“So you saw Robbie? You knew it was her?” I shake my head sympathetically.
“It was a girl with brown hair, but I'm sorry, I didn't take a very good look.”
“Do you think your fiancée might've seen more?” I start to say no, but Mr. Carrell grabs onto my hand in desperation. “Could I have her name and number? Just to call and check. Please, Mr. Carter. Please. You know what happens to teenage girls who go missing.” Tears explode from the man's eyes, and all I feel is anger. Not at him, of course, but at the world as a whole.
I give in and grab a piece of paper, scribbling down Audra's contact information from my phone. At this point, Mr. Carrell is in no shape to speak to me, so Mrs. Carrell takes the number from me, thanks me, and pulls her grieving husband down the porch steps.
I lock the door and make sure my robe is securely belted before I head down the hallway.
Before I can get to the bedroom door, Robbie is exploding out and running straight towards and past me. She skids on the wood floor and then hooks a sharp left turn into the bathroom. The sounds of gagging and vomiting follow. I don't stay around to listen, trying to afford Robbie some sense of privacy and dignity. I take the opportunity to strip off the robe and slip into a pair of jeans – yes, jeans, I do own a few pairs – and a T-shirt. By the time Robbie meekly pushes my bedroom door in, I'm fully clothed and waiting with the pills and the glass of water.
“Do you happen to have a spare toothbrush?” she asks, holding out her hand but keeping her eyes to the side. An awkward silence simmers between us before I sigh and drop the pills into her hand.
“I have six, actually.”
“Why?” Robbie startles at her own question, shaking her head like she wants to take it back. I imagine what sorts of things might be running through her mind and decide to answer. Sometimes, the questions that seem the most arbitrary are really the most important.
“Because, my dear,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral. So many emotions are running through me right now, I'm not certain where to start. What I really need right now is some alone time, some good food, and a kitchen ringing with the sounds of music. “I have a slight case of obsessive compulsive disorder. I don't often use the same toothbrush for more than a week, so I keep extras on hand.”
“Not for all of your mistresses?” Robbie blurts and then steps back, refusing to take the water glass from my hand. “I'm sorry,” she whispers, and the sight of her face breaks my heart. It's part shame, part terror. I don't know what to make of it. “I shouldn't have said that.”
“It's okay,” I tell her, tilting my head to the side, “I don't break.”
“I know, but I … I'm not your girlfriend. I'm not your anything, so I don't … have a right to say that crap.” Robbie sighs and rolls her eyes to the ceiling. Her back hits the wall and she does a slow slide to the floor, burying her face against her knees. “Thank you though, for what you did … today … and last night.”
“Robbie – ” She interrupts me, raising her head, mussy chocolate strands dripping across her face. The expression on Roberta's face makes it look like she's about to cry, but her eyes are bone dry.
“I know what a big risk it was, taking me in. Just let me get myself together, and I'll go.” Her words draw a line in the sand, closing down the discussion.
I sigh again and rise to my feet, taking the glass of water over and bending down to set it near Robbie's feet.
“Feel free to shower, if you'd like.” I start to stand up and move away, pausing again at the doorway. “And I want you to know, last night, I had Audra over.” I look back at Robbie with a neutral expression. This time, I'm not trying to hurt her, but I feel like I should be honest. There aren't many people in my life anymore who I can tell the truth to. “We slept together, and it was incredible.” Robbie cringes and grits her teeth, putting her hands over her ears. I know she can still hear me though. “But I couldn't stop thinking about you.”
I step into the hallway and slam the door.
“Fuck,” I drawl, listening to the sound of Robbie's shower from the comfort of the living room. I feel thoroughly and utterly exhausted. Last night was interesting, yes, but why? What does it mean? What does any of this new shit inside of me have to do with my life? Lucas Carter has a simple existence. He tames the taboo, fucks crazy women, and cooks gourmet food for one. That's his life. So how come it doesn't feel like mine anymore?
I hold my cell in my hand and scroll through my clients, wondering if I should pay a visit to someone simple, like Leslie, a client that could give me a quick outlet but without all the excess baggage. My thumb hovers over the screen, but I just can't bring myself to do it. For whatever reason, the thought makes me tired.