I hold my phone in my hand, balancing it on my palm, weighing my options. And then I remember.
The quilts for the exhibit are in the back of our car. The car Paul absconded with.
He has my quilts.
That cuts straight through the numbness. I don’t know what to feel about my wedding, my marriage?—
But I knowexactlyhow I feel about that exhibit. I’ve poured myself into it. I’ve reached out to so many talented fiber artists. I’ve coordinated so many moving pieces. I’ve called in every favor, marketed like my life depended on it, drawn on strengths I didn’t know I had.
I love my shop, but this exhibit is mybaby.
My pride wants to curl up and die at the thought of texting Paul…but I don’t have any other choice.
Where are you? You have my quilts in the car. For the exhibit. I need you to come back with the quilts.
I make it as clear as possible that I’m not asking him to come back for me. I didn’t go to two years of therapy to beg a guy who ditched me at the altar to change his mind.
I didn’t go to two years of therapy to beg an asshole to love me.
I paid a lot of money for all that counseling.
Sent.
I wait for it to sayDelivered.
And wait. And wait.
I go into Find My.
Paul Graves. Rush Creek, OR. Four hours ago.
His phone must be off.
I growl my frustration, startling Rhys, who glances at me.
“What? Where are we going?”
“Take 22 to 5.”
Part of my brain is urging me to stop and reconsider this situation.You’re in a car with a man youloathe. That can’t be a good idea.
But right now? What happened in New York was a million years ago. There’s only Paul and those quilts and my exhibit.
I text Charlie.
Where is he?
Charlie
I’m so sorry but I can’t tell you that.
He has seventeen quilts in his car and they’re supposed to be hung in a world-class art quilt exhibit and if you don’t tell me where he is I’ll tell your fiancée you hooked up with that waitress in Vegas at the bachelor party.
Charlie’s going to know Paul told me about the waitress in Vegas. He’s probably going to be pissed at Paul. The thought gives me a thrill of delight. Maybe Charlie will beat Paul up.
There’s a long pause. I question my hard-ball tactics, not for Paul’s safety but because I’m not sure they’ll work. Then the three dots appear.
Charlie
