Beneath the Surface(56)

“Not my health,” Sheryl scoffed, then waved her hand. “Anyway, nothing for you to worry about. It will all blow over soon enough.” That was the first time Sheryl allowed herself to wonder whether she was just waiting for her father to die, so she didn’t have to make a decision anymore.

“Come on, Sheryl.” Martha shifted nervously in her seat. It reminded Sheryl of that time she’d come into her office, much in the same way as today, and told her that she, too, was a lesbian. “I’ve never seen you like this. People are starting to talk.”

“Who is people? Your ex-husband, the vice-chancellor, by any chance?”

“Colleagues who are just as worried about you as I am.”

“How nice of them to worry.” Sheryl ached to open her bottom drawer—the one where she hid another bottle of vodka. At first, she’d bought a bottle of Belvedere, because she wasn’t going to get off her head on cheap, trashy booze, but the bottle was too long and didn’t even fit into the cabinet under her desk. She’d soon switched to Absolut, a more modest brand of which the bottle fit neatly behind a stack of papers in her drawer.

“Hey, it’s me you’re talking to,” Martha said. “Though I’m not entirely sure who I am talking to.”

“I’m sorry,” Sheryl said. “I’ve been going through some personal stuff.”

“No kidding.” Martha inclined her head. “And isn’t that what friends are for?”

Sheryl considered this, and the friendships she’d had over the years. She had only ever briefly mentioned her family situation to Caitlin. Kristin knew more, but Sheryl refused to go into details. Was she really going to start now?

“Is it Kristin? Did something happen?”

Sheryl shook her head, though she’d done her best to push Kristin away. Kristin who had never once asked her an inappropriate question about her past. Who had never displayed anything but the utmost patience.

“It’s something very personal.” Sheryl tried to remember how she had ever found the words to tell Kristin, and how exactly she had said them. It seemed impossible to reproduce them now. God, she was thirsty. Her headache intensified, as did the foul taste in her mouth.

“Something to do with my family. It’s complicated.” She gazed at her hands. “Well, it’s not really. It’s my father. He’s dying.”

“I’m so sorry,” Martha said. “No wonder you’re upset.”

Sheryl let her chin fall onto her chest. “It is actually more complicated than that.” She looked up again. “How about we go for a drink and I tell you all about it?”





Chapter Twenty-Five





“Look at them,” Kristin said to Josephine, pointing at Micky and Robin who sat huddled together in a corner. “Doesn’t young love look utterly silly at times?”

“I think it’s sweet.” Josephine gave her a smile. “And it’s all down to this place.”

“We should put it on the door,” Kristin went along with the joke. She had to get her laughs wherever she could. The atmosphere in their home had turned glacial. “Hot beverages and matchmaking opportunities abound.”

Josephine chuckled. “Their coffees are ready, but I almost don’t want to disturb them.”

“I’ll take them.” Kristin put the two cups on a tray and carried them over.

“One very wet cappuccino and one very dry,” she said, sitting down at the table with them without waiting for an invitation.

“You’ll never stop giving me hell about that, will you?” Robin said.

“No one ever will, babe,” Micky said. Her eyes sparkled with the wild energy of falling in love. Finding Robin had taken ten years off of her, making Kristin feel very old in comparison.

Did Sheryl really think Kristin could fall asleep when she went to bed as Sheryl retreated into her office? Did she really believe that Kristin didn’t know she hid a bottle of vodka in her drawer? Or was she waiting to be called out on it?

“Penny for your thoughts, boss,” Micky said. They worked together almost every day, surely she must have noticed something.

Kristin sighed. She was dying to talk about it, to have someone listen to her when she said something—Sheryl certainly didn’t. But it wasn’t for her to disclose. As far as Kristin knew, nobody but her and Caitlin knew about Sheryl’s family history. Sheryl would be livid if Kristin told anyone—and rightly so.

“I haven’t been sleeping too well,” she said. She cast another glance at Micky and Robin, at the way they sat together, their bodies angled toward each other. It felt as though her and Sheryl’s bodies were always pointing away from one another these days.