The Ruining (16 page)

“Okay,” I responded, still dubious. “That’s great.”
“Yeah, it is,” he agreed. “This is everything I’ve wanted for . . . I don’t even know how long. This is really my chance to do something big. But . . . it would mean moving.” “Off Belvedere Island?” I asked.
“Out of San Francisco,” he replied. “To Durham.” “North Carolina,” I said flatly. “Congratulations.” “I thought you’d be happy for me.”
“I am happy for you,” I told him angrily. But the fact was, I felt like he’d just ripped my heart from my chest.
“It’s not like we can’t be together just because I’m not going to be leaping over fences to come to your rescue anymore,” he told me, rubbing his thumb along my cheek. I didn’t answer him. I was struggling not to cry. Just when I thought I really had something great, it was going to disappear.
“Babe,” he said. “Don’t be upset. Be happy for me, please? This doesn’t need to be a bad thing for us. And it’s not even for sure yet.”
“How can it not be a bad thing?” I asked, before I could help myself. “I already barely have time to see you. I hardly have time to get out of the house!” I couldn’t imagine taking a plane to Owen’s for the weekend. Libby would never let me have that kind of time off. At least he could come visit his parents from time to time, I thought hopefully. It’s not like he’d have to stay at the Cohens’ in order to visit me. But I knew, deep inside, that this was what would happen: we’d keep in touch, and we’d see each other from time to time, and then it would fizzle out. We hadn’t even had time to get to know each other, not really. We could never sustain a long-distance relationship.
“When do you leave?” I asked him. At least—I hoped—we could enjoy it while it lasted. Owen tightened his jaw, and when he answered, he was careful to avoid my eyes.
“I’m going out to meet the guy in three weeks,” he said. “It would move pretty fast after that.”
“Three weeks! Why are you only telling me now?”
“What did you want me to do, bring it up on our first date?”
“Maybe. Or maybe you should have realized that it was stupid to have a first date when you were about to change your entire life!” My voice was all choked up and I couldn’t help it: the tears started spilling over onto my cheeks and the front of my white blouse.
“Wow,” he said coldly. “I really thought you’d be happy for me. I thought maybe you even cared enough to want to support me, to give this a real shot.” He was saying it, but in his words I heard something else. I heard that he was doing to me the same thing he did to Morgan’s sister. Tossing me aside when he got tired of me and something better came along. At least Morgan had warned me.
“Cut it out,” I told him. “Of course I’m happy for you. Stop trying to make me feel like the bad guy. I didn’t plan for this. You, on the other hand, knew all along. But you pursued a relationship with me anyway.”
“I honestly didn’t think it would be that big of a deal,” he told me.
“Well, it is. It is a big deal,” I said, opening my car door. “It’s a huge deal.”
“I see that now,” said Owen flatly. He looked up at me and I stood there next to the car for a second, avoiding eye contact.
“Goodnight,” I finally said, slamming the door behind me and walking toward the Cohens’ front door.

The second I slipped into the house, I knew something was wrong. It was one of those gut feelings you get. It was the same feeling I’d gotten the day I found Lissa floating facedown in the swimming pool.

I took off my shoes by the front door and walked quickly up the stairs toward my room, trying hard not to make any noise. As I got higher, I heard what sounded like Zoe crying faintly. I walked toward her room, and the crying intensified. I opened the door gently and went in.

“Sweetheart?” I asked, “It’s me.” Zoe’s sobs had the tired, weary, hiccupping quality of a child who’s been crying for a very long time. She was sitting up in bed, and through the glow of her nightlight I could see that her face was tear-streaked and blotchy. As soon as I sat down next to her, she threw her arms around my neck and sobbed into me, pressing her wet cheeks against mine.

“Zoe,” I said. “Zoes, sweetie, calm down. What’s the matter, honey?”
“I’m all alone,” she said finally in little gasping breaths. “Mommy’s gone.”
“She’s here, sweetheart. She’s just asleep.” Stroking her hair gently, I wrapped her back up in her covers. I swung my legs up on the bed and lay down next to her. She nestled close, looking perfectly angelic with her little fists curled right up against her throat and one thumb in her mouth. And there we lay together, each of us lost in her own little world of nightmares until morning.

“I HEARd yOu COME IN LAsT NIgHT,” Libby said over pancakes the next morning. Walker had made them, an unusual treat. Zoe was having hers with whipped cream and strawberries and powdered sugar, and it had formed a sticky mess that she’d managed to get in her hair and all over the front of her pajamas. I would normally have loved pancakes, but I had no appetite. Ever since the night before, it felt like a rock had settled permanently in my stomach. I glanced out the kitchen window toward the water and sighed inwardly. The weather matched my state of mind: mostly cloudy with a hint of gloom.

“You were back early, did something happen?”
“Not really,” I mumbled. “It just wasn’t that fun.” “Did Owen join you?”
“Yes,” I told her, taking an enormous bite of pancake to

“Well, did it achieve its intended purpose? Do you feel unencumbered and rejuvenated?”
“It wasn’t a spa trip, Libby,” said Walker. “She probably feels hungover.”
“I didn’t really drink,” I said. I glanced at Zoe to make sure she wasn’t paying attention. She was doodling happily on her plastic tray, using whipped cream as finger paint. She was oblivious, but I still worried about what would sink in.
“So, has Owen asked you to be his girlfriend yet?”
“Do kids have those conversations these days?” Walker interrupted, as if I was closer to Zoe’s age than his wife’s.
“Yes! We do. I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know how it works. I thought I already was his girlfriend.” I felt like I was going to cry. They both looked up at the tone of my voice, which had raised several octaves higher than I’d intended. Even Zoe looked clued-in, for once.
“Awe you okay, Annie?” she wanted to know.
“Yes, sweetie,” I said. “Just having a sad morning.”
“Oh,” she said, looking troubled. “I having sad mowning, too,” she decided.
“Nope,” I said. “You’re the happiest little girl. You don’t have a say in the matter.”
“All right,” said Walker. “I think that’s my cue. I’m sensing that this is going to be a lady talk.” He walked his plate over to the sink, swatting Libby on the butt with his newspaper as he went. I had never seen a man be so unabashed about his manliness. I thought maybe it had something to do with him

Libby brought her coffee mug over to the kitchen table and scooted her chair over by me. She reached out and placed her palm gently on my forearm. “Did he break up with you?” she asked softly. I felt myself responding physically to her concern: relaxing a little, leaning toward her.

“No,” I said. “Not yet, at least. He’s moving.”
“Moving? Moving where?”
“Durham. What I can’t figure out,” I said, sniffling, “is why

“Well,” Libby said in a maternal tone, “I know you’ll be okay. You had to have known he wasn’t going to live with his parents forever.” Maybe I should have known it, but it honestly hadn’t occurred to me. I hadn’t quite gotten there yet. I had just been enjoying the feeling, hoping it lasted. “It’s obvious what you have to do, of course,” Libby said then.

She raised her eyebrows, like she was shocked I’d even have to ask. “Break up with him. It’s a no-brainer.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe we could make it work.” I’d been holding out hope; after all, isn’t that what people were supposed to do when they found someone special? Make it work against all odds?
Libby leaned back in her chair, looking irritated. “Nanny,” she said. “You absolutely have to break up with him. There are a myriad of reasons. First of all, you’ll never be able to see him. Not with work and school. There’s just no way. And long-distance relationships flat out don’t work, unless there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. But what are the odds that he’ll move back onto Belvedere Island? None. Zero. Not unless he becomes insanely wealthy.” I nodded in agreement, though I was a little surprised by the reference to her own wealth.
What she was saying, though, was what I’d already been thinking anyway. Although it would have been nice to hear her say she’d support me taking time off once in a while. But you came out here to work, the voice in my head said. You can’t blame her. Weekend visits to the boyfriend weren’t in the job description.
“But also,” Libby continued. “You need to take control of the situation. You need to take a stand, to take the reigns. It’s the only thing that really works. Trust me. I’ve dated my fair share of men. I learned how to do it well. How do you think I wound up with Walker? I know how to manage men, and I know how to manage my own feelings. If he breaks up with you, it will take you months to get over it. Maybe longer. Because you’ll feel like you weren’t ready. But if you break up with him, you’ll feel as though you had a say in what was happening. The end result is breaking up; it’s going to happen anyway. Why wouldn’t you want to do it on your own terms?”
I nodded. It all made sense. But the thought of actually doing it—ending things with him—made me sick to my stomach. I wasn’t sure I could. Not without trying first.
“Annie, you have to,” Libby said. “It’s the right thing to do. And you need to get it over with right away. The longer you wait, the more it’ll hurt.”
“Okay,” I said. “I just want to take a day to process it, think it over a little.”
Libby pushed her chair out from the table abruptly. “Do it how you want,” she snapped. “It’s not my business, just as long as you don’t cry in bed all day when you’re supposed to be watching my children.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Never mind,” she interrupted. “Really. I shouldn’t have spoken up.” It was obvious from her tone that I’d offended her by rejecting her advice. But I just didn’t know if I was ready to do what she was suggesting.
But as the day dragged on and I didn’t hear from him—not one word, not even a text—I thought that maybe she had a point. The feeling of waiting was terrible. It was worse than I’d imagined. I compulsively checked my phone; I couldn’t think about anything else. At least if I told him not to talk to me, I’d know what to expect. I’d have an active role in everything. I just needed to forget about the way he looked at me; the way he said my name, his voice soft and deep; the way I felt wrapped in his arms, like the tiniest, most delicate thing. Until I met Owen, I’d never in my life felt like I’d been taken care of.
I decided to do it that night, after the kids were in bed. I sent him a text:
“Meet by mailboxes 2nite @ 11? I have 2 talk 2 u.” Less than a minute later, I got his response: “K.” Just, “K.” Nothing else.
I’d be brave, braver than I’d ever been. And then I would

By TEN FIFTy, I was getting anxious. Everyone was in bed, but I really didn’t want to wake up Libby and Walker. I didn’t want them wondering what I was doing out there so late at night. I would have waited, except I didn’t know how long it would be before I’d have a chance to talk to Owen again. Besides, I wanted to beat him to the punch, like Libby said.

His figure blended into the darkness so much that I could barely make him out against the backdrop of trees and garbage cans. He was wearing a gray hoodie, and his back was facing me. He turned as he heard me approach; I couldn’t read his expression.

“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” We stood there awkwardly for a minute, neither of us sure what to do with our hands. I folded mine across my chest, he shoved his deep in his pockets.
“There’s something we need to talk about,” I said finally. “Yeah. I figured there was a reason for this late-night rendezvous, but I was kind of hoping I was wrong.”
“Listen,” I started, fighting to keep my voice steady. “I really care about you. You know that. But I’m really hurt by what’s happening.”
“With my move, you mean.”
“Yeah.” I bit my lip, waiting.
“Truthfully,” he told me, “I think you’re overreacting. I think this shouldn’t be such a big deal, I think we could work it out. And I think you’re being a little self-involved for making it such an issue, when really it could be something to celebrate.”
“I’m being self-involved?” His words were like multiple punches that left me breathless. I felt dizzy, like my body was no longer an adequate support system for my emotions.
“Yeah,” he said. “I didn’t want to say it, but you are. And you know what? I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
“Well, let me save you the trouble of figuring it out,” I hissed. “I can’t do it. I don’t want any part of it. So you can go on and have your awesome, charmed life, in Durham, without me. Since you clearly know exactly what you want, and I clearly don’t factor into it enough for it to make a difference.”
“What are you talking about?” He raised his voice to nearly a yell. “Do you understand how delusional you sound? And also, we’ve only been together for, what, two months? Did it occur to you that me confiding in you about it the second I found out shows exactly how much I care?”
When he finished, we were both shaking in anger. The words delusional and only two months played on a continuous, ever-more-rapid loop until it all blended together in an amalgamation of hurt and anger. I couldn’t hear anything else he was saying, just that.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said finally, mainly to fill the silence. “It really doesn’t matter anymore. Because I can’t do this.” And then I walked away.
I spent the rest of the night in my room, crying. But no amount of crying made it any better. The pain was deep and aching, worse than anything I’d ever felt. Worse than any amount of physical pain I could imagine. I felt sick inside, and incredibly alone. I wanted Libby’s arms around me, hugging me, telling me it would be okay, that in a little while I’d have someone like Walker, and none of this would matter at all.

IT wAs NEARLy FOuR O’CLOCk in the morning when I woke up, my eyes caked with sleep and tears. The light was off, but I had no memory of turning it off. I was asleep on top of my covers with my clothes on. I sat up in bed, blinking the sleep from my eyes. I felt disoriented and confused. I could have sworn I’d shut down my laptop before I’d gone to meet Owen, but there it was, shedding a dim blue glow over the room. I felt my pulse begin to race; it was clear that someone had been on the computer recently enough for the monitor to have roused from standby.

“Hello?” I whispered, every hair on my spine rising in fear. I wrapped my arms around my waist, feeling chilled by my nerves and the air that seeped in through the crack in my window, pre-winter air that gusted around the room and wound its way up my ankles and thighs like it was trying to consume me.

The window. Had I left it open? Had I cracked it as I sometimes do on warm nights? Then all my senses were on high alert. I stood frozen, eyes darting across the room, conducting an investigation as if independent from the rest of me. There was my journal, resting atop my bedside table. There was the clock, ticking away. And all the drawers to my bureau were closed tightly.

But had that painting been on my wall yesterday? The yellow wallpaper, which now covered all four walls, whirled around, highlighting it, forming a sort of spotlight for it. For a second I saw faces in the wallpaper. Grinning, crying, mocking me. All of a sudden I couldn’t remember at all about the painting. It was just a generic sketch of a fishing boat docked to a wooden pier, choppy waters cresting in the background. It was entirely possible it had been there the night before, and the day before that; it looked like a painting I’d seen a million times before. But something about it felt unfamiliar in the changing light of early dawn. And was the cabinet holding my jewelry, books, and TV just slightly ajar?

The computer monitor fell asleep, casting the room back into a murky gray darkness. I walked to the window and looked outside. The sun was beginning to rise over the water in the distance, and as I stared at the oranges that reflected out over the water, I began to feel safer. Calmer. It began to seem possible that I’d left my computer on, that my footsteps had jolted