| |
Christa
I have a decision to make. I have about three weeks until Eric’s six-month supposed stint is over. I can’t stand the not-knowing, so I drive to Taryn’s house. The badass, beautiful house Carter had built for her.
I ring the doorbell and Taryn answers almost immediately, in yoga pants and a sports bra. “Chris... what are you doing here?”
“I need answers, bestie.”
“Come in,” she gestures, opening the door wide for me.
I walk into her massive gourmet kitchen that makes my tiny, rented house look like a hovel, and set my purse down. I plop my ass in one of the barstools lining the kitchen island. I cross my legs, my new skirt tight against my thighs and ass, and look down at my black heeled mary-janes.
“What’s going on?” she asks, pulling two bottles of water from the fridge and handing me one.
“When is Eric coming home?” I ask bluntly, ignoring the sweating water bottle on the white marble kitchen island.
“I...” She pauses for a drink as if buying her some time for an answer. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” I spy her phone sitting on the island and grab it. “I bet it’s in here.”
She snatches it back, opens the fridge door, and sets it inside.
“Did you just put your phone in the fridge?”
Taryn crosses her arms. “Yes, I did. I’ll give it to you straight, you don’t need to snoop through my texts.”
“Well, I wasn’t gonna snoop, I was gonna go through them with you watching.”
She narrows amber eyes at me. “Not cool.”
I stand from the barstool and pace. “I need to know, Tar. Please tell me. I need closure, or to be prepared, or whatever.”
She eyes me speculatively, and then blows out a breath. “I’ll tell you, but I’m going to stick by what I said. Give him space.”
At that, I stop pacing, and explode. “Are you kidding me!” I snap. “Give him space? I texted him after he left—which he never fucking responded to, mind you—and since then I’ve given him his goddamn space. And you’re gonna stand there and tell me to give him space. You have lost your mind!”
Her eyes widen and she takes a step back. “Whoa, Christa, I had no idea... I thought y’all were just hooking up...”
“No. For fuck’s sake.” I slam my fist on the kitchen island and run my fingers through my hair. “No, we were not just hooking up.” Tears form in my eyes and I blink them back. I slump into the barstool chair, bury my face in my hands, and start to cry. “I’m miserable, Tar. Miserable. I can’t eat or sleep. He left me without so much as a goodbye, and all I’ve been told over the past months was to leave him alone. I did that. I did as you asked, out of respect for you, out of respect for him, but I can’t do it anymore!” I cry harder, my tears dripping fast and splashing onto the white marble. “I need to know if he’s coming back to Denver so I can be prepared, but you’ve done nothing but block me at every turn.”
She stares at me from where she stands near the fridge. I look up at her through blurry eyes. “Christa... I don’t know what to say.” She offers me a box of tissue and I snatch one.
“This wasn’t a fling. I kept what we had private because... because... just that. It was private and I didn’t think you wanted the dirty details, but I fucking love him, Tar. I can’t breathe or eat or sleep or drink or function. I’m a zombie.” I cry again, the tears falling hard and fast, and I hate how vulnerable I feel.
“What the hell is all this shouting?”
We look over to see her husband standing there in workout clothes, heaving breaths.
“Carter... I’m sorry. We’re having a heated discussion. Go back to your workout.” Taryn gives him a look.
They have a full gym in their basement, and I know this because Eric and Carter used to work out down there while Taryn and I would drink wine and watch reality TV up here in the meantime.
Things have changed so much since I fell in love with her brother and then he just up and left the country.
“What’s the problem?” he asks, heaving while sweat coats his gray Under Armor sleeveless tee.
“Christa’s going through some stuff—”
“I’m in love with Eric and nobody can tell me shit!” I cry, raking a hand through my hair. “When’s he coming back? I need to know! Please!”
Carter’s eyes widen and he immediately blurts, “December tenth.”
Finally! A fucking answer.
“Thank you,” I say. “Where’s he gonna live?”
“His lease was up on the condo, but he’s renewing it... for now. He didn’t tell you?”
She turns to me. “We had to do it for him, but he’ll be in the same place for now.”
I stand and pull at my hair. “You seriously kept all of this from me?”
“No, we weren’t keeping anything from you. I didn’t know—until today—that you were this miserable about Eric. Damn, Chris. I’m so sorry.”
I don’t know how to feel. I’m elated that the love of my life is coming back in less than a month, but I’m also extremely upset that Taryn wants me to leave him alone, that she kept all this from me so I would back off, that she’d lie about having known about his homecoming that I had to come here and pitch a bitch fit to find out the truth.
As I gather my purse and head toward the front door, I turn around and say to Taryn, “Don’t forget that your damn phone is in the fridge.”
I hear, “What the fuck?” from Carter as I walk out.
I get into my car and slam the door.
I’m still crying for some stupid reason, but I’m blaming hormones. I’m usually not this emotional. I think all the stress and not knowing has gotten to me. My hair’s been falling out, probably from the sudden weight loss too, and I feel overall gross about myself.
As I drive, for some reason, I think back to the Mile High Rooms and how I was propositioned. Sure, it was just for sex, but it did give my self-esteem a little boost.
I head into my house, kick out of my shoes, and set my things down, then plop down on the couch. I pull my legs up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. I’m so tired of crying, and now I’m doing it again because I feel bad for being a bitch to Taryn. She’s trying to protect her brother—and also, I feel like she has some misplaced loyalty to do so because he’s her husband’s best friend—but even Carter was more forthcoming when I asked a question. I hope whatever I did there tonight sparks a conversation between them.
I don’t want Eric coming back and feeling like I’m smothering him, so I’ve made the decision I’m not going to contact him at all. If he wants to see me, he will. If I don’t hear from him, then I can truly move on.
It’s going to be a long three weeks.
***
“I don’t understand how this is happening!” Lance says, running a hand over his shaved head. “I didn’t do this!”
“We know, Mr. Johnson. We’re going to challenge the DA’s evidence when we get to court.” Melinda pats him on the shoulder.
“How did they even have enough to indict me?”
“The lineup photo and the fact you have no alibi,” I answer. “But it’s weak and flimsy.”
He blows out a breath and sits back in the chair. “But my cell phone records show I was at my house.”
“You could have left it there while committing the robbery,” I say.
He shoots me a filthy look. “I didn’t.”
“I know that, we all know that. Hey, I just thought of something. Do you have a doorbell camera?” I ask.
“Yeah, why?”
“That would show what time you got home from work that night and that you never left,” I offer.
“Yes, but he could have left out a back door or a window to do the crime.” Melinda holds her hands up. “Even though we know you didn’t.”
“I don’t really have a back door. It’s a two-bedroom apartment with a balcony.”
“That’s good news!” I say, looking at Melinda. “Think it’ll hold up?”
“We’ve used doorbell cameras before, but I’ve heard of people disabling it,” she replies.
I pace the room in my shiny black heels and long skirt, my finger to my mouth. “Aren’t there records that show when it goes offline? Like when you pull it off to charge it or when the battery dies?”
Lance nods. “Yes, there is.” He looks at Melinda. “Can we use it?”
She smiles. “We most definitely will. I’ll file a motion to get the recordings and online/offline time directly from the company.”
“I would also like to call Mr. Larsen in for a physical lineup. See if he picks out Mr. Johnson or someone else.”
“I’m down. Whatever helps, I’ll do it.”
“They’re going to dress you in the same type of clothing the robbers wore,” I tell him.
“I don’t care. Let’s do it,” he says excitedly.
“Don’t they usually do lineups when they are sure they have the guy and just need a positive ID? This might hurt him,” I say.
“Or it could help him,” Melinda says. “What the cops need to be doing is pressing the other two suspects harder for a name.”
“I take it the Larsens don’t have a doorbell camera?” Lance asks.
“No,” Melinda and I answer in unison.
“The detective already asked,” she comments.
“Though, I’m sure they’ll be getting one now,” I murmur.
“They’d be smart to,” Melinda says.
Mr. Johnson leaves and goes back to work at the bank, and I sit in my office, tapping my pen against the desk and staring off at nothing.
I get why the DA has a hard-on for my client. He is new and trying to prove to everyone that he’s successful and not soft on crime. The last district attorney was too soft on crime with no bail laws and letting people get away with robbery and no consequences. We took on a wrongful termination case last year where a woman was fired from a major electronics store for reporting a robbery, even chasing them out and getting the license plate number for the police. They were forced to prosecute but the store had a no-report rule, and she broke it. Still, she won the lawsuit because it’s ridiculous to let people get away with things, and she’s now $150,000 richer.
I would have asked for a million. But she just wanted to teach them a lesson. She’s using the money to go to college and get a degree so she won’t ever have to work retail again if she doesn’t want to.
My mind, of course, drifts to Eric again, and I think about what Lauryn told me, how that slutty nurse is trying to claim dibs on my man. I get so mad I want to leave early, go down to the hospital, and pummel her.
But of course, I won’t.
What would I say, anyway? That he’s mine? Because as much as I think of him that way, deep down he isn’t.
Melinda calls me into her office and I put my head back into my work, a little break for my heart to not have to think about him.