Page 45 of Where There's Smoke

I knew that sound all too well. Few other things could wake me up at—where the hell is that clock?—seven fifteen in the morning, and my heart sank even as I looked around to take in all the facts and make sure I hadn’t just heard it in my dreams.

The bedside light was on, and Simone wasn’t in bed. Craning my neck a little more revealed the bathroom door was closed, and slivers of light glowed at the top and bottom. As I scanned the room, Simone coughed again right about the time my eyes tracked to the platters—one covered, the other uncovered and mostly empty—on the table. When the toilet flushed, I closed my eyes and swore.

I didn’t know which was worse: when she ate and puked, or when she just didn’t eat at all. And if I said a word about it, she’d get defensive. Then she’d get angry like only Simone could, and she’d either eat less or puke more just for spite. Maybe the divorce made it worse, maybe pretending to stay married made it worse. Maybe both. The election sure as hell didn’t do her any good.

The bathroom door opened, and Simone startled when she saw me. Her cheeks colored, almost matching the redness in her eyes, which darted toward the platters. She was dressed in a pair of sweats and one of my old T-shirts, which hung much too loosely over her shoulders.

She casually took a seat at the table. “Enjoy your swim?”

“Yeah. Definitely needed it.” I pretended not to notice the subtle movements of her jaw as she chewed a piece of gum like she always did after one of her episodes. “How’d you know I went swimming?”

“You were stressed and out of bed at oh dark thirty.” She paused, then added with a weak smile, “And you smell like chlorine.” Before I could sayanything else, she gestured at the pair of platters beside her. “Room service came by while you were asleep. I wasn’t sure how long you’d be, so I already ate.”

I gritted my teeth. “I’ll get to it. Not quite hungry yet.”

“Well, don’t leave it,” she said with a hint of bitter humor. “God forbid the housekeepers see an untouched plate of food inthisroom.”

I rubbed my eyes, hoping she took the gesture as one of tiredness or a reaction to chlorine, not frustration. Couldn’t say I was all that hungry now. Not after a sleepless night in a room with the woman who’d just spent ten minutes using her digestive system to, if I knew her, rebel against all the stress I was dumping into her life. The guilt and helplessness were bad enough when Iwasn’tthe catalyst for her downward spirals.

I got up off the couch and sat across from her. My appetite was MIA, but I lifted the lid on the untouched platter. Better to eat than discuss food, because discussing it would lead to arguing about it, which would only make things worse.

At least breakfast was a strawberry-covered Belgian waffle. If anything involving eggs had been sitting there for any length of time, I might have had to risk housekeepers gossiping about an empty plate. This, I could deal with.

I poured myself some coffee, then started on the waffle.

Simone pulled her feet onto the chair and hugged her knees to her chest. “Can I ask you something?”

I shrugged as I cut a square off the corner of the lukewarm waffle with my fork. “What’s on your mind?”

She hugged her legs tighter to her chest, then tilted her head and rested her cheek on her knee. “Are you and Anthony, like…”

I narrowly avoided choking on the bite of waffle. Recovering quickly, I reached for my coffee and took a quick sip. “What?”

Her forehead creased. “Is there something going on between you two?”

“What… Why? What makes you think there is?”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Jess, I know you. Just…is there, or isn’t there?”

I set my fork down. Resting my elbows on the table, I clasped my fingers loosely together above the waffle I probably wasn’t going to finish. “We’re…um…”

She giggled softly and raised her head. “You know, I’ve never seen someone get you this tongue-tied. It’s cute.”

My cheeks burned, and I dropped my gaze. Suddenly interested in my breakfast again, I picked up my fork but didn’t get any farther than just picking at the barely touched waffle.

“I’m serious, Jess. And I…you know I won’t be mad.” A faint smile played at her lips. “I’d only be mad if you told me you’d taken up smoking.”

“Taken up smoking?” I furrowed my brow. Then I remembered the way she’d looked at me in the airport yesterday after she’d kissed me. After I’d kissed Anthony. After he’d had a cigarette. Fresh heat rushed into my cheeks, and I chuckled. “Okay, okay. Yeah, there is…I mean…” I gestured with my fork and shook my head. “Something going on, I guess.”

“Something? You guess?” Simone raised her head, and the faint smile turned into a tired smirk. “Well, is there or isn’t there?”

“I’m…not sure.” I sat back, tapping my fork against the plate. “Things are complicated.”

Her humor faded. “Because of us?”

“Yes and no. I mean, the election is the big one.” I sighed. “Kind of hard to find a moment’s privacy.”

She looked around the room and shrugged with one thin shoulder. “You could always bring him in here.” Her eyes darted toward me, and she winked. “I’ll leave you two alone for a while.”

---