Page 93

She peeked out onto the patio.

Nothing.

She tossed the hair towel in the hamper and walked into the living room, where her mom was flipping through paperwork at her desk.

“Is Charlie in your bathroom?”

Her mom looked up with a furrowed brow and popped her reading glasses to the top of her head. “No… she just flew out of here, said sorry and thanks for everything. I just assumed something happened at the coffee shop.”

What the hell?

Mack’s face felt feverish. “Why wouldn’t she have told me that when I wasin the shower?” she mumbled as she went back to the bedroom to dial Charlie.

No answer.

A slow pulse began in her neck that grew into throbbing as she looked around the room for a note, or clue, orsomething. She redialed Charlie.

Voicemail.

What could’ve been that awful to leave like that? Ben? A fire? Didn’t matter at this point. She’d just drive over there, figure it out, and help her. Maybe her dad showed up again, or water was left on or something. She quickly threw on clothes and reached for her wallet when the laptop screen caught her eye.

Oh, God. No.

No!

Facing her was theCharliedocument. Twenty-plus pages of notes from her interactions with Charlie since they met. The cursor was right above:

Review medical journal studies on the long-term psychological effects of divorce with lesbian couples, and cross-check with her story on Jess. Maybe weave in hints of psychosis by abandonment or displays of violence.

“Fuck!” Mack slammed the laptop shut and gripped the back of the chair. This wasn’t happening. Not now.

She’d planned on telling Charlie someday. Her confession was always a matter of when, not if. But things were good.So good.And Mack never had this before, a relationship…love… and now Charlie saw it… and…dammit!

Mack had to fix this. An image popped up of a distraught, sobbing Charlie flying down the highway, gripping her fuzzy steering wheel, swiping at the tears with her sleeve. What if the tears blurred her eyesight, so she pulled over and was in a one-person accident in a ditch, and no one saw her, and she was bleeding out but still crying and…

Running out the bedroom door with one shoe tied, she tripped as she tried to hop and tie the second one. She banged into the wall with a thud.

“Mack? What’s going on?” her mom called from the living room.

“Not now,” she yelled, pulling the front door open and slamming it shut behind herself. She didn’t even bother with the elevator. She raced down the stairs and beelined for her car.

City lights zipped by in a blur. She dug her phone out of her pocket as she swerved to the left and tensed when the person behind her blared on their horn.

“Pick up, pick up.”

At least a dozen times, maybe more, she called. She fumbled as she voice texted while navigating rush hour traffic. The air blasting in from all the windows down did nothing to dry the sweat collecting at the base of her back, or her wet hair. She swallowed, slammed her hand against the steering wheel, and screamed at a driver who pulled out in front of her.

What felt like a thousand hours later, she parked outside of Charlie’s place. She ran up the stairs to Charlie’s loft and banged on the door. She pounded so long that her knuckles began to feel raw.

“Charlie!” she yelled, over and over. “Please open up. Let me explain.”

The high of finishing her book earlier nose-dived with the low of this moment, and Mack’s body twitched with emotional whiplash. She called Charlie’s phone again. After one last weak knock on the door, she slumped against the steps and buried her head in her legs.

Mack dragged herself down the hall and opened the condo door. Her shoes felt like lead when she kicked them off. The keys weighed a thousand pounds in her fingers as she hung them on the hook. The pit in her stomach grew into a flaming boulder, burning her from the inside out.