Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
Lou
“I dwell in possibility.”
Emily Dickinson
My drive was horrible, not because of traffic or weather. I made great time from Stowaway to my hotel in Portland. Jules was a little upset when I told her I wouldn’t be staying with her. If I’m going to stand on my own two feet, I can’t do that while sleeping in her tiny guest room.
The room is nice. Nothing lavish, but well appointed. I chose an older hotel that is rumored to be haunted. They can’t be scarier than my own ghosts.
The staff at the front desk looked horrified and pitying at me when I checked in. My chin managed not to wobble.
My drive was horrible, because, the entire time, Grady’s sad frown was at the forefront of my mind. Because he doesn’t understand but let me go without a fight, anyhow. I don’t fully understand myself. That’s why I needed to leave. To understand myself.
I lost Louisa in Los Angeles. I found Lou in Stowaway. But I can’t live two lives. I can’t be one woman without the other.
My drive was horrible, mostly because Grady’s chance to get Paige back might be lost. On account of the heavy-as-fuck baggage I packed with me to the house next door.
If he doesn’t get primary custody because of me, I don’t know how I’ll ever forgive myself.
The idea weighs on my heart so much it feels like it’s in my bowels.
Leaving them is hard. Staying in my state of mind would be harder.
I need help, not the kind Grady can give me.
Love doesn’t conquer all. Therapy would help.
I called Micah, last night; he’s finding me a psychologist. Someone to help me sort through my thoughts.
I should have done it sooner. When I first got to Stowaway.
Shit, when I first left home at eighteen.
Better late than never.
I kept my promise to Grady and called him when I was settled in my room last night.
The sadness was still there, but less so after I called and spoke with both him and Paige, who I made clear to that this is a work trip.
I’m not abandoning all my plans in Stowaway.
Though, I wasn’t firm about a return date, either.
The call ended with me reaffirming to them both that I love them. That hasn’t changed. It won’t ever. But my head needs to be right and straight, or I’m no good to either of them. My bed rest yesterday made it clear to me that it’s not.
Sam stopped by, and when I expressed some of my thoughts, he told me I was overthinking it. That I’d just been through another traumatic experience and to give myself a break.
Internally, I know he’s right. If only it was that easy, though, to know the truth and live every day by it.
After my conversation with them, I ordered room service and flipped through channels on the television. I landed on Pride he has two days or she’s threatening to rescind,” Juliet says. “I don’t think she will; she’s desperate to keep this man who, apparently, doesn’t want kids.”
“Does he have the money?” I know he doesn’t have that kind of cash readily available. We’ve had conversations about how Brenda’s demands have drained his savings.
“Not all of it.”
“Why?” I can’t finish the question, but why didn’t he ask me? Why would she ask such a thing of him? Why would she give up her daughter for money? So many questions.
“See my previous statement about how stubborn he is,” she says. “Plus, he doesn’t want to add to anyone’s burdens. Especially yours.”
“Money isn’t a burden of mine.” For the first time since meeting Grady, I’m actually upset with him. This doesn’t need to be an issue, at all, and I can imagine how he’s been agonizing over it.
“Does he know that?”
“Shit, probably not,” I say as Luke comes out of the back room.
“Louisa,” he says softly, his arms outstretched.
Luke has always reminded me of a mixture between Calvin Klein and Tim Gunn.
His features are taut angles topped with salt and pepper hair.
He’s an enigma in the industry; the designer who’s been around forever but never ages a day.
The biggest question in this industry is how old is Luke McCallister.
No one knows. Not even Jules.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him while he hugs me. “I’m happy to reschedule as soon as I’m healed enough for makeup to cover.” Today was supposed to be a fitting, and tomorrow the shoot, but I don’t see how that can happen, now.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” he says sternly. “Pierre does. And anyone in this business that chooses to still work with him.”
“What he said,” Juliet adds, pointing at her boss, who is really more of a friend, at this point.
“Still, I’m sure this,” I say, gesturing in a circular motion around my face, “wasn’t the vision you had for this dress.”
“No,” he says, propping two fingers under my chin and turning my head side to side.
“I did have an idea I wanted to run by you, though.”