Page 129 of Error Handling

I spin and head to my room. Mary jumps from her chair and runs after me. She gently grabs my arm. I turn to her. Tears are pouring down my cheeks now.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” she whispers. “Is there anything I can do? I can try to go after him.”

“Tell my mother to keep her big, fat insensitive mouth shut,” I growl.

“I can tell her to leave.”

I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m leaving.”

Mary’s expression turns sad. “I’m sorry. I understand. You go and find him. I’m sure you two can work things out.”

But I have no intention of finding him. It hadn’t even crossed my mind. The only thought that entered my mind while watching him leave wasit’s over. For good. I could see it in his eyes.

“Okay,” I say to end the conversation.

Mary lets go of me, and I charge up to my room and throw my clothes in my suitcase while tears blur my vision. I left a few things at my mom’s cottage, but I don’t care. I’m not setting foot in that place again.

When I return to the great room, Mary, Dad, and Mom are eating quietly. Mom stands.

“Sarah, please stay.” Behind her, the picture window is a blur of rain.

“Don’t talk to me,” I say coldly. I tame my anger for a moment. “Thanks for everything, Mary.”

Mary returns my comment with a soft smile. Tears rim her eyes. Dad’s looking at his plate.

I huff and make a beeline for the stairs, not bothering to say goodbye to my parents. When I exit the cottage, rain pounds against every horizontal surface. My car is still at Mom’s place. I curse under my breath and begin the short walk over there through buckets of downpour. She’ll have to hitch a ride with Dad to the airport or call an Uber. God forbid.

While I stomp through puddles, I realize I have no idea what I’m doing. I can’t go home. Chris’s fingerprints are all over my apartment. Everywhere I look, I’ll see his face. If I go home, I’ll fall into bed and not be able to get up from under the weight of reality. I could be bedbound for days.

When I finally reach my car, I’m out of breath, soaked, and sobbing. I don’t care who sees me crying. I don’t care about anything right now. All my life, I’ve had to deal with her ill-timed, inappropriate remarks while Dad sits there acting dumb. It’s no wonder I’ve never been normal.

I unlock my car and collapse into the driver’s seat, still unsure what to do next. Maybe I could stay at Luna’s house for a few days?

I grab my phone and call her. The phone rings several times before going to voicemail. Despite my better judgment, I blubber an incoherent message about getting into a fight with the only guy I’ve ever loved and how my parents are jerks. Hopefully, she’ll get the gist among my audible sobs and sniffles.

After I hang up, I stare at my phone as a voice threads through my head.There’s someone you can run to. Someone who has been there for you. Someone who can make this right.

I wipe my eyes, take a deep breath, stare at my phone some more. When my crying settles and my vision clears, I pull up Christopher’s last text message and type a response.

Chapter 21

Sarah

The smell of freshly brewed coffee warms the atmosphere at Joe and Go’s flagship shop in downtown Charleston and offers my weary mind and body some healing aromatherapy. As the scent wraps its arms around me, I feel my anxiety wane.

I found a table in the back corner among four other tables that are empty. I hope they stay that way. And I hope the dim lighting hides my red, swollen eyes. I’ve had enough public crying for one day.

I take a sip of my mocha and then form my arms into a pillow and rest my head. I miss the solitary evenings in my apartment, minus any boyfriends, just me, my crochet needle, and my handmade blankets that I’ll never use. Back when life was simple.

Chris hasn’t texted me. I don’t know why he would. Still, I keep checking my phone thinking, maybe... Maybe he’ll get over my mother’s rudeness, my lack of transparency, my “infidelity” as he sees it.

“There she is,” a friendly voice says.

I lift my head and peer at my visitor. “Hi, Cassie.” I smile as much as my tired cheek muscles will allow. My entire face got a workout from today’s sob-fest.

Cassie pulls out the chair opposite me and sits. She’s wearing a navy-blue V-neck sweater, a collared shirt, and tan wide-legged pants. Looking put-together but relaxed.

“What happened? Talk to me.” She grabs my hand.