Chapter 35
Back in her apartment later that night, Mary sat on the bathroom floor for what seemed like hours with her head hanging over the toilet. When she thought she had nothing left to throw up, she thought of Dean and Kendra and her stomach lurched again, causing her to dry heave. She would never be with them again. They were gone. Not exactly dead but definitely not alive—and it was all her fault. Kendra’s hug goodbye at the airport and Dean’s small wave at the dentist’s office played on an endless loop in her mind. On both occasions, Mary had been miserable, feeling sorry for herself, yet she’d never be anywhere near that happy again.
Somehow she made it to the living room and curled into a fetal position on the couch, staring into Belli’s bowl. Oh, how she wished she could trade places with Belli, because fish only had a ten-second memory. At least that’s what she’d learned from a television program. If she kept remembering her life with Dean and Kendra—and she most definitely would—she’d never have the will to leave the sofa. Was there a way to forget?
She and Dean had once seen a movie about a couple who erased each other from their memories after their relationship failed. Was there a real procedure that erased memories? Her laptop sat on the table next to Belli’s bowl. She reached for it and googled how to forget . Nothing she read helped, so she switched courses and skimmed through articles about Dean again. She even read about the women with her daughter’s name. Her stomach twisted, and she folded over in pain. She would never find any information about her Kendra.
At four in the morning, she dragged herself to bed, wearing the sundress she’d worn to the pub. Staring up at the ceiling, she wished on one of the star decals that she’d wake up back in her other life.
She must have managed to fall asleep, because she woke up just past eight to the sound of Frank Sinatra barking.
Hoping that Dean had changed his mind, she checked her messages. There were two texts. The first was from Brady, telling her he’d heard her getting sick the night before and had left a jug of Gatorade by her door. The second was from Darbi, asking her what had happened with Dean. Mary couldn’t bring herself to call or text with an answer. If Darbi really cared about what had happened, she would have been there last night.
In the living room, she watched videos of her young self reporting. She hated the girl she saw, knowing what she’d traded for that stupid job. She slammed the laptop shut and flipped on the television. She found a Modern Family marathon and settled in to watch it.
Later, there was a knock on her door. Startled, she looked at her watch, surprised to see that it was almost five. She didn’t know where the time had gone and couldn’t recall what had happened in a single episode she’d watched.
“Mary?” Darbi’s voice called.
She said nothing, hoping her cousin would go away.
“I’m coming in.” The lock clicked, the door swung open, and Darbi stepped inside carrying a jug of bright-yellow Gatorade. “This was on the ste ...” Her mouth twisted as her eyes landed on Mary balled up on the sofa in her soiled sundress. She swallowed hard and cradled the bottle to her chest. “I take it Dean said no.”
“I’m stuck here.” Mary’s voice was weak. “I’ll never see Kendra or my husband again.”
Darbi licked her lips. “No.” She managed to communicate a world of sorrow in the one syllable. She disappeared into the kitchen. A few seconds later, she sat on the couch next to Mary, handing her a drink.
“I thought I would come here, fix my mistake. Take the promotion and return a famous newscaster,” Mary said, her voice thick with emotion.
Darbi’s face crumpled in anguish. “What did I say that gave you that idea?”
Mary took a long sip, the liquid soothing her dry throat. “It wasn’t what you said. It’s what I wanted. I should have listened to you.”
“It’s impossible to believe until it happens to you.” Darbi placed her hand on Mary’s thigh. “You have to make the most of being here, though, or you’ll have sacrificed everything for nothing.”
Mary’s jaw tensed, and her grip on the glass tightened. “Nothing I accomplish here will have been worth the sacrifice.”
“No, but you owe it to Dean, Kendra, and even to yourself to live your best life possible.” Darbi stood. “Right now, we’re going to get you in the shower. You smell worse than a dumpster.” She led Mary to the bathroom and turned on the water. “I’ll make you something to eat while you’re in there.”
Mary did as told, suspecting Darbi wouldn’t leave otherwise. After she choked down a half bowl of soup, Darbi left, and Mary crawled into bed, pulling the covers over her head.
At ten the next morning, Brady let himself into Mary’s apartment, Frank Sinatra on a leash by his side. Mary silently cursed herself for forgetting to lock the door after Darbi left yesterday. He sat beside her on the sofa, placing a bag with bagels and a coffee on the table in front of her while Frank sniffed around the living room.
Mary was wearing the same shorts and T-shirt she’d changed into yesterday, and her hair had twisted into half-formed curls because she’d never combed it out after washing it.
Brady’s forehead furrowed. “What’s going on? You still hungover?”
“Dean won’t help me. I’m stuck here.” Her voice was hoarse from crying so much.
“Stuck in your current job?”
Mary shook her head. “Stuck in this life.” She. Was. Never. Going. Home. She got that ice-cold feeling in her chest again.
Brady scratched his head. “You’re a great reporter. Your stories make people happy. Keep doing them, and good things will happen.”
Nothing good would ever happen in her life again.
He stood and reached for Frank’s leash, pulling the dog to the sofa. “I need a favor. Have to work a double, and RaeLynn is out of town. Can you watch him?” He scratched Frank’s neck. “He needs a walk.” Brady dropped the leash in Mary’s lap and headed toward the door. The dog nudged her with his nose.
“I can’t take him.” She sounded frantic. She didn’t want to see people, except for Kendra and her Dean.
“The fresh air will do you good.” Brady slipped through the door, and a minute later, she heard the sound of tires on gravel.
Frank jumped up on her, resting his two front paws on her thighs and bathing her cheek with wet sloppy dog kisses. He must have been to the groomer recently because he smelled like a combination of lavender and mint and had a bright-red bandana tied around his neck, the perfect complement to his neatly trimmed shiny black hair.
When she nudged him off of her, he ran to the door and spun in circles. She sighed, then slipped into her sneakers and slapped on a hat.
Outside, Frank trotted beside her on the sidewalk as they made their way down the street toward the bike path. Every now and then, he looked up at her with his puppy dog eyes. The trust and love she saw in them reminded her of the way baby Kendra had looked at her, and she fought the urge to drop to the ground and curl into a ball.
An older couple waved from their front porch. She’d always thought she’d grow old with Dean. Now they were both on track to grow old alone. She hated herself a little more.
On the bike path, Frank pulled Mary to the edge of the woods bordering the trail. As he sniffed the trunk of a tree, Mary’s phone rang, a number she didn’t recognize with a 904 area code. She didn’t pick up, and the caller didn’t leave a message.
When Mary and Frank turned around at Route 30, two women approached from the opposite direction. “Excuse me,” the taller of the women said. “You’re that girl on the news, Channel 77.”
“Yes, Mary Mulligan.” This was exactly why she hadn’t wanted to leave her apartment. How she missed being able to take a walk or go shopping without being recognized.
“I saw that story on the veteran,” the woman said.
Mary nodded.
“That dress you were wearing, it wasn’t at all flattering, and the cut made you look chunky.”
“Chunky!” Mary’s breath hitched, and tears welled in her eyes. Today was not the day to mess with her. In fact, it never would be again. “How dare you,” she spit. “Do you really have nothing better to do than insult other women?”
The women rushed off, but it was too late. Mary had reached her breaking point. She started to shake, thinking about all the things she disliked about being a journalist—viewers believing they had the right to critique her appearance, the constant exposure to heartbreaking stories, and news that made you question the decency of mankind. These were the things that had driven her away from the job the first time, not Dean or Kendra. She’d willingly left her job at Channel 77 to raise her daughter. Why had she tried to blame it on Dean?
“Are you okay?” a man walking the other direction asked.
Mary’s phone rang again with the same 904 number. She nodded and blinked back her tears. The man kept staring at her, so she turned her back and answered the phone.
“It’s Dean Amato.”
At the sound of his voice, the tears she’d been fighting rolled down her cheeks, but they were happy tears. She was so relieved to hear his voice. It was the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard.
Dean cleared his throat. “Your friend Kimberly sent me the video.” He paused, and Mary wondered why Kimberly would do that. “When you told me about what happened on air, I didn’t understand that you never went back to the anchor desk.”
Mary didn’t want to think about what had happened in the studio, because that was the moment her chance to get back to her other life had started to slip away. She reached down to pat Frank. “I’m trying to forget about that.”
“Yeah, it was bad,” Dean said.
“You didn’t need to call to tell me that. I’m aware.”
Dean chuckled. “The thing is, I know a thing or two about cracking under pressure, and your friend told me about the promotion. So I’ve called to let you know I’ve reconsidered. If the person you’re competing with is willing to help, I figure you must deserve it.”
Kimberly had built her up in Dean’s eyes and made her seem deserving, not caring that she was hurting her own chances by doing so. Mary’s own competitiveness against her friends sickened her. She wished she’d been helpful to Kimberly and realized she should have been more gracious toward Liz. Someone else succeeding didn’t mean she was a failure.
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Her lower lip trembled. Hope bubbled up inside her frozen heart. She closed her eyes, picturing Dean sitting next to her on the sofa in their house in Hudson, his phone on the coffee table and Kendra on speakerphone. If she understood him right, it was all within reach. Frank leaped to his feet and barked, bringing her back to the moment.
“I’ll do the interview,” he said. “But I have two conditions.”