“I couldn’t help her, and it tore me apart. I thought I loved her, and I did. Otherwise I never would have asked her to marry me.”
“But she was abusive, Simon.”
“She was ill.”
“Bullshit.” I stand and prop my hands on my hips. “She was a mean, manipulative woman. She knew exactly what she was doing. She was playing head games with you for her own enjoyment.”
He swallows hard.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know her, but I can see what she did to you.”
“I’ve made it my life’s work to empower women. To help them believe that they are worthy of everything wonderful in this world. I’ve helped women leave their abusive husbands, end careers that were toxic, and even stand up to parents and family members who were nothing but bullies. And here I am, a man who couldn’t help his wife. You were right in Montana, I am a hypocrite.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, you are no such thing.” Now I’m just angry. At him for believing this bullshit and at her for, well, for being her. “I was mad at you and I shouldn’t have said that. She didn’t want to be helped, Simon. That’s what you need to realize. I hate this saying, but it’s true: you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. You did what you could for her, but she didn’t think anything was wrong. She was manipulating you, and she was pretending to be sick. In reality, she loved the attention you gave her, and she loved getting her own way.”
He’s watching me with so much hope in his eyes that I want to cry. My God, has he been clinging to this false sense of responsibility for all this time?
“I’m proud of you for walking away and washing your hands of her. And I understand not wanting to air all your dirty laundry to your family, but they should know some of it, Simon. Especially if your mother is choosing to keep Amy in her life.”
“I don’t think she’s choosing it, I think Amy is just pressing all the right buttons to keep herself there. You’re right, I should tell Mum more of it, so she knows what she’s dealing with. I just didn’t want her to be disappointed in me. And that may be the first time I’ve ever admitted that. I sound like a coward.”
“You sound like someone who was abused,” I reply gently and wrap my arms around him. “I’ve never been there, but Savannah has, and she had many of the same feelings. You do so many great things for people. You should be proud of that, and if it was your relationship with Amy that circled you around to it, well, then maybe it was worth it. But you have to reconcile it for what it was and move on, Simon.”
“You’re an amazing woman, Charlotte Boudreaux.”
“I think I’m just the voice of reason right now.”
He catches my chin with his finger and tilts my face up to look at him. “Thank you.”
“You can pay me back later.” I press my lips to his chin, then check the time. “I’m about to be amazingly late. Feel free to unpack and just put your things wherever you want. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Are you okay, love?”
“Of course.” I send him a bright smile. “Just call me if you need me.”
“Have a good day.”
I blow him a kiss and leave, my mind reeling. When he was telling me what Amy did to him, I wanted to sit and weep for him. What a grade-A bitch. I’d like just five minutes alone with her.
And given that I’d like five minutes alone with her, I’m just fucking angry. How could anyone treat another human being like that? What kind of sick joy does that bring them?
I’ve never felt this overwhelming need to protect a man before. Not that he needs it; she can’t hurt him now. But I feel fiercely territorial.
And this is new.
I don’t know what to do about it. I still don’t see how a relationship with Simon can make it long-term. He can’t stay in New Orleans forever, and I don’t plan to leave.
But I do know that I’m going to enjoy him for every minute he’s here.
I flip the sign to closed at exactly six o’clock. It’s the first time I haven’t stayed open later in…I can’t even remember. I usually take my time, visit with straggling customers, count the till, organize credit card receipts, and I even sit and pore through shoes online, deciding what to buy next.
But not tonight. I’m excited to go home. Not because there’s someone to go home to, but because it’s Simon.
I’m ready to see Simon.
Even the evening traffic doesn’t bother me a bit. I whistle along with the radio, and patiently make my way through town. Butterflies set up residence in my belly as I pull into the driveway. Simon’s rental is parked at the curb.