“I’m asking—no begging—you not do this.”
“Please don’t make this any harder.” She turned her tortured eyes to me. “It’s already tearing me in two.”
I was standing, rooted to the spot, scrambling for something to say to make her stay, paralyzed by her asking me not to, when she blinked a few times in quick succession and walked around me and out the door.
She paused and said, “I’ll be at Cathy’s if you need me,” then she was gone.
A sickening sense of déjà vu overtook me and I was transported back to the day I’d heard the people I’d loved most in the world had left me, that my parents had been killed in an accident. And now it had happened again—the person I loved most in the world had walked out on me. I turned and ran for the bathroom, then threw up until my stomach, my ribs, my chest, everywhere was in as much pain as my heart.
A week after Scarlett left and I still felt like throwing up most of the time. I made it through tutorials on autopilot and tried to lose myself in history books the way I had when my parents died. Only this time it wasn’t working.
It turned out to be a major blessing Billie was still home—she dealt with anything Amelia needed so they could give me a wide berth. Of course, Billie was doing that partly out of consideration, but mainly because she was pissed at me for screwing things up with Scarlett. She didn’t know the details, but she was certain it was my fault. And she was right. I should have been able to fix it, to find a compromise that suited us both.
I barely slept more than three hours a night—kept awake by the replay of my time with Scarlett, over and over, either desperately clinging to the good times or beating myself up about the end, depending on my mood.
A knock at my office door announced Rakesh’s arrival.
“Hey, Rakesh,” I said, dropping my pen and rubbing my tired eyes. “What can I do for you?”
“I need cheering up and thought you were the man for the job.”
Confused, I stared at him until he rolled his eyes. “They were right in the staff room. You really are in bad shape.”
My stomach pitched. My life was already in the gutter, the last thing I needed was to lose my job as well.
“What are they saying?”
“Just that something’s wrong with you and I should be the one to make you snap out of it.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “And how are you planning on doing that? Because if it’s possible, I’d love to know.”
He shrugged. “I’m an academic, not a psychologist. I was hoping you’d tell me your tale of woe, I’d commiserate, we’d drink beer, and it’d be over.”
“You’re going to need a bigger plan.”
“Oh, hell,” he said, and slid into the chair at the desk beside me. “It really is serious, isn’t it?”
For a few seconds I contemplated brushing him off, but Rakesh had stood by me when my parents died and ever since. He deserved the truth.
Picking a spot on the wall so I didn’t have to meet his gaze, I braced myself to say her name aloud for the first time since she’d left.
“Scarlett and I moved things beyond friendship and started dating, and it was amazing. Right up until I screwed it up. She’s moved out and I haven’t seen her since.”
“Shit. I don’t know if you’re my hero for dating Scarlett, or if I’m disgusted with you for losing her.”
I flinched. “Thanks. Your support is appreciated.”
“Who left who?”
“She left me.”
“What did you do to stop her? Or get her back?”
“Not so much.”
“For Poseidon’s sake, man, why not?”
The same question had been thumping through my brain for seven days and nights. Even if I convinced her to give me another chance, I knew deep down it was the wrong thing to do.
“There’s one thing Scarlett craves above all else. Stability. She grew up constantly moving around with her hippie parents, and all she’s ever wanted to do was put down roots in a house that’s stocked with kitchen appliances and furniture that can’t be folded up and packed in the back of a car. I’ve always known that about her, but I hadn’t realized how deep that ran until recently.”
Rakesh’s forehead was creased for a long beat, then it cleared as if understanding had dawned. “You’re planning a career in fieldwork?”
I tossed him an open envelope and he pulled the letter out.
“I’m already getting offers,” I said as he scanned it. “I’ve explained each time I can’t do anything while Amelia is underage, but after that I’ll be open.”
“Ah. And Scarlett knows,” he said, rubbing a hand over his chin.
“One of the offers was in person, in front of her. From Ray Oliver. At the time I barely thought about how it would affect her, but now that I’ve had time to run pretty much every one of our conversations over in my head, I can see she was thrown by it. Long term, I’m not the man for her.”
He handed the letter back and I stuffed it in a folder.
“Just because you travel, doesn’t mean she’d have to. You could come home to her in between.”
“That’s a half life, only being together when our schedules permitted. She deserves so much more. Scarlett is so full of life and passion, that sort of relationship would grind her down.”
“So your solution is that you’re both miserable instead?”
“She’ll get over me. Move on.” I ignored the way my voice broke over the words and was thankful Rakesh did, too.
His expression said he didn’t think much of this solution, but there was nothing I wouldn’t do for Scarlett. Much as it killed me to even think it, I wanted her happy, even if it was with someone else.
Rakesh sighed and stood. “You deserve happiness, too, Finn.”
“She deserves it more,” I said, knowing deep in my soul this was true.
Chapter Eighteen
Scarlett
I knocked on the door of the room where we’d been to the silversmithing workshop and Noela’s smiling face appeared.
“Come on in,” she said.
Adjusting the two canvases under my arm, I followed her. I’d decided to take up Noela’s offer to look at my work, partly because I had to do something other than mope around, thinking of Finn. But also, Finn had been right.
You’re not making decisions about your art or your career. You’re standing in one spot.
Maybe it was because the rest of my life was such a disaster now, but I finally wanted to take his advice to move forward and show my art to someone. Whatever the cause, it felt right to take a step. So here I was. Stepping forward.
“Hi, Noela,” I said. “Thanks for looking at my work.”
“You’re welcome. I’m interested to see what you’re painting.” Her smile seemed genuine, which was encouraging. “Here, let me take one of those.”
She took the closest canvas and pulled off the protective sheet to reveal the portrait I’d done of Harvey. My stomach was a mass of nerves, all seething and knotting together. Much like my early arm knitting attempts, actually. I wasn’t sure why I was so nervous—it wasn’t like there was anything riding on this meeting. This stepping forward thing was mainly about not having anyone else artistic in my life. It would be good to talk to someone who understood. My family and Finn’s family had always been impressed with my paintings, but since none of them could draw more than a stick figure, they’d naturally be impressed with anything I made. That didn’t mean it was any good compared to other artists.
“This is nice work,” Noela said, studying it in detail.
I tried not to get too excited at the compliment, since there was probably constructive feedback still to come. “That’s Finn’s dog, Harvey.”
After the first portrait I’d made for Finn’s birthday present, I’d done a series of others, trying to capture different doggy expressions.