Page 96 of I Hope This Finds You Well

I’ve stood up without realizing it—some fight-or-flight survival instinct. Maybe Gregory is actually terrible at golf and I’ve roasted him by mentioning it.

Gregory rubs a hand over his mustache hard, his eyes still on me. I hear him say, “I need all of these taken away immediately.”

Rhonda’s expression drops. She places her glass on the table. “Will do.”

His wife appears next to him. “Nice to meet all of you again!” she says brightly. “Thanks for throwing a great party.”

“I’m not sure you’ve met all my colleagues here. Let me introduce you.” Gregory’s gaze crawls back to me, slow and sharp. When he clocks my weak smile, he looks like he wants to spit on me. “Jolene,” he calls out in my direction. “Come over here.”

Everyone at my table goes quiet, their eyes trailing to me. I take teeny steps, drawing out the six-foot walk as long as possible.

“Madeline, this is Jolene. Jolene, this isMadeline.”

He watches me register her name.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I got her name wrong. How did I get her name wrong? Then, two seconds later: the email got her name wrong. Nope. Finally, it hits me—Gregory catches my face when it does, and my blood turns to ice.

“Madeline, Jolene’s work has been very visible this quarter. We’re going to meet soon to discuss herfutureat Supershops.” Then he leans toward me and whispers, “We’ll discuss this later.”

He takes his wife by the elbow and walks away, leaving me to deal with my heart attack.

I stumble back to my table on wobbly legs.

Caitlin is holding a frozen margarita just beneath her lips, her huffing breaths creating steam on top of the glass.

I grab my wineglass and force down a big gulp. No relief follows. Instead, my stomach curdles. I think I might be sick.

I run into the bathroom and lock myself in a stall.

It’s been almost two hours.

Before today, I would’ve thought it impossible to hide inside a three-foot-square stall this long without feeling messed up after, and I’m unfortunately right. I listen to the sounds of others coming and going from the three other stalls, experience all the awful smells. There shouldn’t be anything worse than this. But going back out into thatparty, being either glared at or ignored, depending on the person, or trying not to look at Cliff, to have him see me, would’ve been worse.

The bar was reserved only until seven p.m. for Gregory’s party. By now, everyone should be clearing out.

I steel myself. It’s time to make my exit.

But as soon as I open the stall’s door, I curse the universe for its terrible timing. The bathroom door swings open and in walks Caitlin. She walks right past my ajar stall and stands in front of the mirror, checking herself. And holy shit, she hasn’t noticed me.

“Oh, you’re so lucky,” she says to her reflection, voice slurred. “You’re going to have so much good stuff. You’re perfect.”

This would normally be a blessed, magical occasion, and I’d enjoy this image for decades, but the door I’m still holding half open creaks, and Caitlin whips around, locking her eyes on me—as best she can. One eye is like the half-mast flag that has surrendered for the night.

She gives a limp point in my general direction.

“I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re playing at, but I know you’re up to something,” she says—or at least that’s my best guess, as her voice is so garbled.

I try to keep calm. The most important thing to remember is that she’s wasted. I was on my way out anyway, so I slowly back away toward the exit. Because when it comes down to it, I’m nothing but a coward.

But Caitlin’s not done. “I mean it. I knowallabout you.”

I freeze mid-step. The glossy tile squeaking under my shoe is the only sound in the room.

She wobbles in front of me, a predator zeroing in on its prey. “Kyle told me what you did.”

My stomach drops through the floor.