Chapter Twenty-Four
Now
I don’t remember much of my walk home, but I know it wasn’t pretty. More than a few people stopped to stare at the girl with mascara running down her face, mussed up hair, and a trembling lower lip, but no one spoke to her. New Yorkers were rarely phased by something so minor as a girl having a total breakdown while wandering the streetsof Midtown. Times like this made me miss Georgia, where I’d have been stopped immediately and tucked under the wing of a concerned neighbor, who’d have insisted on bringing me home with her for a glass of sweet tea and a slice of homemade pie.
I supposed a bottle ofMerlot would have to do as a substitute.
When I got home, I didn’t even take my dress off before collapsing onto my bed in a heap of misery. Though the tears had finally stopped, I was exhausted from my crying jag and had no desire to look in my mirror at the puffy-eyed mess I’dbecome. I slipped my sleep-mask over my eyes to block out the light, burrowed my head beneath a mound of pillows to muffle the sounds of rush hour traffic, and fell into a fitful sleep, in which I dreamed of cemeteries and flashing hazel eyes.
***
“Do you think she’s dead?”
“I don’t know, poke her foot.”
“Youpoke her foot. I hate dead people.”
“Does anyonelikedead people?”
“Necrophiliacs?”
The sound of two people giggling like hyenas pulled me back into consciousness.
“Ungh,” I muttered. I really needed to change my locks.
“Oh good, she’s alive.” A voice I now recognized as Simon’s drifted closer, and the weight of someone’s body landed next to me on the bed. Seconds later, another body settled in on my opposite side. To my dismay, my cocoon of pillows and blankets was ripped from my body and shoved to the floor. With a resigned sigh, I pushed the sleep mask up onto my forehead and cracked my eyes open. Simon and Fae were staring at me with horrified expressions.
“What?” I asked, my voice scratchy with sleep.
Simon looked at Fae. “Do you want to tell her, or should I?”
“Sweetie, you look like death warmed over. You’ve got raccoon eyes.” Fae’s lips twitched as she pointed at my face. “What happened?”
“And what’s with the psycho serial-killer wall over there?” Simon asked, gesturing toward the mosaic of notes and photos I’d pinned up on the other side of the room. “Does someone need a Prozac?”
I groaned, pulling my sleep mask back over my eyes to block them out.
“I think this calls for serious measures,” Fae noted.
“Yep.” Simon agreed. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Wine,” they chimed in unison.
A hand grazed my temple, peeling the sleep mask off my face and up over my head, and bringing my best friends back into view. Fae, sleep mask in hand, was staring at me with concern while Simon headed across the room toward the kitchen area, no doubt in search of the jumbo bottle ofMerlot I’d stashed on the counter. I sat up in bed when he returned with a full glass of wine and a warm, wet washcloth. I accepted both gratefully, gently wiping at the mascara on my face and taking a large sip from my glass.
When I’d gotten myself together, I took a deep breath and faced Simon and Fae, who were watching me from their perches at the end of my bed.
“It’s time to spill, baby,” Simon said, squeezing my thigh. Fae nodded in agreement.
With a sigh, I set my wine glass onthe bedside table, climbed from the bed, and crossed to my desk, where I’d dropped my keys earlier. Fingering the smallest brass key on the ring, I headed for the small excuse for a closet embedded in the wall by my bed. On the top shelf, tucked behind the Jamie Box, I had a small lockbox where I kept a few things safe — the tiny diamond stud earrings my grandmother had left me when she passed, some of Jamie’s old medical records, my college diploma, and, of course, the document that had sealed my fate all those years ago.
The NDA.
I pulled the lockbox down from its place on the shelf and used the small key to open it. My fingers flipped through several documents before reaching the file that lay on the very bottom. I grasped the papers lightly, as though they were laced with toxins and holding them might allow fatal poison to seep through my fingertips and into my bloodstream. The pad of my index finger traced the lettering typed in boldface across the top of the first sheet:
NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT
The tempo of my heart picked up speed as I walked back toward Simon and Fae, who hadn’t moved from their spots on my bed. I stopped about five feet away.