Author's Note--Okay, so basically I wrote this absolute kick-ass chapter. It was realllly good, if I do say so myself. But then my hateful laptop overheats and I lose everything! Leaving my lazy ass with no choice but to re-write the whole thing. But unfortunately half-way through I get so bored that I cut out large chunks just so I can finish the damn thing. I guess what I'm trying to say is this chapter kind of sucks, but in interest of moving the story forward I had to write it. And also: Cliches abound.--
The Pine Valley Inn was basically a flophouse for the town's upper class. Wife was going through a nervous breakdown and you need to get away? Your fianc's former love has returned from the dead and moved into your home? The Pine Valley Inn was your refuge.
And I don't deny that I've taken advantage of its amenities once and awhile. I mean, I myself was once a shiftless youth with money to burn. But now, walking through the plush carpeted corridors I'm fully confronted with how stark and impersonal it is. Who would ever choose to live here?
Maids are cleaning the rooms, their crisp prim uniforms projecting an inescapable aura of routine and professionalism. One woman stares at me as I pass by, her face seemingly void of any thought or emotion. David's door at the end of the hall seems endless miles away, even as I quicken my pace.
He opens his door roughly, savagely, his face twisted into a barely constrained grimace. Long ago, that would have frightened me.
"David," I smile, stepping forward towards his immobile figure. "How are you?" I wait for him to smile back, or to shout at me, or even, as I've sometimes dreamed of, to reach for me with an air of tentativeness and scarcely disguised longing. But he does none of these things.
He holds himself in the doorway, his face settling into impassiveness.
"The usual. And yourself?" The innocuous words hover in the air between us, frosty and cold.
"I'm fine. But really thirsty. Do you mind if...?" I stare past him into the room, and he slowly steps away from the door.
The TV is on. The sound is muted, and the images, beautiful people with made-up problems, open their mouths to speak but we hear nothing. A glass of whisky is resting on the table, three quarters empty. A women's sweater is draped over a chair, its sleeve trailing gently over the floor.
I wander over to the fridge, pulling one of David's expensive imported beers out. He raises an eyebrow.
"Well, help yourself, please." He sits down at the table, looking at me questioningly.
"So, wow. You sold the cabin."
"Yep."
Silence ensues.
"Is there a reason you're being like this?"
"What?"
"So miserably monosyllabic?"
His mouth curls slightly.
"No."
I don't smile.
"That's not funny."
"It wasn't meant to be. The fact that you said monosyllabic-correctly, no less-was hilarity enough. What's next? Complicated arithmetic?" He takes a drag on the cigarette that has been sitting idly in the tray, smoke curling upwards languorously, creating a dirty nicotine-filled cloud.
"You know, there's really no reason to be such an ass, David. I mean, I just jogged all the way here, and it's freaking hot outside. The least you could do is try to act like a normal person."
"Okay, fine. What do you want?" He drums his knuckles against the glass tabletop impatiently.
I smile in what I hope is a friendly and engaging smile.
"I just wanted to talk. It's been awhile since I've seen you."
David clears throat and leans forward.
"Yeah, actually there's a reason for that." I wait expectantly, trepidation coursing through my veins. "I don't think it's a good idea, us seeing each other."
"Wh-what?" I barely manage to croak out the word, my mouth having suddenly gone dry.
"Look, I think we both know that we fu...damaged our relationship pretty much beyond repair. It just requires too much energy."
"Energy?" I murmur, picking unthinkingly at the label of the bottle that I still hold in my hand.
"Greenlee, listen to me. You're too much fucking work." David says this as though he's explaining something stupefying simple, and I'm too dense to grasp the concept. I hated when he was like this, when he made me feel worthless and, worse yet, tried to.
"Well God, I'm sorry I'm such a burden on you." I wait for him to object but he doesn't, of course. When had David ever done what was expected of him?
"Having known you as long as I have, I know you need someone to cling to. But it's not as though I'm leaving you without recourse. You have your husband, for Christ sakes."
His words cut at me and I press my shaking hands against the table, feeling the glacier smoothness of the glass. I look at his flat unperturbed face and my confusion and anger snaps outward, leaving me reeling.
"And you? Just who the fuck do you have, huh?"
David sighs, stands up, and begins to fix himself another drink.
"You're just proving my point. It's funny that you can't see that."
I hadn't come here to fight. I hadn't really known what I was coming here for but now it's apparent to me. I don't want to pretend anymore, I don't want to feign obliviousness, and I don't want to be cold. I just want to be warm. I just want to be happy. I look down at my hands, and the bottle is empty. Had I finished it all? Dizziness overcomes me and I rise unsteadily to my feet. I look at him, willing him to look at me. Willing him to see me, for God's sake David, just see me, please.
"Sometimes I wonder why I'm still here. Like, when I know that I could go back to California, you know? And then I could import a tree from Vermont for Christmas like we used to do when I was younger, and after New Year's I could work on my tan and work off my hangover on the patio. The house is still there, you know. But it's empty. It just sits there. The maids don't even live there."
David's back is towards me as he mixes his drink, sloshing rye and coke over the sides and onto the counter.
"Lucky them." He mutters. I ignore him.
"I think I'm going to go back. Pennsylvania's just not right for me. It's so cold. I could go back, don't you think? It wouldn't have to be like before, right?"
"What do you want me to say exactly? 'Yeah, go back to California! What a wonderful and not-at-all self-destructive decision!' You've got to be kidding me." He says this bitterly.
Actually, returning to California hadn't occurred to me until a few minutes ago, but the idea seemed to grow larger and brighter by the second. I walk over to where David is and gingerly lay my fingers on his shoulder.
"It doesn't have to be. I want you...I want you to come with me. California can be kind of cool, if you know where to go." I smile weakly, but David continues to stare straight ahead and the muscles beneath my hand tense even further.
"Greenlee, I'm pretty sure they have caretakers in California too."
"That's not what I meant." He doesn't say anything and I feel like shaking him. "Goddamit David, you know that's not what I mean!"
"Do I?" He says this quietly, almost imperceptibly, and it should give me pause. But I'm too caught up in finally saying what I've been wanting to say that I don't listen.
"I need you, okay? I'm sorry about everything but I really need you now, please." He finally turns to look at me and I wait, apprehensive and trembling.
"But Greenlee, who the fuck needs you?"
His words are visceral, and I stumble back until I feel the table pressing insistently against the side of my leg. I hate the smile on his face. I want to scratch at his face so he'll never smile at me like that again.
"You do. I know you do." I say this, trying not to betray the desperateness in my voice. But I know he can hear it.
David laughs and gently places his drink on the counter, so carefully, as though it was the most fragile and delicate object in the world.
"We're not having this discussion." I hear the resignation and finality in his voice.
"Why? Why aren't we having this conversation? Because you're too fucking scared to own up to what you did?"
His arm shoots out, startling me so that I jump back, and the glass shatters against the wall, spraying coke and iridescent shards everywhere.
"I'm not afraid. Not even of that. So get out, go back to California and get coked up to your eyeballs, do whatever you want. But I'm not coming with you."
This isn't really David. I keep telling myself that as he continues to stare at me with cold eyes. This wasn't him.
"Fine David, forget that I love you, forget anything that you feel for me, and continue to be miserable like you've always been. You truly deserve it." I shout this, not knowing if I truly mean what I'm saying, not caring about the tears running down my cheeks, just looking at him, looking for a sign that he's hearing me. But his face remains set, emotionless.
"Am I interrupting something? Well, I suppose I am, seeing as I could hear you two from half-way down the hall."
She walks into the room, exquisitely pale and willowy, subtly made-up, and impeccably dressed.
"What are you doing here Kendall?" I manage to choke out, wondering how much she's overheard, knowing that it was probably everything.
She ignores me and looks at David, leaning against the dripping counter.
"Just came by to pick up my sweater. I foresee another drastic drop in temperature. Okay, the meteorologist did, but I happened to catch it on the news."
David motions to his left.
"There it is."
She clutches it to her chest, and then wrinkles her nose.
"David, you really shouldn't smoke in the house. This stinks." She walks over to me, holding my gaze until I'm forced to look away. I hate how she towers over me. "So Greenlee, how are you? Long time, no talk. I'm surprised Ryan's allowed you to wander away unsupervised." I see David from the corner of my eye begin to clean up the broken pieces of glass. "How funny that the first place you would come is here."
"Well, I could say the same for you. What the hell are you doing here?"
Kendall grins wickedly, baring her perfect teeth.
"In interest of being diplomatic, I'll just say that I'm definitely not here for the conversation."
I feel like I've been punched in the gut. I stare at David, my mouth open but unmoving.
"Look..." He starts, his palm bleeding from where he'd cut himself. Kendall melts into an armchair, perching her feet up on the coffee table. David comes towards me but I back away quickly, tripping over a pair of his shoes.
He wouldn't. Not with her. Not after everything she's put me through.
I hear my cell ring, distantly but intent on making it's presence known, and I pull it out of my purse with shaking fingers.
"Greenlee-" David's voice, rough and unthinking.
"Greenlee-" Ryan's voice, staticky and questioning. "Greenlee, where are you babe? I just got home and I was worried. You left the frying pan on again." I look at David, no longer granite, no longer cold. He looks shaken. He looks...remorseful. And then I look at Kendall, grinning as though she's elated but also somewhat frightened. As though she's sickly fascinated in what's transpired. And I know.
And I'm just so sad, for David, for Ryan, even for Kendall. We've all fought so long, too long for something that we were so sure we wanted, so sure would make us happy.
But all it's done is make us bleed.
I hold the phone closer to my ear, blocking out everything but him.
"I'm sorry. I'll be home soon."