The flatfish transforms in a much different way than the slender snipe eel. To protect itself from predators, this fish utilizes its shape, which looks a lot like a grumpy, Dr. Seuss pancake that’s been run over by a steamroller. It lays on the ocean floor, melding into the mud, unseen. Born with one eye on either side of its body, the flatfish transforms depending on what side it likes to lie on. The eye on the dirt-side eventually moves to the side that can see, leaving it blind on one side.
My eyes fixed in only one direction, I’d become the flatfish.
The lobby of the Peacock was lightly splattered with employees and guests, but I barreled through all that and went straight to the elevators. I was a woman on a mission, practically bubbling with anticipation. A chance to prove that the redheaded woman existed and that I wasn’t crazy blinded me to other possibilities. What an idiot!
The nautically themed floor stretched into a long, empty hallway. The navy carpet donning slip knots, and only slightly less dark walls made the corridor feel like a submarine. I rapped on room 304, and when the door opened to reveal the mysterious caller, I belted out a very loud, very angry curse that echoed down that long hallway and seemed to stop time. My hand jumped to my mouth to close it.
He laughed. “Not the reaction I was hoping for, but you were always one for surprises.” He held his arms open, as if I’d smile and run into them. Instead, I felt sick.
His eyes widened. “Labor Day weekend, remember? I’ve been trying to call you.” With one hand on my mouth and the other rubbing my stomach, I cringed. The shame of my past moved in over my head like a storm cloud. In my desperation a few months ago – facing murder accusations and a town that wanted to oust me – I’d promised myself to Jonathan Dekker in exchange for his silence about my past. While I had come clean to Sam about the idiotic Labor Day rendezvous I’d agreed to at low, very low, moment, I had bigger fish to fry. A murder to solve, the threat of jail, and a few attempts on my life – I had my hands full. But after getting myself out of those jams, I easily forgot about that one. I hadn’t given Jonathan Dekker any thought – part of my focus-on-the-future attitude – or maybe I just wanted to forget. But, here was my past, slapping me in the face.
He plastered on his winning smile, and said, “You’re speechless. Come inside and have a drink with me.”
I shook my head, and sputtered out a weak, “Can’t.”
“Sure you can,” he insisted. “I won’t bite. Unless you want me to.”
I rolled my eyes, turned, and started heading back down the hallway. Jonathan grabbed my shoulder and turned me around. He wasn’t rough, but I considered that those self-defense lessons could have come in handy already. A nagging thought ran through my head. Call Sam. Call Sam. But, what could he do?
“Wait a minute,” he said, growing frustrated. “I came all this way to see you, got this expensive room for us. I’ve missed you, Delilah.”
“No, you haven’t,” I replied surely. “And I can’t be here.”
“But, you came,” he argued.
“Not because I thought you were here,” I debated, needlessly.
He gave me a well-deserved snide look. “Oh, come on. Who else would it be? A boyfriend?”
“I do have a boyfriend,” I spat out.
“And you’re already meeting him in hotel rooms?” Jonathan Dekker grinned and shook his head. “Tisk, tisk Delilah.”
“No, he’s not like you,” I batted back. “He’s a good and decent man-”
Jonathan chuckled heavier. “Oh, so if you didn’t think you were meeting me and you didn’t think you were meeting your boyfriend, then there’s someone else you could have been meeting in a hotel room?” His mischievous grin widened. “I always knew you were easy, but I never pegged you for a slut.” He said it as if he were paying me a compliment. He leaned in closer, grabbing my wrist to make sure I didn’t run, and added, “Excites me.”
I wriggled out of his grasp, and took two large backwards steps. “Don’t touch me!”
He shrugged. “Why not? I own you. We have a deal.”
“I’m backing out.”
“You can’t,” he insisted pointing at me.
“Watch me.” I turned and headed back to the elevator. I rammed my finger on the button, but Jonathan grabbed me again, turning me around to face him.
“You owe me,” he said calmer. “You back out, then I spill my guts to whoever’ll listen, especially that Gazette guy who kept at me. Your head may not be on the chopping block for murder anymore, but I’m sure he’ll still care to print what I have to tell him.”
“Why?” I begged. “Why do that to me? You’d choose to be a despicable person for the sake of a lay? You? The same man who knew every student in the building by name? Who offered to shave his head if the baseball team won regionals? How could the same man that I once loved for being such a good person, be the asshole standing here trying to blackmail me into sex?”
He laughed at me and then he said coldly, “You bring out my dark side.” He smiled, as if this, too, was a compliment. Now, two people had told me that I brought out the worst in them; maybe there was something to it. But, I couldn’t think about that now. The elevator pinged behind me, and it was just in time. My hands were shaking. My heart raced and even though I was breathing, it was like I wasn’t getting any air. I needed to get away from him.
But, he wasn’t going for it. As I tried to step into the elevator, he grabbed my waist and slung me around. Before I could breathe, he was kissing me. I regained my footing, broke free, and slapped him as hard as I could across his face. Twice.
The sound echoed through the cavern-like halls. The ease and efficiency in which I silenced him, made me squeal – a third echo down the hall. I jumped into the elevator just as the doors were shutting. Jonathan, stunned and angry, didn’t follow.
My few victorious moments in the elevator were shattered. First, Yellow played. I ignored Sam’s phone call, adding to my already impressive guilt list. And stupid Jonathan was waiting for me on the first floor, slightly out of breath from taking the stairs. Where were the stairs, I wondered, briefly.
“This isn’t over,” he warned me. “You at least owe me a few minutes of your precious time.”
“What for?” I ordered, folding my arms across my chest and brushing past him anyway. “I can’t live my life with you constantly holding my past over my head.” Being in the lobby of the hotel, where strange eyes were upon us, gave me more confidence while simultaneously softening Jonathan’s surety. “And I shouldn’t have to,” I continued heading toward the front doors.
But, my feet stopped when Jonathan Dekker said, “Delilah, I’m sorry. Sorry for everything.” I turned around and faced him – about ten feet apart. “Please, forgive me. I took advantage of you back then and I was stupid enough to try it again. I know it’s too late for us. I screwed up. But, I need you to know that I’m sorry.”
My left eyebrow perked up on my forehead. Was he telling the truth? Was it just another ploy? I couldn’t tell. So, I hesitated.
“I’d hate for us to part on bad terms. Let’s just have dinner,” he compromised, “no strings attached. We can catch up. You won’t believe what some of your kids are up to these days.”
As soon as he lured me with my former students, I knew better than to accept his invitation. I was certain that there was a lot he could tell me, and I wanted so badly to know. Hearing about how well your former students were doing was like chocolate sprinkles on a cupcake. But, the fact that he dangled the sprinkles so shamelessly, knowing full well how much I loved my students, I knew it was no good.
“I can’t, Jonathan,” I decided finally, “but I appreciate the apology.”
“Bitch,” he mumbled under his breath, not so quietly. “Fine. Have it your way. Won’t have dinner with me? Then I’ll have lunch with Clark Duffy, as planned, tomorrow.”
“I knew you were full of shit,” I shook my head. “Do whatever you want. Just leave me the hell alone.”
I stormed out of the Peacock. I reached the Jeep and broke down crying. I should have been proud of myself. I’d stood up to him, even managed two nice slaps across his stupid face, but I felt worse than ever. My past would be dumped over Tipee like an overturned garbage truck. Fired for accusing innocent students of cheating, which cost at least one of them a full scholarship. Slept with the boss to cover up hitting one of them, another blemish in my file that was thankfully swept under the rug, thanks to money and ass-kissing and the administration’s hope not to further tarnish the school. No book party would save me from that kind of press.
Funnily enough, the idea that worried me most of all, as I drove back to Beach Read and my phone started playing Yellow again, wasn’t the press or the store or being run out of town by islanders branding pitchforks and torches. It was telling Sam. I wished I could flatten myself against the scenery and disappear.