Page 27 of A Man After Midnight

Caroline bit her lip and wondered why she felt the need to voice the jealousy clawing in her chest. “Your nobody approached me in the ladies’ room. Said you two had been engaged.”

“She’s right. Once upon a time, we were.”

“But no more?”

“Not for a long while.”

“I see.” Caroline’s mind raced, not wanting to believe the redhead but finding Wren’s words disturbing. She was half afraid to ask the next question. “Why is she here, then, in this hotel? Hundreds of hotels in Manhattan and she picks this one?”

“Caroline, you haven’t told me anything about your past relationship … why should I tell you about mine?” He replied in a rather bland voice and bridged his fingers to rest his chin on them as he stared at her.

She stared at him, trying to read the neutral expression on his face, but finding the wall he had thrown up impenetrable. Doubts tumbled through her mind, feelings she knew very well from her marriage to Greg. And she hated herself for remembering the shame that he had heaped on her, the pain and anger. Was Wren the same type of man?

Caroline scooted her chair back and stood. “Excuse me,” she mumbled as she hurried from the table toward the ladies’ room, her bag clutched tightly in her fingers.

In front of the bathroom mirror she looked at herself. Her forehead crinkled with a frown. Did the redhead still love him and this was the only time, when he was back in New York for the meeting, that she could see him? Was Caroline’s presence interfering with the redhead’s ability to be with him?

The thought was enough to make her almost gag.

Settling her shoulders squarely, she left the ladies’ room and walked back to the table. Wren stood up as she approached, but she held out a hand.

“I can’t do this,” Caroline told him softly.

“Can’t do what?”

“I can’t be the other woman, Wren.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He sounded so innocent, so perplexed. Her free hand curled into a fist, the nails biting deep. The pain kept the tears at bay.

“Is this about Leslie?” he demanded in a low voice.

“Is that her name? The redhead?”

“Sit down, Caroline.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. I don’t know your relationship with her, but even if she’s your ex-fiancée it’s clear she still loves you. I can’t do that to someone.”

Wren grabbed her arm. “I can assure you that Leslie does not love me. And I don’t love her. Stop trying to find an excuse to run away!”

Caroline broke his grip and took a step back. By this time people seated around them started to stare. “I have to go,” she muttered, turning and exiting through the densely packed tables.

He didn’t follow her. Once out of the romantically lit restaurant, restless energy filled her, so she headed down to the hotel’s piano bar. Melancholy music greeted her, welcoming her. She sat down at a table, the haunting strains of the piano surrounding her like a friend. A waitress came by and Caroline ordered a rum and coke, something bitter yet sweet to match her mood.

When she had found out about Greg’s affair, the memory of him denying it played over and over in her head like a mantra. Caroline remembered she had gotten up and started pacing. It was almost cosmic fate that the phone had rung at that moment and she answered it almost savagely.

“Caroline?” Greg had asked.

“I just had dinner with Winnie,” she told him.

“Really? How’s she doing?”

“She told me she met your girlfriend,” Caroline had answered in a clipped tone. “She told me when.”

He fell silent for a moment. “Oh,” was all he said.

Suddenly the dam broke and it became impossible to keep emotions at bay. “You lied to me! I asked you to your face and you fucking lied to me!”

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