I FINALLY tell Joe that I don’t need him anymore. At first, he looks as if he’s going to argue and he actually follows me all the way to work, driving slowly beside me. He also does it on the way back home, and the next day too, but I ignore him.
And I do my best to stop thinking about Landon.
I see him everywhere I go. Sometimes, I feel as though he's only just a few feet away, on the other side of a crowd on the street. Every car that passes seems to be one of his. Every hazy face behind the tinted windows appears to be his face. I can’t seem to stop conjuring him into my consciousness.
But I have to, because I can’t continue to view my separation from Landon as temporary, and the sensible thing to do is to wean myself off everything that has to do with him.
I work feverishly, researching, writing, and editing articles with Mark, who welcomes my hectic pace and doesn’t hesitate to increase my workload.
Every day, I work until I’m exhausted, with barely enough energy to talk with Laurie when I get home. Luckily, she’s spending most of her time with Brett, so I don’t have to pretend all the time that I’m not fighting the huge block of unhappiness weighing me down.
Every day ends the same, with me trying to sleep, while my lack of Landon tortures me in my dreams. Every song takes on a new meaning and even my favorite books lose their appeal. I wake up every morning with tears on my cheeks and an ache in my heart, and even though I tell myself that it’s getting better, that I’m getting better, it takes all my strength to push myself out of bed and go on with my life.
One morning, Joe isn’t waiting for me downstairs. The absence of the car on the street outside my building is like the final note in the sad song of my relationship with Landon. Proof that as far as he’s concerned, we’re really over.
For a long moment, I stand at the door of my building, looking out at the empty street, a shaft of pain lancing through my heart. I want to go back upstairs, curl up in my bed and cry until there are no tears left, but somehow, I command my body to move, to take the steps to the sidewalk, and then to work.
It’s all right, I tell myself over and over. Even if Landon doesn’t want to have a place in my life, he’ll always have a place in my heart. And that’s alright.
EVERYTHING blurs into work and sleep, and the temptation to call Landon. I want to tell him that I understand why he’d want to end things, but that I would have appreciated it if he’d chosen to tell me to my face. Then I remember the way I left him in San Francisco while he was asleep. I’d been so sure that it was the right thing to do. It made sense at the time to give him the space to decide for himself that he wanted to be with me, above anything else.
Now, I’m no longer sure of anything. Just like the song, I’d left my heart in San Francisco, and it had come back to me, bloody and broken.
One day, the pain will dull. It’s what I tell myself, with more hope than any kind of certainty.
My mom has been calling almost every day to ask how I am and chatter about party plans. I suspect she’s actually calling to make sure I’m all right, but I don’t mind. The distraction helps. Most times, I check my emails while we talk, and today in particular, she’s going on about some artist friend of hers who might be at Laurie’s engagement party, when I open and read a strange email from The Gilt Review.
At first, I think it might be information about my subscription to the magazine, and I have to bite back my shock when I see that it’s a response to my application, from two years ago. I frown at the screen, unsure if the invitation to schedule an interview is a mistake.
“Are you there, sweetheart?” I hear my mom say.
“Yeah…” I’m still frowning. “Something came up mom, I’ll call you back.”
When she’s off the phone, I read the email again, unsure what to think. It’s from someone called Liz Buckley, one of the senior editors over at Review. Certain that there’s been some kind of mistake, I call her office, and she confirms that they want me to come in for an interview.
It’s always been my dream to work at the Gilt Review, and I’d continued to nurse that dream after I applied there, but got the job at Gilt Traveler instead. I always assumed that one day, when I made editor, I would apply again, but I never expected them to invite me for an interview t
wo years later, without any effort on my part. I can almost swear that something like this has never happened before.
Yet, I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially with everything else that’s going on in my life. I need a change of environment. I need the feeling of starting afresh, even if it’s only on a different floor. By the time I leave for home at the end of the day, I’m already looking forward to my interview, hoping that I’ll get the job, and that the new set of challenges and responsibilities will help me to stop dwelling on Landon Court.
THE next day, I run into Jack Weyland in the ground floor lobby on my way out to lunch. I haven’t seen him since the night he kissed me outside Landon’s club, but I’m still pissed at him. So when I see him across the wide marble space staring at me, I look away and keep walking.
He catches up with me outside the building and falls into step beside me. “Hello, Rachel.”
“Hi Jack,” I say dryly, letting my voice communicate how much I don’t want to talk to him.
“Come on.” He stretches his hand out to stop me. “Rachel, can I just have a minute?”
Without stopping, I pull my arm out of his reach. “Don’t touch me.”
He swallows and steps back. “I’m sorry.”
I sigh, sorry for snapping at him, but convinced that he deserved it. Slowing down, I turn to face him. “What do you want, Jack?”
“To apologize about the other night.” He looks contrite. “I really am sorry.”
I pause for a moment before giving him a small nod. “Okay. Can I go have my lunch now?”