36. Mara
36
MARA
“ T hey look amazing. You’ve done such a great job.”
I don’t hide the pride beaming out of me for the umpteenth time today when Tillie tilts her head to critique her cookie decorating skills. She is her own worst critic. “They’re not quite MasterChef worthy, but I think he will still like them.”
“He?” I query, acting daft.
She hits me with a look that says more than it should before she digs an air-tight container out of the back of the pantry to store her creations. “I just hope he comes back before they go stale.”
“I’m sure he will.” I’ve never sounded more confident. It replicates how I feel.
Ark and I sailed over a lot of bumps during our record-breaking and extremely healing twenty-four-hour reprieve from the world, but the look Ark hit me with when he hinted at marriage for the third time has me confident he will return sooner rather than later.
Tillie stops loading her cookies into the container as her eyes light up. “Maybe you should take them to him so he can taste them while they’re super fresh.”
Stealing my chance to reply, she races into the entryway to fetch my tattered jacket before she assists me with placing it on.
I love her enthusiasm, but it doesn’t alter the facts. “I can’t go now. It’s almost dinnertime, and I promised Ark we would be waiting here for him when he returns.”
“But Mrs. Lichard invited me over for a roast.” Before I can portray my excitement of sampling one of Mrs. Lichard’s famous baked dinners, Tillie adds, “She only has enough food for two people.”
“Oh.”
I grow worried about how thin the walls of our apartment are, my stomach roiling for a completely different reason than disappointment, when she says, “So there’s no reason you can’t deliver Ark his cookies now. I’m sure he’d love a sugary dessert after his supper.”
Ark and I ate our dessert without spoons, and our bodies were the bowls.
“Tillie, I?—”
She interrupts me, saving me from a horrifically embarrassing conversation. “Toadie is currently on his fourth marriage. Mrs. Lichard said he could have stopped at one if he’d given his wife a little bit of sugar every now and then.”
“Toadie?” I ask, confused by the whiplash of our conversation.
“From Neighbours .” I don’t know how she can roll her eyes and cock her brow at the same time, but she does it like a pro. “He’s one of my favorites. Mrs. Lichard said I shouldn’t get attached, because there are rumors that he’s leaving the show.”
Here I was thinking she was ditching the chance to meet Ark for roast beef. It’s worse than that. We’re being pushed aside for a fictional character.
“Can I have dinner with Mrs. Lichard? Please, Mom? We only have seven seasons left.”
“Seven seasons! How long has the show been running?”
Tillie’s mouth twitches in preparation to reply, but she’s interrupted by my ringing cell phone.
“Don’t move an inch,” I demand to Tillie, my tone feigning bossiness. “If you’re going to ditch me for endless slices of juicy roast beef, the least you can do is smother my cheek with kisses before you leave.”
Unease burns my esophagus when I peer down at my phone. The number flashing across the screen registers as familiar. It is from inside the Chrysler building.
I swallow to soothe unexpected nerves fluttering in my stomach before sliding my thumb across my phone screen and squashing it to my ear. “This is Mara. How c-can I help you?”
“Mara, it’s Riley. I’m sorry to bother you.” She sounds like she’s been crying, like Ark went straight to her door after mine to release her skeletons from the closet as ruefully as I forced ours out.
I know that can’t be true. Ark is hard on himself for factors outside of his control, but he would never hurt Riley unnecessarily. He was barely a teen when Riley was born, so the decisions made back then are not his to carry, but he still understands how delicate the situation is. He would never just blurt it out.
When Riley sniffles, I return my focus to our conversation.
“It’s no bother.” We’re almost the same age, so I try not to mother her, but worry has words shooting from my mouth before I can stop them. “Are you okay? You sound upset.”
“It’s Arkadiy.”
Another sniffle.
Another length of silence.
Another near heart attack.
“He’s not good.”
“As in?” I hate that I’m snapping at her, but I am panicked out of my mind. “Was he in an accident? Is he hurt?”
“No. Nothing like that. I’m not explaining myself well. Communication isn’t a strong point of my family.”
“Try taking a deep breath.” I breathe with her, my lungs in desperate need of air while twisting away from the door, conscious of little ears listening in.
When the whistle of Riley’s exhale sounds down the line, I ask, “Where is Ark?”
“He’s at his apartment… I think. I don’t know. He was here, and he’d been drinking. Nothing he said made much sense, but you came up a lot, so I thought I should call you.” Her tone switches from worried to desperate. “Can you check on him? I’m worried about him.”
Even though I am digging through the entryway table for my purse, I act as if I’m not already halfway out the door. “Did you call Rafael?”
Her snivel breaks my heart. “Yes. He said I should give Ark some time.”
“That’s probably a good idea.” My words are for me as much as they are for her. I stomped all over Ark’s privacy yesterday. I don’t know if I have a second wave of intruding in me. I am emotionally and physically drained, but also desperate to help.
“I would but I have a bad feeling, Mara. I’m worried he’s going to hurt himself.”
“He won’t. I promise you he won’t.” While recalling her mother’s passing, I snatch my apartment keys out of the empty fruit bowl before heading for Tillie, my mind made up. I forced the resurrection of Ark’s ghosts, so the least I can do is comfort him while he tries to wrangle them back into submission. “But I’ll check on him. I will make this right.”
Riley exhales in relief. “Will you ask him to call me, please? I won’t stop stressing until I’ve heard from him.”
“Of course.”
My heart gains a new nick when she murmurs, “And tell him that I don’t blame him for anything that happened. That I’ve never blamed him.”
My heartache for what she went through, and still has to go through, comes across in my tone. “I will. I promise.”
She murmurs a thank you before she disconnects our call.
Just as fast, Tillie pushes me toward the exit stairs of our building.
“I won’t leave Mrs. Lichard’s apartment for any reason or anyone.”
She tries her darndest to act ignorant to the fear in my voice when I remind her to brush her teeth before bed. She shouldn’t bother. She wears panic as obviously as me.
It feels like I’m walking into a tornado without a raincoat.
I’m about to get drenched, but unlike yesterday morning, my pussy isn’t facing the deluge.