Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
I give myself this same lecture probably six times a day, just to bolster my resolve. She’s going to work for me, avoid me personally and finish her licensing requirements. She’ll quit when Benny’s ready to return to work. As much as I want him to make a full recovery I’d be lying if I said I was eager for him to come back. Because the meetings and emails are all I have left, my link to Katie until she leaves for California.
When she goes, I won’t see her again. If I do, it’ll be by accident, through Rory. I wince as I imagine him calling me up and asking if I wanna come over and meet his new nephew because his sister and her family are in town for the holidays. In my mind I punch her husband in the face. Not because he treats her bad—she’s not stupid. She’ll pick a man worthy of her. I punch this imaginary motherfucker because he gets to do life with Katie and I don’t. I’m so pissed about that it’s almost hard to breathe sometimes.
A better man would be resigned to his fate, admit his business doesn’t fit in with a family life in any real way and move on and wish her well. I’d do anything for Katie. Even let her go. I’m not gonna stop her from leaving Boston for good. I won’t follow her to California and pressure her to come back to me. This isn’t about controlling her or screwing up her plans.
I’ll live with the ghost of her and the weeks we spent together. I’d rather have leftover traces of her and memories than anyone else. If it’s depressing or sounds hopeless, it’s just the truth of the matter. There’s plenty I can do with my business and my life moving forward. It’s just gonna feel hollow most of the time because she’s gone. The only comfort will be knowing she’s okay, somewhere out on the West Coast living her life, unharmed and safe from this place and the danger I bring with me. It’s all I can give her after all.
Maybe I try to call her a few times. I even leave one voicemail. I hope you’re feeling better. Call me. It’s not about work, just—call me back. It sounded pathetic, even more so when days passed and I didn’t get a call or a text in return. She turns up for meetings and keeps me updated on any findings she has about the investigation. There isn’t much excuse for us to talk or for me to seek her out.
I want her back, but I get that it’s over. There’s not going to be a Hail Mary play where I can tell her I’ve taken care of all the danger. That once the drug ring is busted up there won’t be any risk. That would be a lie, and I said all along, I won’t deceive her. Not that she’d ever believe the danger was over to begin with. And it will never be over, not really.
Increasing security, bringing in a personal protection detail for her, for myself, at my house—there are measures I could take. But they won’t bring her back to me. I’ve rehearsed that conversation enough to figure out how it would end. The same fuckin’ way it ended the last time.
With Katie Donahue walking out of my life.
22
KATE
Mickey stops calling. It’s for the best. I had to ignore the calls anyway. He texts if it’s business. There’s no room in my life for personal, not with him. I start doing yoga in the mornings. First, I open one eye, eat a saltine cracker and wait for my stomach to settle. If it goes okay, I get up and do yoga. If not, I get up and puke, then do yoga. I’m not sure where the rumor of a pregnancy glow came from but I look like the Corpse Bride no matter how much bronzer and blush I apply.
The second CPA exam date rolls around and even though I devote a ton of time to preparing, I get into the test and feel completely lost. Half the questions seem foreign to me, impossible to figure out. As I try to concentrate, I get more and more anxious and sweaty and shaky. Around the two hour mark I throw up.
I’m not sure if I panicked or if I really didn’t know the answers. I beat myself up over it that night and then make myself go on with work and exercise and eating as healthy as I can make myself in the evenings when I’m mostly sad and nauseous.
Weeks of seeing Mickey at work hasn’t made it easier. When he speaks to me directly, when he says my name, his voice still has that warmth that I remember and that I loved so much. It makes me want to cry every damn time. And what am I going to do? Say, hey, boss, could you stop saying my name because it makes me wanna bawl like a baby? And speaking of baby, I’m having yours and haven’t told you.