On the way home, I resolved to push all negative thoughts out of my head. My jaw hurt from clenching my teeth. I rubbed my neck with one hand and gripped the steering wheel.
Joe. Nothing to worry about. I promised myself I would be better, more attentive.
Mother. I had to see her tomorrow. No excuses.
Rick. I’d deal with him tomorrow, too. Nothing happened, I reminded myself. Nothing. There would be no impropriety, ever. Or the appearance of it. I would clear the air and make things right. If it killed me.
Or Rick.
I pulled up to the curb and parked the car. Our house glowed from the inside with the warmth of fireplace embers. Home.
Inside was Chris. My marriage. Both needed serious attention and there was no time like the present.
I could fix things.
I made my way up the stairs and pushed open the door to our room. It was a little before midnight.
The light was still on; Chris dozed, sitting up on the bed, notes from work spilling off his lap.
Without a sound, I stole across the room on tiptoes, clicked off the light, and slipped out of my jacket and shoes. I unzipped my skirt and let it drop to the floor.
“You’re home,” I heard Chris stir and yawn.
“Hey,” I said softly. “I wasn’t sure if I should wake you.”
“No, I wanted you to.” Chris stretched his arms overhead. “I was trying to stay up until you got home. I wanted to see you.”
Wow. I stood still, unsure of whether to be flattered or ask why.
“Well, you first.” I reminded myself to be more sensitive to his job stress. “How are you? How’s work going?”
Chris didn’t answer for a moment. “Okay, I guess. Still tense around there. There’s so much competition going on, a few big projects. But, hey, I don’t want to talk about that right now.” He shifted on the bed. “Your turn. Tell me about your night.”
I hesitated, wanting to say the day was fabulous. But I couldn’t. The words spilled out of my mouth like they’d been poured from a bucket. “It was…terrible. The ten o’clock show was kind of a disaster. Not technically, just me.”
“Well, you seemed tense at first, but by the end you seemed back to yourself,” Chris remarked. “The six was flawless. You were funny.” He chuckled. “It’ll be okay.”
Did I just hear that right? He watched both shows?
It was all the encouragement I needed.
“Thanks, babe. You’re so sweet.” I walked across the room to Chris and put both hands on his shoulders, bent down, and gave him a long, slow kiss. His hands circled my waist and pulled me toward him. I let myself fall into his arms.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” he murmured into my ear.
“Not right now.”
I clung to Chris and let myself forget everything else in the world other than his skin on mine. We made love for the first time in more than a month, tender and sweet, then urgent. By the time I peeled myself away from the bed, more than an hour had gone by.
While Chris slept, I watched the clock. I was wide-awake. Two a.m. Three a.m. Four a.m. At five, I couldn’t stand it any longer.
I slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb him. But I knew the reason I couldn’t sleep.
Rick.
As much as I tried to swallow my anxiety like a bitter pill, a terrible feeling had lodged itself between my heart and stomach, burning and swelling.
Should I tell Chris? Should I bury it? The guilt gnawed at me, nibbling away at any good feelings I had built up over the past weeks.
I had to make a decision.
What happened was wrong. I pressed my hands to my forehead. I needed to talk to Rick like an adult, get it behind me, and be done with it.
Of course, my plan sounded great until a few hours later.
The moment I arrived at the television station, the WSGA sign stared me in the face like it knew my secret. My insides started to churn. The nausea was back. I cranked the air conditioner and parked, letting the cold air blow in my face.
Maybe I was sick. Maybe I needed to see the doctor. I called Candace.
“Melissa, sweetie, how long have you felt this way? Call and make an appointment. With a female doctor. Seriously.”
After Candace wrapped up her lecture, I broke down and made the appointment. I called WSGA’s own Ob/Gyn expert, Dr. Jennifer Freeman. After I gave my name, there was a brief pause. The receptionist cleared her throat. Was I the same Miss Moore who worked at the television station? she asked. When I said yes, she thanked me and immediately put me on hold.
For ten minutes with no music.
Great. I tapped my fingers against the window.
Maybe she thought I said Alyssa, in which case she was probably calling the police. Or the Centers for Disease Control.
Then, the receptionist was back. As luck had it, there was a cancellation. They could fit me in the next day. One task done. I set my phone on the seat next to me, closed my eyes, and summoned the courage to talk to Drew and Rick.
Two minutes later, my cell lit up and buzzed with a text from Drew. My boss, the mind reader. Well, might as well go in and talk to him in person before I saw Rick.
Deep breath in, nausea somewhat under control, I grabbed my purse and slipped through the back door. Up the stairs, two at a time in heels, into the newsroom, and to my desk. A few people milled around, talking, or watching clips and banging out stories on keyboards.
A brisk walk around the corner landed me in front of Drew’s office. The door was almost closed, which meant he was busy, but not too busy if we needed to discuss something important.
I knocked and put my hand on the knob. It sounded like the television was on, but when the hinges creaked, the noise reduced to a murmur, then stopped.
“What is it?” Drew said brusquely. He didn’t seem annoyed, just distracted.
I smoothed my hair and suit, straightened my shoulders, and walked in. “Just me. You wanted to see me? That’s such a coincidence, because I was coming to talk to you—”
Drew reached over and clicked off the television with a look of slight surprise, but not before I saw what he was watching. Anchor demos. A stack of DVDs, in fact.
I didn’t count, but guessed about a dozen were piled up, names and addresses in bold print on each one. I shut my mouth quickly after I realized my chin had dropped open.
“Shoot, Mel, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Drew turned and grabbed a case off the pile. “You’re not in trouble. I wanted you to see this.”
“O-kay,” I said slowly, not understanding.
He started to laugh. “So, I’m going through this pile of demos. One that looks vaguely familiar. So, I pop in the DVD, start to watch, and it was our very own Alyssa Andrews.”
“Alyssa?” I blinked. “For real?”
“You have to see this. She’d colored her hair, changed her name, and wrangled someone into taping a few stand-ups by the highway and in front of the courthouse with bogus stories.”
“You’re not thinking…”
“About hiring her back? Hell, no. I finally got the restraining order. Judge signed off on it this morning.” He pointed to an official looking document on his desk.
“Um, so, what are you going to do?”
Drew snorted. “Nothing, unless she tries to bust the doors down. Word is she’s trying to land a job in California. I’m all for it. Hell, as long as she’s on medication, I’d even write her a recommendation.”
“Drew!”
“I’m kidding! I just thought this was funny. Like a ‘watch it at the annual station party bloopers’ kind of thing.” Drew took a breath.
“This is why you wanted to see me?” My body turned to granite. I couldn’t move.
“No, Mel,” he said and waved a hand at my face. “Stop looking worried.”
To cover up my own surprise, I started chattering out-of-control. “Well, in case you were wondering,
I’m good. I’m actually feeling one hundred percent better. My bruise is starting to fade. I don’t really think you can notice it on air—”
Drew knitted his brow, trying to grasp the jumbled mess of what I was trying to spit out. “Melissa, slow down.” He checked his desk calendar, and then looked back up at me. “The reason I called is that one of the police officers is coming by to get a statement in an hour or so. Can you talk to him?”
My voice hit fast forward again. “Sure, great, okay. Whatever you need me to do.”
He looked at the blank television set, then down at his chair, the back of which faced me.
“Is that convenient for you, Rick?”
Rick? Was Rick on speakerphone?
Before I had time to ask who or what Drew was talking about, the chair spun around. Rick had been sitting there the whole time.
What was he doing here? Telling Drew to find someone else for the anchoring spot?Drew watched me curiously. “Melissa, are you sure you’re okay talking to Macon PD? You look a little pale.”
“No. I-I mean yes.” I stammered, gripping my purse tight to my ribcage. “I’m fine, Drew.”
Rick wouldn’t look at me.
I started to back out the door. The bastard. He’s pissed off because I rejected him. Serves him right, the lying jerk. I should tell his wife…
“Melissa, wait a sec,” Drew furrowed his brow. “Didn’t you need to see me, too?”
“Oh, not right now,” I gave Drew a smile, turned on my heel, and tried not to slam the door behind me.