Leaving New York

Chapter 40

I woke up with depression gluing me to the bed. Why did I try to hold Phillipe's hand? God. I threw back the covers upon hearing a hammer banging. I thought Phillipe said he wasn't working today. I splashed water on my face thinking of ways to avoid him. I tip-toed down the front steps to the kitchen.

"Good morning, sleepyhead." Chloe looked up from the ridiculously giant Sunday New York Times.

"Morning." I got coffee, made oatmeal then plopped down next to her. It always made me queasy when they read the Times—I never wanted to know about New York.

"I'm sorry we left so early."

"No problem. I know you hate crowds. You guys were quite the handsome couple--people talked about you."

"We're not a couple, okay? Got it?"

"Okay, but it sure sounds like someone took a Grouch pill this morning."

Someone clomped down the service stairs.

Chloe said, "Hey Phillipe, you need something?"

"Just came to get some more coffee. Jack."

"Morning. I thought you were taking the day off."

"I want to finish up. I have another job waiting on me."

"Oh."

"Well, thanks for the coffee." He headed back up the stairs. Chloe looked at me as I shoveled in my oatmeal, staring at a cheap copy of Vermeer's "Milkmaid" on the wall.

"What's going on?"

"With what?"

"You two."

"Nothing."

"You been thick as thieves for almost three weeks and now . . ."

"We just worked together."

"Jack."

I covered my face. "Phillipe ran into his ex-wife last night . . . it freaked him out somehow."

A horn honked in the street.

"Well, that's Deidre—we're going shopping. Do you need anything? Everybody scattered, so it's just you. You going to be okay?"

I nodded yes then she hugged me.

"I'll see you later."

"Okay."

My head filled up with distortions—I'd never see him again, he was just playing with me, he's straight, I was an idiot for falling for him. I trotted back upstairs to take my antidepressant. I looked like a scarred-up monster in the bathroom mirror, a has-been, a fool. I fell into bed, but the fucking banging in the attic kept me from falling asleep. I threw back the covers and ran upstairs to the attic.

"Can't you hammer a little quieter!"

"What?"

I marched to him, "That banging is giving me a headache, Phillipe. You said last night you weren't working today. I need some more sleep."

"It's ten in the morning."

"I don't care. I didn't sleep well last night."

"Why do you not sleep well?"

"Because . . . I just didn't."

"I not sleep well either."

"Yeah?"