Well, I guess he's moved on. Not that there was ever really anything to move on from. And hell, I've been dating William. So why do I feel like I want to jump out of my skin?
We pull up into our driveway and I hop out. "Thanks, Roger!" I call as I head around the side of the house. I glance toward the boat house, but I don't want to be alone in my bedroom right now. I look around the pool deck. Empty. I'm sure the security is watching me somehow, but what's really the difference between my bra and underwear and a bikini?
The air is cold, but I know the water is heated. I unzip the back of my cocktail dress and lay it carefully on the back of one of the lounge chairs, then take a towel from the cabinet next to the house. I hurry down the steps of the shallow end as a cool wind picks up.
The water is like a warm bath, and I sink gratefully into it. To my surprise, as I relax, tears begin to slip down my cheeks. I didn't even realize I'd been holding them in.
I suppose I'd always hoped, somewhere in the back of my mind where I never acknowledged it, that Carter was simply unavailable. That he wasn't in a place to have a relationship with anyone. But it seems like the truth is that he just didn't want to have a relationship with me.
Can I blame him? I threw myself at him when we first met. He probably never considered me to be the kind of girl that you ask out on a date. Only good for a quick fuck, and then leave before morning.
Maybe I should go with William. I could get away from this house, from my father, and from Carter. It'll probably be even worse to see him now, knowing he has a girlfriend, and with our friendship now completely on the rocks.
I dive under the water and open my mouth and scream. I can hear it carry through the water, but only bubbles rise to the surface as evidence. I just want to get away from here...from myself. But what's that expression...wherever you go, there you are?
I've tried not being where I am. Pursuing unavailable men, drinking too much...both escapes from feeling what I feel. At least William wants me. Or whoever he thinks I am, which seems to be some fragile jewel that he will keep carefully at home, and then trot out at formal occasions to be admired. Isn't she beautiful? And the daughter of famous shipping magnate Ray Stratton! What a find!
I let myself sink to the bottom of the pool, blowing bubbles out of my mouth until there's no more oxygen left in my lungs to keep me afloat. I feel the cool tiles against the backs of my thighs, and stare up at the surface of the water. It's peaceful down here. The blue underwater lights give the gently lapping water a surreal glow under the inky sky. I just want to stay down here and hide from my problems.
I start to feel lightheaded but I don't move. I let my eyes close. I don't want to resurface. It's too hard up there. Too complicated. I wonder if this is how my mother felt before she took the pills. Remarkably clear-headed. Rational. At peace.
You'll only prove your father right, a voice suddenly rings out in my head, clear as a bell. You are not your mother.
My eyes fly open and I struggle toward the surface of the water. My arms flail out uselessly, my oxygen-deprived brain unable to send them clear signals. My mouth, too, is in disconnect. I open my lips and gasp for air, but only water rushes down my throat.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The next thing I know, I'm on my hands and knees on the pool deck, coughing water out of my lungs. There's a buzzing sound in my ears, but gradually I become aware that someone is yelling at me.
"—fucking death wish? What the fuck were you thinking?!" I look up and blink until Carter comes into view. He's standing above me, sopping wet. Oh, shit. I want to respond, but first I need air. "How much have you had to drink tonight." I sit back onto my ass and raise two fingers. "Two what? Bottles?"
I glare at him and take a breath. "Glasses of champagne." Suddenly I'm freezing and wrap my arms around myself to stay warm.
"Oh, fuck," he groans, and takes my towel from the deck chair and wraps it around my shoulders. "Come on, let's get you inside." He doesn't wait for me to stand, but leans over and scoops me up. I let my head rest against his chest as he walks me across the patio toward the boat house.
"Very strong," I murmur drowsily.
"What?"
"From physical therapy." I can feel how even his stride is, no limp at all. And he's carrying me like I weigh nothing. "All healed."
He walks me up the boat house steps and into my bathroom, depositing me gently on the bath mat. I watch him as he stands and reaches into the shower, turning it on hot. The bathroom quickly begins to steam up, and he kicks off his soggy shoes and fishes his sopping wet wallet and phone out of the pockets of his slacks.
"Sorry," I whisper.