Her Dead Boyfriend, page 17
“All set for Thursday?” Dave asked, sidling up to me.
I jumped and took a subconscious step away from him.
“Getting there,” I replied, recovering my composure.
“This is going to be a big night for the store, so I want everything to run smoothly. Okay, Erin?” Dave gripped my arm with his meaty fingers.
“Yes, Dave. Don’t worry.”
“All right. I’m relying on you. Don’t let me down.” He gave my arm a final squeeze, before letting go.
“I won’t. You can count on me.” But could he? The pressure was overwhelming. My mind was like a fractured pane of glass. One gentle push and it would shatter into a million pieces.
As Dave walked back to his office, I let out a deep breath. I had tried to project an air of confidence, but inside, I was stressed. There were so many details that still needed my attention, and I hoped that I had remembered everything.
*
My resolve to push Mark to the back of my mind after the movie night didn’t last long. After a late shift at work on Tuesday, I had found myself wandering in the dark around the marina and right past Mark’s building. I stood and looked up at all the brightly lit windows. Which one was his? How could I possibly figure it out? I tried to count the floors and then carefully moved my gaze along the windows, until I found a balcony that I thought might be Mark’s. Was he home or was he at the hospital? If he was home, what was he doing? Was he alone? Or was Fiona there? The thought of them together made me cringe. Did I dare go up and knock on his door or would it seem desperate? And what if Fiona was there? No, I couldn’t risk it. I started to walk away when another idea struck me.
A few minutes later, I was inside the elevator of Mark’s building, but I was going down to the parking garage instead of up to his loft. The doors slid open, and I started walking up and down the rows of cars, searching for his black Range Rover. Five minutes passed, then ten, and I still hadn’t found it. Suddenly, I heard the roar of an engine and a black SUV drove in my direction, illuminating me with its headlights. Was it Mark? A bloom of embarrassment swept across my cheeks, saturating them with a rosy hue. How would I explain my presence in his parking garage?
The black SUV drew closer and closer.
Blood thrummed in my ears.
It was inches away and then… it was gone.
Relief crashed through my body. It wasn’t Mark’s truck. I decided to give up my search and headed for the exit, when a familiar license plate caught my eye. Rustling around in my purse for a notepad and pen, I wrote a message to Mark and pinned it to his windshield. Call me. We need to talk. Erin.
Wednesday passed and I hadn’t heard from Mark. Maybe he hadn’t seen my note yet. Or maybe he’d seen it and misinterpreted my intent. I worried that the tone of my note had sounded too harsh, like I was threatening blackmail or delivering an ultimatum.
*
By Thursday, I barely had time to think about him. I had promoted the book reading on social media, and the bookstore buzzed with excitement. Chairs were filling up fast, and it would soon be standing room only. Dave had even hired a security guard, who was keeping an eye on the growing crowd. It was an impressive turnout.
I knew that George had a large following in Boston. Her latest book shot straight to the top of the bestseller list as soon as it was released. A prolific writer, she had penned over thirty thrillers, and I had read at least half of them. In my opinion, The Dead Girl was her best yet. Her books were all set in the south of England, which was one of the great appeals of her work. George had a talent for writing descriptive passages that were just the right length. Quaint English villages and the idyllic countryside were brought vividly to life, as if they too were characters in her books. Castles, with their requisite ghosts loitering in the passageways, often figured in her stories. There was nothing like the escapism of a well-written crime novel. I could not wait to meet George, with her bright red, bouffant hair and flamboyant clothes; I hoped that she would be as inspiring in the flesh as she was on the page.
When George arrived, Dave immediately ensconced her in his office and was busy monopolizing her attention. He would be introducing the author and conducting the post-reading interview.
Just before the reading was due to begin, I received a text. I glanced at my phone and my chest tightened. I squinted at the screen in disbelief. The message was from Mark.
Meet me at The Old Hairdresser’s.
Blood rushed to my head. This is what I’d been waiting and hoping for. I messaged him back.
I can meet you at ten p.m.
The event was scheduled from eight till nine-thirty, leaving me plenty of time to get to the pub.
“Erin?” The brusque, masculine voice made me jump.
It was Dave. His thick fingers pressed into my arm.
“Is everything ready? I’m going to bring George out here in a few minutes.”
“Yes, Dave.” I detached myself from his clamp-like grip and moved towards the podium.
“Test, one, two, test.” Suzy was doing a final mic check.
Pushing Mark to the back of my brain, I forced myself to focus on the task at hand. It was my responsibility to make sure that everything ran smoothly. I reminded myself that it was a big coup getting a writer of George’s stature to read at an independent bookstore like Pemberley’s. It was a chance to meet one of my favorite authors and tell her how much I loved her books. Maybe George could even help me get an agent, one day, if I ever finished writing the story about Max and the twins.
But try as I might, Mark kept emerging in my mind. Meeting up with him would be crossing another line. I could try to rationalize the hospital rendezvous as a one-off, a one-time mistake, never to be repeated. But if I met up with him tonight, that excuse would fly out the window. Was I really willing to risk losing Fiona by meeting Mark out in a public space, especially in an intimate setting, like a bar? Alcohol would lower our inhibitions. It would definitely be a step beyond a kiss on an isolated island or a quickie in the hospital on-call room. He would no longer be just a figment of my subversive fantasies. This would be a real date and yet another betrayal. A big one.
But no matter what I told myself, Mark’s text continued to tug at my mind. If I met him at the pub, it would be the first time we had ever been on a real date − alone without Fiona and Oliver. I had been praying for just such a move on his part for so long, and this might be my only opportunity. I was desperate to meet him. Maybe he was going to confess what I had suspected all along—that he was secretly in love with me. Maybe he was finally going to break up with Fiona, so he could be with me. If I did not meet up with him tonight, I might never find out. I might lose my one and only chance with him.
Chapter 40
I made opening remarks and welcomed everyone to the bookstore. Then I motioned Dave to the microphone, and he introduced Rowena George. The next hour flew by. She gave a riveting reading and told fascinating anecdotes about her research, including visits to the morgue. Then Dave led the Q&A. There were many thoughtful questions from the crowd, but at nine-thirty p.m., it was time to wrap things up. Rowena George was on a tight timeline. I led her to a table piled with her best-selling thrillers, where eager fans were lined up to get a signed copy of her latest book.
As much as I wanted to stay and try to chat with her afterwards about my writing, I didn’t want to be late for my date with Mark. If I was going to get to the pub on time, I’d have to leave immediately.
“Um, Dave.” I jogged over to him. “Can I speak to you for a second?”
“Sure, Erin. Great event tonight. Well done.”
I wasn’t used to him being so complimentary. “Oh, thanks so much Dave. I couldn’t have done it without the help of Maddie and Suzy.”
“To thank all you girls for your hard work, I thought I’d take you out for drinks afterwards. And Rowena and her agent said they’d love to join us for a quick drink.”
Drinks with Rowena George and her agent? I couldn’t believe I was going to miss such a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But Mark would be waiting for me and the pull towards him was magnetic.
“That sounds wonderful, Dave. Thanks so much. But the thing is,” I said, chewing on my lip, “my mother just texted me.” My stomach lunged, as the lie spilt from my lips. “She’s not feeling well. I hate to do this to you, but I think I’d better go and check on her.”
Dave’s face flushed red. “Right now? Are you serious?”
My eyes widened. Even though I was lying through my teeth, Dave’s total lack of empathy was appalling.
Dave cleared his throat. “Sorry, Erin. If it’s an emergency, of course, you have to go.” He placed a sweaty palm on my shoulder.
My duplicity jabbed at me, but I turned away and pushed through the crowd, cornering Maddie, who was packing up seats at the back of the room.
“Maddie, it’s my mother. She’s at the hospital, again.”
“Oh my God!” Maddie covered her mouth with her hand.
A gnawing pain ate at my heart. I felt like a monster, but it was too late to change my mind. “I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to go. Can you handle the rest of the evening without me?” Lying to Dave was easy, but lying to Maddie troubled my conscience. I hoped I wasn’t making a huge mistake.
“Of course. No worries. There’s not much left to do. Go.” Maddie gave me a quick hug. “Text me later.”
“I will.” I turned and hurried out the door. This had better be worth it. What was I saying? It’s Mark. Of course it’d be worth it. For the first time in a year, I felt alive again, and it’s all because of Mark. I felt so connected to him, like a string was pulling us together. We shared an artistic sensibility. And I admired how he’d committed his life to healing people. Plus, his dedication to his work reminded me of Dad. And when Mark fixed his blue eyes on me, I felt as high as Mount Everest.
I found an Uber nearby, and he arrived five minutes later. After giving the driver directions, I rummaged around in my purse, scooped up my pocket mirror, and began to reapply my mascara. I could not believe that I was on my way to meet Mark and almost had to pinch myself. Puckering my lips, I put on raspberry-red lipstick, then ran a comb through my hair. Satisfied, I sat back in the black vinyl seat, but doubts and fears churned like a hamster wheel in my head. Should I have given up the chance to talk with Rowena George and her agent? And what about Oliver and Fiona?
But when the car pulled up in front of the pub, I pushed all my doubts to the back of my brain. Then, I thanked the driver and catapulted out of the car.
It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the dark lighting inside the pub. Once I could see properly, I looked from side to side, but did not see Mark. As I made my way over to the bar, I kept glancing around the room, in case I had missed him. It was fairly crowded, but I was sure I would have caught sight of him if he were here. Maybe he had gone to the washroom. Perching on a stool, I thought back to the first time I had come to the pub with Mark and Oliver and Fiona. But tonight, it would be different. It would be just the two of us.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, intruding on my thoughts.
“A white wine, please,” I replied.
When he placed my drink on the counter, I asked, “Have you seen a tall man with dark brown hair and blue eyes in his early thirties?”
The bartender shook his head. “Sorry, can’t help you.”
I gulped down some of my drink and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in my gut. Mark, where are you?
I checked my phone for new messages, but there were none. Maybe he had been delayed at the hospital. That had to be it. He was never on time. The man liked to make an entrance. I sighed and put my phone down on the bar. Suddenly, it started to ring. It’s got to be him. I was about to slide a finger across the screen and answer it, when I saw who was calling and my smile faded. Oliver. Why did he have to call me now? Why did I feel so duplicitous? We’d only kissed once. Glancing at my watch, I had a pang of regret. I could’ve been having drinks with Rowena George right now.
But tonight was going to be the most important night of my life. I was sure that Mark had summoned me here to finally say the words that I had been longing to hear: “You’re the one I want, not Fiona.”
A sliver of doubt slid into my mind. If he cheated on Fiona, would he cheat on me? I shook my head. Fiona wasn’t the right match for him, and I was. Soon, I would be the happiest woman alive. If everything went according to plan, it would be the official start of my relationship with Mark. Skipping ahead to the future, I pictured him proposing to me on a bended knee. We would get married at a vineyard in Sonoma. Honeymoon in Iceland. No, in Fiji. In an overwater bungalow with a glass floor. Turquoise water. White sand. And Mark, all to myself.
Lifting my glass to my lips, I tipped it up to drain the last drop and ordered another one. He would be here soon, I was sure. Doctors were notoriously late. It was nothing to be concerned about. I would not let myself check the time. It was irrelevant. I would just wait patiently, until he could manage to join me. There was no way I was going to leave without seeing Mark—even if I had to wait all night.
Chapter 41
“Can I buy you a drink?”
I started. I turned my head so quickly, in the direction of the voice that had addressed me, that I got a kink in my neck. But it was not Mark. The man was short, bald, and pushing forty.
“No, thanks,” I replied, my face falling. “I’m waiting for someone. He’ll be here any minute.”
“Oh, no problem. Lucky guy.” The man ordered a pint of lager and moved away to another part of the bar.
I felt pathetic, sitting at the bar all alone for so long. I hoped no other men would hit on me, while I continued to wait for Mark. Every time the door of the pub swung open, my eyes darted in its direction and my hopes surged. But each time I was disappointed. The more time that passed, the less optimistic I became. Was he going to stand me up? Hope started to seep out of me like air out of a slow, leaking tire. I decided to send him a text.
Where R U? I’ve been waiting over an hour.
Negative thoughts began to cloud my previously blue-sky vision of how the night was going to progress. When he did not respond, I grew increasingly agitated and suspicious. Text messages shot out of me like bullets from an AK-47.
Still waiting…
Mark?
Where R U?
Four drinks later, the bartender slid a glass of water in front of me. “I don’t think your date is coming, do you?” he asked, with a raised eyebrow.
My shoulders sagged. “No, I guess he’s not.” Finally permitting myself to look at my phone one last time, I was shocked to see that it was now well past midnight. Had I really waited that long? How dare he treat me this way! I would make him pay! But for now, I fired off more messages.
WTF?
R U with Fiona?
Maybe I’ll text her instead…
Suddenly, my phone started ringing. My heart leapt in my throat. He’d better have a good excuse. But when I looked at the number, my heart sank like a ship. It was Oliver, again. Why did he keep calling me, and so late at night? But I was in no mood to talk to anyone related to Mark, so I turned off the ringer and buried the phone in my purse.
Sliding off the stool, I staggered to the ladies’ room. As I entered the bathroom, I avoided looking in the mirror. I had a lump in my throat and tears burned behind my eyes. Inside the cubicle, I wiped off what was left of my lipstick with some toilet paper and flushed it down the toilet. A liquor glass was the only thing that would be touching my lips tonight. Why hadn’t I stayed at the bookstore? I had been so excited about the chance to talk with Rowena George and her agent. But now, I had missed it all for nothing.
On the Uber ride home, I drifted in and out of consciousness. In my dreams, I was falling down a pitch-black, bottomless tunnel. No one heard my screams for help, as I tumbled further and further away from the pinprick of light.
“Here you are, Miss.”
The driver’s voice pulled me back to the surface. I shook myself awake and tapped my credit card.
As I stumbled up the path to my house, a car door slammed, and someone strode up the path behind me.
A hand clutched my elbow.
I swiveled around. My stomach dropped with disappointment. “Oliver. I thought you were—never mind. What on earth are you doing here?”
“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said, hugging me.
“I don’t understand,” I said, with a puzzled look. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“I heard your mom was sick,” he said, after giving me a kiss on the cheek.
“Who told you that?” I tried to focus on his face, but I was seeing double.
“Your boss at the bookstore.”
I broke out in a cold sweat. “You were at Pemberley’s?”
“I saw an Instagram ad about the reading.” He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the step. “I thought I’d show up and surprise you.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “But I got caught up at work, and when I got to Pemberley’s, he said you’d left. That your mom was sick.”
“It was… it was a false alarm.”
“Oh, you must be so relieved.” His voice sounded strangely quiet.
“How long have you been waiting for me?”
“A while.” Oliver clutched his cell phone. “I tried calling you.”
“Really? My phone must’ve been turned off.” How many more lies was I going to have to tell before the night was over? My throat tightened at the thought of him sitting in his car worrying about me, while I was sitting at the bar waiting for his brother. And just when I thought the night couldn’t get any worse, my belly heaved, and bile rose in my throat. I turned away from him and searched in my purse for the key to the front door. My fingers found lipstick, a compact, tissues, my wallet—but no key ring.
“Is something wrong?”
“I can’t find my keys. Can you do me a favor? There’s a spare set hanging behind the window shutter.”
