Good-Bye To All That by Margo Candela

Author:Margo Candela
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: A Touchstone Book
Published: 2010-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

nine | IN BETWEEN LIVES

Multitasking .

Once I get to the safety of my car, I dial the numbers from the napkin on my Belmore cell phone. My hands are shaking so bad with all the adrenaline coursing through me, it takes me two tries to get it right.

“Yeah?” a male voice says. Whoever this guy is, he needs to hock up some major phlegm. I just hope he doesn’t do it in my ear.

“Hi? I’m looking for Rory? My name is Raquel. We met the other day at . where he works.” I cross my fingers hard. My feelings would only be slightly hurt if he gave me a dummy number, but only because he was the instigator. I came into the café just because I wanted a coffee and baked goods fix. He was the one who started the flirting. “Is this Rory’s number?”

“Rory?” he asks, sounding completely at a loss as to who Rory is. It causes my heart to sink somewhere near the vicinity of my Nine West pumps. Of course it wouldn’t be this easy. I pull out of my space, knowing I’ll be heading directly to The Grove. “He’s not around. He’s out.”

“Does he have a cell phone number where I could reach him?” I ask.

“This is it,” Rory’s phlegmy friend says. “But I can take a message and make sure he gets it.”

“Great! I mean, cool. No, what I really mean is great!” I bounce up and down on my seat, causing my car to rock slightly. Behind me a conga line of slow-moving Belmore employees snake their way toward the exits. “Can you do me a huge favor? Can you have him call me back the second he gets back from wherever he is?”

I rattle off numbers but stop short of asking him for directions to where Rory lives. I can tell from his tone that he thinks I’m some scary stalker.

“You got them?” I ask, unable to keep myself from micromanaging him. “Three, one, zero—”

“Yeah,” he says and hangs up.

Next I call my mother, who’s left a dozen messages, which I don’t bother to listen to on my personal cell. She answers on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mom! I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. I was in meetings all day and I forgot my phone at my desk. So do you want to go out to grab something to eat?” I’m hoping if I mix lightheartedness and apologetic along with a firm plan of action, it will curtail any sort of reaction that will keep me on the phone with her the whole drive over.

“Raquel?” she asks, clearly confused, which I will blame on the Baileys. It’s the Baileys’s fault that my mother called me twelve times while sitting on my couch and watching my TV. “It that you?”

“Yeah, hi, it’s me. Raquel. Everything okay?” I have to ask. I know, of course, that nothing is okay, but I’m hoping she’s not suffering from some fast-acting dementia that started up around lunchtime.

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