Page 144 of Only After We Met
Tried. Tried.
“Should we share something?” she asked James.
“Sure. Cheesecake sound good?”
“Yeah, for sure.” She closed the menu, satisfied.
As we ate dessert, James and Ginger talked and talked about theAnne Cabot case, the success of the launch, the upcoming catalogue, which she was working on now…
I tried to listen. I really did.
I don’t know how long the meal dragged on, but it felt like an eternity. James said goodbye at the door to the restaurant. He had to hurry back to work. He shook my hand firmly. Told me he was happy to meet me after hearing so much about me, and hurried down the street to a taxi stand.
We stuck around a while longer. Five minutes? Ten? Maybe. Just standing there in front of one of those red phone booths you see all over London, watching the traffic pass by on the road. I had a knot in my throat.
“You’ve gotten some new tattoos…” Her voice was barely a whisper.
I looked at my left hand and moved my fingers. I had a musical note on my ring finger and a little anchor on the back of my hand. I looked up at her. It had never hurt so much, just the mere act of looking at her. I forced myself to breathe, but the air that reached me wasn’t enough to bear it.
“What’s the anchor mean?” she asked.
“Nothing. I need to go, Ginger.”
“Rhys, I’m so sorry about all this…”
Her eyes were full of tears. I just wanted to escape. I couldn’t console her. I just couldn’t. I had to leave. I had shown up here not knowing what I was looking for, meaning to surprise her, just following an impulse. An impulse named Ginger. And there was nothing here. But that nothing was everywhere, on the island, on every continent, in the lights of every city.
“I’ll write you soon, Ginger Snap.”
I bent down, kissed her on the cheek—it tasted salty—and walked off down the street. I tried to breathe. Breathe. Breathe. I felt her behind me before her arms surrounded me. And I stopped. And she came around in front of me. Her eyes were red, her lower lip trembling. I could tell she was trying to find the words.
“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”
“What do you mean, Ginger?”
“Just…promise me.”
“I’m fine. I’m great.”
“That’s not true, Rhys. And I can’t stand not being able to do anything about it, feeling like it doesn’t matter what I say, because all I can do is make you angry at me.”
“Look, don’t be sorry.” I kissed her forehead and brushed her slightly shaggy hair away from her forehead. “Try and be happy, okay? He seems…like a good guy.”
She nodded, still crying.
I didn’t want to drag the moment on any longer. So I left her there. I walked off, getting lost among all those strangers who seemed to know where they were going, whereas I was adrift as always, wandering, stumbling, running into things, crumbling…
85
From: Ginger Davies
To: Rhys Baker
Subject: Do tell
How’s everything going, Rhys? Did you make it back okay? I haven’t heard from you again, so I hope so. You never did tell me about your record when you were here; is everything good with that? I suppose it isn’t easy to wrap up something like that.
Keep in touch, okay?