhilarated, and heartsick, all at once.

The cabin also feels different this morning, the prior tension replaced by an eerie quiet. Hallway hardwood cools my raw, blistered feet as I step softly toward Trenton’s room. The door stands open and I peek inside. His bed is neatly made, the blankets pulled taut over the pillows. The window is closed, the night tabletop void of any personal possessions.

I walk down the stairs. The couches in the sitting room sport plumped-up pillows and spotless upholstery. The coffee table shines, clear of the papers and bottled water piled on it yesterday. Even the ashes from the fireplace are gone, the concrete interior swept clean.

“Good morning, Sara.” Randall stands in the kitchenette across the room, dressed in a fresh plaid shirt and khaki trousers, a newsboy cap pulled over his silver hair. A mug of coffee steams in his hand.

Though his smile looks earnest, I pull the folds of my robe tight across my chest and tighten the belt. I have no way of knowing how much noise I made with Trenton last night and suddenly feel very self-conscious.

“Good morning.”

“Coffee?”

“Um, yes, please.”

I enter the kitchenette and accept the mug from Randall. The bitter coffee burns my tongue, but it helps fight off the morning chill nipping at my bare feet and flowing up the bottom of the robe.

“I’ll be driving you back to your apartment today.” Randall takes a sip of his coffee. “The threat has been neutralized and Trenton says it’s safe to take you home.”

Yesterday, that news would’ve been cause to celebrate. Today, it’s a mere reminder of the single gal, Merrick-free life I thought I cherished.

“Trenton left early this morning with Christopher and Sean,” Randall says, and I detect a tenor of regret in his voice.

“Okay.” I figured as much, but hearing the truth is no less painful. I don’t blame Trenton, though. Everything that needed to be said was said last night. I made my choice and have to stand by it.

“What do you mean by neutralized?”

Randall maintains his smile, but his eyes retreat. “It means what was necessary was done.”

Another sip of coffee serves as a welcome distraction to the sudden silence.

“Would there happen to be any clothes around I could use?” I set my mug down on the counter. “I can’t enter my building in a bathrobe and bare feet.”

“Yes, forgive me. I was rather distracted by matters yesterday.” Randall disappears down a small hallway behind the kitchenette and I hear a door open and shut again. He returns carrying a folded stack of navy blue sweat pants, a white cotton T-shirt, and a black fleece hoodie.

When I take the clothes from Randall, I get a whiff of Trenton’s scent
—it’s faint, but strong enough to make my heart skip a beat. I screw my eyes shut as the memories of last night shower me: skin on skin, hands caressing, Trenton on top of me, filling me . . .

I love you, Sara.

I’m sorry.

I love you.

“Sara, are you all right?” Randall asks.

I force a smile beneath blank eyes. “Yes.”

“There are sneakers in the front hall closet. How are your cuts?” He motions to my feet. “I never inquired as to whether my bandaging job was satisfactory. I would certainly appreciate the opinion of a nurse.”

So it was Randall who bandaged me the other night. That means it also must’ve been Randall who undressed me. Now I wish I’d worn granny panties.

“You did wonderfully. Would you like to take my shifts this week?”

He chuckles. “I’m afraid bandaging feet is challenging enough for me. I’m in awe of what your profession is able to perform on a daily basis.”

Yesterday, I took Randall’s kindness as nothing more than a requirement of his job and many of his comments came across as downright patronizing. This morning, though, with my mind clearer and the end of all of this in sight, they seem as sincere as the wide grin on his face.

“Listen, Randall, about yesterday . . . that meltdown was not like me at all. I don’t know what came over me and I’m so sorry for the horrible way I treated you.”

He nods. “I’m sorry for everything, too, Sara. I wish it could’ve gone differently. I know Trenton does as well.”

The mention of Trenton’s name again stirs something inside me that feels like regret. I look around the main floor, trying to recall the hurt, the anger, the betrayal, but all I’m reminded of is the passion we shared in his bed.

I give a slight shake of my head. “Thank you for the clothes, Randall. I’ll get changed, and then we can go.”

He nods again. “As you wish, Sara.”

I retreat to my room and dress in Trenton’s clothes. On the way out of the bedroom, I gather my purse. Inside, I find my cell phone. The battery is dead. The fact that my phone was hidden from me during my stay here makes me feel even more manipulated.

I race down the stairs, out the front door and into the awaiting car, anxious to leave this place and everything that happened inside for good.

The ride back to Brooklyn takes much less time than I thought it would. Oddly, the silence in the car feels relaxed, not awkward like the night Randall picked me up and drove me to Connecticut. It’s a shame that such a comfortable familiarity has arrived so late. Then again, the pace things moved since the moment I met Trenton was like experiencing an entire relationship on fast forward. I’m eager to get back to my apartment, close the door, and let my world slow down again.

Bright beams of afternoon sunlight shine through wispy gray clouds and cast parts of the city skyline in multiple spotlights, others in dark shadow. Dry spots emerge on the roads and sidewalks. The damp air smells refreshing
—the whole city feels as if it’s been washed clean.

Randall unbuckles his seatbelt after we pull up in front of my apartment building.

I reach out and touch his arm. “Randall, please don’t. It’s not necessary.”

“Orders, Sara.” He regards me fondly. “And what’s once more? For old time’s sake?”

I’ve never met someone who pleads to do his duty, no matter how boring or repetitive it is.

“All right. For old time’s sake.”

Randall follows me into the lobby and agrees to use the elevator after I remind him of my injured feet. He moves ahead of me in the hallway and arrives at my apartment first, squeezing the doorknob and giving the door a push with his shoulder. It doesn’t move. He steps back with a satisfied nod to allow me to use my key.

“I thought you said the threat has been neutralized,” I say.

“There’s no harm in a few extra precautions, Sara.”

The air in my apartment hangs thick and stale. I open the window to let some of the fresh spring breeze inside. Randall takes a quick peek around. Once he’s convinced there are no assassins hiding in my puny closet or bathroom vanity, he moves toward the door and tips his hat.

“Good-bye, Sara. Best of luck to you.”

The smile I give him is both grateful and sad. “Take care, Randall. Of yourself and of Trenton.”

“It’s my job,” he says, and then pulls the door shut behind him.

After the echo of his footsteps fades down the hall, I lock up, call in sick to work for the next few days, plug in my cell phone to charge it, and sink into my soft, familiar mattress. It’s the first time since I started at Manhattan General that I’ve taken time off. Deep down I know that working would help me get my mind off of Trenton, but after what I’ve been through, I need time to wallow in my devastation, to cry, and to mend. I can’t look after others properly if I’m not all right myself.

As I wrap up in my sheets, I realize I was in my own bed less than forty-eight hours ago. It overwhelms me to think of all that’s happened since. My eyelids grow heavier with each passing minute. Trenton exists in the memory of a whirlwind rollercoaster ride I will never forget but feel relieved to be getting off of now.

I abandoned my good sense to experience what it’s like to disconnect from my analytical life and live by feeling. The results blindsided me and sent me spinning recklessly into a world I could never understand or pretend to be a part of. More than that, it almost got me killed. The tradeoff is I’ll never experience anything close to last night ever again with anyone else. Of that I’m entirely certain. And despite the loneliness and disappointment that comes along with such a realization, I can live the rest of my life knowing I experienced all that my connection with Trenton had to offer for one glorious night. A lot of people aren’t so lucky.

The five knocks on my front door sound frantic. My eyelids pop back open and I sit upright on my bed, hoping they were just an ultra-realistic facsimile of my weekend memories. But no one knocked that quickly on my bedroom door at the cabin.

I slide off the mattress.

The threat has been neutralized,
Randall’s voice reminds me.
What was necessary was done.

It’s these words that temporarily distract me from asking who it is. I even unlatch the security chain and open the door entirely. Big mistake. A deafening wail pierces the stillness of my apartment and a pair of arms wraps around me, bulldozing me back into my apartment.

My hands flail in the air, stiff and ready to slap whatever part of the invader I can reach. The backs of my knees collide with the couch and I collapse onto the cushions beneath the weight of a rose-perfumed assailant.

An assassin wearing rose-scented perfume?

Denim straddles me on the couch, her hands on my shoulders, her makeup-caked face smiling down on mine.

“You’re home!” She shrieks the words. “You crazy sex fiend! Did you spend the whole weekend fucking your brains out?”

I squint at her. “Huh?”

Kelly stands beside the couch with her hands on her hips. Her expression is the exact opposite of Denim’s. “Where the hell have you been, Sara? And how could you not tell me you were seeing Merrick again?”

I push Denim off of me. She topples over the side of the couch onto the parquet floor. Her smile disappears behind crimpy strands of hair that fly from behind her ears and settle over her face.

She rights herself and frowns. “What was that for, Sara?”

“You guys scared the fuck out of me!”

“You scared us, too.” Denim pushes the hair out of her eyes. “You were supposed to be home Saturday night
—Sunday afternoon at the latest if things went totally perfect.”

“We called your cell phone a gazillion times and left messages until your mailbox was full.” Kelly’s scowl deepens. “If you hadn’t returned by tonight, we were going to call the police.”

“Things went far from perfect.” My voice shakes despite my efforts.

“Oh no, what happened?” Denim settles onto the couch beside me.

Kelly remains standing, her eyes narrowed on me like she’s about to begin an interrogation.

“All I can say is Trenton and I are done.”

“We’ve heard that line before.”

My lower lip trembles. “This time it’s for real.”

“Did something happen at the charity benefit?” Denim asks.

Being aloof and dodging questions are Trenton’s tactics. If I’m ever going to put down roots here and develop strong friendships, I must open up. Kelly and Denim have been nothing but welcoming and helpful to me since I arrived, but above all, truthful. I owe them the same.

I take a deep breath and recount the whole story. Denim sits wide-eyed beside me, covering her mouth with her hand when I relate the details of the shooting and the chase through the woods. Kelly sits on the edge of my bed, her stone-faced expression softening only slightly from time to time to show her surprise. I keep the details of last night sparse, and thankfully, they seem satisfied with what little I offer.

It takes a few moments for anyone to speak when I finish. Denim squeezes my knee. Kelly moves from the bed and sits down on my other side. I shrink away, expecting a scolding or hard smack across the head for being so stupid. Instead, she wraps her arms around me.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, Sara.”

Denim joins in our hug.

“I’m such a fool.” Tears spill from my eyes. “Even after everything he’s done to me—everything that’s happened—I can’t stop thinking about him.”

“You’re compassionate and trusting. Merrick took advantage of that,” Kelly says. “That doesn’t make you a fool. It makes you human. Most importantly, it makes him an asshole. You’re not to blame. He is.”

I sniffle. “There were so many warning signs and I kept giving him more chances. I should’ve confronted him about Kedrov right away. I should’ve—”

“Trenton’s a master manipulator, a professional,” Denim says, and I know it’s supposed to comfort me
but it doesn’t. “Anyone would’ve fallen for his BS.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to call the police?” Kelly asks.