Page 27 of Come Home to Me

Sarah

Frank accepts my apology via text on Saturday, but doesn’t press the issue about the pills. I’m both glad he knows things aren’t as easy for me as I like to pretend, and worried that him knowing will change the way he sees me.

Or rather, I know it’ll change the way he sees me and I’m afraid he’ll stop liking me now that he knows who I really am.

I know who I am and I barely like myself some days.

How can I expect anyone else to see what I see and feel any different?

Monday morning finds me at reception, bright and early. People greet me as they pass by on the way to their desks, most only pausing briefly to lift a hand, though a few stop to chat. Jason lingers longer than most and rolls his eyes as Bree struts by, her nose so far in the air we could see right up her nostrils if we cared enough to look.

After she passes, he leans over the desk to whisper, “I wouldn’t be surprised to find out she has a small herd of cats trapped in her apartment.”

“Right?” I ask, as my gaze darts over his shoulder in search of Frank. “Or that she dresses them up in silly outfits, gives them names like Sir Harry McMewerson, and meows conversations with them all evening long.”

Jason closes his eyes and inclines his head as he laughs lightly. “Exactly.” He drops a hand on my desk and straightens before heading down the hallway, still chuckling to himself.

Each time the elevator dings, my head lifts as if it has a mind of its own, a Pavlovian response if I’ve ever seen one. I shouldn’t be this eager for Frank to show up. I should play it way more cool than I am, but the truth of it is that I can’t wait to see him. I need to know where we stand. I need to know if he’s mad at me, if he’s going to talk to me after what happened this weekend. Just because he accepted my apology doesn’t mean he’s cool with what he knows.

The urge to pack up and run is so strong, it’s going to tear me apart. I don’t do this kind of ‘but what will he think of me’ bullshit. As soon as things get difficult, I walk away. Now that I can’t, now that I’m forced to stay here and confront the consequences of my actions, I have no earthly idea how to do such a thing.

The elevator dings and I hear him before I see him, his laughter announcing his presence, echoing down the halls and bringing a smile to my face even as worry spins in my stomach. I sit up in my seat, lift my chin, and square my shoulders, ready to greet him with a whopper of a hello, but two pairs of footsteps work their way around the corner. I pause when I recognize the other man is Brian Kent.

Mr. Kent stops and leans on my desk. “Good morning, Ms. Carmichael. By the sound of it, you’re acclimating well to life here at our little firm.” The way he says little tells me that word was carefully selected to appear humble. He knows what he’s built here and doesn’t believe it’s little for a second.

I manage to meet Frank’s eyes, who lifts a hand before walking straight past me, while I answer Mr. Kent’s question and subsequent small talk.

Yes, people here are treating me well.

No, I haven’t run into any problems.

Ha, ha, ha! Oh, Mr. Kent! That’s the funniest joke about the weather I’ve ever heard in my life!

By the time Mr. Kent leaves, it’s well past time for Frank to be hard at work, and try as I might, I can’t find a reason to stop by his office or be in the breakroom at the same time as him. What started out as a Monday full of potential slowly becomes an incredibly disappointing beginning to the week. Time ticks by and I’m no closer to knowing where Frank stands then I was when I arrived. I linger past five o’clock, hopeful to catch him on his way out, but after a while, I gather my things and head to the elevator, pausing only to glance down the hallway in the hopes I’ll find Frank heading my way.

No such luck.

I press the button, wait all by my lonesome, and step inside once the car arrives, watching dejectedly as the doors begin to close. Just before they shut completely, a hand shoots through and the doors reverse their path, revealing none other than Frank Wilde, whose face divulges nothing of what he’s thinking when he recognizes me as the lone occupant of the car.

“I was hoping I’d run into you,” he says as he steps inside. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

I search his face for signs of humor or manipulation and find none. “Me? Avoiding you? Right. Because I actually have a reason to pass by your office three times every two hours.” Heat warms my cheeks and I drop my eyes, suddenly embarrassed to admit how hard I tried to run into him today.

“About this morning…” Frank begins.

“Don’t even think about it. I understand.”

I’m less worried about this morning and more worried about this weekend. And now that he’s right here in front of me, I can’t bring myself to ask the questions that have been bothering me since we left the body shop. I keep telling myself to speak, but I stay quiet because I might not be ready to hear what he has to say.

Frank shifts and the space around him takes on a life of its own. “I don’t think you do understand. I like you, Sarah. I really do. And you scare the shit out of me because of how much I like you and how much I don’t know about you.” He steps closer to me. “And I’m irritated that I’d let something like what my boss thinks of us get in the way of figuring out what this is.” Frank leans in, his eyes on my lips. He trails his fingers along my jawline and up into my hair.

“I scare you?”

He nods. “A lot.”

“Why?” My heart thunders so loudly, I can’t catch my breath.

“Why do you think?”

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