Figure Eight Read online

  Sleet readily falls from the sky, making it momentarily hard to see. I turn on my windshield wipers and keep my gaze straight ahead. A snowstorm could be coming our way for all I know, but that doesn’t stop me.

  I wonder for a second what Sam would say if she could see me right this minute. I can just picture her: lips pursed, shaking her head in disapproval before she says, “Really, Selah? Since when did you start stalking?”

  Since everything in my life became fucked up, would be my reply.

  We drive through Decatur, and soon we’re in Forsyth. Her blinker flashes. She moves to the left lane to turn onto Barnett Ave. There’s now one car between us but she hasn’t looked in her rearview mirror once.

  The light turns green and we turn with the flow of traffic. Her turn signal comes on yet again. Another right. This time into the Texas Roadhouse parking lot. It’s packed to the hilt, which is good. I don’t want to park too close. She gets a parking spot way in the back. I find a spot two rows back and immediately turn off my car.

  She gets out, this time with an umbrella. Of course she has an umbrella. She’s one of those ready and prepared women, whereas I can’t tell you the last time I had an umbrella on me when I actually needed it.

  I watch as the two of them run toward the building. The beautiful woman manages to shield the little the girl’s face and keep herself dry all at the same time.

  So perfect.

  They disappear into the building. Maybe they’re here to have dinner with Jackson. The very thought makes me sick to my stomach.

  This is my opening to put my car in reverse and go home, but I can’t. I’ve come this far. To give up now would be a huge waste. So I adjust my seat and make myself comfortable, turn the radio down to a soft murmur and wait.

  ONE HOUR LATER I’m done waiting in my car. I get out, slamming the car door. Ignoring the sleet that’s pelting the side of my face, I stand outside of the entrance of Texas Roadhouse, watching people coming and going through the front doors. Unbearably loud country music blares through the speakers whenever the doors open and becomes a soft murmur when they close.

  Get out of here, my mind whispers. You look crazy. Deranged.

  I think there’s a good chance that I started going crazy the minute Jackson and Mom disappeared on me, leaving me with thousands of unanswered questions.

  “Ma’am?” I see a man holding the door open. “Are you coming in?”

  I’ve been outside for only a few minutes and already I’m drenched. My hair is plastered to the sides of my face. My clothes feel heavy and itchy against my skin. My toes are so cold I’m convinced that I’m getting hypothermia.

  “No.” I pause. “I’m waiting for someone.”

  It’s obvious that he’s wondering why I’m not waiting inside, but he doesn’t say it. He just nods and lets the door shut behind him.

  With my arms tightly folded across my chest and my chin tucked down, I try to imagine what I will say when I encounter the beautiful woman. I had an hour in the car to figure it out, but I kept drawing a blank. The only thing I can think of is to be honest and up front. ‘Hey! How do you know Jackson?’ seems to be the best approach.

  Although, I could accidentally bump into her, say sorry. Ask if the girl next to her is her daughter. And if she says yes, I’ll say she’s so beautiful. And she’ll say thank you. And there’s my perfect intro. Perfect, but long and probably time consuming. Plus, that would take finesse. And that’s definitely something that I’m lacking right now.

  No, the best course of action is to be blunt and up front.

  The double doors open. Laughter filters out and suddenly there she is, directly in front of me. I stand there, soaking wet, looking fucking ridiculous. She has the little girl in her arms. An older couple that wasn’t with her when she walked in now flanks her on either side. Her head is turned toward the woman, in deep conversation. The woman says something that makes her kick back her head and laugh. She has a pretty laugh.

  I bet that’s what made Jackson fall in love with her.

  A guttural noise tears from my throat, surprising her and me. She stops short. The woman next to her veers back. She has the same look I had when that homeless woman screamed at me. The beautiful brunette’s face becomes pale, like she’s looking at a ghost.

  She knows me.

  I don’t know her, but she knows me and that makes this all the more gut-wrenching. Swallowing loudly, I take a step forward, which makes the woman take another step back, like I’m a monster.

  “Do you know Jackson?” I whisper, ignoring their stares.

  The older woman’s mouth is agape and the man looks distinctly uncomfortable. As for the beautiful one, she looks ready to rip my head off.

  “What are you doing here?” she demands.

  “I…”

  Holy shit. What can I actually say to her that doesn’t make me sound like a nutcase? Nothing. I’d followed her to a grocery store and now to a restaurant. She could call the cops on me. File a restraining order. She could do just about anything and get away with it because I am the other woman.

  I just never realized it.

  “He’s. Not. Here,” she enunciates slowly. I can tell she wants to say more but she does a double take at the little girl in her arms. She looks out of the corner of her eye toward the older woman and gestures for her to hold the little girl and move out of hearing distance. Immediately the woman takes her, cradling the little girl like a precious treasure. She kisses the girl’s head and walks away with the older man, who shoots a worried look in my direction.

  When they’re a few steps away, the beautiful woman takes a step closer. She says in a firm and level voice, “You need to leave us alone, all right?”

  “You don’t understand. I didn’t know—”

  “I don’t care,” she cuts in, enunciating her words slowly, as if I’m deaf. “I don’t care what you have to say. Just leave us alone. Can you give us that, Selah?”

  She knows my name. She knows my name. Out of everything she just said that’s all my mind can fully grasp. She knows my name and yet I know nothing about her.

  Jackson obviously told her about me. But what did he say? Was I painted out to be the villain? A woman that fell for a married man, almost destroyed a family and now wouldn’t take no for an answer? If he gave his wife any image of me, it had to be negative. No positives.

  “Are you ready, Claribelle?” the lady behind her asks.

  Claribelle.

  What a beautiful name.

  She gives me scathing look. “Yes. I’m ready.”

  She turns on her heels and hurries back to the people she’d dined with. The woman holding the beautiful little girl keeps turning around to stare at me. She doesn’t look at me with hate like Claribelle does, but with interest and pity.

  It eats at me to think that his wife is going to walk away thinking I’m this huge whore that’s stalking her family. I’m not the villain. And I’m sure as hell not a vixen. I’m not any of those things.

  “I’m sorry!” I shout.

  She doesn’t acknowledge me.

  COME BACK, MY sweet Selah.

  I’m almost done being mad and you’re almost done with life. Together we create balance. Not harmony. Hell no. But the discord that’s happening right now? It’s not there when we connect.

  I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I hate to see you this unhappy. But can you understand why I was so upset with you? You weren’t trying. Here I am, working right alongside you when no one else is and I still don’t get any acknowledgment. I’m not looking for a trophy or something.

  Just a thank you.

  Just two words.

  What is it going to take to capture your attention? I’ve had it a few times over the course of these past few months and it was delicious. Like tasting freshly-baked cookies.

  I saw you outside of Texas Roadhouse with the rain pelting down around you. I saw you talk to that woman and the devastating look in your eyes. You walked away, sligh
tly hunched over as if she’d delivered a swift punch to your gut. You didn’t want to believe what she was telling you—what was standing directly in front of you—but you had no choice.

  So you numbly walked back to your car. You don’t remember much of the car ride home; you were on autopilot. Just going through the motions.

  When you pulled up into your driveway you softly shut the car door and walked inside. You locked the door behind you and flipped on the lights. And you took your drenched clothes off right there in the foyer. You walked upstairs, naked and went directly to the bathroom where you grabbed the sleeping pills. You took a few and went to your bedroom where you turned the light on.

  TWO DAYS LATER I force myself to go out.

  I’m so afraid that if I stay at home, locked up with my memories of Mom and Jackson, I’ll never emerge. It’s too easy to fall down the rabbit hole of insanity and I know that I’m so close to the edge. My feet keep slipping, but I refuse to fall because there’s no one to catch me.

  Well, there’s always Sam and Noah. But I can’t rely on them forever. At some point I need to fix myself. Something tells me that’ll never happen until I find Mom and Jackson.

  Both of my hands clutch the steering wheel as I drive down North Street. Winter still fiercely hangs on, refusing to let spring peek its head out. Snowflakes dance in the air as I drive toward downtown Decatur. The thermostat in the car says it’s 40 degrees but it feels like 20.

  There are so many choices when it comes to restaurants in Decatur, yet I choose Donna’s Diner. Small and quaint with no memories of Jackson. Or Mom.

  It’s your typical nondescript diner with a black and white checkered floor, long counter with barstools and booths lining the windows, letting you glimpse outside. The seats have small tears with cushioning spilling out in some places. The place smells of greasy fries and it makes my stomach growl.

  There’s a waitress behind the counter. She nods her head in my direction. I nod back and take a seat in the booth near the very back of the counter. I grab a menu, idly scanning the items. I’m hungry yet I can’t seem to find anything good.

  “What can I get for you, Sweetie?”

  I lift my head to see the same woman who was behind the counter earlier. Her nametag says Ang and has a few star stickers on it. She looks as excited about being here as I do. It makes me wonder what’s going on in her life that has her stressed. Certainly this job doesn’t help. But is she married? Have kids? Or is she alone, like me?

  Part of me wants to ask those very questions but I push them down, down, down so they have no chance of slipping out of my mouth.

  “A coffee and some toast would be good.”

  She arches one brow. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it,” I confirm. I drop the menu and slide it across the table toward her.

  Ang shrugs as she grabs the menu before walking back to the front register.

  The diner is quiet. My left leg nervously bounces up and down. Why? I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I wanted to escape the silence. I didn’t expect it to follow me. I cough loudly, causing the few customers that are here to lift their heads.

  I fiddle with the salt and peppershakers, putting them on their sides and spinning them around and around until I’m practically in a trance.

  “Thought I’d never find you alone.”

  I lift my head and see Jackson sliding into the seat across from me.

  I swear my heart stops for a millisecond before it resumes beating. Furtively, I look around to make sure that everyone else is seeing the same thing. No one takes any notice. I close my eyes, thinking it’s all in my head. But when I open them back up he’s still there. I gasp loudly. It’s like some part of me has been dead and has suddenly woken up, greedily gasping for air.

  I lean forward and fight the urge to reach out and touch him.

  “Jackson?” I whisper.

  He tilts his head to the side and smirks. “Who else do you think it’d be?”

  This can’t be happening right now. It can’t. “You left.” I lean in toward him. “I haven’t heard from you in so long.”

  He leans in and tries to grab my hands. At the last second I snatch them away. “I know. But it’s for the best.”

  “How? How is it for the best?” I can’t help the anger that seeps into my words because all I can picture are the lies and deceit that started the second I met this man.

  Confront him, my mind hisses. He can’t do this to you. He can’t make promises that he can’t follow through on.

  As if he can read my thoughts, his eyes lock with mine. He doesn’t look shocked. No, he looks sad for me. And that one single look fills me with an unexpected rage.

  Sorry? For me? Impossible.

  Yet I realize that I’m pathetic. And yes, sad. Because here he is, right in front of my very eyes. Nothing bad happened to him. Nothing bad happened to me. The only thing that happened is he lost interest in me.

  I can theorize that maybe he became bored and moved onto some other woman. Perhaps he realized that he truly loved that woman and child and wanted to give it a second chance. From the way she looked at me with hatred it was obvious that he told her all about me.

  “Jackson, I followed you yesterday.”

  He doesn’t look surprised.

  I continue. “I followed your car and I met a woman. She told me that I’ve already caused enough damage.” I put air quotes around the last word.

  Still no response, which by now should be no surprise. But it still pisses me the hell off.

  Jackson remains rigid in his seat, unmoved by my words and the pleading look in my eyes. He looks down at the table at the salt and peppershakers on their sides before he lifts his gaze back to mine.

  “I’m sorry, Selah. You have no idea how sorry I am. For everything.”

  “Go into greater detail. I’m not okay with you using the word everything. Tell me exactly what you’re sorry for.”

  He swallows. “I can’t.”

  “You can’t,” I repeat dully. “The whole time you’ve been talking to me you’ve had a completely separate life. Do you know how badly I want to reach across this table and choke the shit out of you? I don’t think I’ve ever been so angry in my life.”

  “I know you’re upset. But there’s no time to explain it all.”

  “You’re sitting across from me at a diner in the middle of the day. How much fucking time do you need?” I ask, my voice rising with each word. “Tell me the truth!” I slam my palms on the table. “All of it. Please!”

  “Is everything okay here?”

  I lift my head and see Ang staring down at me with a strange expression.

  I give her a false smile. “Yes.”

  She points to my half-empty cup. “Would you like a refill on your coffee?”

  “Ahh… no. I’m good.”

  “All right.” She walks toward other customers but looks over her shoulder at me, like I’m nuts.

  I ignore her, intent on continuing my conversation with Jackson. I turn back to him but his seat is empty. He’s gone.

  Poof.

  Like a magician he just disappeared on me.

  Again.

  Twisting around in my seat, I frantically look at each person in the diner.

  No, no, no. I’m not done talking to him. I want him to explain why he led me on for so long. Was he even sorry? Who was the little girl? Better yet, who was Claribelle? He can’t be gone!

  I drag all ten fingers through my hair and squeeze my eyes shut. My palms settle against my temples. I want to squeeze as hard as I can so that my skull breaks open. I picture all the black pieces of me spilling out like ink. Maybe the madness can escape and maybe I can rifle through the remnants and piece my life back together. And maybe everything can be okay because I know I can’t keep fucking doing this to myself.

  I’m not a person right now. I exist solely on memories of Jackson. Conversations with Noah. And in between those fragmented thoughts and feelings I should find
portions of my life, but they’re nowhere to be seen.

  Think! Keep thinking; you’re so close to the truth, my mind frantically screams at me.

  My hands are shaking as I pull out a ten and place it on the sticky surface of the table. “Keep the change,” I say to Ang and flee the diner.

  My breaths come in short gasps as I make my way to my car. I refuse to look around at my scenery, afraid of what I might see. Will I see Jackson standing across the street? Or perhaps this time it will be Mom? What an idea. I can picture it my head, telling Sam and anyone who asks that I found Mom on the corner of North Street. How simple.

  It’s only when I’m in my car that I cry. It’s so cold in the car that I’m certain my tears will freeze in place. Still, I don’t turn on the heat. I curl my fingers around my steering wheel. Everything feels so convoluted and twisted that even if I attempt to disentangle one thought from the other, it’d never be enough.

  THIS NEXT INTERVIEW is going to have to be handled with kid gloves.

  There was an agreement made beforehand that we would treat these two people with the utmost respect, all the while trying to get answers to hard-hitting questions. That was the difficult part: straddling the line between caring and callous. I had all the faith in the world that we could pull the truth and emotion from the both of them.

  To keep most of the interviews cohesive, we’re still at the Homewood Suites. I’m getting fucking sick of this place. Sick of looking out of my window every morning and seeing a mile of space defined by an empty parking lot for an ever-dying mall.

  In fact, the only thing keeping my spirits up is this very interview. Everyone on set is working quietly and in unison. I think we all feel the same: this is going to be an interview to remember. Last year, when everything happened, Jonathan and Catherine practically went into seclusion. Anything said to the press was through a close family member or their lawyer. They clung to their privacy like some crave their next breath. And who could blame them?

  Catherine’s a woman in her mid-fifties. Her light brown hair is cut in the typical mom haircut. Crows feet curve around the outer edges of her eyes. What were once laugh lines around her lips are now downturned, making her look like a mild version of the joker. A full year may have passed but Catherine is clearly still not okay with what happened. She’s quiet. Lets her husband do all the talking.