Page 71 of The Hundred Loves of Juliet
“I told you, Chrissy was just picking up a paper clip from the floor!”
“You are unbelievable, do you know that?” I’m seething now. I’m surprised my anger isn’t hot enough to melt the snow on the porch roof and the front walkway, and hell, all of Ryba Harbor. I swear the snow on the banister starts to steam a little, though. “We’re done here, Merrick.”
“No, Helene. I booked the first flight up here as soon as the airport reopened, and I drove a shitty-ass tin can of a rental car to this godforsaken town in order to retrieve you, so I willnotleave until you get your suitcases and get in that car!”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sebastien, still respectfully keeping his distance. I nod at him, and he approaches at the same time I say, “Merrick, you can boss your writers around and you can convince your interns that your dick is worth sucking, but I neither work for you nor am I susceptible to your charm or your manipulations anymore. So when I say that we’re done here, it means we’re done. You need to go.”
“Make me,” Merrick says, glaring at me while settling deeper into the rocking chair.
“Is that a challenge?” Sebastien says, taking all four front steps in one stride.
I cross my arms and look at Merrick. “Sebastien can lift youandthat chair into the back of his truck and dump you at the curb at the airport if that’s what you want. Although you’ll probably get charged overage if you don’t return your rental car, and I hear the fees are pretty hefty.”
Merrick and Sebastien stare each other down for a minute. But while Merrick has plenty of swagger, he’s not stupid, and he knows when he’s outmatched.
Still, he has to get the last word as he rises from the rocking chair and retreats down the walkway. “I tried to be nice, Helene, but if you want war, I’ll give you war. I’ve got the top Beverly Hills divorce lawyer on retainer, and that’s only the beginning. You’ll rue the day you met me.”
“I already rue the day I met you,” I mutter.
“Your plane ticket home is on the rocking chair. Nonrefundable, so don’t think about trying to cancel it to get money out of it. That ticket’s your last chance before I destroy you.”
He gets into his car and slams the door. The rental labors to start, and for a moment, I’m horrified that we’ll have to give him a ride. But then the engine turns over, and Merrick skids out of the driveway, tearing out of Ryba Harbor like he’s a race car driver with a serious Napoleon complex.
“Hey,” Sebastien says softly. “You okay?”
“Yes. And no.”
He opens his arms to me, and even though I’d resisted him before, I need a place to be safe now, and I collapse into his embrace. Because I don’t know what I’m going to do with no money, no credit cards, and no place to stay.
—
I can pretend that thenext thing I do is walk calmly and quietly into my kitchen, plate some leftover cake, and rationally think through what just happened.
What really happens, though, is I lose my shit as soon as I step inside the cottage. “How can he do this to me?” I yell as I yank open poor Reginald the Refrigerator’s door.
“I’m sorry, Helene,” Sebastien says, hanging back a few feet so he doesn’t get caught in the crossfire of me with half a chocolate cake in one hand and a knife in the other.
“How could I have been married to that asshole for so long? How did I not realize what he was?”
“It’s not your fault,” Sebastien says as he carefully takes the knife and cake from me. “People change. Merrick probably wasn’t like this when you first met him.”
“Still! How could anyone be that evil?” I flop down onto a barstool and stuff my hands into my hair.
I keep swearing and banging my fist on the counter. Sebastien puts the knife away, finds a fork, and slides the cake to me without taking any for himself. He knows intuitively that what I need right now is an entire half of a chocolate cake and space to bash out my fury. Or maybe it’s not intuition, but lifetimes of collected knowledge. Either way, I’m grateful.
When the cake is demolished—partly eaten, partly jabbed at until it’s a mess of crumbs—I’m finally pacified enough to speak again. “I should call the bank and see what’s going on with my account.”
“Good idea. I’ll clean up while you’re doing that.” Sebastien starts wiping up my cake massacre.
I go into the bedroom and dial Sunnyside Bank of Southern California. After several minutes getting lost in their call menu and then a while on hold, I’m connected to a service rep. I quickly explain my situation.
“Okay, let me look into that for you,” Linnea, the bank rep, says.
I can hear her clucking her tongue on the other end of the line. It doesn’t give me much confidence.
“All right, Ms. Janssen. What I see here is that a freeze has been put on this checking account by the other joint holder, Mr. Sauer.”
“Yes, I know. I’d like to lift the freeze.”
