Nora Roberts - The Hollow

“Believe me, I already have. I’m trying to cut it even wider by convincing myself you’re being moody and secretive because you’re an ass, not because you don’t trust me. But it’s tricky because while you may be an ass, you’re not a big enough one to hold back the details of a major trauma like the one you went through last night just to be stupid. So I circle right back to the matter of trust. I let you inside me, I took you inside me in that bed, but you won’t let me inside you. You won’t tell me what hurt and scared you.”

“You need to back off, Layla. This just isn’t the time.”

“You get to choose the time? Well, that’s fine. Just let me know when it’s convenient for you, and I’ll pencil me in.”

She started out, and he did nothing to stop her. Then she stopped, looked dead into his eyes. “Who’s Carly?”

When he said nothing, when his eyes went blank, she walked away and left him alone.

HE DIDN’T EXPECT HER TO COME INTO THE OFfice, actively hoped she wouldn’t. But while he was in his law library trying to concentrate on research, he heard her come in. There was no mistaking it for anyone else. Fox knew the way she moved, even her morning routine.

Open the door of the foyer closet, hang up coat, close the door. Cross to the desk, open the bottom right-hand drawer, stow purse. Boot up the computer.

He heard all the busy little sounds. They made him feel guilty, and the guilt annoyed him. They’d ignore each other for a few hours, he decided. Until she calmed down and he settled down.

Then, they’d just move past it.

Ignoring and avoidance worked well enough for most of the morning. Every time the phone rang, he braced for her voice to come snipping over the intercom. But she never buzzed him.

He told himself he didn’t sneak from the library to his office. He simply walked very, very quietly.

When he heard her go out to lunch, he strolled out to reception, took a casual scan of her desk. He noted the short stack of while-you-were-outs for him. So she wasn’t passing the calls through, he mused. No problem, that worked. He’d do the callbacks later, he decided. Because if he took the messages into his office, it would become obvious he’d been out there poking around her desk.

Now he felt stupid. Stupid, tired, beleaguered, and a little pissed off. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he started back to his office and jolted when the door opened. Relief came when he saw Shelley walk in rather than Layla.

“Hi. I was hoping I could talk to you for a minute. I just saw Layla outside, and she said you were in, probably not real busy.”

“Sure. You want to come back?”

“No.” She walked to him, and just put her arms around him. “Thanks. I just wanted to say thanks.”

“You’re welcome. What for?”

“Block and I had our first counseling session last night.” She gave a sigh, stepped back. “It was kind of intense and it got pretty emotional, I guess. I don’t know how it’s all going to end up, but I think it helped. I think it’s better to try, to talk, even if we’re yelling, than to just say screw you, you bastard. If I end up saying that, at least I’ll know I gave it a good shot first. I don’t know if I would have if you hadn’t been looking out for me.”

“I want you to get what you want, whatever that is. And to be happy when you get it.”

She nodded, dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “I know Block went after you, and you didn’t press charges. He’s feeling, I guess the word’s chastised . I wanted to thank you for that, too, for not pressing charges.”

“It wasn’t all his fault.”

“Oh, it was, too.” But she laughed a little. “He’s got some making up to do, but he knows it. He’s got a black eye. I don’t give a rat’s ass if it’s small of me, but I appreciate that, too.”

“No charge.”

She laughed a little. “Anyway. We’re going to keep going, see what happens. I get to go alone next, and I am so unloading.” Now she grinned. “Already feels good. I gotta get back to work.”

He went back to his office, worked and brooded. He heard Layla come back in. Closet, coat, desk, drawer, purse. He went out the kitchen door, making just enough noise to let her know he’d headed out.

The sun was brilliant in a ripe blue sky. Though the air was warm enough to keep him comfortable in his light jacket, the chill shot up his spine.

The afternoon mirrored his dream.

He forced himself to round the building to Main. Pansies rioted in the tub in front of the flower shop. People strolled, some in shirtsleeves, as if sucking down this taste of spring after the last gulp of winter. He curled his hands into fists, and followed the steps.

He waited for a break in traffic, crossed the street.

Amy came out of the back of the flower shop. “Hey, Fox. How you doing? Fabulous day, isn’t it? About time, too.”

Close enough, he thought, keeping his eyes on her face. “Yeah. How’ve you been?”

“No complaints. Are you looking for something for the office? Mrs. Hawbaker usually picked out an arrangement on Mondays. You don’t want to buy office flowers on a Friday, Fox.”

“No.” Though some of the knots in his belly loosened- not the same-they tightened again when he glanced over and saw the daffodils. “It’s personal. Those are what I’m after.”

“Aren’t they sweet? All cheerful and hopeful.” She turned, and he stared at the faint reflection of her face in the glass. She smiled, but it was Amy’s smile, as cheerful as the flowers.

She chattered as she prepared them, wrapped them, but the words slipped in and out of his mind as he searched the air for the scent of something rotting. And found nothing but fresh and floral.

“Are they for your girl?”

He gave her a quick, sharp look. “Yeah. Yeah, they’re for my girl.”

Her smile only went brighter as they exchanged money for blooms. “She’ll love them. If you want something for the office, I’ll have a nice arrangement for you Monday.”

“Okay, thanks.” He turned to go.

“Say hi to Layla for me.”

He closed his eyes, relief, guilt, gratitude rushing through him. “I will. See you later.”

Maybe he was a little dizzy when he stepped outside, a little shaky in the knees, but when he made himself look, the door of the old library was closed. His gaze traveled up, up, but no one he loved stood poised for death on the narrow ledge of the turret.

He crossed the street again. She was at her desk when he came in the front door. She flicked him a glance, then looked deliberately away.

“There are messages on your desk. Your two o’clock called to reschedule for next week.”

He walked to her, held out the flowers. “I’m sorry.”

“They’re very nice. I’ll go put them in water.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated when she rose and made to brush by him.

She paused, just two beats. “All right.” And taking the flowers, walked away.

He wanted to let it go. What was the point in dredging it all up? What could possibly be the point? It wasn’t about trust, it was about pain. Wasn’t he entitled to his own pain? Hurting, he strode back to the kitchen where she filled a vase with water.

“Listen, are we supposed to turn ourselves inside out, show off our guts? Is that what it takes?”

“No.”

"We don’t have to know every damn detail about each other.”

“No, we don’t.” She began to slip the tender green stems into the water, one by one.

“I had a nightmare. I’ve had nightmares almost as long as I can remember. We’ve all had them now.”

“I know.”

“Is that your way of dragging it out of me? To agree with everything I say?”