Chapter Twenty-Two
A Glitch
Siena, January 20, 2012, Dallas, TX
I checked my phonefor the hundredth time—no reply from Ryan.
I’d considered writing, but why would he read my emails when he disregarded my texts and ignored my calls?
Head thick and heavy, I typed two sentences into my text app:
Please call me. I need to talk to you.
Through the window, dark clouds merged and parted in the turbulent sky. My future hovered hard and cold—of a single mother, despised by the man I loved.
I dropped my gaze. My Claddagh ring glinted dull yellow and muddy brown. What defining moment had set me on this self-destructive path? When I saw Ms. Perky’s kiss-blowing selfie? When she pointed out Ryan’s favorite dish on the menu? When I drained my third wine glass in Connor’s kitchen? Or perhaps was it much earlier—before I, Siena Forte, was born.
They say jealousy is ugly. It’s worse. It’s cancer that eats away at love and faith and leaves behind ruin and devastation. Those whom God has joined together, let no man separate. But jealousy is that man.
I tapped Ryan’s number. His recorded voice promised to get back to me at his earliest convenience.
“Please call me,” I whispered. “I need to know you’re okay.”
After checking on Austin, I climbed into bed and buried myself under the blanket. It’d been two weeks since Ryan left. Maybe he wasn’t ready to talk yet, but he would be soon. Of course, he would. He always said every story has two sides. At some point, he’d want to hear mine. He’d want to learn all the facts, wouldn’t he?
My phone buzzed, and hope surged like a tidal wave. But it was only Emma. Chest heaving, I stared at the screen—and looked away. I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t tell anyone. My actions weren’t just shameful. They were disgraceful. And the outcome was precisely what I deserved.
The call rolled into voicemail. A moment later, she called again. I grabbed the phone. Probably something important and nothing to do with me, anyway.
I took a deep breath, then another. “Hey!” The word came out high-pitched and excessively cheerful.
“Sie—” Emma was quiet for a beat. I froze, heart thumping—it had everything to do with me. “Ryan called Jason.”
“Wh...” I swallowed against my drying throat. “When?” My question sounded wrong and obtuse.
“Fifteen minutes ago, I think.” She heaved a long, mournful sigh. “I’m here, Sie. I’ve got all night.”
“I...I don’t...I’d rather not...” My voice wobbled, brittle like an old lady’s. Then, something burst inside me, and I couldn’t talk anymore. Yet I had to tell her now, if only to defend the indefensible.
And so I did. Every excruciating detail.
“Do you need me to fly out?” She said when I had finished. “It’s Friday. I can stay all weekend.”
I shook my head. “No. I’ll figure it out. I’ll...fix it somehow, MM.”
“Sie—” She fell silent. “Tell me about your recent visions, sweetie. Don’t leave anything out.”
The night fell as I told her all about the trip to London and Tiernan O’Donnell and that word that kept resurfacing in my memory regardless of how hard I tried to forget it. Revenge.
“This Connor...” Emma made a faint smacking sound—she bit down on her forefinger. “Did you feel anything off...with him?”
I fisted the blanket to avoid making gouges in my palm. “Maybe...”
“Okay, listen—” She blew out a long breath. “I told Ryan to do a PLR session before he files. If anything could change his mind, it would be knowing it was a spillover from the past. A glitch.”
The room shifted. The window, the chair in the corner, the dresser—all the ordinary, familiar objects blurred, then transformed into surreal, flickering outlines. I was drowning in the strange, unsettling sensation of floating above, silent and helpless. Had I fallen into another coma?
A terrible, heart-wrenching wail escaped from me. Almost a howl. Then, the air was gone. I dropped the phone and tried to take a breath. I’d figure it out. I only needed to find a way to breathe again.
“Sie!” Emma’s voice broke through my unravelling, thin and distant.
I grasped the phone, my hand cold as ice. “Before he...he—what...?” No. I must have misheard. That wasn’t at all what she said. Was it? “Oh my God...oh God, Emma!”
“Sweetie, I’m here. Right here.”
“No...” I choked on a moan, drawn-out, half-human.
“Hey! Talk to me, Sie! What are you looking at right now? Can we switch to video? Come on, Sie!”
I swallowed hard. Breathe in, breathe out. Repeat. My gaze fell on the large, framed photograph, propped against the wall.
“Our wedding...portrait...” My words were sobs and gasps. “We haven’t hung it up yet...”
“Don’t look at it, sweetie. Look at something else.”
I was hovering above again, spewing a stream of disjointed, fevered words. “...remember my dress...all that elaborate lace and that...insane train? And all those tiny, silk-covered buttons in the back? And Ryan’s black tux with that blue bow tie? It brought out the blue flecks in his eyes. Those remnants of...”
“Sie, listen to me!”
“My hair half-up and that gossamer veil...a little windblown, and Ryan’s lips at my temple... You know what he said in my ear when they took that picture? He said he’d never been so happy...”
“Sie—”
“Those buttons, remember, they were only decorative? He removed the dress in seconds that evening...” My voice cracked. “I had on my trousseau...all that innocent white lace...”
“He’ll see it’s a carryover when he has the session.”
“The priest...at the wedding, the priest lied when he said, ‘Those whom God has joined together, let no man separate.’ Because...you know what Ryan said...before he shut the door in my...my face?”
Emma went deathly silent.
“He said... He said he was dumping me...like t-trash.” My breath abandoned my body and now lived just outside. A ragged, fading entity. “I’ll die of a broken heart before he files for d-divorce—” I stopped dead. “Is that why he called Jason? For...for his divorce attorney’s number?”
“Listen to me.” Emma sounded out of breath herself. “Are you listening?”
I stilled myself. “Yes.”
“When Ryan called, I had this...knowing. I saw—no, felt—this grain of doubt inside you germinating into suspicion, into certainty, then into action. It’s like a tiny pebble, buried deep within you, that got activated by a bold gaze. A woman’s gaze—a newly promised threat.”
“His partner.” I slumped under the weight of her well-articulated diagnosis. “Do you think she’s someone I knew...before?”
“Maybe.” Emma was quiet for a beat. “But look, I think Ryan will go to Virginia to see Arianrhod, and when he does, he’ll know it’s a glitch.”
It was 10:30 PM when I ended the call. An unacceptable time to text anyone.
I tapped Arianrhod’s number. Hi Arianrhod, I’m sorry to bother you so late at night, but I wanted to confirm my husband’s appointment whenever you get this message.
Surprisingly, she replied right away. Hi Siena, I’m unable to do so as your husband requested that I remove your name from his approved contacts.