Page 61 of Misadventures With My Fake Fiancé

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“Are you going to be okay?” Goldie asked, concern lacing her words. We were in the clown car on our way to the airport. She drove. Like a New York taxi driver. Every turn was taken at the same speed as a straightaway. Fast. I held onto the oh shit bar and had my foot pressed to the floor on my imaginary brake.

“I'm numb at the moment.” I was numb on the inside, but frantic we were going to have a close encounter of the animal kind. The clown car didn't stand a chance next to Bullwinkle popping out of the woods.

“Why is it you're leaving today? I missed the whole 'abandon ship' scenario.”

I gripped the bar above the door tighter and squeezed my eyes shut as we plowed through a yellow light. “Mike's taking a job in New York. Watch that car!”

“Oh,” Goldie said, weaving around a slow car. I looked over at the driver, who promptly shared a lovely hand gesture. Nice. “I thought he was settled in Bozeman. He's got that lovely house and his practice is doing so well.”

“Yeah, well. He's searching for something he's never going to find.”

“Like a treasure?”

Goldie honked at a car that was going too slow on the road leading into the airport.

“No. More like a unicorn.”

“You should know this, Vi, but they don't exist.” She patted my leg.

“Exactly.” Oh god, she was driving one handed. Where were the cops when we needed to be pulled over?

“Okay. Weird, but okay.” Moving the car into the Drop Off lane, she put the car in park. Turned to look at me. “Why are you sweating? It's fifty degrees out.”

I frowned at her. I was sweating because my heart was at stroke point.

“What about the engagement, the baby?”

My finger felt light without the ring on it. I'd left it on the vanity in the bathroom where Mike wouldn't miss it. Would remember how it got snarled in his hair. As for the baby?—

“Mike got me into this mess. He can get me out. You can help him all you want. I'm done.”

Jane metme at the Bozeman airport twelve hours later. She stood alone in the waiting area and pulled me in for a hug. She didn't say anything. Of course, she'd spoken with Goldie and had all of the details. For once, I was glad Goldie blabbed. I didn't have to explain. I didn't have to talk. I didn't have to think. My mind had shut down somewhere over the Yukon.

“Let's get your bags.”

I nodded. “And a box of fish.” I was too tired to talk more. In fact, I fell asleep in Jane's car and woke with a start when she pulled up in front of my house.

“Need anything?” she asked softly.

“Sleep. Oh, by the way, Goldie has the gnome. She said she'd bring it back for Zach.”

Lugging my bags into my house, I waved to Jane. She tooted her horn and was off.

I was alone.

Home.

It was quiet, soothing. Ditching my suitcases at the door, I lugged the waxed shipping box of frozen salmon I'd caught in Hope into the kitchen, shoved the vacuum sealed packages—all prepared by my buddy Jubal—into the freezer. The dry ice that had kept things cold was practically gone, so I abandoned the container there on the floor. I peeled off my clothes on the way to my bedroom and collapsed, face first, on top of my bed. I didn't wake up until it was dark. Used to Alaska's lengthy daylight, I was completely confused. The bedside clock read ten. I'd slept the day away.

I got up for the bathroom, a drink of water. Checked my cell for calls. I'd slept so hard I wasn't sure if I'd missed anything. Nope. Nothing. Depressing. I pulled back the covers, climbed in and went back to sleep.

For two daysI didn't leave the house. I left my bags where I'd dumped them by the front door. I didn't shower, ate the random food I scrounged from my cabinets like olives and cheese and crackers. Canned soup. Watched bad TV. The phone didn't ring. I figured my mother would have called, but she either thought I was still in Alaska or Goldie had reached her and she was thankfully giving me some space. It was only a matter of time before I had to face reality.

It came in the form of my sister and Goldie at my door.

“All right. You've had two days to mope. Old Mr. Chalmers said nothing's been going on over here,” Goldie said to me. She wore hot pink shorts that came to just above her knees, a white T shirt that had Cheyenne Frontier Days written across the front and a pair of sparkling silver flip flops. Veronica was much more subdued in a short olive cargo skirt and black T-shirt. “Don't just stand there like an idiot. Let us in.”

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