Chapter Ten

Samantha was embarrassed she was caught staring at the man. She didn't know how long it lasted. He could have been dangerous with that acute predatory look in his eyes that seemed to stop time and make the world around her disappear, but the steadiness of his gaze, which should have daunted her, felt like the first solid thing she'd seen since her life began falling apart.

The feeling he was seeing the things she was trying to hide was unnerving, so when his attention shifted and released its hold on her, she let her hair fall in front of her face, an effective curtain to shield her. She made it a point not to look his way again, but it was like she could feel his high energy and presence. It wasn't oppressive. It felt as if it was sunshine, but if the light had weight, a soft pressure against her skin.

After he seemed to dive back into work, she began to relax again. The sun on her face after the meal and wine was heavenly and soon she forgot about her faux pas. Unfortunately, she should be leaving soon, so she ordered a San Pellegrino while the waiter cleared her table.

She closed her eyes, tilted her face to the sky to bask in the rays, and shook her hair back over her shoulders while she breathed deeply. She longed for the beach, where the sounds of the gently rolling tide and the harsh cries of seagulls were the only place she ever truly felt at peace.

After finding herself on the verge of falling asleep, she settled up with the waiter and collected her things. She was going to visit some of the local shops and boutiques to round out her afternoon, anything to postpone going back to her home. Maybe she would stop back by here and take something home for dinner. She eyed the hotel down the street and wondered briefly if Richard had stayed there last night, since it was close to the company's office.

She became nervous as she realized she could have run into him. She wasn't even thinking. Did she unconsciously drive downtown because she knew this is where he was? Was it an unconscious, gravitational need pulling her to be near him?

As much as she was hurt and angry right now, her heart still ached by his absence and she missed who he, and they, used to be. Afternoons like this in the past would have been spent together. She would drink too much and he would hold her hand as he took her home.

She was balancing on the precipice, between composure and breaking down into her overwhelming grief. Afraid she would come down on the wrong side of that, she risked a quick glance at the man at the table, remembering his solidity. Just the sure way he was focused on his conversation and notes in front of him, the calmness and steadfastness he exuded was palpable enough for her to grasp onto and recenter herself.

She slowed her breathing, wrapped that solid feeling around her, and silently thanked him, even though he didn’t even do anything. The peaceful easiness she had felt before was gone, and the farther she moved towards the exit, the more the warm feeling of his presence slipped away from her as well.

As she stepped out onto the sidewalk, the sounds and movement of the city around her felt like they crashed into her as if amplified now she was away from the safe haven of the restaurant. She almost turned and headed straight for the car, but she wanted to follow through on her plan to visit the shops, so instead, made her way to the intersection and crossed the street. She looped back toward the direction of the restaurant to the first boutique she spied from her table across the street.

When she reached it, she browsed through the items they had on display outside. The table had a variety of travel cups with wild colors and sassy sayings on them. She looked over the shoes and a few of the clothing hanging up labeled as on sale and touched a colorful wind chime, making it sing. 

Delighted at the pleasing tones of the chime, she unhooked it and decided to go inside and browse more before she purchased it. She moved to the entrance and grasped the door handle with her free hand, pulled it outward and reached for her sunglasses. The door was open and she stopped suddenly with her glasses still on her face. The pressure from her grip sent a throb of pain through her cheek, the painful reminder she couldn't enter.

She let go of the door handle as if it burned her and took a step back.

I can't go inside. I can't go inside anywhere. She gently placed the ornament on the table as shame and fear drove her away with threatening tears.

When she got home, the house mirrored the dark emptiness inside of her and the air reflected the heaviness of her heart. The blood orange air diffuser filled the house with a hint of sweetness, a sharp contrast to the bitter emptiness consuming her.

She assumed Richard hadn't been back because nothing looked disturbed and he had a habit of leaving lights and the tv on. She popped her head in his study to make sure, but the piles of papers and folders looked the same as they did yesterday.

She took her time, going through the rooms and ensuring the windows and doors locks were secure. On her walkthrough, her attention drifted to where the wine had spilled on the living room carpet.

She had cried herself out laying on the floor last night until fell asleep briefly and was stiff when she got up, her face throbbing. She found some ibuprofen in the half-bath across from the study where she assessed the damage in the mirror. Both of her eyes were swollen, scratchy, red and ugly from crying and her left eye was puffy and dark pink where it was beginning to bruise.

She stared silently at the haunting reflection before her. If this had been someone else's face, it would have broken her heart. But since it was her own, and her heart was already beyond broken, she didn't have the capacity to feel anything about the grim visage.

She roughly slapped the switch on the wall down to cut out the light, then grabbed an ice pack from the kitchen and placed it over her eye, hoping to reduce the swelling. When she couldn't feel the cold of the bag, she emptied it in the sink. 

Then she grabbed her stain kit and methodically picked up the glass and cleaned the wine from the carpet. She felt a desperation to remove the evidence of their fight, as if erasing one would erase the other. She was on autopilot, keeping her hands busy as she sprayed, scrubbed and blotted repeatedly.

That way, she could ignore the chorus of wordless screams clawing at the inside of her mind.