Page 70 of Good at Being Alive
I glance at Theo, who shows no sign of agreeing with this suggestion. His mouth is tight and unsmiling; his eyes are flat. God, it hurts so much more than I thought it would.
I step backward. “I should let you guys catch up.”
“Catch up?” Peter asks. “I see this guy every day at the office.”
My head jerks from him to Theo. “Youdo?”
Theo’s eye twitches, the tiniest sign of discomfort above and beyond the discomfort he clearly already felt. “I hired Peter to take over some of the work in London since I’ve been gone so much this summer.”
What?Why the fuck would he not have mentioned this? I mean, sure, I’m not really involved with the company beyond my participation in the show but…we just ran ten miles together a week ago, he stayed at my home, and we spent hours clearing out my fridge, talking. It seems like somewhere in there, he’d have mentionedit.
Peter smiles awkwardly, glancing between us. “Anyway, I insist, Rebecca. Come have a drink and tell me what kind of husband Theo is. I suspect it’s not a great one.”
“He’s the worst,” I agree, my tone slightly too vicious.
I go to the lounge with them and sip on a glass of wine I really don’t want. Peter does his best to be charming—he laughs hard at every joke I make and toasts Theo for “marrying the most beautiful woman on two continents,” while Theo’s smiles grow more pinched, his replies more snippy, until I finally take my leave.
“You need to come to London,” Peter insists when I rise. “We’d all love to see you.”
Maybe it’s a British thing, this incredible civility at the expense of the truth…though I haven’t noticed Theo being overwhelmingly civil, especially not tonight.
“I kind of doubt that,” I reply, because I’m suddenly too exhausted and hurt to keep playing this game. “You were the only one of Theo’s friends who was especially pleasant the last time.”
Peter glances from me to Theo. “Well, you know…”
“No,” I reply, pushing my stool in. “Idon’tknow.”
“Wendy’s husband is dying,” Theo says, the words clipped and unwilling. “He’s got perhaps a year at most.”
I stare at him, and then Peter. Why the hell did he not mention this when we were in London? I’d still have found Wendy unlikable, but I would have faked it better. “I…had no idea.”
Peter’s brow furrows. “It’s been all over the news. He’s quite well-known.”
The number of things Theo should have told me that night just grows and grows, and I am suddenly desperate to be away from him and Peter both, desperate to be alone long enough to recover from the ways this evening has hurt.
I hug Peter goodbye and don’t even look at Theo as I turn toward the elevator. I’ve told him so many things, and he’s told me so little in return. I was excited to see him, but he wanted me gone the second another option presented itself.
I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s incredibly familiar.
Theo
My brother is climbing ontothe balcony’s rail. Somewhere below him, a woman is screaming. Is it Penelope? My mother?
I scan the crowd, and it’s only then that I realize—
I’m in Paris, and the screaming is coming from the room beside mine.
I leap off the pull-out and push open Bex’s door. By the time I’m inside, the screaming has stopped and she’s sitting upright—her eyes wide and terrified.
I fall back against the wall, my heart hammering. “Jesus Christ, Bex. I thought someone was attacking you.”
She swallows hard. It takes her a long moment to reply. “That’s completely illogical,” she finally says. “Obviously they’d want to kill you more than me.”
And then she bursts into tears.
I stiffen. Yes, I’ve seen Bex cry before, but this is different. She sounds broken…the way she did that first day I met her. I don’t think she could stop if she tried.
Gingerly, I pick my way toward her. She appears to have shed her clothes en route to the bed. Her shoulders are bare anda bra has been tossed over a chair. So she’s wearing little, if anything, which is not something I should be thinking right now.
