Sweet Nothing(40)

I’m about to turn and limp back toward the beach when I hear footsteps. Shit. I definitely can’t run fast enough in these heels to escape. I plaster my best non-psychotic smile on my face and clench my coffee cup so hard that the plastic lid pops off.

When the door opens, I can’t stop myself from launching into an explanation.

“Hey. I know it’s super early, and I’m sorry to wake you, but—”

I freeze. Standing in the doorway looking puzzled is a woman. A gorgeous woman in jeans and a tank top. Barefoot. A woman with long, strawberry blonde waves. I don’t move. I don’t move or breathe, or even think, because I can’t. I’m frozen.

“Can I… help you?” she asks.

“Luke?” My whisper rattles, just barely audible. “I was, um, looking for Luke.”

My eyes flit to her hands, which are crossed over her chest. She wears no jewelry, except for a thin silver band on her left ring finger.

“He’s not here right now.” Her eyes narrow, then travel from my flat hair to my pumps and back again. I must look ridiculous. “Sorry, who are you?”

There’s something about her tone that makes my humiliation shift into anger. Suddenly, I find my voice again. It’s clear. And strong.

“I’m Elle. Who are you?” I peer around her, looking for Luke. Instead, I find a little girl, hiding behind the woman. She’s four, maybe five, and she’s just as beautiful as her mother. Tight, strawberry blonde curls, pink cheeks. And piercing light blue eyes. I know that blue. That blue belongs to Luke.

“I’m Ashley. And this…” the woman bends over and swoops up the little girl, nestling her against a jutted hip. “is Lilah. Our daughter.”

Our daughter. Luke’s daughter. My body goes from feverish to frigid and back again. The woman’s outline dips and blurs, and I lean against the threshold for support.

“Are you… okay?” Her voice sounds far away. “Can I call someone for you?”

“No. No. I’m fine. I can…I’m fine. Sorry to bother you.”

“That’s okay,” the little girl chirps. Luke’s little girl.

“I didn’t mean to… you don’t need to tell him I stopped by.” My throat closes in, my words barely able to escape. I want to get out of here before the tears start. Dropping the coffee and the takeout bag on the front steps, I turn and break into a jog. Then a run, my heels cracking against the pavement. The woman calls after me, but I don’t turn around. As I run, I hear nothing but the roaring of my heart in my chest and the voice in my head, screaming at me for being such an idiot. For believing that a guy like Luke could be good. Could want only me. He has a wife. He has a daughter. How could you be so naïve, Elliot?

Blocks pass in what seems like seconds, and then I’m bobbing and weaving across the busy streets of South Beach, horns blaring and brakes screeching. Hurrying down the steps to the beach, I know that my legs are about to give way. And they do, the second I reach the sand. I kick off my shoes and curl my feet beneath me, staring out at the mirrored ocean. The sun is rising now, a light so intense it’s almost pure white.

I wait for the tears to come, but they don’t. I feel nothing, other than pure disbelief. A wife. A child. Of course. It all makes sense now: how Luke had had to cut our first lunch short. The toys in his home that I’d assumed were just kitschy accents—the tricycle, the hula-hoop. The nightlight. And when he’d been out last week—was that to take care of his daughter? His wife? Does it even matter?

Of course not. The only thing that matters is that Luke is not the guy I thought he was. He’s a stranger. A liar. The only thing that matters is that we will never be together. We will never be together.

The thought should be devastating. I should be inconsolable. I stare out at the ocean; watch the waves crash over the sand again and again. And I am completely numb. I don’t feel any of the things I should be feeling: rage. Shock. Sadness. As I sit and stare, the realization creeps in slowly. Of course I feel nothing. Deep down, I knew this was coming. Because I believe in karma. And this kind of devastation is exactly what I deserve.





chapter sixteen



Elle,



School starts tomorrow. Deep breaths. Wish me luck.



I’m nervous, but okay, actually. Here’s the thing: if you can start a new life with your head held high, then I know I can do this. So… thanks.



Love you for infinity,



A





I spend most of Sunday hiding out in my bathtub. Too humiliated to call Gwen or Waverly for a ride, I’d spent the rest of my cash on a cab home. Then I’d chased two aspirin with a giant jar of water, stripped myself of South Beach slutty, and settled in to an unbearably hot lavender bubble bath. Every time the water had dipped to a normal temperature, I’d filled it with hot water again. My fingers and toes had gone wrinkly three refills ago.