Feels Like Falling Read online

  She gasped. “Oh my God. Is that what’s wrong with your face? Did he hit you?”

  I put my hand up to my swollen jaw. I put on my best sad face and looked nervously down at the ground. “I don’t want to talk about it.” There. I hadn’t lied, per se.

  She gasped again, and I could see her eyes softening. I knew I had to make a connection with her now to seal the deal. “Having a hard time with your daddy?”

  She shook her head. “I love him to death, but ever since my mom died, it’s like he doesn’t know how to talk to me. Sometimes he’s way too distant, and other times the man needs to butt out.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean, I’m not five years old. It’s my divorce. My kid.” She laughed. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I have no idea why I’m telling you all this. Why don’t you give me your number, and I’ll go talk to Bill and see what we can do about making this right.”

  I had her right where I wanted her.

  We exchanged information, and she said, “Again, I really am so terribly sorry. I never would have gotten you in trouble on purpose.”

  “Oh, I know you’ll make it right,” I said, starting to feel a little guilty myself. It wasn’t really Gray’s fault. But, again, survival of the fittest—or the sneakiest. When you grew up like me, you had to be both. “That job was all I had,” I added. “It was my pride and my independence and my self-worth all rolled into one. It was my never having to depend on anybody else to take care of me.”

  Her face changed as I said that. She looked at me. I mean, really looked at me. Something flashed in her blue eyes as they met mine, and a powerful understanding zapped between us. I knew then that maybe I had been all wrong about how easy this girl had it. I knew she was going to help. And I realized that I wasn’t just saying that job was all I had. I might have been manipulating her, sure. But it startled me to learn that I meant it.

  CHAPTER 3

  gray: decent human being stuff

  “Yeah, it really was not what I needed,” I was saying to my assistant, Trey, as I drove through town toward the pharmacy, his voice blaring over the Bluetooth. “But, I mean, good Lord, I got the woman fired.”

  I thought of Diana sitting on my front steps saying that her job was part of her identity. I knew how that felt, because my job was a huge part of mine. And he was trying to take it.

  Diana had lines around her mouth, probably from years of smoking, but that was the only thing that betrayed that she was aging. Thick, wavy chestnut hair, bright green eyes, tanned skin that didn’t need a speck of makeup. Toned, shapely legs under her jean shorts. Her oversize T-shirt wasn’t doing her trim figure any favors, but she was a very attractive woman. I wondered how old she was. Probably in her late thirties, if I had to guess. Although, admittedly, I was bad at telling ages. I thought of Andrew and smiled.

  “All I’m saying is that this is one of the biggest accounts of your career,” Trey said. “I need you to focus right now, not save the world.”

  “Trying to get Bill to give Diana her job back when I got her fired isn’t necessarily an act of great love or anything. It’s more like decent human being stuff.”

  He sighed. “Whatever. I know you insist on working from the beach in the summers, but I feel like we need to be face-to-face to tackle everything we have going on right now.”

  I laughed. “Yeah. Okay. I’m not buying that, but come on down.”

  “Yes!” he said. “I’ll be there. Also, Miraval just sent a case of rosé as a thank-you, so I’ll see if I can sneak that down too.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said. Trey could play me like no other. And he was working his magic now to get a free summer at the beach. But, truth be told, I would be happy to have him. He was the perfect antidote to Wagner’s being gone.

  “Okay,” I said. “Type, please.”

  “Typing!”

  “Dear Heather, I understand that you believe your affiliate marketing needs are being met by ConsumerMart. But I have gathered four of our top influencers—all of whom sell more than five hundred thousand dollars per year of merchandise for their top five affiliates—to let you know why they use ClickMarket instead of a competitor. Because, you see, our increased functionality doesn’t just help you on the corporate end. It also helps influencers find you and sell your products more easily, and incentivizes them to sell your brand over all the others.”

  “That’s perfect,” Trey said. “Now insert one of your signature emotional response pleas and this one is good to go.”

  “What did I say to Eliza from HomeGoods last week?”

  I turned left into the parking lot and felt the sun on my face. Part of me thought I must be crazy for trying to work from the beach for the summer—especially now that I wouldn’t be able to spend much of it with Wagner—but another part of me knew that if I didn’t get a break from the eighty-hour weeks and constant connectedness, I would totally burn out. Even though I was still working like a dog, I felt infinitely more centered with a daily dose of sun and sand.

  Trey interrupted my introspection, rattling off: “ ‘At ClickMarket, we don’t just specialize in top-tier affiliate marketing. We specialize in relationships, in putting brands and influencers into partnerships that don’t just make sales. They change the story. Let us help you change the HomeGoods story.’ ”

  Not bad. “Don’t forget to change HomeGoods to Glitter,” I said.

  Trey sighed dramatically. “Is this my first day, Miss Priss? I think not.”

  God, I loved him. Sometimes I had nightmares about his quitting, and without fail I’d wake up in a cold sweat.

  “I just arrived at the pharmacy,” I said. “Got to go save a woman’s job. Kiss kiss.” This, unfortunately, wasn’t something Trey could handle for me.

  “I’ll be there tonight!”

  “Oh, yay,” I said with feigned sarcasm. We liked to give each other a hard time, but really, I couldn’t have been more relieved.

  When I walked into Meds and More, an arctic blast of air-conditioning gave me goose bumps.

  “Is Bill here?” I asked the girl behind the counter.

  She nodded. “I’ll page him.”

  A few minutes later, while I was absentmindedly reading yet another headline about Jennifer Aniston—couldn’t they leave the poor woman alone?—Bill appeared, and I wondered, as always, if he colored his hair that particular shade of brassy blond. I had known Bill and his wife, Sharon, for at least ten years. We made a point of going out to dinner together at least once a summer. They were a good bit older than Greg and me, but down here, everyone was friends with people of all ages. It made things so much more interesting.

  As Bill’s face came into view, it almost took my breath away. I mean, literally. My chest constricted, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Our couples’ dinners with Bill and Sharon were over. My marriage was over. Oh my God. I was over. For nine years I had been Greg’s wife; we had been part of a pair. We had been a family. What would become of me now? It hit me so hard sometimes, in unexpected moments like these. Everything was normal; everything was fine. Until it wasn’t. I bit my lip and looked away as tears came to my eyes, mortified at the quiet scene I was making. I had been on the verge of tears all day over Wagner’s leaving, and this put me over the edge.

  Bill winked at me and, as if reading my mind, said, “Don’t think you can get out of dinner just because you had the good sense to drop that deadweight.” He put his arm around me and squeezed me to him sideways. “I promise you, Gray, you’re better off.”

  People said this kind of stuff all the time, and sometimes I could even say it to myself. But it didn’t take away the shame. I had failed. Our marriage hadn’t been perfect. Hell, even I knew it wasn’t all Greg’s fault. Yeah, he had cheated and he had been jealous of my success, but I had been too wrapped up in work and Wagner. I had been overly stressed. I had let my marriage fail. It was a hard pill to swallow, and the realization furthered that deep, dark, scary thought that I didn’t deserve to be with anyone else. I didn’
t deserve to be happy.

  I nodded, a little teary from Bill’s kindness. “Thanks, Bill. I’ll look forward to it.”

  The older man squeezed my shoulder. “What can I do for you, Ms. Gray?”

  I was so glad he didn’t say, “Ms. Howard.” Because I wasn’t. Or maybe I was, but only in name. In my heart, Howard didn’t belong to me anymore.

  I shook my head. “I feel horrible.”

  “Why?”

  “I got Diana Harrington fired.”

  He chuckled. “Oh, honey, no way. She was terrible at her job, just terrible. She was always getting orders mixed up and pictures cropped wrong and jamming the machine. You were my scapegoat.”

  I was relieved, but also a little miffed that I’d come out here to do the right thing only to find that Diana had the story all wrong. I would call and tell her that I tried to set things straight, but it wasn’t my fault she got fired after all. “You promise?”

  “Oh yeah. She had a file as thick as my forearm of infractions and complaints. It’s a shame, though.” He looked down at the floor and shook his head.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Oh, we go way back with Diana. She cleaned our house for ten years before she went to work at the factory. Kept our kids. Hell, half raised them. Then when the factory shut down, I hired her to work for me. But she’s always been tough. She’ll figure it out.” He shrugged.

  I nodded, feeling another tug of guilt. Whether it was my fault or not, here was a good, decent woman out of work. It put my ClickMarket woes in perspective. Whether I got to keep all my company or not, I wasn’t in danger of being hungry or out on the street. I thought of my parents, of how hard they had worked to make ends meet, of how many years they had lived paycheck to paycheck when my mom had been too depressed to go to work after my brother died, when the anxiety that, if she wasn’t the one taking care of Quinn and me, we would die too had kept her tethered to home and to us. I never wanted to live like that. I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t. I had thought, very naïvely, that money could protect me. It had taken me until now to realize that it couldn’t.

  My phone buzzed in my hand, and I looked down to find a text from Andrew. Can’t wait for next Friday. I promise, I’m taking you somewhere no hoity-toity blue-blooded woman in her right mind would go.

  I smiled and looked back up at Bill. “Well, thanks. You’ve eased my mind. Glad I’m not responsible for putting some poor woman with a bunch of mouths to feed out of work.”

  “No. And Diana doesn’t have any kids anyway, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

  I nodded. “I guess I’ll see you around the club then.”

  “See you around.”

  I got back in my car and, determined not to let the memory of Greg ruin another day, penned a sassy reply to Andrew: Where? Your house?

  Before I could even get out of the parking lot, he texted back: No way. All the ladies want to come to my house.

  I laughed and raised my arm out of the top of my midlife-crisis convertible to feel the warm wind as it rushed by, the gems in my bangles sparkling as the sun hit them, my chest opening back up, my panic from only minutes earlier dissipating out the roof as my hair blew behind me. I had, like, five errands to run. Trey was right. I really did kind of need him down here. I thought about calling Diana, but when I thought about having to tell her that I wasn’t the reason she got fired I felt sick to my stomach. I could always call her tomorrow. Or have Trey call her.… No. This was something I had to take care of on my own.

  diana: spilt milk and spoilt men

  Life is all about patterns. I do the same thing over and over, which is why I keep getting to the same places. I don’t mean that in some figurative way. I mean, literally, the same places.

  So I guess that’s the best explanation as to why I found myself steering the Impala back in the direction of that sorry excuse for a house I’d shared with Harry for eight years. Hell, I didn’t have anywhere else to go. Plus it was getting to be suppertime, and I was starting to worry that neither of us would have anything to eat. Maybe it’s because I never had any kids, but I sure treated Harry like one. Lord knows, he needed taking care of. But maybe he could get a job for a little bit to tide us over, and I wouldn’t have to worry quite so much about finding my next one. That sounded nice.

  As I turned into the driveway, it was like all my insides were annoyed as the devil at me coming back to this place, but I was feeling kind of happy too about seeing Harry and him apologizing and giving me one of those big, warm hugs that you sink into on account of him being all squishy and soft like a water balloon. It would feel right nice after the day I’d had.

  I opened the door and yelled, “Honey?”

  I didn’t get far because, standing in my kitchen at six in the evening, wearing nothing but one of Harry’s shirts, pouring batter from a ready-made Bisquick container into a skillet, was a redheaded woman. She was a big girl, probably Harry’s size, and at least five years older than me, just standing there barefoot with crooked toenails and thick ankles, looking at me like I was catching her off guard.

  Harry came out of the bedroom, whistling, wearing his boxers with that pale, hairy belly jiggling all over the place. He stopped short, looking shocked, and said, “Baby, you’re home! I thought you’d left for good this time.”

  I didn’t know what to say. He was standing there, red and puffing, a fish flopped on the shore. It took my breath away how hard it hurt my heart to see Harry with another woman. I guess when you’ve been with somebody such a long time you start to take them for granted. You forget how much you love those big hugs and hearing how beautiful you are and that somebody, anybody on the planet, loves you so much that they want to be better for you. It had taken me until right then, seeing Harry with this creature, flipping pancakes in what used to be my kitchen like she owned the damn place, to realize how much I needed him, how much he looked after me in ways that, yeah, weren’t quite like the ways I looked after him, but that still meant something. He soothed those inside parts of me, the parts that were made hard with not ever marrying or having any babies. He made them soft again, like pork fat in the crowder peas.

  Big Red, well, you could tell right off she wasn’t too bright. She said, “You want some pancakes? I can make more.”

  I wanted to be mad, but, hell, it wasn’t her fault. Not really Harry’s fault either, I guess. I mean, I walked out and that was that. And looking around my dingy kitchen, it still seemed like walking out was for the best.

  I finally got my wits back about me and said, “I thought I forgot some stuff, but I can come back later. It’s no big deal.”

  I turned, but Harry grabbed my arm. “Babe, wait. Please don’t go.”

  I started to pull away.

  “I know this looks real bad, but I love you. You’re the only woman for me. Please come back. We can get married. I’ll get a job and quit drinking and quit gambling. Hell, I’ll even try to get us a baby if you want. Just stay. Please.”

  His eyes were all teary and glossy, which I guess should’ve been sweet. But instead it made me see him as the sniveling little boy he’d always been. I’d loved him for eight years, but in that moment I knew it was time to move on for good. I needed a man.

  Big Red piped up, “Oh yeah, I wasn’t trying to come between nothin’. It was just kinda hot this afternoon, and I didn’t have nothin’ better to do. But I got to get home now anyhow on account of my husband’ll be out here with his shotgun looking for me if I don’t get back soon. He gets all suspicious when I say I’m going to the store and don’t come back for a while.”

  Harry looked startled, and I could tell he was realizing that his afternoon fling wasn’t a good idea. “Di, look, babe. Come on. You got to forgive me. Please. There ain’t no man on the planet who’s been as faithful and true to a woman as I have to you. This here was just me thinking you was gone for good and just trying to feel better, is all. It wasn’t nothing to do with me and you. You and me are perfect.”


  That made me laugh. “Honey,” I said, patting Harry on his freckly shoulder, “you and me, we’re a lot of things. But perfect is not one of them.” I shook my head, wondering why I had come back here at all. “I was making sure that you had some dinner. That was all. And it looks like Big Red’s got you all taken care of.” I raised my eyebrows.

  She padded over from the kitchen, chewing on a pancake, offering me the plate. “Name’s Ronda,” she said, “and I’m real sorry if I caused problems here. But I think there ain’t nothin’ can’t be solved with pancakes between friends.”

  With that, I turned before Harry could grab me again and was out the door before I lost my nerve. And where a minute ago, seeing the man I thought I loved with another woman had made me feel jealous, angry, and pained, now it made me see how pathetic Harry was all over again. Still parked in the yard, I opened my wallet to evaluate my options. I had sixty bucks, and I needed gas. I shut off the air and rolled down the three windows that still worked.

  I could always pay Charles a visit. Could I make it the seven hours to Asheville on sixty bucks’ worth of gas? Probably not.

  But Charles would help. I knew he would. So I called him, feeling grateful that I’d just paid my phone bill the day before. That meant they wouldn’t turn it off for at least a month and a half. I had become a master at juggling bills. Paying the electric enough to keep it on the day before it was turned off; learning that quite often they’d keep the cable on even if you canceled it; paying a dollar a month on medical bills. I wasn’t proud of it. But I was proud that I’d figured out how to survive.

  “Hey, Di,” he answered the phone, real friendly. Charles said that after what he’d seen growing up in foster care, he felt real happy to just be alive. And it showed. He always sounded like he didn’t have a care in the world, even though I knew he did.