Page 4 of The Love Thief

CHAPTER THREE Shattered

My jaw was very sore and tight and uncomfortable, but I was not in any extreme physical pain.

My mouth felt like a disgusting desert; I couldn’t remember ever being more parched.

With my left hand I reached for a cup of water with a straw and slowly, carefully, did my best to position it on my lips.

Somehow I managed to suck up a little wetness.

My head felt clear for the moment, nearly alert, and I wanted to figure out how I was doing physically, as well as how to “be” with whatever I discovered next.

I wiggled my toes, bent my knees a bit, and moved my legs.

All seemed well there. I arched my back.

Check. Moved my head a little from side to side. Okay there, too.

I remembered someone saying my jaw would take six weeks to heal, my wrist sometime sooner. I hadn’t seen a mirror so I didn’t know how bad the gash and stitches were over my right eye, but I assumed, since Barry mentioned plastic surgery, it didn’t look good.

In so many ways I had led a charmed life. I had never had a serious I just want to die kind of heartbreak before. Yes, I had had breakups and lots of upsets and disappointment, but nothing like this.

Sure, like most folks, I had lost friends, but I had never been betrayed by someone I considered a sister.

Carly and I had been BFFs since seventh grade when we bonded at our first school dance.

We showed up in the same dress, and even though physically we could not be more different— me with a tall, thin, athletic frame and Carly very curvy and busty—we took the coincidence as a sign that we were meant to be friends.

The youngest of five from a dysfunctional family that often had money troubles, Carly was a wild child—some would even say promiscuous—but I always found her to be fun, adventurous, and exciting to be around.

That is, until now. In many ways, she was the sister I never had.

Losing the love of my life, my BFF and business partner, and nearly dying in a car accident was a trio of tragedies I didn’t think I would ever recover from.

The only word to describe this feeling of tremendous loss was the term shattered .

My biggest dreams had been blown into a million bits.

My dollhouse life was a smoldering wreckage.

Now, I couldn’t talk or type or cook, making it impossible for me to work, so I would most likely be broke in the very near future, too. Usually, when something bad happened, my natural tendency was to go into denial and look for the positive.

But lying on the sterile sheets in a hospital bed, I was certain I would never get there again. Right now I felt like I had sunk to the bottom of an inky, cold, black sea.

I was, perhaps for the first time ever, all alone.

Hopeless.

Nothing to live for.

How could he have done this to me? How could she?

What did I ever do to deserve this?

Confusion arched over my head, swallowing me whole. A part of me hoped beyond hope that I was stuck in a terrible nightmare and I would wake up and my old life would be waiting for me.

The practical part of me was channeling Dr. Laura Schlessinger who whispered encouraging no-nonsense messages in my ear. At least I had discovered this before Barry and I married and had kids. I had dodged a bullet. Big time.

My heart ran a video loop of our uber-romantic early days, remembering so many moments of our whirlwind trip to Budapest not even two weeks after we met.

Two hours after I had said “Yes,” to going with him, he’d sent me a detailed Excel file that had tips on what to pack and outlined nearly every hour of the trip, including suggestions on what to wear.

Our itinerary covered visits to castles, parks, monuments, museums, cafés, a private boat ride on the Danube, and an afternoon of pampering at an ancient mineral bathhouse.

When Barry had sent me the Excel file with packing instructions, I took it as a romantic and thoughtful gesture, but Mom surprised me when she responded quite negatively, telling me she saw that as a sign of control issues.

I thanked her for sharing and ignored her warning.

Carly and I googled fashion in Budapest and decided I needed a more European look for this sophisticated city. From the packing list, it was clear that my usual Southern California casual style was inappropriate for our sophisticated outings.

Fortunately, Carly was more than happy to become my personal travel stylist. “Holly, I have the perfect vision for your Budapest wardrobe,” she said, flipping her long brown hair to the side.

“We are going to transform you into a sleek and sexy version of Rene Russo in The Thomas Crown Affair . You’re going to look fabulous.

” Her chubby cheeks flushed a slight crimson as she grabbed my arm in excitement.

“What are you talking about?” I said, pulling away. “That movie with all the guys in bowler hats who steal art for a living? I don’t remember Rene’s clothes at all.”

“Of course, you don’t! Your idea of fashion is anything with a stretch waist for your almost nonexistent one,” Carly said, peering down at her own plump frame.

At five feet four inches, Carly found it hard to find flattering clothes to accentuate what I liked to call her “more positive attributes.” She had lovely green eyes that sparkled with mischief.

And she seemed to know everything about the fashion industry, which I clearly did not.

“I’m taking you to a designer resale shop in La Jolla where all the socialites place their barely worn Gucci, Prada, and Chanel. Eleganza has the best selection, and European tailoring is made for your perfect size six body,” Carly teased, her envy showing.

Carly’s passion for fashion, as I called it, was one thing we didn’t share. For me, clothes were first and foremost about comfort and function with a dash of cute. While I did care about my appearance, I couldn’t have cared less about trends or fancy labels.

My daily work outfit consisted of a white chef’s jacket, polyester black-and-white houndstooth pull-on pants, and beat-up clogs with rubber soles. On my days off, I traded the chef look for my most comfortable well-worn yoga pants and colorful hoodies.

“I’ll pick you up in an hour,” Carly continued. I could see the wheels turning in her head as her breathing accelerated. “Be sure to bring your mother’s Big Bang scarf with you,” she instructed.

“Her big what?”

“Remember that dude she was dating a few years ago who bought her an original Hermès scarf? The one in the iconic orange box? It’s called the Big Bang and it’s going to be the centerpiece of your new look.” Carly spun toward me. “Oh, and don’t forget your credit card.”

As promised, she picked me up within the hour.

Luckily, we found parking on Girard Avenue just a few doors south of the store.

I was instantly impressed with the marble floors, the gleaming crystal chandeliers, the elegant glass displays of jewelry, and the well-spaced clothing racks featuring velvet hangers.

The air smelled expensive and the fabrics gleamed with a pristine, nearly ridiculous perfection.

As I thumbed through the first rack, I wondered where these clothes had been.

And on whom. What did these ladies have that I did not?

I smiled to myself, realizing at that moment that I was entering a whole new league of living.

A surge of juicy anticipation overcame me.

My prior shopping ventures into secondhand stores and shoddy-looking bargain basement outlets where haphazardly jammed racks overflowed with clothes were everything but pleasant. A musty odor would cling not only to the clothing, but also to my skin as I rushed out of the place, gasping for air.

Eleganza was the exact opposite: It was not only beautiful but it exuded something exotic: a blend of fresh clean citrus and a promise—no, an invitation—to a world of ease and pleasure. A calming classical piano soundtrack arose from an invisible speaker nestled somewhere in the background.

We were greeted by a fifty-something woman with a mane of gorgeous, thick, shoulder-length silver hair. Wearing all-black Issey Miyake and an impressive amount of string pearls around her neck, she glided to us in her stylish, gold-quilted Chanel ballet flats.

“Welcome, ladies, my name is Juliet. Can I serve you a glass of champagne or rosé?” she offered.

“Yes, champagne for us both,” Carly said before I could answer.

“I’d love some sparkling water,” I said, giving my friend a side glance. “It’s too early in the day for me.”

“Holly, we have to get you in the mood, and champagne is exactly what this occasion calls for,” Carly confidently explained to Juliet, signaling two glasses were needed. Moments later a young woman approached with two flutes atop a round silver platter and a small silver bowl of smoked nuts.

“Now, what can I help you two with today?”

With that, Carly launched into my needs for the upcoming trip to Budapest while she dug into my large brown faux leather shoulder tote and pulled out the orange Hermès box, handing it to Juliet.

Juliet set the box on the counter and delicately pulled the scarf out to its full glory.

“Ah, the Big Bang. What a stunning treasure,” Juliet said, while draping it around my neck. “The navy and blue tones really accentuate your eyes,” she noted.

Carly moved between us, holding her champagne flute casually in one hand while beaming oddly at me. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, not knowing what to say.

“Holly,” Juliet continued, “with your friend’s vision, we are going to create a beautiful travel wardrobe that will take you from the streets of Budapest by day to the elegant evenings you have planned.”

I gave Carly a puzzled look as if to say, How does Juliet know about my specific plans?