Close to You Read online

  I wondered what his daily life was like. He probably had a girlfriend, a nice job.

  I arrived at the park, hushing all thoughts about the stranger. The massive sign labeling the entrance to Central Park hovered over me, and I walked in.

  Since it was winter, hardly anything was green. Leafless trees loomed above, their branches meeting the overcast sky, waving as the wind whispered through them. There were people everywhere, walking dogs, riding bikes, and some laying on blankets on brown grass, staring at the sky.

  It was the biggest park I’d ever seen, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to see it all today.

  Again, I thought of Iain. I shook my head, knowing it was fruitless. I thought of those blue eyes, his beard, his lips. About that hand I’d imagined on me. He’d noticed me, somehow knowing that I had needed help. But to think about him as anything more than a helpful stranger was dangerous.

  Brandon would find me - eventually. I looped back around in my head, back to knowing that safety was an illusion. Thinking anything else was kidding myself. Telling myself that I was safe was a joke. I looked around, walking a path aimlessly, getting out of the way of a couple of kids chasing an RC car. This world I had entered, it wasn’t my own. Eventually, I would have to face Brandon again.

  But I would hold off for as long as possible. There was no doubt about that.

  xxx

  The next day, I woke up in somewhat decent spirits. The forecast was calling for the warmest temperatures since before Christmas, and I wouldn’t have to bundle up so much today. I got dressed and walked to the kitchen, grabbing a mug from the cupboard and pouring myself a cup of coffee from the pot.

  “Morning, stranger,” Shannon said, and I smiled as she joined me, mug in hand, giving herself a refill.

  “Morning. I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

  She nodded, taking a sip of her coffee after doctoring it with cream and sugar. “This stupid project has me at the office all hours of the day. I can’t wait for our vacation.”

  I took a sip of my own, remembering that she and Evan were going to Aruba soon for two weeks. I was extremely jealous but happy for her, too. She worked long hours and so did he.

  “You need the break,” I said.

  “You’re still welcome to come with us. We really wouldn’t mind at all.”

  “I appreciate the offer, I really do. But I won’t intrude on your vacation, and besides… my passport wasn’t one of the things I grabbed when I left.”

  There was silence after that, and we both drank our coffees, deep in thought.

  “What are your plans today?” she asked me finally.

  “I don’t know. I’m scheduled at five today, and since it’s Friday, it’ll be busy.” I paused, warming my fingers on my mug. “I went to Central Park yesterday.”

  “Really? That’s great, Michele.” Shannon smiled broadly at me. “Wasn’t it nice?”

  “Yeah. Much nicer than I’d ever have expected. I almost got lost trying to get out, though.”

  “It’s like, two miles long. It’s huge. In the summer, there’s so much to do. Concerts, art, festivals. I can’t wait to show you.”

  In the summer. I wondered how realistic it was to plan that far ahead. Would I even still be here in June, July? Would I know how it felt to walk the streets in lighter clothing, with the sun beating down, hot against my head?

  “A nice guy on the street helped me figure out which train to get on,” I blurted out. I wasn’t even sure why I had said it.

  “Oh? Sometimes people are nice around here, too.” She said it as if she were teasing. Where I came from, people greeted their neighbors regularly. Here, they usually looked away from each other.

  “I was so paranoid. I could feel my brain working as he asked me if I needed help. Like, ‘why is he talking to me? What does he want?’” I faltered, looking into my cup. “When am I going to stop seeing Brandon in everyone and everything?”

  Shannon set her mug down and walked over to me, touching my shoulder lightly. “It’ll take some time.”

  “I feel like I’m waiting for the world to crumble beneath my feet sometimes.” I felt my eyes burn and knew I was going to start crying soon. I swallowed, willing the tears away. They would only add to this hopelessness I felt.

  “You need to go to a lawyer and draft the papers up. You can’t live like this forever. A lawyer can help you with this.”

  “I can’t.” My voice felt thick in my throat, and I met her gaze. “I’m not… I’m not ready.”

  Instinctually, my thumb went for my ring finger, a habit I had developed out of nervousness shortly after Brandon and I had gotten married. Instead of metal and stone, my thumb met the bare flesh of my finger, leaving me feeling completely void for a moment. I had sold the rings weeks ago.

  “You know I’m here for you. Whether you want to stay until we’re both knitting in rocking chairs or you decide to move out on your own, or if you… you want to go back to him. I’m here for you.”

  Her voice was so genuine, I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. If only she knew - if only she knew why I had left.

  Chapter 6.

  Two and a half years ago

  It was getting late. The sun was waning in the sky, and dinner was getting cold.

  I’d slaved over it for too long, something I regretted doing even while I was doing it. I knew Brandon wouldn’t appreciate it, and I knew he was most likely going to be late tonight. Why had I done this to myself?

  At the dining room table, I stared at my hands. They were smooth and flawless, with perfectly manicured fingernails with bright, vivid pink painted perfectly over them. My wedding rings were shining, the diamonds reflecting against the light from the setting sun.

  I had a lot to be thankful for. I could be alone, without this big house and nice car and fancy life. I could be struggling to pay rent, working a job I hated, like my mother did when I was growing up.

  But as much as I tried, I took no comfort in material things. Instead, I fantasized about a life of struggle, as long as it meant being apart from him.

  Another twenty minutes passed, and I heard the sound of the garage door opening. My head perked like a dog’s when it hears something it thinks could be a threat.

  Keys in the door jingled, and then I heard his footsteps. My eyes flicked to the set table, to the food gone cold a long time ago. I wondered what this scene would look like to him as he made his way to the stairs.

  He appeared out of nowhere, brown eyes taking in the set table, the pot of rice and rack of ribs I had made. His handsome face was like stone. Hard and cold.

  “What is this?” he asked indifferently. As if it didn’t matter.

  “I made you dinner,” I said, my voice small. I broke his gaze. It was not easy to look at him dead on for extended periods of time.

  “Throw it away.”

  I didn’t move. I should have.

  “Michele,” he spat, and I looked at him again, if only to try to anticipate his mood. It was so hard to tell these days. “Throw this shit away.”

  He didn’t give me time to think. He grabbed the pot of rice and flung it across the dining room, the sound of it hitting the wood floor like a gunshot in my ears. The lid rolled, bouncing against the wall and falling flat, defeated.

  His hands were on me in a flash. I wasn’t quick enough to dodge him, and his grip was like ice and iron against my upper arm. He jerked me up out of my seat. There would be bruises tomorrow.

  “Clean this shit up. Then get upstairs. It’s been a long day.”

  It’s been a long day. That was his code for sex - and I swallowed, my mouth so dry I could barely breathe. My heart hammered in my chest, and he finally let me go, backing up and bounding up the stairs. A few moments later, the sound of the shower began from upstairs.

  I cleaned up as quickly as I could, throwing the rice away but packing the ribs in a container. I could eat them for lunch tomorrow, if I had an appetite.

  My arm was th
robbing the entire time I worked. After I was done, I pulled a bottle of Blue Label out of the liquor cabinet and poured myself a shot, hands shaking as I capped it back up. I downed it quickly, forcing myself to believe that any amount of alcohol could numb the pain I was feeling, could dull what was to come.

  If I didn’t hurry, he’d come find me. I swished some mouthwash in the guest bathroom so he wouldn’t taste the scotch and dragged myself upstairs to the master bedroom.

  Brandon was still in the bathroom, and I sat on the massive king-sized bed, pulling off my rings and placing them on the nightstand. The picture of us on our wedding day stared at me. That day, I didn’t even have a care in the world. Now, I wondered if this was the kind of marriage he had wanted when he asked me to marry him.

  The shot I had done was entering my bloodstream fast, but it wouldn’t last long.

  “Why are you still dressed?”

  The sound of his voice was like a whip to my joints, and I shot up off the bed quickly. He had opened the door, a towel wrapped around his waist, steam filtering out of the bathroom.

  “I’m - I’m sorry. I only just now got done cleaning up.”

  He sighed and shook his head, his expression softening. “I hate getting mad at you.” He strolled over to me, his hands reaching at me, their intentions unknown, and I stiffened.

  “Michele, I’m sorry I grabbed you. I wasn’t thinking. I just - I worked a long day. Then I come home and see that?” He shook his head, as if the weight of his words were really hitting him, so steadfast in his righteousness. “You know it upsets me that I can’t be home for dinner with you.”

  I forced myself to relax, letting him hold me, his skin warm and damp against me. He always apologized for hurting me - but nothing ever changed. For a split second, I allowed myself to believe that maybe this really was the last time.

  I could feel him hardening beneath his towel, and felt a rush of fear. I didn’t want to sleep with him, but I never had a choice. His hands wandered to my shirt, fingers trailing underneath and up my belly. I closed my eyes.

  “Let’s get you out of these clothes.”

  I let it happen.

  Chapter 7.

  Iain

  “Iain, over here!” Erik shouted, waving at me from across the bar.

  Waving back, I made my way to his table. I sat down, took my gloves off, and ordered a beer from a passing waitress.

  “How’s it going, man?” he asked, taking a swig of his. I peeled my coat off, draping it on the back of my chair, noticing an open menu in front of him. I took it, suddenly ravenous.

  Erik had been my best friend since elementary school. We had been through it all - parents’ divorces, bad relationships, shitty jobs. He was by my side when I had come home from my last deployment, making sure I took care of myself after everything had happened. He was like my brother.

  I wanted to tell him how things were really going - to explain this weird case I had landed, to talk about Brandon and his runaway wife. But instead, I shrugged.

  “It’s going. Just work, as usual.”

  A tall beer was set in front of me, and I ordered a burger and fries. Erik ordered the same, his dark brown eyes flashing with mischief.

  “Man, our waitress is hot. You should get her number.”

  I laughed, raising an eyebrow and looking toward the girl in question, a young-looking blond who had already moved on to the next table. Everywhere we went, Erik was always trying to hook me up with women. Our waitress, cashier, taxi driver, flight attendant, whoever. As long as she was a woman, he asked me to get her number. I, on the other hand, barely noticed women that way.

  At least, not until Michele.

  “If she’s so hot, you ask her.”

  Erik’s smile dropped. His last girlfriend, Claire, crushed him. They were together two years, and he was even thinking about asking her to marry him. But then one day, it was like a light switch flipped. Claire broke it off, saying that he wasn’t who she thought he was. He’d been single over a year, and I pitied him. As far as I knew, he never got closure, and he couldn’t let go of her in any real way.

  Up until Claire, he was definitely a relationship guy - he always had somebody. I figured he was always trying to set me up with women because it was what he wished he could do for himself, but something was stopping him.

  “Nah, man. I don’t think so.”

  The game was just starting, and we both watched in silence. The bar wasn’t getting any quieter, and when the Knicks scored, people stood and cheered.

  “What have you been up to?” I asked him, finishing up my beer. It was going down easy tonight, and I already wanted another.

  “Honestly? Nothing much. Work, of course.” He paused a beat, and then said, “I finally, um, was able to get rid of the last of Claire’s shit.”

  “Really? That’s great.”

  I ordered another beer from our waitress, and he did too.

  “Yeah. She came by.”

  “Seriously? What was that like?”

  “It was… weird, seeing her. I’m just glad I didn’t say anything idiotic.”

  I nodded, eyes searching the room. It was getting more crowded, as Saturday evenings generally did here. I watched a woman interlace hands with the man sitting next to her. I turned back to Erik.

  “It’s about time she came and got her shit. Have you gone out with anyone lately?”

  He shook his head, his dark hair flopping around his ears. “No. It’s just not a good time.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What are you waiting for?”

  “What are you waiting for?” he countered, taking a sip of his beer.

  I sat back, knowing I was beat. I was in the same boat as him, if not worse.

  Stretching out the silence, I ignored his question at first, looking at the TV and pretending to pay attention to it.

  “Well?” he prompted. I could hear teasing in his voice, but I grit my teeth.

  “It’s not a good time,” I said, repeating his own words, meeting his eye again. We looked at each other, Erik’s face expressionless as he regarded me.

  “No word from Emily, I take it?” he asked.

  I winced, looking away from him. I never talked about Emily. Ever.

  “I don’t expect to hear from her again.” I took a drink of my new beer, letting myself focus on the way it felt trailing down my throat.

  “Iain, what she did was fucked up. But you’ve been single a lot longer than me.”

  I didn’t answer him.

  “Don’t you think it’s time to move on?”

  I stared at him, thinking about what he was asking. I had moved on. But the thought of endless amounts of first dates was nauseating.

  “I don’t miss her. Haven’t thought about her in months.” It wasn’t exactly true. I thought about what she’d done quite often.

  More importantly, I thought about what I had done. How I hadn’t been there. How I had let her suffer alone.

  “Then why won’t you ask that waitress out?” Erik persisted, and I sat back. I turned to look at the waitress in question again, noticing the way the light hit her blond hair piled on top of her head. She had a pretty smile. I looked away.

  “She’s not my type.”

  “Okay then, why not the other waitress? The one with the brown hair?”

  I didn’t bother looking. Erik could go around in circles all night. I ran my finger along the side of my glass, leaving a line through the condensation that had accumulated there.

  For the millionth time that day, I thought of Michele. I had put the case on hold the last couple of days, but, starting tomorrow, I resolved to scope her out. Once I found out where she worked and lived, then this would be done.

  He’d called me yesterday morning, asking if I’d had any luck. While on the phone with him, I stared at her picture, remembering the way she had looked at me as I showed her which trains to get on. Like she almost wanted to trust me but knew she couldn’t.

  I had lied to him over t
he phone. I told him I hadn’t found her yet.

  “Not my type,” I said again, thinking about Michele’s dark hair. Thinking about those blue-green eyes, darkly sad and stoic on that street corner. The more time that passed since that day, the more my mind began to romanticize the encounter. But it was completely stupid to even think of anything like that with her. Not only was she Brandon Coffey’s wife, but she was a cheater, a runaway. A thief.

  “We’ll get you laid eventually,” Erik said, and then cheered at the TV when the Knicks scored again.

  I wasn’t even paying attention.

  Even if, in an ideal world, Michele wasn’t Brandon’s wife but some stranger I had met on the street for real - even if, it couldn’t happen. If my relationship with Emily had taught me anything, it was that love was flimsy. Promises were too easily broken. I tried to give her everything, and it wasn’t enough. I had hurt her just by being myself.

  An odd lump formed in my throat at that thought, and I took another drink of beer.

  “I think we should find you someone first,” I said, in an effort to distract myself. “Either that, or we can just be bachelors forever.”

  Erik laughed at that, raising his glass in a toast. I clinked mine against his, and we drank.

  “Deal,” he said.

  Chapter 8.

  Four years ago

  Got called in at the last minute :( Won’t be able to make it. I’m sorry.

  The sounds of the airplane faded away as I read the text from my fiancée sent while I was in-flight. My stomach, already in knots from the anticipation of seeing her again after nine months, lurched, nausea overcoming me.

  Not that I couldn’t get home without Emily, but I had been really fucking looking forward to seeing her face after everything that had happened since I left for Afghanistan.

  The plane stopped moving, and there was a frenzy of movement and I stood, awkwardly stooped so my skull didn’t bash against the overhead compartments, making sure my left arm stayed firmly in its sling. My body buzzed from the plane ride, and there was a strange sense of finality that I couldn’t get over.