Page 121 of For Eva

“I’m so sorry,” I managed, my mouth thick and dry. “I, uh…I’m just a nervous flier.”

The older man next to me took that as his cue to touch my hand and offer up the usual statistics on dying in a car accident versus a plane crash.

I gave him a weak smile and moved my trembling hand away as I closed the magazine. “I’ll be fine once we get in the air.”

“Maybe some water would help?” she asked, her expression still troubled.

“Water?”My aisle mate scoffed. “Get her a glass of champagne. It’ll help the nerves. And I’ll take a scotch.”

The attendant’s wide eyes moved between us like a metronome.

“Water, please,” I insisted.

The man balked, and I wanted to kick him…punch him…anything to make him hurt half as badly as I did. Instead, I opened the magazine, my heartbeat pulsing in my fingertips as I turned to page twenty-one.

Who’s that Girl?

Twice in one week!Singer Eric Stratton, 44, was spotted cozying up to an unidentified woman at a West Hollywood Starbucks on Monday, March 30th. The two were seen holding hands in a secluded booth before heading outside, where Stratton hugged the mystery woman as they parted. Later that week, they dined at James’ Beach in Venice with friends, after which they appeared to leave together. Could it be the beginning of a new romance for the sexy bachelor?

There were several pictures of them—her smiling as he held her hand across the table, his arms around her slight frame, the two of them laughing at dinner. She was young and petite, with long auburn hair and a sleeve of tattoos.

Would it hurt less if she was blond…if she was my age…if she had two kids at home?

He didn’t love me after all. At least not like I loved him. Maybe hehad, but I’d been too afraid to admit what I was feeling, and he’d moved on. He thought I was just flying to LA to visit Denise, and we’d have a friendly dinner where maybe he’d tell me about his new relationship. And could I blame him? The last time I’d seen him, I’d sent him off with a hug and a pat on the arm.

Stupid. I’ve been so stupid.

I let the pages fall back into place, stuffed the magazine behind the others in the seat pocket, and pressed my head against the window. My tears blurred the outside world as it sank into the very core of me that I’d lost the missing piece of my puzzle once again.

“Hi,” Denise sang as she opened the front door and flung her arms around me before I even had a chance to enter the house. I tried to lift my own arms to hug her, but they fell limply at my sides.

She stepped back and squeezed my hands, her smile dissolving as she studied my face. I didn’t have to look into a mirror to know it was blotchy and streaked with mascara.

I’d somehow managed to hold it together on the plane, allowing a few tears to escape once the man sitting beside me finally passed out from his multiple scotches. But I’d spent the forty-five minute drive to Denise’s curled up in the third row of the black Suburban, using my purse to muffle my sobs in hopes the car service driver wouldn’t think I was in danger of having a complete mental breakdown in the middle of the 405. Based on the sympathetic smiles he gave me as he retrieved my luggage from the trunk, I hadn’t fooled him.

“Hi,” I choked out, flipping my sunglasses on top of my head.

Denise released my hands, allowing me to trudge inside with my suitcase. I dropped both it and my purse beside me and stood like a zombie in the middle of the foyer.

“What’s going on, Eva?” Denise’s chipper tone quickly turned panicked as she shut the door and scurried over to me. “What happened?”

“Can I sit?” I asked, my voice soft and slow.

Without hesitation, Denise nodded and started toward the living room, motioning for me to follow. But I had already taken a seat in the middle of the floor.

“Jesus Christ.” She hurried back to me after she realized I wasn’t going to make it to the sofa and sat down cross-legged in front of me. “I’m freaking out here, Eva. You have to tell me what’s going on.”

I sniffed and pulled the magazine out of my purse, placing it on the floor between us.

Denise’s forehead wrinkled as she picked it up. “What’s this?”

“Turn to page twenty-one.”

She hesitated but did as I asked. “Okay, let’s see. It says here that Jennifer Aniston may never find love again.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Thisis why you’re upset?”

I shook my head. “Farther down.”

She scanned the page, her eyes widening as she lifted her gaze to me. “But I don’t…It can’t…”

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