mind as numb and as
blank as possible. I can’t think about him. I don’t want to
start crying again—not out on the street.
The apartment is empty. I miss Kate, and I imagine her
lying on a beach in Barbados sipping a cool cocktail. I turn
on the flat-screen television so there’s noise to fill the
vacuum and provide some semblance of company, but I
don’t listen or watch. I sit and stare blankly at the brick
wall. I am numb. I feel nothing but the pain. How long
must I endure this?
The door buzzer startles me from my anguish, and my
heart skips a beat. Who could that be? I press the
intercom.
“Delivery for Ms. Steele.” A bored, disembodied
voice answers, and disappointment crashes through me. I
listlessly make my way downstairs and find a young man
noisily chewing gum, holding a large cardboard box, and
leaning against the front door. I sign for the package and
take it upstairs. The box is huge and surprisingly light.
Inside are two dozen long-stemmed, white roses and a
card.
Congratulations on your first day at work.
I hope it went well.
And thank you for the glider. That was very
thoughtful.
It has pride of place on my desk.
Christian
I stare at the typed card, the hollow in my chest
expanding. No doub一t, his assistant sent this. Christian
probably had very little to do with it. It’s too painful to
think about. I examine the roses—they are beautiful, and I
can’t bring myself to throw them in the trash. Dutifully, I
make my way into the kitchen to hunt down a vase.
And so a pattern develops: wake, work, cry, sleep.
Well, try to sleep. I can’t even escape him in my dreams.
Gray burning eyes, his lost look, his hair burnished and
bright all haunt me. And the music . . . so much music—I
cannot bear to hear any music. I am careful to a一void it at
all costs. Even the jingles in commercials make me
shudder.
I ha一ve spoken to no one, not even my mother or Ray. I
don’t ha一ve the capacity for idle talk now. No, I want none
of it. I ha一ve become my own island state. A ra一vaged,
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