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Hours later, Franny let Will walk her back to the Hideaway. She felt brittle inside and out, as if the faintest wind would break her. She hadn’t seen Heath in hours. Franny hadn’t looked for him, but she thought perhaps he’d find her. Talk. Apologize. Something.
“You sure you’re okay?” Will asked. He kept his hands in his pockets when they reached the porch, though his gaze continued to rake her.
“I am. Just a long day. A long few days, actually.”
He ran one hand over his bruised jaw. “I overstepped my bounds, Franny. Earlier. I’m sorry. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
She didn’t answer. Across the road, the last party-goers climbed into their cars and drove away. Inside the tent, she could see shadows move as the catering staff broke down the tables, stacked chairs, and packed away trays of food. After a moment of silence, Will backed down the steps. At the bottom, he hesitated. “You’re a beautiful woman.”
Tears rose in her eyes. Had she encouraged him? Made him think she wanted him to kiss her? She pressed her back against the door and shook her head. She’d enjoyed Will’s attention, yes. But she hadn’t led him on. Looking at him now, it seemed ridiculous to think she ever would.
“One of our writers will be in touch later this fall to finish up the article,” he added. “Probably be able to take care of that over the phone. But if you need anything else, or have any questions, give me a call.” He cleared his throat. “And if you’re ever in New York, look me up.”
That won’t happen. She reached behind her for the doorknob. “Goodbye.”
“Bye, Franny.”
Once inside, she locked the door and turned off the lights in the parlor. Then she walked to the back door. No lights in the rental. No sign of life at all. Franny rested her forehead against the doorframe, reached into her pocket and checked her phone. No calls. No messages. She couldn’t call or go to see him, not with Chloe staying there tonight. Had he told his daughter what had happened? Tears slipped from beneath Franny’s eyelids as she kicked off her shoes and slid to her bottom. Exhausted, she buried her face in her hands and let the sobs come, until her body ached and her head hurt and there was nothing left to do but curl into a ball and escape into a dreamless sleep.
Morning came too soon. Franny woke with a terrible stiff neck and her dress hiked up around her waist. At some point in the night she’d crawled onto the loveseat. Her shoes lay near the door. Her phone had fallen under a side table. She rearranged her dress and shoved her hair from her face. Thanks to last night’s humidity, her curls had returned, full force. She ran her fingers over a spot on her chin and found the beginnings of a pimple. Stupid makeup. Stupid dress. Stupid everything.
She looked outside. Not a single vehicle besides her own car. Heath didn’t work on Sundays. But his truck was gone, as was Chloe’s car, so he’d either signed on for an extra shift at the college or taken his daughter out for an early breakfast.
Or left.
She put that last thought from her mind and collected her shoes. She put on a pot of coffee and then took a shower. The construction crew hadn’t made any changes to her first floor apartment, and she was glad of that. Everything remained the same, from the claw foot tub to the pilled pink towel hanging on the bar. She scrubbed herself head to toe and pulled on a pair of old shorts and a baggy sweatshirt. No cameras today. She didn’t need to wear fancy clothes.
Back in the kitchen, she scrambled some eggs and poured a large mug of coffee. She thought a moment and then took out two more mugs and set them on the counter. Just in case. The sun broke over the horizon, and when the clock finally read eight o’clock, she walked across the back lawn and knocked on the door of the rental. She didn’t expect anyone to answer, but she tried all the same. Inside, Bud whined and scratched at the door instead.
She didn’t want to use her key.
“He’s gone,” she said aloud. She’d known it last night. For sure, she’d known it this morning, with his truck missing from its usual spot. Still, opening the door and walking inside would confirm the heavy suspicion in her heart.
She didn’t want to.
She had to.
At least he’d left a note. Propped against the coffee maker was an envelope with a few lines scrawled across it. Bud pawed at her leg, but she pushed him away. She stared at the envelope for a long minute. From across the room, all she could read was her name at the top, and an “H” at the bottom. Two sentences in the middle. Bud whined and scrabbled at the door, and finally she let him out. Then, on wooden legs, she walked across the kitchen and picked up the envelope.
Franny, Thanks for letting me stay here. I have to go, work through some things. Hope you’ll take care of Bud for me. H.
She ran her fingers over the words, trying to wring meaning from them. Go where? No Love, Heath. No I’m sorry. She felt sick to her stomach, as if her heart was dissolving and seeping into her guts. She broke out in a cold sweat and reached for the counter to steady herself.
He’d left. Really left. Franny bent her head and wept.
###
IT DIDN’T TAKE HEATH long to get to Boston. He and Chloe had left Lindsey Point before the sun came up.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Chloe had asked. “You don’t want to talk to Franny before we go?”
He shook his head. “She and I have some things to work out. Separately.” He hugged Chloe hard in Beth’s driveway and then continued east alone.
Now he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as the sun rose over the city skyline. Didn’t know where he was headed. He only figured that being in a big city where he could lose himself felt infinitely better than staying in a town where everyone knew what a fuck-up he was.
He’d wanted to bring the dog with him, but he wasn’t sure where he’d end up. Better to leave Bud at the Hideaway, even though listening to him scratch and whine behind the closed door had about torn Heath up inside. He hadn’t let himself look at Franny’s dark windows at all. She was better off without him. You can’t fight your way through life. Maybe she was right and maybe she wasn’t, but she deserved someone better than him, someone who didn’t scare her with unpredictability. She had a new place, new looks, friends, roots. He couldn’t offer her anything more than that. He still looked in the mirror sometimes and wondered what the hell his purpose was, and if he couldn’t answer that question, he sure didn’t belong in a relationship.
His stomach growled, and he pulled into the parking lot of a diner with its Open light blinking in the front window.
“Coffee?” asked the waitress behind the counter. She had graying blond hair and dark circles under her eyes.
“Please.” He took a peek inside his wallet. He’d saved almost everything from his first two paychecks, but cash would go quickly in a city like Boston. “And two eggs scrambled.”
She yawned, nodded, and wandered into the kitchen. Two old men sat in a corner booth. Otherwise, the place was empty. Heath pulled out his phone. Franny hadn’t called or texted. He thought she might, but then again, he’d acted like an ass last night. He ran his thumb over the screen. He planned on cancelling his cell phone plan and getting one of those cheaper, pre-paid ones instead, until he found another job. He reached into his back pocket for the grubby business card his VA therapist had given him. Seemed like a hundred years ago. At the time, he’d sworn he didn’t need to talk to anyone about his goddamn feelings. Now he thought it wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world. But today he needed one of the numbers jotted on the back of the card.
The waitress returned and dropped his plate in front of him. Runny eggs sat next to home fries with lots of onions. Heath’s mouth watered. He set his phone next to him and shoveled in breakfast, good and greasy. After two refills of coffee, he started feeling like a human being again. But when his thoughts wandered to Franny, he stopped them. He couldn’t miss her. He couldn’t feel anything at all.
He scraped the last of the eggs from his plate and then picked up his phone again. He hadn’t talked to Jason in almost two years. Hope he’s got the same number.
Hey man, it’s Heath. I’m in town. You still around?
The return text came less than a minute later.
Shit, yeah. You’re here? Meet me...
Heath plugged the address into his phone’s GPS. He didn’t know Boston’s suburbs, but they couldn’t be that hard to figure out. Fifteen minutes later, he’d changed his mind. After twisting and turning over one-way streets and highways that doubled back over themselves, he finally pulled up in front of a tall brick building. Parched lawn. One scraggly tree near the door. Broken concrete steps and guys outside smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee from paper cups.
Well, Heath thought as he parked his truck, it’s sure not the Hideaway. But it didn’t matter where he stayed. He wasn’t looking for a home. He was looking for a couch to crash on and people who didn’t ask questions. Hideaways could take all forms, right? Jason met him at the front door and pounded him on the back in greeting, and Heath put the last thoughts of Bud and Franny and Lindsey Point from his mind.
Don’t think. Don’t feel.
This was as good a place to do that as any.