When I get off the phone, my emotions attack again with full force, and I am dragged down into a sea of despair. Wave after relentless wave washes over me until my head aches, my eyes sting, and my body hurts from sobbing.
I slam my hand on the futon. I have to stop crying! What if Sam comes home and finds me like this?
But my body doesn’t listen. I bite the inside of my lip — hard, until I can taste blood. The tears stop. I force myself to take deep breaths until the sobbing stops too. Then I drag my hands down my wet cheeks and head for the bathroom.
I don’t even recognize myself in the mirror. My face is blotchy, and my eyes are puffy and bloodshot. I run the water until it’s really cold. Then I splash it on my face and put a wet cloth over my eyes. I check the mirror again. I look a little better, but not much.
My head is pounding. There’s some Tylenol in the medicine cabinet, so I down a couple of tablets with a tall glass of water. The iciness makes my teeth ache.
I pull out my makeup bag and try to repair my ravaged face, but halfway through the mascara, I think of Sam, and the Hoover Dam opens up again. I stomp my foot and pinch my arm this time, letting my nails dig into my flesh. “Stop it!” I tell myself as I dab at the swollen, black smudges that are my eyes. “Think of something else.”
But there is nothing else. I am on the verge of losing it again, when my cell rings. I pull it from my jeans and look at the display screen.
It’s Sam. My tears are instantly shocked away. Still, I’m afraid to pick up. But Sam knows I always carry my phone. I have no choice.
After the fourth ring, I finally answer. “Hello.”
“Hey,” he says. Even over the phone, there’s mischief in his voice. “I thought I better let you know I haven’t fallen off the earth. Tom and I got to talking, and I lost track of the time.”
“That’s okay,” I say.
“Are you getting a cold?” he asks.
Great! I say three crummy words, and already he knows something’s wrong. I clear my throat. “No, I’m just stuffed up. Must have run into something on my walk that I’m allergic to.”
“Do you have allergies?”
“I don’t think so, but you never know.” I try to sound cheerful. “I’m fine. Whatever it is, it’ll pass. So, what’s up?”
“Well, if it’s all right with you, Tom invited me to see a horse with him. He says it’s a real beauty. I know you and I were going to talk about that book, but would it be okay if we do it later? I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
“Don’t be silly,” I say. “Go see the horse. I haven’t finished reading the book yet anyway.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Go. Please. I’m fine.”
“All right then. I’ll probably be a couple more hours. And don’t worry about supper. I’ll pick something up for us on my way home. I’ll see you later.”
As I turn off the phone, I sigh with relief. I have a temporary reprieve — a bit more time to get my act together. If I can keep from crying, I just might look human by the time Sam gets back.
I don’t even get the phone in my pocket before it rings again. I’m afraid to see who it is. If it’s Sam, I might accidentally give myself away, and if it’s Mom, I’ll just break down again. I check the display screen.
It’s Micah.
I’m not sure I’m up to talking with him either — I really don’t feel like talking to anyone — but I can’t not answer the phone. He’ll think something is wrong.
“Hi,” I say. It takes all the willpower I can muster to make my voice bubbly.
“Hey, gorgeous. How you doin’?”
“I’m good,” I lie. And then, “What are you doing calling at this time of day? I thought you were working.”
“I am, but only for another hour. I’ve done such a damn fine job today, my dad is letting me off early. Soooo …” He stretches out the word. “I thought I’d spend the rest of the afternoon with you.”
I don’t say anything.
“Unless you’re busy, of course,” he adds.
I’m busy all right — busy having an nervous breakdown. I don’t know what to say. I can’t tell Micah the truth. If Sam doesn’t want me to know he’s sick, it’s a pretty safe bet he doesn’t want Micah to know either.
“Dani?”
I have to give him an answer. I want to see him, but I can’t. I’ll never be able to hold it together. One look at me, and he’ll know there’s something wrong. But how do I tell him that?
“Dani, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t you want to see me?”
“Of course, I do. It’s just that …” I don’t know how to finish the sentence.
“It’s just what?”
“I’m having a really bad day.” That’s true. “I had a fight with my mom.” Sort of true. “I’ve been crying ever since, and I look terrible.” Very true.
To my surprise, Micah laughs. “Whew!” he says. “You had me worried there for a minute. I thought I’d done something wrong.”
“No. It’s not you. You’re fine. In fact, you’re wonderful. It’s me. I’m in a really grumpy mood, and I don’t want to take it out on you.”
“That’s where you have it all wrong,” he says. I know he’s smiling. “What you need is some cheering up, and I am an expert at that. I’ll make you forget all about the fight with your mom. You’ll be smiling and laughing in no time.”
“Oh, Micah,” I sigh. “You are so sweet, but I really need to work this out myself. I’ve got a lot of thinking to do. I’m sorry.” Even as I say the words, I can’t believe I’m turning down a chance to be with him.
When Micah replies, the fun has left his voice. “It’s only a little over a week before you go back to Vancouver,” he says. “I want to spend as much of that time with you as a I can. I thought you felt the same way.”
“I do,” I say. “You know I do. Today is just a bad day.”
“So tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can help.”
“You can’t.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
I can tell I’ve hurt his feelings. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Right.” There’s a chill in his voice. “So how did you mean it?”
I don’t know what to tell him. “Please, Micah. Try to understand. This is something personal.”
“No problem. I get it.” Now he’s angry. “You’re coming through loud and clear. I thought we were a couple, and I thought couples shared personal stuff, but clearly, you don’t trust me enough to do that.”
I grit my teeth in frustration. I feel like I’m digging myself into a hole. Everything I say is making the situation worse. Why can’t I find the right words to make Micah understand. “I wish I could explain,” I tell him earnestly. “I really do. I just can’t,” I finish lamely. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” he says sarcastically.
I try again. “I just need a little time.”
“You got it,” he barks, and then the line goes dead.
“Micah?” I say, but of course, there’s no answer.
I turn off the phone and stuff it into my pocket. I’m surprisingly calm. I should be upset — and I am, but I am too wrung out to react. I care about Micah a lot, and it’s good to know he cares about me too — at least he did until a few minutes ago — but considering everything else that’s happened, Micah being mad at me is just one more thing on a long list of things that have gone wrong with the day.
I hear a deep rumble and wander to the window in the living room. The clouds in the sky are almost black, making the afternoon ominously dark. And the rain is starting to come down in torrents.