Sunsets at Seaside(65)
“No.” He grabbed Mark’s arm. “Don’t you dare search her name. This is my life, not yours. I appreciate your concern, but if you ever…” He pulled Mark closer and tightened his grip on his arm until he saw pain in Mark’s eyes. “If you ever say one word to her again, I will kill you with my bare hands.” He tossed him to the bed and stormed out.
Chapter Eighteen
JESSICA PUSHED HER coffee cup across the small table. She couldn’t stomach looking at it, much less the smell of it. It smelled like the acid swirling in her stomach. She glanced into the bedroom at her unmade bed. Tears welled in her eyes as quickly as if someone had struck her with a hot poker. She turned away and shuffled across the floor in her sweatshirt and underwear. She was cold to the bone despite the warm seventy-five degrees of the second-story apartment and the sun-drenched air blowing in through the open window. She sat on the couch, then rose to her feet again. Nothing felt right anymore. Would it ever? Was this her window into reality? That life outside of the orchestra could be blissful and heavenly and then barf her up like a bad meal without ever looking back? She didn’t want to believe it, but all night she’d waited for Jamie to return. She’d even turned on her stupid cell phone in case he texted or called.
She hadn’t heard him go jogging this morning, and she’d sat with her ear to the stupid window from dawn until ten minutes ago, when she dragged herself into the kitchen for the rancid cup of coffee that nearly made her curl into a ball and remain there.
With a loud sigh, she headed for the bathroom to shower. Even the girls hadn’t come by this morning. Of course they wouldn’t. They were his friends, not hers. They hadn’t come by to go skinny-dipping the night before, either. Jamie probably filled them in last night when he got back.
Her cell phone rang, and her chest filled with hope as she ran to answer it. Her heart sank when the orchestra manager’s name appeared on the screen.
“Good morning, Charlie.” She tried to sound like she wasn’t drowning in sadness.
“Millicent. How are you, dear? You sound deathly.”
It took her a minute to recall her professional name. Had it been that long? Had she tossed aside all that she’d worked for that easily? She forced herself to answer.
“Just a little off this morning.” Deathly. How perfect.
“Well, I hope you can shake it off, because your substitute has taken ill. She can’t shake it off, and we need you back by tomorrow.” Charlie said this like it was a given that she would agree. It had been part of their agreement. If there was an issue with her substitute, she’d return within twenty-four hours.
But she didn’t know she’d be heartbroken.
How could her fingers even work when the ache of missing Jamie was pulsing through her body with the force of a tsunami? She couldn’t push it away, could barely breathe through it.
“Millicent?”
She cleared her throat and held on to the table for support. “Yes. I’m here.”
“Tomorrow morning. Rehearsal’s at ten. You might want to come in early, as the others will want to welcome you back, and you know how pitiful reunion s can be. You’ll have to relive every detail of your little vacation fifteen times over.”
He ended the call before she could say another word, and really, what would she have said? I’m not sure my arms will work well enough to pack my bags?
WHEN THE SUN rose over the horizon, Jamie was still sitting on the dunes at Nauset Beach, where he’d been since he’d left Mark at the Sheraton. He wanted to be as far from him as he could, and even the Wellfleet beaches seemed too close. Idiot Mark. Nauset was serene in the early dawn hours, which he needed to balance the fury within him. The sand was cool on his bare feet, and the dune grass swished in the morning breeze. He’d walked far across the dunes, past the homes overlooking the water, past the divots where teenagers slid down the dunes, leaving a butt-shaped path all the way down to the beach. He’d walked until he’d come to an island of untouched dune grass, where he’d been sitting ever since, thinking about all the things he’d learned with his own OneClick search. There was no Jessica Ayers listed with the Boston Symphony Orchestra—or in Juilliard, for that matter. He no longer knew what to believe about Jessica, but his heart felt as though it were coming apart inside him, leaving shards of glass etching her name, her touch, her image, into him.
When young families began arriving at the beach, Jamie still wasn’t ready to move. Two hours later, he twisted the ring on his finger. The stone was orange and green. What that meant, he had no idea. He stared at the stupid thing. It was probably a three-dollar gift, and yet he knew that every time he saw it, it would carry the emotions and memories of being with Jessica. He leaned back on his palms and watched the beach become dotted with people. Laughter and voices carried in the air and faded around him. When he could take their happiness no more, Jamie finally rose to leave.