Don't Look Back (14 page)

Leaning against the door frame, I have a perfect view of the king-size bed. Brock has his back to me; he’s on his knees, pounding full force into some brunette who’s bent over doggie style. His hands dig into her hips and his head is bent backward, his gorgeous face looking at the ceiling, his long, blond hair stretching down his back between his tanned shoulder blades. In the dark, I can see his firm white butt and strong thighs moving powerfully. He looks magnificent, even in this moment. The girl, on the other hand, is a noisy bitch, moaning and groaning, screaming “Oh, baby” and “Oh, fuck me harder.” Not my personal technique, but apparently Brock is enjoying it. I can’t tell who she is or if I know her because her face is smashed against the headboard of
my
king-size bed. In truth, it doesn’t matter.

For a few seconds, I debate what I should do. I have had suspicions that Brock has cheated, although I’ve never had any proof, only a feeling—call it female intuition. I suppose I chose to look the other way because I enjoy my lifestyle and Brock is very convenient. For three years, he has diverted my attention from thoughts of Matthew. I do not love Brock. I like him a lot, but I do not love him. I make my way quietly to the spare room, find my suitcases, and start to pack. Fortunately, most of my belongings are here in the spare room due to lack of
closet space in the small beach cottage. In the dark, tears falling, I gather my possessions while Brock and the brunette finish their wild session next door.

I move back home, feeling that I have failed. I lock myself in my old room for the first week. Brock calls several times a day at first, but I ignore his attempts to talk to me. Eventually, when I speak to him, he only apologizes and offers to have my remaining belongings delivered to me. It hurts that he doesn’t beg for me to come back.

By week two, I start job hunting, reconnect with some old friends, and start going out and behaving like a normal human being. Within a month, I have an entry level marketing assistant position at National Division Equities in downtown Northfield, and soon enough, I am moving into a one-bedroom apartment. So begins a twelve-month period of celebrating new friendships and freedom in most of the dance clubs of Southern California. I have a few meaningless flings and even a true one-night stand, where I wake up in someone’s bed and do not know who he is or how I got there. I get a tattoo between the dimples on my lower back of a small orange and black butterfly in flight with the Latin phrase
Alis volat propriis
in script above it. The words translate as
She flies with her own wings
. I don’t regret any of those experiences.

Then Dave asks me out.

CHAPTER 15

Secrets

Matthew and I are in room 232 of the Hastings Hotel, sitting on the end of my bed in the dark. The only light is the moon filtering through the window and the blue glow of the digital clock showing 12:36 in the morning.

“My letter … you never wrote back,” I utter through my tears, struggling to remain calm.

“What letter, Kate?” His brow furrows in confusion. “When I showed up at the Whites’ house the next morning, you were gone. Bloody vanished! All they would say was that you left to get back to the states because you were starting some fancy university in Los Angeles. They clearly said that was your intention all along, and that you had no plans to see me again, that you had no plans to ever live in
England. I saw how they looked at me, Kate, staring down their noses at me, acting like I wasn’t good enough for you. They treated me like an inferior human being—no different than most of the people I grew up with. Of course, they could tell by my reaction that I didn’t have a clue what they were talking about. You can imagine my surprise. I didn’t know anything about university, Kate. You never mentioned that to me. In all the things we shared, you never once spoke about going to university. How was I supposed to compete with that? I was a poor boy from Harptree.” I can feel the hurt and betrayal in his voice as I process his words, trying to make sense of it all. “There was never any letter, Kate.”

“I mailed you a letter from the hotel. My mother heard me sneak in that night, after we … ” I trail off, unable to finish, embarrassed, recalling the night we made love so beautifully.

I take a deep breath and try again. “I ran home after waking up and sneaked back into the house, but they heard me. The next morning, she was yelling, and we left. It was awful. I didn’t have time to say goodbye, and I couldn’t find your number to call you. We drove straight to Heathrow, and I stole money and mailed you a letter from the hotel, but you never wrote me back. And yes, I did go to university, Matthew, because I wasn’t eighteen yet. What choice did I have? I couldn’t stand being at home, I hated them for what they did, and that was the only way I could escape them. I didn’t have a choice. I wanted to come back to you as soon as I was legally able to, but you never wrote back. Diana and Terry kept trying to go round to you, and then
all of a sudden you were gone. You moved to Australia, Matthew. YOU VANISHED.”

His head drops at this news. His elbows rest upon his knees, his hands drag through his hair like a rake tilling barren land. Agitated, he stands, shaking his head in disbelief, pacing, his face momentarily lit by the moonlight each time he passes the window. I am not privy to his thoughts; all I can do is watch. I am shattered, exhausted from my travels and the emotions of the night. I slip off my shoes, releasing my aching toes, and curl up my legs as I lie down on the bed. I listen to the rhythm of his footsteps, waiting for him to say something. The silence is eternal. My feet throb and my dry eyes roll backward as I try to maintain my focus on him. My eyelids grow increasingly heavy as the room begins to spin and dense fog blankets my brain. I am fighting a losing battle, one I cannot control. Jet lag is consuming me, and as much as I long to be present with Matthew in this room, I succumb to my fatigue and slip into the grey haze of a deep sleep.

When I awaken, I am disoriented, briefly forgetting where I am. The sun is streaming through the window, and I am draped awkwardly by a corner of the comforter. Constricted by my clothing, I am reminded of the events of last night, and I realize the room is empty and Matthew is gone. Vanished yet again. My once in a lifetime opportunity to say everything I have ever wanted to say is gone. A deep ache within my chest slowly spreads through me, burning up my throat into my eyes as warm tears cascade down my face.

Eventually I am forced to get out of bed, as I
need to check out by noon, drop by Terry and Diana’s to say goodbye, and then catch the three o’clock train to London. I cannot wallow in self-pity in a hotel room in Harptree all day, as there is nothing I can do about these unfortunate circumstances. What happened has happened, and yet again, I cannot change it.

I pull myself out of bed and amble barefoot to the bathroom, feeling empty, the old, familiar feeling of loss returning after so many years of keeping it locked safely away. I see a slip of paper poking under the door and assume it is an express check-out slip. Bending down, I pick it up and I realize it is a letter on the hotel stationery in Matthew’s handwriting.

Dear Kate
,


I’ve been watching you sleep. It is mesmerizing to watch you lying here, unbelievable that you are only a few feet away from me
.


Like pieces of a puzzle, I am slowly putting together the picture that makes up our past. Although we didn’t speak in depth last night, I think I have a greater understanding of what happened, although I still feel robbed of the opportunity to know more
.


I have to be in London on Monday morning for a final meeting with my father’s solicitor. I will be outside the main entrance to the National Gallery at three o’clock. You mentioned being a tourist; perhaps we can spend some time together while sorting out our very jumbled past
.


M
.


My mind is made up before I make it to the end of the single-page note. I’m meeting Matthew tomorrow! My heart rejoices, and I am suddenly energized. Within the hour, I have showered and
packed, and I find myself in a taxi on my way to Diana’s house.

Diana is surprisingly bubbly considering her intoxicated state the night before. She bounces effortlessly back and forth between the kitchen and the back garden, preparing food and being hospitable to me. Her immaculate, stylish home is on the same housing estate where we grew up, not far from her parents’ house. She has the lounge and dining room decorated in a soft grey with deep plum and black accents; it is all very modern and appears to be something out of a magazine. Somehow, every time I visit, it seems to have been recently redecorated.

Terry is grilling some burgers on a small barbeque in the far corner of the garden, and Annie is playing next door with her friends. I am sitting on the patio in a cushy lounge chair with a glass of sweet sangria, enjoying the unusually warm British sunshine. Diana ushered me out of the kitchen earlier as she made a garden salad, insisting I am a guest and she is best left to herself. So besides the occasional bumble bee bothering me, it is lovely and relaxing. So far, neither of them has mentioned anything about Matthew, and I am grateful to avoid the subject. It allows me to reflect on the previous night’s events and daydream about how tomorrow will play out.

“You like cheese on yours, Katie?” Terry yells to me from the far corner, momentarily snapping me from my daydream.

“Please!” I reply.

“I’ll take cheese on mine too, love,” Diana yells to him through the open kitchen window, and then
finally comes to sit beside me, her food preparation duties complete.

“Ahhhh!” she sighs, sinking into the cushion and kicking her bare feet up onto the lounge chair. “Isn’t this the life?”

“Oh, it’s lovely out here,” I reply. “I miss England, especially when it’s like this.” Nothing quite compares to a beautiful English summer day, I think, quoting many a famous poet, I am sure.

“Yes, well, California isn’t so bad either,” Diana reminds me, making me think of Dave and Allie and the fact that I will be home in two days. “Plus, it’s supposed to bloody rain tomorrow, so enjoy it while you can. So,” she continues casually. “Terry tells me Sully walked you back last night.” She rolls her head in my direction, scrutinizing my every move, searching my expression for clues.

Keeping my face relaxed, my sunglasses hiding my eyes, I continue to soak up the sun. I don’t want to say too much because I know Di will tell Terry, Terry will tell Joe, and so on. Matthew is married, and so am I, and although nothing happened, I don’t need anyone to speculate about things, especially when a hotel room is involved. I can’t help but think of the saying, “Loose lips sink ships.” There is no way this ship is going down.

“We walked back, chatted for a bit, and that was it. I was so tired from jet lag that I couldn’t stay awake any longer, so he left. It was a long time ago, Di. We talked about what happened a little and then said goodbye.” I fabricate the ending, hoping it will be enough to satisfy her.

“That was it?” She sounds disappointed. “Really?” Di pushes further, disbelief in her tone as
she stares at me, screwing up her freckled nose. “What did he say?”

“He never received my letter, the one I sent all those years ago from the hotel. Then my parents’ friends, the Whites, apparently painted a very different picture of the events for him the next day when he went looking for me. They implied that I knew I was leaving. They told him about my college plans, making it sound like I never had any intention of coming back. They treated him quite badly, so for whatever reason, he wrote me off, made a life-changing decision to pack up, and he left for Australia. He thought it was all a game to me, and I thought he didn’t care about me when I never heard from him, so I stayed in California, and here we are. End of story!” I throw up my hands. “Regretfully, it is one twist and turn of events after another. It’s fate, destiny, or whatever you want to call it, Diana. I think he’s happy, so I have to be happy for him, right?” I finally turn to her and offer a sad smile.

“I need to tell you something, Katie,” she begins, her brown eyes looking conflicted and miserable.

“What is it, Di?” I am confused to see her in such turmoil.

“Remember the last time I came to LA?”

“How can I forget?” I laugh. “Tracey, Brock, life-changing events,” I tease.

“Yes, he was a pig for cheating on you, and I will apologize for all eternity for the pink-haired demon,” Diana quietly replies.

I had forgotten that the name “Tracey” has been outlawed in Terry’s presence since she refused to repay Diana a ton of money when they returned from Australia. After Di patched things up with
Terry, he ended up paying off the credit card that had financed their flights home and their Hawaiian getaway. He doesn’t allow Diana to speak about her six months away with Tracey in Australia. They find it best to forget it ever happened, and have lived reasonably happily ever after since Diana returned from her adventure.

Diana looks toward Terry, who is still cooking in the corner of the garden out of earshot, preoccupied, swatting flies with a newspaper.

“That night in the bar,” she continues in a hushed voice, “Tracey mentioned something about me meeting up with a Brit in Sydney. Do you remember?”

“Gosh, Diana, sort of. That was a crazy night for me, but yes, I vaguely remember something about you meeting some English guy at a bar in Sydney. What’s the big deal? You were single, I won’t judge you!” I assume she hooked up with some guy and is about to confess to me.

“It was Sully.”

“What?” I am convinced I must have heard her wrong, as surely she would have told me before—like eighteen years ago. “You were
with
Matthew?” I repeat. I feel like someone has punched me in the gut. How could she?

“NO!!! No. I met up with him, Katie. Never, ever, would I do anything like that.” Diana scrambles to explain herself.

“Then why would you keep a secret like that from me for all these years? Diana, you knew how I felt about him.” The tears well up again as it sinks in. Eighteen years ago, my best friend sat in a bar, face to face with the man I loved, and then she
came to see me a week later and never told me about it. My life could have gone in a completely different direction.