Page 45 of Sinful Promises

“But what about your tour?”

“Roman can handle them until you send him help. He’s a good man, Bruce. You should look after him.”

“But what about next month?” Bruce shoved his hands through his thinning hair. “We have a full group coming.”

“I’m sorry. But the doctor told me my mother may not have long to live.”

Saying those words aloud was like casting the reality in stone. All of a sudden, there was a new clock ticking in my brain. I had to get to Mother.

“Can you please ensure all my vacation time is paid out? I really enjoyed working for Vacation Dreamz. Thank you.” I turned to stride from his office.

“Wait a minute,” Bruce bellowed. “Your phone. It belongs to us. Hand it over.”

Fuck! I hadn’t thought about that. I plucked my phone from my pocket and handed over my only lifeline to the rest of the world.

At reception, I told Tracy about Mother, and she came around the counter and gave me a hug. “Oh, Luv, I’m so sorry. How old is your mom?”

I blinked at her. “Fifty-four,” I lied. I had no idea how old my mother was. It was just another question in a growing list that I was going to ask her.

If I reached her in time.

I climbed back into the taxi and gave him my address.

By the time I’d reached my flat and had the harrowing conversation with Edna and Dave about my mother and my need to leave earlier than planned, I crawled into bed utterly exhausted.

The following days were a whirlwind. Top of my list was going to the closest phone shop and purchasing the cheapest one possible and buying a prepaid card.

I walked to the nearest park, sat on a bench seat overlooking a row of enormous oak trees, and rang the only phone number I’d ever memorized. Zali’s. “Hey, Zali, I’ve got a new phone.” I sounded about as gloomy as a funeral director.

“Oh, boy. Sounds like this’s gonna be interesting. Are you okay?”

“I quit my job and I’m going to Mother.” I blurted it out like a painful sneeze. “Oh, and I, I . . .” I fought the brick on my chest. “I left Roman.”

“Okay, slow down. First things first. Roman, what happened?”

I told her everything about our night at the cocktail bar and him getting drunk. “He asked me into his bed.”

“Oh, dear.”

“We didn’t have sex. It’s worse.”

“Worse?”

“He said he loved me.” Even saying it made me feel numb. And dumb. It was so ridiculous it was laughable. I started giggling. My giggling became full-blown laughter. Soon, I was laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe.

“Okay . . .” Zali said. “Hysterical laughter is one way of processing it.”

“Sorry.” I wiped tears from my eyes. “It’s just so stupid. I can’t believe it.”

“So, what happened?”

I told her about Roman and I spending the night, and how crazy good I’d felt. Then I said, “But when he woke in the morning and saw me, it was like I was a leper. He freaked out.”

“Asshole.”

“Yeah. He said he didn’t remember anything.”

After I explained what happened when I’d seen Roman again at the bus, I told her I’d come to the decision to quit work and go to Mother.

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