All of Me Read online

  “She said you helped her.”

  “Not really.” I downplay my role, thinking of her taking my hand and wanting to take hers again. “I happened to be with her.”

  She sips her drink. “She tells me the two of you have jogged occasionally.”

  “Not lately,” I slip in defensively.

  “I’m not mad. You can, if you want, not that either of you need my permission. I don’t have any business telling you when to hang out with my sister. I’m so used to looking out for her. I’m not comfortable letting other people in her life and you’re not exactly…sensitive.”

  I grin. “I am when it counts.”

  “Caleb, you’re not funny.”

  “I’m not talking about in the bedroom.”

  “Then what are you talking about?”

  “Lighten up, Libby. Maybe letting Maren feel pain every now and then wouldn’t be such a bad thing.” I swallow a heaping load of pride at the horrible way I had spoken to Maren. I am in no position to offer up suggestions about her life. I can’t even find a way to keep my mouth closed around her.

  Libby’s sigh is loud and deep. “I don’t want her to get hurt.”

  “Making everything perfect for her won’t guarantee that either.”

  “I just want things to be easy for her.”

  “Her world won’t fall apart if we run together.”

  Her gaze wavers as she considers the possibility. “I know but if she thinks you’re a friend and then you don’t show up—”

  Too late to admit that I’ve already had this conversation with Maren. “She’ll be fine. I’m not always the person you think I am.”

  Libby rakes over me with curious eyes. “I guess it would be nice for her to have someone she could call for help. You’re the last person I would expect to have this conversation with.”

  “But, maybe I’m the right person.”

  “Am I stupid to leave? Maren and I have a system. It works.”

  “You’d be stupid not to go. You will never get this chance at this time again. Either you go, or I’ll take your job and you can do clerical work for Lyon.”

  “You don’t know what we’ve been through.”

  “You’re right, I won’t try to prove you otherwise. You remind me every time we talk about her. What I will tell you is that if you walk away from this chance, you won’t get a second one. You can always move back. Julie won’t send you to New York twice. This is your party. Don’t make this about Maren. Tonight has nothing to do with her.”

  Glass breaks along with a high-pitched scream. We stop mid-conversation and whirl around to find Maren and Sara facing each other, standing in front of the bar. Sara’s white blouse is drenched in red wine and blood streaks down her arm.

  Libby goes pale. Her face is a sheet of dread. She pushes the glass of wine into my hand and rushes over.

  Julie’s at their side, along with Maren and Libby’s parents. Everyone is there, forming a wall to watch. Maren offers Sara a cocktail napkin. “I’m so sorry.”

  Sara pushes her hand back. “Go away!”

  “It was an accident.”

  The bartender hands Sara a towel. Julie and Libby are hovering and helping.

  “She wasn’t watching what she was doing,” Sara says like a force of wind. “Look at me.” A shaking hand rises, and I see a jagged shard of glass protrudes from her palm.

  I wince. It’s bad.

  “Someone call an ambulance!” Julie shouts and places the towel under her arm. “Don’t touch the glass.”

  “EMTs are on the way,” someone yells.

  Everyone moves at once. People talk over one another. Concern and grimaces are in the curve of their lips. The noise level raises significantly. The manager enters the room on his phone, barking directions. Sara’s trembling and sobbing. Her high heels crunch the glass beneath her feet.

  “Sara,” I say quietly and considerately.

  Her head pops up. Mascara is smudged beneath her eyes. She’s livid. “Look at my arm.”

  My eyes follow her right hand and I get an up-close view of the deep cut. A steady stream of blood gushes over her hand. Someone puts a towel in my hand. I don’t want to press on the wound and force the glass deeper. Nor do I want to pull the glass out. I hand her the extra towel and let her decide.

  “The ambulance is on the way,” Julie says, staying close, watching me with eagle eyes. “Go to the hospital with her.”

  I was about to say that of course I would go with her. “I’ll meet you at the hospital,” I say, giving Sara a reassuring pat on the back. “That way I can drive you home after.”

  Sara nods with a wobbly face.

  The bartender moves a chair closer. Julie and one of the partners assist her with moving to it.

  The paramedics arrive and the crowd parts for them to come through. Dressed in their blue uniforms and grave expressions, they’re crouching next to her, talking and assessing the situation.

  “Can you tell me your name?” says the EMT with his hair drawn back in a ponytail.

  “S-S-Sara Hughes.”

  “What happened to your hand?”

  She gives a dramatic lift of her arm.

  I turn away to give her privacy. Julie holds Sara’s other hand and tells her not to worry. Several wait staff are cleaning up the mess. The rest of the party moves away from the bar and resumes quiet conversations. Libby and Maren are nowhere in sight. I didn’t even see them sneak out. No one’s saying much and the line at the bar doubles. At least there’s alcohol.

  The movement around Sara is to the count of, “One, two, three, here we go.” Sara’s on her feet and my colleagues break out in cheerful applause. Sara gives a wave with a smile. I let her know I’ll meet her at the hospital and I follow them out.

  Before I go, I want to check on Maren. I’m not sure where she’s gone. The music is loud in the main section of the restaurant, I assume turned up to block the commotion. Even so, I hear snippets of conversation on my way around the tables. Everyone’s talking about the girl with the bloody arm.

  There’s a common area between the restrooms, a lobby with hardwood floors and a round mahogany table in the center and a vase with a mixed bouquet. The place smells like stuffy perfume. It’s quieter in here than out there.

  I find the Cole sisters sitting close on a bench with fluffy silver pillows. Libby’s got her arm around her sister. Both women look at me. Their resemblance is striking when they make the same face with narrowed eyes and closed mouths. Neither are crying or red-faced. Instead, they are calmer than I expect.

  Libby looks up at me with a soothing note to her eyes. “Maren didn’t want to stay in there and bother Sara.”

  Maren looks at me but doesn’t speak. Her eyes are full of unshed tears and anguish. I want to run my hands over her face and tell her this isn’t a big deal. I can’t though. I can’t after our interaction earlier. “I have to meet her at the hospital,” I say. “Do either of you need anything?”

  “No,” Libby answers.

  Maren looks away, but not fast enough to hide the tear rolling down her cheek. My finger twitches, as if I wish I could wipe it away.

  Useless and clueless is what I feel. I’m quick to leave the restaurant and even faster getting in my SUV. My hands slide over the steering wheel and my head drops back. Whatever happened in there is a cold reminder for me to stay away. The incident at the art museum. Now this. I’ve been trying to keep my distance. Yet, she’s everywhere in my world and I have no clue what to do.

  I start the car and I drive to the hospital. Because that’s the perfect ending to this evening.

  I hate hospitals. I loathe the smell of sterile spaces and caffeine mixed together. The floors are so clean that they squeak. Nothing ever changes inside this place. Not even the protest of my stomach as I cross the floors to the check-in at guest services. The air in my lungs is thick and there’s a lump in my throat. I can never be here without thinking of Darcy. Darcy in her hospital bed. Her little head shiny an
d bald and the IV inserted in her arm. She’s holding her fluffy stuffed animal cat named Feathers. The doctors are telling us her latest round of treatment showed no signs of improvement. The counts aren’t what they should be. My heart hammering Where do we go from here?

  Dark, dark days.

  I stick the visitor sticker on my shirt and walk away from the desk, holding down a wave of emotion in my throat.

  Sara is in the middle of getting stitches when I arrive. She’s sitting in a hospital bed with a doctor working on her hand.

  “Caleb,” she says with a sour voice and a life-or-death expression. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “How’s the hand?” I nod at her right limb. “You going to survive?”

  The doctor looks up. He’s younger than me and wears clear braces. “She’ll be back to playing tennis in a month.”

  “I won’t be able to type,” Sara complains. “How will I write? How will I do anything with my right hand?”

  Something inappropriate comes to mind about her hand and I withhold comment. I walk around to the chair next to a big machine with lights that makes a hissing sound. “What happened between you and Maren?”

  “I was on my phone and the bartender put out two glasses of wine. I must have picked up hers because next thing I know, she’s grabbing it out of my hand. She pushed it towards me instead of away and the glass hit the counter and landed on my wrist. At the same time, she reached over and knocked the other glass out of my hand. The glasses broke and wedged into my skin. Right above my vein.”

  The doctor nods as if to confirm. “You’re lucky it didn’t cut any closer.”

  “Sounds like an accident,” I say.

  Sara shakes her head. “It wasn’t. She did this on purpose. I know she hates me.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “You don’t think she knows what she’s doing? I’ve seen the way she looks at you. I’ve thought about pressing charges. I won’t, but I want to. I’m so mad.”

  The doctor pulls a string through and tugs.

  “Ow.” Sara sits up fast and pounds her good hand on the bed.

  “We’re all done,” he responds with enthusiasm. “We’ll get you bandaged and on your way. I’ll prescribe Vicodin for the pain. You’ll need to have the stitches removed in ten days.”

  I wait for Sara to get her hand wrapped in gauze and discharged. I drive her to her condo. The whole way there she relives the scene five times.

  “Will you stay tonight?” she asks and hands me her house keys.

  “I can’t.” I unlock her door and help her inside.

  “Will you at least come inside?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  Sara’s house is overflowing with white and pale blue color combinations. She walks over to the kitchen and leans against the counter. “Why won’t you stay?”

  “The Paul Pierce case. She’s sending over files I need to look through.” I get her a glass of water and help lower her onto the couch.

  She gives me the evil eye. “You can work tomorrow.”

  “Not this time. I need all the time I can get.” I situate a blanket around her. “You good?”

  “No, I’m not good. What are we doing? Because you’re different lately. I want six-months ago Caleb. You’re avoiding me at the office and you never want to go out. I hope this isn’t about me suggesting I leave a few items at your place. Forget I asked, okay?”

  “It’s not about that.”

  “Am I even your girlfriend?”

  The answer is a swift kick to the gut. “No.”

  Her lips clamp together. “I see. Will you at least tell me what changed?”

  “I’m not interested anymore.”

  “Thanks for not sugar coating it.”

  “That’s what you asked of me in the beginning. To be straight with you. Don’t get mad at me for answering honestly.”

  “I thought we covered this. I want more than the rules you put on this relationship. I want you and it kills me that you haven’t thought about us differently. You still see us as nothing more than sleeping buddies and going out to eat.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “I’m sad, Caleb. No, I’m crushed. You mean so much to me. I want you. You want me.”

  How many ways can a person say the word no? “Not anymore.”

  “Is there someone else?”

  “No.”

  “Get out, Caleb. Just get out of here.”

  Chapter 9

  Maren

  I see my world through a mind that has no filter. There’s the black, the white, and all the other colors. There’s the noise. The lights. Sometimes all those connections get overloaded. That’s what happened with the wine glass incident. I thought Sara had taken my glass, but she wouldn’t listen. She was bleeding and in pain. She had screamed and everyone in that room was watching. One second, I’m reaching for a refill, and the next, she’s bleeding. I got overloaded.

  News reaches us in the morning that Sara is fine. She’s got stitches and pain medication.

  I hope this blows over and we can move on. Libby hasn’t said much, which I take as a bad sign.

  Jogging is more important than ever. My outlet time is essential. The hour is early. The streets are empty from the clutter of cars. The sidewalks are clear, and the paths, vacant except for the other die-hard joggers. The smell of asphalt, clean after the rain is invigorating. Leaves twirl from the branches like flecks of gold and green. The noise in my brain fades until there’s just my breath. Just the beat of my heart. Just the calm.

  The path curves in front of me and my mind pictures the City Walker App and the boots clomping all over the streets. How many streets are in Arlington? How many of them end? Which ones become other streets? I’ll get my map out when I’m home. Maybe I’ll buy a new atlas. A lazy glance towards my bench and I see a man is taking up my spot. His head is bowed and he’s fixating on his shoe. Wait a sec…is this Caleb?

  I decrease from a run to a walk and approach. Sweat trickles down the sides of my face and my breaths are jagged. The fronts of my sneakers touch his. Caleb looks up. “Hi,” I say, standing on knees that feel suddenly weak and this great warmth tumbling through me. He brings it out in me. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t ignore the reaction.

  “Maren,” he says, leaning back and stretching out his arm. “A bit early even for you.”

  “I woke up with a lot of energy and nothing to do.”

  “That’s…articulate.”

  “Thank you.” I don’t immediately sit down or offer for him to run. Not after how upset he got at the party when I had touched his hand.

  He sands his hands together. “Listen, about Libby’s party—”

  “I hope you showed up to apologize.”

  He sits up straighter and lets his elbows rest on his knees. “I—”

  I begin to jog in place. My muscles are loose, and my hands are so damn fidgety. “What if I’ve demanded something that I have no right to ask? Never mind. I need to get started.”

  Caleb is up and off the bench. “You absolutely can demand that.”

  “I can?”

  “Yes.” He grins and grabs my shoulder. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I was rude to you. You’ve done nothing wrong. I haven’t been myself lately.” He shakes his head and exhales slowly. “There’s a lot going on at work.”

  “I know you’re busy and you’re important, but you said you were talking to me because no one else would. Don’t worry, I’m aware of that every time I’m in one of those situations.” I sit down and clamp my hands beneath my legs to control my body. I’m nervous and uncertain, great.

  “Maren, I’m so sorry. I know you feel it. You’re right. Can we forget what I said?”

  “Yes, already. I’m not good with apologies either, let’s move on.”

  “Like that? So easy?”

  “I prefer we didn’t ruin this moment with over-apologizing.”

  He nods with a grin. “Are you ready for Libby to
be gone and have the city to yourself?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you ready to go crazy with your new independence?”

  “No, I’ll follow the rules.”

  He frowns and nudges my arm. “You’re disappointing me.”

  “Am I?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Oh. Yeah. You’re kidding.”

  “What do you really think about living by yourself?”

  “Everyone keeps asking me this question and I don’t have an answer. What if it goes bad? What if I mess up and I ruin it for Libby? For me? The whole thing could go to shit and I’d be to blame.”

  “Look at me, Maren.”

  When my gaze meets his, I’m confronted with the austerity of his eyes, like he has everything in this life figured out. I could use some of that. “I never want to look away from your eyes.”

  He winces. “You what?”

  “You’re so sure of yourself.”

  “Not all the time. But don’t let anyone know. What you should be thinking about is how you will live on your own. You can do this.”

  My hand reaches between us and my palm turns upwards. “How do you know?”

  “I just do. I’ll help you.”

  “How?”

  “I have no idea. I just will.”

  “Libby makes me dinner every night.”

  “No chance I’ll do that for you. You should make breakfast, lunch, and dinner on your own. If you want to survive, you have to live like you have no safety net.”

  A giant, wide net comes to mine. Kind of like a hammock. I scoot closer to him allowing my legs to bump against his thighs. I feel relaxed like this. With him. “Do you have a roommate?”

  “No.”

  “Do you like living alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t prefer to have someone to share your space? I know Libby and I didn’t live in the same apartment, but we might as well have with how much we were over at each other’s place.”

  “I used to live with someone, two people actually.”

  “Where are they now?”

  Caleb’s fist shoots to his mouth and he coughs. “They’re somewhere else. One of them moved out and the other passed away.”

  “I’m not sure what to say to that.”