Chapter 62 Jordan
Jordan
Now
Sam hammers on the door for a good fifteen minutes after I lock him out of the apartment, begging me to let him back in. He’s making such a ruckus that I’m surprised no one has called the police. But they don’t, even though he was being so loud that the entire building must have heard him.
After I’m done crying, I haul myself up from the floor and press an eye to the peephole.
Sam is still in the hallway, standing next to the suitcase and looking defeated.
I watch him for a few minutes before going into the living room, where I sit on the couch and stare into space.
But every once in a while, I stand and go back to the door to see if he’s still there.
More than an hour passes before he finally takes his bag and goes.
I’m overcome by a mix of relief and sadness.
This apartment was supposed to have been our dream, the place where we were going to make a new life, but instead, it’s turned into the end of us.
I don’t see how we’ll move forward from here, given what Sam has done.
To be honest, I’m in a state of shock. Before the Glendale, I never considered for one moment that he would ever do something like this.
I thought I knew him. I guess that you never really know anyone, not even the person you intended to spend the rest of your life with.
The afternoon passes at such a slow pace that I begin to wonder if time is moving at all.
More than once, I take my phone out. The first time, I bring Sam’s number up and almost call, beg him to come back so we can talk and figure this out, because even through the pain, I love him and can’t imagine the rest of my life without him.
But I don’t, because my world is shattered, and Sam is not the glue that will put it back together, no matter how much I want him to be.
Then I consider calling my mother, but I don’t do that for the same reason that I didn’t run to her earlier.
I need time to absorb this before I’m subjected to my parents’ particular brand of stifling sympathy.
There’s probably a little embarrassment mixed in, too.
No one likes to admit that they got it so wrong.
By six o’clock I can’t take it anymore. I go to the kitchen and open the wine fridge.
The first bottle I pull out is a Napa Valley pinot, which I quickly put back because it’s Sam’s favorite.
The second bottle is a cabernet, which I decide is good enough.
I pour a large glass, then grab the bottle and head back to the couch.
Silence presses in around me, heavy and suffocating.
I take a large gulp of the wine and reach for the TV remote.
At that moment, there is a knock at the door.
I don’t move. Has Sam come back to dissuade me from kicking him out?
If so, it won’t work. I have no intention of letting him put a foot inside this apartment, tonight or any other night in the immediate future.
I don’t care what he has to say or how apologetic he is.
I don’t want to hear his protestations of innocence, because the evidence is overwhelming.
As far as I’m concerned, Sam is a nonentity.
The next time he steps across the threshold will be to collect the rest of his stuff and get the hell out of my life forever.
Another knock.
It doesn’t have the urgency I would expect from Sam.
From the other side of the door comes a voice, soft and concerned. “Jordan? It’s Jennifer from next door. I need to know that you’re all right.”
Jennifer! She and Frank witnessed Sam’s enraged outburst in the hallway. They were standing right there when I locked him out. I’m not sure that I want to see anyone right now, but I have a feeling she isn’t going to let me ignore her.
I put the glass down, go to the door, and open it.
Jennifer doesn’t bother to wait for an invitation. She strides right in. “Thank heavens you’re okay. Frank and I were so worried.”
I’m not sure that okay is the word I would choose, but I don’t argue. I also don’t bother trying to stop her from entering the apartment, because I’m too emotionally weary to bother with a confrontation. Instead, I close the door and let her follow me into the living room.
“I just opened a bottle of wine,” I tell her. “Would you like a glass?”
Jennifer looks at the bottle. “Are you sure that drinking is a good idea under the circumstances?”
“I think it’s a fantastic idea.” What better way to dull the pain of Sam’s betrayal than through copious amounts of alcohol?
Jennifer observes me for a few moments, then shrugs. “Very well. You might as well get me a glass, because I’m not going to let you sit here and drink alone.” She folds her arms. “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s going on between you and Sam?”