Sick Day (8 page)

I
made it halfway through the Harris Building lobby when I noticed the tall brunette in the dark corner next to the revolving doors, watching me. Hope. I knew it from her presence alone; I didn’t have to see her face or the color of her hair or smell her perfume or coconut shampoo to know; I could tell because I knew how I
felt
whenever she was near.

“Working late?” she asked, stepping toward me. “I was afraid your security guard was going to kick me out.”

The stupid-big smile that twisted onto my face crushed my determination from earlier. Riley? Salts for the tub? Wine and fucking to the point where we have to change the sheets before bed?

Wait, Riley who?

“So what’s her name, Cameron?” Hope asked as she pushed into the revolving doors, but they refused to budge. She pushed harder, and I just watched, holding back laughter. Awkward.

“They lock the doors after hours,” I informed her. “You can push as hard as you want, but they won’t budge.”

She stepped back into the lobby, smirking and shaking her head at me. She wasn’t really embarrassed, but if anyone else had seen her, I knew she would have blushed. “Goob! Were you going to let me make an idiot of myself all night?”

“No, it didn’t take more than a few seconds for you to do that all on your own. So how long have you been waiting for me?”

“Since four-thirty. I didn’t know what time you left for the day, so I stood there and watched, waiting for you. Now I have to pee.”

I chuckled. “I didn’t think you believed in fighting for love. This is a new side to you.”

She punched me in the shoulder, hard. “What’s your wife’s name already?”

“Riley,” I answered, rubbing my shoulder. “And she’s just my fiancée. At least until next month when we’re supposed to get married in Wisconsin.”

Now it was Hope’s turn to chuckle. “I didn’t know you believed in marriage. This is a new side to you, Cameron.”

“I…uh…” I brushed a hand through my hair, remembering how I had been questioning the marriage thing all week since seeing Hope. If Riley’s and my relationship was based on love—the real and tangible kind that keeps you smiling every morning when you wake up next to that person, the kind that allows you to conceive and raise children in the best environment possible—should Hope have had such a profound impact when we were this close to my wedding day? Now I wondered whether marrying Riley was the right thing to do.

“I’ve never been to Chicago,” she said. “Deep dish pizza?”

I felt a little dizzy; she seemed to be coming at me from a million different angles. “Yes. We can eat. Sure.”

I used my access card to release the lock on the exit door. The warm air and city sounds washed over us the moment we stepped outside. I took a deep breath, then glanced over at Hope again, just to make sure this was real, not some dream or fantasy. I couldn’t believe she was here. Again.

“What are you doing in Chicago, anyway?” I had to ask.

She gave me a threatening glare, then shook her head. “I’m in the same boat as you.”

“Facing certain unemployment?”

“Huh?” She glared at me sideways.

“
Nevermind.” I turned north on Wells. “It’s a bit of a hike to Gino’s East, but you’ll love it. How long are you in Chicago?”

I felt her hand slip into mine, but I pulled away. Riley knew a lot of people in Chicago; I didn’t want her to hear rumors from someone else when we had so little time between now and our wedding day. I couldn’t crush her like that. But in the process of protecting Riley’s heart, I noticed that a part of Hope’s crumbled away.

She changed the subject again. “I have to pee. How far is this place?”

“Fifteen minutes if you can hold it that long.”

We walked in silence for a few blocks. At Ohio, Hope pointed toward the golden arches a city block to the east, the original McDonald’s. “Holy shit!”

“We’re real close, unless you’re going to piss your pants.”

“Shut up and keep walking,” she said, poking me in the kidneys to keep my feet going. “I’m only here for a few more nights.”

“That’s too bad.” Like if
my heart just stopped beating.

“Why’s that, Cameron?” she snapped. “Were you hoping I’d come to your wedding?”

A
t Gino’s East, they seated us at a booth, but Hope walked straight to the bathrooms in the back, her legs so tight together that, from behind, she appeared to be walking on one leg. The waiter came, and I ordered our drinks. A Coke for me and an iced tea for Hope—almost like we were still dating before college, still in love, and still blissfully oblivious to the complications that a bullet-proof, five-year promise would have on our relationship.

What am I doing here?

When Hope returned, sliding into the booth across from me, I told her what I had done—ordered her an iced tea—and her lips twitched like she might be flirting with the idea of a smile. “I’ve missed you, Cameron.”

I nodded. “I gathered that from last week’s encounter in the rain.”

“I know you missed me more.” Her face lit up at the memory.

Last Friday night, after we finished making out on the grass, we retreated to the nearest bus shelter and talked. I told her where I worked, told her to come find me so we could talk some more. On Monday, I had expected her to show up, but by today, despite my confidence with Gordon, I hadn’t held much hope that I would ever see her again.

“Why did you disappear, Cameron? I called, I emailed, and nothing.” She seemed a little hurt about that, and I couldn’t blame her.

“I met Riley,” I told her, point-blank.

“She’s pretty,” Hope admitted sadly and quickly; she didn’t seem to want to hear more about Riley right now. “Very pretty.”

The waiter came with our drinks, and we ordered a small deep-dish pizza.

I watched Hope pucker her lips around the straw and take a long pull from the glass, her pretty hazel eyes watching me the entire time. “Did you meet her at Northwestern?”

I nodded. “What about you? Still single?”

She averted her eyes and shook her head. “I met an older man. He’s a partner at the accounting firm where I did my articling.” Her eyes found mine again. “He takes good care of me, Cameron.”

“I don’t want to know what his name is,” I admitted, wondering why my chest felt suddenly constricted. I was supposed to be in love with Riley. I shouldn’t have cared about Hope’s romantic life. I should’ve been happy for her. After all, it was me that disappeared. And if she were involved with someone else, I would no longer have to carry all the weight, the guilt that came with breaking our promise.

“So why did you kiss me the other night?” she asked, clearly trying to steer the conversation in a direction she wanted.

I groaned. “Let’s take this back a couple of steps, shall we? Why were you
stalking
me the other night?”

She rolled her eyes. “
Puh-lease, Cameron.”

“It’s a legitimate question,” I told her, “and I really want to know what you were doing outside my townhouse in the dark. And
in the rain!”

“You kissed me, mister. I didn’t ask you to come running after me, or to tackle me like a fucking rapist in front of your community center.” She shook her head at me, huffing. “And I swear you touched my boob, too. If you’d just let me go,
none
of this would’ve happened, and you’d be at home right now, making dinner for Riley and playing house.”

“Is that what you wanted? For me to just notice you, then let you slip away?”

She avoided the question and allowed her attention to wander about the interesting graffiti that made this restaurant so unique in its decor.

“It’s going to take another forty minutes or so for our pizza,” I informed her. “We may as well talk this through, Hope.”

She abruptly moved her attention back, her eyes stern and unflinching. “Then let’s start with that kiss, Cameron.”

“Which was inspired by your stalking,” I elaborated with a slight smile.

She shook her head again. “You tell me about the kiss, and I’ll tell you what I was doing outside your townhouse.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but she held up one of her long fingers, and I noticed just how sexy her nails were—the dark polish, the smooth edging. I missed those fingers between mine, missed those nails digging into my back.

“I asked the question first, Cameron. So you answer me first, and I swear I’ll answer you.”

I took a deep breath and sat back against the graffiti-ridden booth. “The truth?” I paused, and she just kept watching me with those eyes. “I had to kiss you. It was the right thing to do.”

She crossed her arms, the fresh smirk on her face suggesting that we had travelled back in time. “The ‘right’ thing to do, huh?” This was the
us
of seven years ago, the happy times and the tense times all rolled into one. “What does that mean, Cameron? The
right
thing to do?” She shook her head at me.

“You were there.” I motion to her, gesturing and allowing myself to retreat to those memories. “You were in my arms. Your face was close, and we were one. Just like before. I kissed you because you were there again. It was you and me, and the only thing that felt right, at that specific moment, was kissing you.”

Her blank stare said maybe I had gone a little too far. But it was the truth; it was how I had felt.

“So, Hope?” Now it was her turn. “Why were you creeping on me? It’s been seven years, I never thought I’d see you again.”

The egotistical pleasure I found in her face just moments ago seemed to deflate. She let out a long breath, and it felt like she was letting out the helium from a birthday balloon, releasing the essence and jovial mood of the party. And I knew, just watching her, that maybe some things were best left unspoken.

I reached across the table for her
hands. “It’s okay,” I told her. “We can talk about something else. It’s really not that important.”

“Thank you,” she said, but it lacked finality. She wanted to talk about this.

“Seven years, huh?” I was trying to change the subject. I even forced an incredulous whistle. “Wow, time fucking flies.”

“It was a promise,” she said, hissing a little. “You broke my heart when you left, and you broke it again when you stopped responding to my emails. And you want to know why I stood outside your townhouse in the pouring rain, Cameron?”

I held my hands up. “No, actually I don’t.” I forced a chuckle that sounded about as genuine as a plastic Rolex. “I’m pretty sure I said we could talk about something else.” I cleared my throat. “So how do you enjoy being an accountant?”

She leaned closer on the table, and I knew where this was headed before the hurt and rage dripped from her lips. “Fuck you, Cameron. For years I wondered what was wrong with me. I wondered what I could’ve done to chase you off, why I wasn’t good enough for you, why you chose something or someone else instead of coming back to me.”

“It was nothing you did—”

She propelled forward, fueled by all those years of my neglect. Her response surprised me. “I wondered what kind of asshole you really were. What changed? How could we have gone from soul mates and being so madly in love to…to nothing? I beat myself up for years over this. Seven long fucking years.” She smacked the table to hammer her point home.

“You shouldn’t have, Hope, it was—” I started, but she interrupted me, and I bit down on my tongue.

“I beat myself up for ever agreeing to anything. For letting you in, for letting you go, for letting you take my heart with you wherever it was that you disappeared to. Which was here, in Chicago, this whole time.”

I sighed, speechless and a little defeated. I counted to ten to see if she had more to say. She did.

“I searched for years, Cameron.” Her voice was small, almost inaudible.

I grasped for the first excuse I could find. “My parents could’ve told you where to find me. You know that. If you really wanted to find me—”

Her eyes spit fire at me. Again. “I would never have done that.”

Finally, I asked her the question I really wanted to know. “Then how did you find me, Hope?”

“LinkedIn,” she said. “It brought me to Chicago. It brought me to Harris, to your office building. And from there, it wasn’t hard to track you, wasn’t hard to blend into the crowds that walk to the train station every night after work.”

“How long did you…?” My words quieted as I pictured it. She’d been trailing me?

“Two weeks. Last Friday was the first night I followed you all the way home. And while I stood outside your townhouse in the rain, watching you kiss that girl—who is the polar opposite of me, by the way—and make dinner, and do all of those domesticated things that I always imag
ined
we
would do together,” she tapped her heart with her fist, “I thought I had my answer. Why you disappeared on me.”

She sipped her iced tea, and as I watched her, I memorized the features I had lived so long without—the lines of her face, the creases at the corners of her eyes, the way her upper lip seemed a little smaller than her pouty lower lip, the scar underneath her jawline on the left side of her face, the mole on her neck.