“Spencer Holdings.” Cindy’s voice shrills into the phone.
“Is Vanill—, ,I mean Bray, in the office?” I ask
“I’m sorry but Bray and I are about to leave for the evening. We have a dinner reservation. Can I —” I hang up before she can finish. What the hell? He had a date but told me he would be home around seven. Maybe he didn’t plan to eat with me. The note didn’t say he did. But then why tell me when he would be home, and why say that I would be handling dinners?
Looking over at the table, I feel my shoulders drop. What’s wrong with me? I’m not his girlfriend. I don’t know how to be a girlfriend. Glancing down, I can’t help but laugh at the stupid blouse I have on. It’s the only nice thing I own, and I use it for job interviews. The dumb thing looks ridiculous with my multi-colored hair. I put it on for him. When I was cooking the dinner, all the food was turning out so perfectly, I wanted to feel like I fit at the table when we ate. I was doing something I told myself I would never do again—trying to fit in for someone else. I was trying to belong in a world that wasn’t mine.
Whatever.
Making my way to Bray’s bedroom, I undress and grab a pair of ripped-up skinny jeans, my boots, and a racer-back tee that reads ‘Polite as fuck’ across my chest. I grab my shit, and head out. Looks like I’m going to the Palms after all.
BRAY
I lean back in my office chair and look out at the skyline behind me. I tap my pen to my lips and think about Rebecca for the thousandth time today. I sit up angrily and throw my pen on my desk. “I can’t work like this.”
“Everything all right, Mr. Spencer?” Cindy’s voice, that I never had a problem with before, is now grating on my nerves with every syllable she speaks. How did I not notice it until Rebecca pointed it out?
“Fine, Cindy. Please close the door on your way out.”
“Actually I was coming in to let you know I made reservations at Bella Vita if you’re ready to call it a day.”
This was unusual. I don’t eat out at restaurants unless it’s unavoidable. For some reason, her presumptuous statement irritates me.
I look down at my watch and see that it’s seven fifteen. I can’t bring myself to go home and see Rebecca yet. My note said seven, but I’m taking the coward's way out and waiting until she’s asleep. The darker secret, the one I’m not willing to admit to myself, is I’m waiting until she’s asleep so I can sneak in and lie beside her again like last night.
“No, thank you. Please feel free to enjoy the reservation yourself if you want to. I’ll be here a bit longer.” I don’t have the mental energy to deal with Cindy right now, so I let it go. With that I turn back around and face the city.
I hear her close the door behind me, and if I’m not mistaken she says something under her breath. I don’t know what it was, but for some reason I feel like it has to do with Rebecca. Although every thought I’ve had today has been of her. I can’t get her out of my head, and I’m ready to scream with frustration. I can’t go thirty seconds without wondering what she’s doing in our place. ‘Our place’. My God. I turn around to my desk and put my head in my hands. I’ve got it so bad.
I pull out my phone and check her tracker again for the tenth time in the past hour. I attached a GPS to her phone so I would know where she was at all times. I keep telling myself that was to keep her safe. I saw her leave this morning, but she only went to her old motel and then ran a few errands. I kept waiting for her to return home, and when she finally did, I could breathe a sigh of relief. That still didn’t keep me from obsessing about her all day, in fact I think it made it worse. Knowing she is in my home and around my things should give me anxiety in the worst way, but all it does was make me excited to think she’s becoming settled there.
I’ve always had lots of anxiety about keeping a schedule and to-do lists. It’s my mind’s way of keeping control, and something I’ve always needed. Growing up, I had very loving parents, and I always knew my father loved my mother very much, but I never understood the depth of it. I think I was seven years old the first time I caught on. My mother wanted to go to the store to buy some chocolate chips to make pancakes and my father refused. I remember thinking that was really strange. Why couldn’t she go to the store? My father wouldn’t let her leave the house. Instead he made her kiss him and say over and over that she loved him.
The next time I remember something strange was on my ninth birthday and my mother was late getting back from the bakery with my cake. My father made her put the cake down and go to the bedroom with him. I heard all kinds of noises, and would later realize they were having sex. When my mother came out of the room, her face was red from crying and she was limping.
By the time I was fifteen I knew what was happening between them. My father was so obsessed with my mother that he abused her sexually as punishment. I saw the way he looked at her. Like she was up to something, and he needed to know what. My mother was beautiful, and married my father, who didn’t have much money. I think he always worried she would leave him for someone who waved bills in her face.
As the years went on, I felt like I had no control over the situation. The only thing I could control was me. So I became an excellent student and graduated at the top of my high school class.
By the time I turned eighteen, I’d saved enough money from mowing lawns and doing yard work to put a deposit and six months’ rent down on an apartment three hours outside the city. I had everything in place to save her. I had it all planned out, and I was going to finally set her free. Then it all went to shit.