Page 3 of Parker
Back at the reception desk, he tries again.
“Do you remember your address?”
“Yes,” I reply, my voice meek. “Sixteen Thorn Street. I’m currently staying with a friend, Sophie Warren.” He nods but doesn’t pass comment.
“Do you have someone we can call to come and collect you?” the officer asks.
“No, she’s out of town,” I lie. “I’ll get the bus.”
He frowns. “I’m sorry, Ms. Smith, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable letting you leave on your own. Who’s your next of kin? Give me your date of birth, and I’ll pull someone from your records.”
I close my eyes and exhale through my nose. Defeat. There is no more fight left in me, so I tell him and wait for another wave of humiliation to come crashing down.
“Take a seat, Ms. Smith. Someone will be with you shortly.”
I sit on the sticky plastic chair waiting for my mother to arrive. She is going to be furious again. We haven’t spoken in a long time. As I sit twiddling my thumbs, I imagine how she will react. My heart sinks further toward my toes. How could you embarrass the family again? Do you never learn?
The clock on the wall ticks slowly, the second hand circling the face. I pretend to read some of the stack of magazines leftby previous attendees, but none of the topics pique my interest, and most are at least a year out of date. I’m lost, staring at an unknown green splatter on the wall when he arrives.
“Nicky.” A familiar voice cuts through the buzz in my head. The hatred rolling around, shattering my confidence further with each word. I look up, and there he is. Joel. My now ex-husband, standing in the station like he still has the right to come save me.
“What the hell have you been doing?” he asks, his voice low but terse. “I got a call from the police at work. You can imagine how that played out with management.”
His mother, I think instantly. Of course, she knew before I even sobered up. She’ll love this.
“You mean your mother?” The words leave my mouth like broken glass. He flinches, just slightly. “You didn’t come to the courthouse this morning,” I state, steering the conversation away from that woman. Away from anywhere but here.
“No,” he says. “I didn’t need to. The divorce was a done deal. You didn’t need to be there either.”
“Maybe I did.” My voice is shrill with nerves and fury; it echoes off the blank walls. People in the waiting area gawk at us, but I don’t care. “Maybe I needed to see it end with my own eyes. I needed to know I didn’t imagine the whole damn thing falling apart.”
Because if I imagined the collapse, maybe I imagined the love too. That is too much to accept.
He sighs before offering me his hand.
“I’m not here to fight, Nicky. Sophie’s waiting for you at home. It’s been a tough day.” He pauses as if he wants to say more but changes his mind. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
He leads me away from the watching officers. They each nod to him as he passes. Joel looks completely in control here, not as if he was collecting his errant ex-wife from behind bars. SergeantReid meets us at the elevator that will take us down to the parking garage below.
“Good day, Mr. Parker,” she says, her tone professional. “Is there anything I can help with today?” My eyes slide toward him. He smiles warmly at the officer as if he knows her, which he obviously does.
“Not today, Sergeant Reid. I’ve collected what I came for.”
As we step into the elevator, only the two of us, I want to tell him it wasn’t just the alcohol. There was a part of me that knew what I was doing and didn’t care. The part that thought maybe if I blacked out hard enough, I’d stop missing him. That scares me more than anything, the way I let it all go, like nothing ever mattered. That if I drank enough, this would all be a dream.
***
Sophie stirs her English tea; the silver spoon clinks on the porcelain rim as she does. She’s always been particular about her cups: delicate floral patterns, gold-edged plates, like something out of a Victorian parlor. For someone so modern, her apartment is a shrine to an era long gone. It shouldn’t suit her, but somehow it does.
“Are you sure you don’t want a cup?” she asks again, gentle but firm. “It doesn’t matter how long you stare at the door, Nicky. He’s not coming back.”
Her pale-blue eyes meet mine briefly before dropping back to her tea.
“I’m sorry if I ruined your plans for tonight,” I mumble, guilt already burning in my chest. The nausea creeping up my throat. “Were you going out?”
“It was just a date. Nothing important.”
She glances away, and that’s when I really notice her. Hair perfectly styled. More makeup than usual. She’s wearing hercomfy pajamas now, but I saw the red silk dress, the one she only brings out when it means something, folded across the back of the couch.
