Behind the Scenes(59)

I pick at the straw in my soft drink. “Yep,” I sullenly agree. “Can’t argue with that.”

“So,” she slowly says. “What kind of kisser is he?”

“Ugh. The best.” I look up at her. “I’m sorry about causing all of this drama. It’s not professional at all.”

“No, of course it’s not… but I get the feeling you can’t help it. You’re on the ball with everything, Sydney. I don’t believe you would cause drama on purpose.”

The heaviness in my stomach eases just a little. “Thanks.”

She looks thoughtful. “What happens now?”

I shrug. “He told me my job is secure no matter what. Of course, that was before Friday night.”

She wrinkles her nose. “You told him off? Is that what happened on the sidewalk?”

“In a nutshell.”

She blows out a heavy breath. “That was crazy, him showing up like that. Like he was one of the kids or something. It didn’t seem like him at all.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I just don’t know what to think of it.”

“That’s understandable.” I hesitate, then decide to go ahead and ask what I want to know. “When do you think he’s coming back?”

She takes a bite of a taco and looks thoughtful. “I’m not sure. It’s weird that he’s not here on a Monday.”

I murmur my agreement. “I need to find a new job.”

“No, you don’t,” she quickly says.

I sigh and look across the lot at the gate that seemed so holy on my first day here. It has now been reduced to nothing more than metal and some strips of reflective tape. “I’m going to screw myself over big time if I stay here. Things will just get even more complicated.”

Dana is silent. She knows I’m right.

“I can’t stop thinking about him,” I whisper. “I wish that was a good thing.”

Dana purses her lips. “Damn. That sucks.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I’ll ask around and see if anyone is looking.”

Her words — added to my own promise to leave the job — make my departure final in a way it wasn’t before. I push the burning back down my throat and force a smile. “Thanks.”

I try to eat my lunch, but can’t manage to choke down more than a couple of bites. Standing, I chuck the paper container at the trash can. “I’m going inside.”

The AC blasts me as I open the door and head for the office. Entering the doorway, I slow down. The inner office door is closed, and I’m fairly certain Dana left it open after going in there this morning. I freeze with my hand against the door frame.

A scuffling noise comes from the other side of the door. He’s definitely here.

I’m debating going back outside or maybe just running down the hall and hiding in the bathroom, when his door opens.

For some reason, he looks surprised to see me. Simon.

Now that I know once and for all I can’t have him, I seem not able to think of him as Mr. Mulroney anymore. He is and will always be Simon, the man who took me to Bronson Caves and revealed to me a childhood secret. The man who kissed me tenderly and told me he wanted to treat me better.

Supposing I leave this job and never see him again, what will that be like? Will he stay on my mind for decades, becoming the infamous “one who got away?” Will I meet and marry someone else, but always feel like that relationship is lacking; always think of the harsh and yet sensitive man who gave me thrills that no one else could?

At seventy or eighty, will I stop in the middle of some mundane activity — sweeping the kitchen or filling the bird feeder — and realize… he’s dead now. Our lives went in separate directions and his faded away. The funeral announcements were sent out and I didn’t get one. The hole was dug and lowered and, meanwhile, I was at the bank checking my account balance or in my bedroom hanging up some curtains, all the while never suspecting what the world just lost.

And as I lay dying, in a hospital bed, or wherever else my last breath might take place, will I draw that final inhale and think: I should have taken what he had to offer. I shouldn’t have asked for so much.

No matter what the world holds, there will never be another person like Simon Mulroney.

His throat works as we stare at each other from across the room. In the space between us, hovering between the floor and ceiling, a dozen possibilities rest.

He nods, looking like a robot. “Ms. Andrews.”

I blink and take a step inside the office. As if that’s his cue, he moves forward and blows past me.

*

The entire week, Mr. Mulroney’s trips to the office are extraordinarily brief. He never once talks to me. When he needs something done, he addresses Dana. Chuck and Daniel love his absence and half of me is of the same mind.