Page 277 of Love in Riverbend
After locking the door, I allow myself the breakdown I was trying to temper in the car. With my back against the door, I slide to the floor. My overnight bag and purse are at my side as I pull my knees to my chest and lower my forehead.
“The hell with him,” I tell myself.
Reaching for my phone, I want to call someone who will understand. I realize I can’t call Devan. She has enough to worry about, and in the depths of my soul, I don’t want to call Jill and admit I was wrong about Ricky, that he played me again. More tears come as memories of the last few weeks replay in my mind.
“Stupid.”
I was an idiot to trust him, to put my faith in him.
Digging my phone from my purse, I hold out hope that maybe he called or messaged. I don’t know if I’d return his call, but…
The only message on my phone is from my mom, telling me to drive safely and let her know when I arrive. Yes, I’m a twenty-five-year-old woman who still texts her mother. I send the text message.
* * *
Home safe, Mom. Good night.
* * *
Turning off my phone, I go on a search for ice cream or wine, something to eat or drink with my bath.
Chapter 30
Ricky
A life.
A job.
A girlfriend.
As I stare at the bedroom ceiling through the dark, I go through that list. Life—postponed. Job—gone. Girlfriend—gone. Rolling for the hundredth time, I punch the pillow into submission and groan.
It isn’t that Marilyn and I had been a couple for long, but from the first dinner, we had a familiarity that made things seem comfortable. In a Venn diagram, our overlapping knowledge and backgrounds left little to be new. Over the years, I’d grown used to her smart and sassy comments. In the last few weeks, I came to recognize her wit and the depth of her devotion.
A look at the clock tells me it’s only three in the morning. Nevertheless, I don’t foresee sleep in my future. Last night, after Marilyn left, I yearned to call Justin. I don’t know what I wanted him to say, whether it was to say he understood why I pushed her away, or maybe I wanted to hear someone confirm that I treated her wrong and I needed to make it right.
Justin wasn’t and isn’t an option.
I say a prayer of thanks to the higher being that he is an option. Mom and I talked about what could have happened if the baler had fallen on his spine. While he is alive, the last thing he needs is to hear about my love life, or the lack thereof.
The idea of going to the diner in another few hours sparks my interest. It will be nice to see the gang of men. Today’s Saturday during the winter. The table should be full.
What do I say if someone mentions Marilyn?
Do I admit I did what I never wanted to do—that I hurt her again?
Again would insinuate a first time, and they don’t need to know about that.
The possibility of breakfast with the guys loses its luster.
Turning on the light next to the bed, I reach for my phone.
Marilyn said I had messages from the partners, but I haven’t had the stomach to listen to them. No time like the present.
Sitting with my back against the headboard, I pull up my voice mails.
There are three from Parker and Stevens. I click on the first and listen.
