Tough Enough

But he’s an actor. To be fooled would make me foolish.

“Katie, you know me. You know me. Better than probably anyone in my life, you know me. Please just trust me. One more time. I promise you I’m not like them. If there was anything I could do, any other way . . .”

I reach up to wind my fingers around his wrists and tug them away from my face. “There’s always another way. You just have to want to find it.”

Rogan drops his hands and leans back before ru

I take a deep breath and bolster myself against the desire to crawl into a corner and die. I gave my heart away and this is what it’s come to.

I’m resigned. The least I can do at this point is try to retain some amount of dignity. I stand to my feet, legs shaky, knees wobbly, and I pray for strength before I speak. “It won’t matter, Rogan. We’re just too different. We were kidding ourselves to think otherwise. Go back to your people. And I’ll go back to mine. All I ask is that you stay away from me. If you respect me or ever cared anything about me, you’ll do this one thing for me. Please.”

I’m glad my voice stayed strong through the end. I’m glad I was finished speaking, too, because, as I shoulder my purse and walk past Rogan, I’m overcome with the feeling that I can’t breathe, much less speak. Yet I walk on. I walk to another seat at the farthest end of my gate and I take it. I slip into it, my only thoughts of the door that will lead to the airplane that will take me away from here, away from Rogan. I just have to make it home in one piece and then I can fall apart.

And I will. But this time, I’m not sure the pieces will be big enough to put back together again.

Thankfully, they board the plane within minutes of me walking away from Rogan. I don’t look back until I’m seated in coach, staring out across the tarmac, waiting for takeoff. Only then do I give in, albeit reluctantly, to the urge to sneak one last glance behind me, at where I’ve been. I don’t expect to find Rogan. I figured he’d have already left. But he hasn’t. And I have no trouble spotting him.

There, standing tall and strong in front of the enormous wall of windows that faces me, is the love of my life. The betrayer of my last bit of trust.

Although his eyes are fixed in my general direction, I know he can’t see me. Maybe he never did. If he had, he’d know why we can never be together. Not after this.

Tiny droplets begin to pepper the thick, oval glass between us. For a few seconds, I can’t tell the difference between the water in my eyes and the water falling from the sky. But then it starts to rain harder. According to the forecast, there was no chance of rain, but they were as deluded as I’ve been. There’s always a chance of rain, no matter how small.

After a few minutes, my window is nothing more than a highway of rivulets that turn Rogan from real and solid into a wavy hallucination. Soon I can barely see the terminal at all.

Kiefer “The Rain” Rogan. Yes, he brought the rain. And if I’m not careful, I might well drown in it.

THIRTY-FOUR

Rogan

My legs feel tired. As I walk back through the airport, I’m aware of every muscle, every tendon, every ligament, and they all just feel . . . tired. Like I fought the best, most important fight of my life, and I lost. And, even though I won, I really did lose. I lost everything.

The ride back to the hotel is uneventful. When I try to think about past the now, it seems that everything feels the same way—uneventful. The night, the morning, next week, next year—all uneventful. It’s like everything I had to look forward to got somehow twisted around and wrapped up in a shy wisp of a girl. And without her, there’s just . . . nothing.

Uneventful nothingness.

At the hotel, I’m pissed to find Kurt in my room. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“Being your brother has some perks. Being handicapped just helps my case.”

I don’t reply. I don’t take the bait. I’m just not interested in Kurt right now. Actually, I’m not interested in much of anything except sleep. I just want to sleep.

Ignoring him, I walk into the bedroom to get some clean lounge pants, and I head for the bathroom. I cut on the shower and turn to find Kurt parked in the doorway. “What?” I snap.

“Did you find her?”

“Yeah.”

A pause. “And?”

“And what? She’s gone.”

“You’re the dumbest asshole I’ve ever met. Why would you let a woman like that go?”

“It’s what she wanted.”

“Well, I gotta give her credit for making the smart choice, but I’m surprised. I thought she was pretty into you.”

“Maybe she was, maybe she wasn’t. Doesn’t matter now. It can’t work.”

“What kind of a defeatist attitude is that? Did it ever occur to you that you might actually have to try with some people?”

I clench my fists to keep from sending him back into the bedroom on his ass. “I tried, you shitdick. There are just some things that I can’t change, things that she can’t live with. That’s it. If I could fix it, I would, but I can’t.”

“Why? What’s so bad that it can’t be fixed?”

If you only knew, I think harshly. But I don’t tell him that. As I’ve done for years, I protect my brother. Mostly from himself.

“Just forget it, man. Back up,” I say, walking toward him to force him out of the doorway. “I need to shower.”

I close the door in Kurt’s face as soon as his lifeless feet are clear of the jamb.

“You’re making a big mistake, dude,” he says from outside. Unless I’m mistaken, there’s actually a note of regret in his voice. But not nearly as much regret as what’s in me. Nowhere close.

THIRTY-FIVE

Katie

I couldn’t face Monday. I called in sick and stayed in bed all day. Mona called at least six times, but I let them all go to voice mail. I knew I’d have to tell her eventually.

Today, Tuesday, is “eventually.”

As was her custom when Rogan was my first client of the day, Mona is in my “office” waiting for me when I arrive. Her face wreathed with a smile that’s so brilliant it rivals that of the sun. Until she sees me, that is. I watch it fall into an expression of concern.

“Kitty! You look terrible! What happened?”

She rushes across the room to take me in her thin arms. I resist the urge to literally cry on her shoulder. That’s not my style. Or at least it wasn’t until recently. For the last thirty-some hours, I feel like I’m no longer in control of my tear ducts. They’ve been overtaken by evil spirits or something. They don’t even care whether I’m asleep or awake. Each time I’ve fallen asleep, my own sobs have awakened me.

Somehow I manage to keep it together until Mona releases me. I give her a tight, polite smile and plead, “Do you mind if we just not talk about it?”

I can tell that’s tantamount to asking her to bite off her own tongue and swallow it, but still she nods in compliance. I walk past her to slide my purse into the drawer where it lives during the day. “Just know that when you’re ready, I’m here.”