Outer Core (15 page)

Throughout the evening, I do my very best to not appear as detached as I feel. Threading a sentence here or an expression there, I participate just enough not to raise concerns. Though the only thing I want is to lose myself in Hayley and drown everything else away.

More than an hour after everyone leaves, I'm still awake with Hayley sound asleep on my chest. I softly stroke her hair, breathing in her sweet cinnamon scent. I'm well aware of the sleepless night ahead, but at least, I have her in my arms. The only thing that has the power to, in a way, settle me and ease my mind.

I groan as the escalating sound of the alarm penetrates my deep sleep. Rubbing my eyes, I turn to search for Daniel. Hoping he's still around, I quickly put on a sweatshirt and make my way to the kitchen. A lukewarm, half-drunk coffee and the Veyron's keys missing from the bowl slightly bring me down. I was hoping to talk to him before he left for work this morning. Though he was as doting as ever, there was something about him last night I can't shake off. He seemed like something was weighing on him.

Trying to call him, I frown, realizing Daniel's phone is switched off. I toss my phone on the table and head back to the bedroom to get ready for work.

“I think it does a great job delivering the message,” says our new intern.

Josh pushes his glasses up his nose and twists his mouth. “What do you think, Hayley?” Wheeling his chair back, Josh allows me a better view of the screen. We both examine the content for a stretch.

“I agree. The message is clearly transpired, but,” I turn to Josh, “something about the background. To me, it's a bit too detailed. It takes too much of the attention.”

Josh nods. “Maybe the text is enough. Leave the greyscale scheme.” He points at the center of the monitor. “Hayley, let's have two drafts. One with the images faded out and one without the images completely. Skip the next meetings; I'd like to have it ready this afternoon.”

I nod, more than thankful to be spending the next few hours buried in work.

With a fresh cup of coffee by my side, I dive right into the InDesign program, blocking out the busy office buzz around me.

By the time the big green clock on the wall turns four, I'm finally able to leave my desk. Feels like the day has flown by. Only now, stretching, waiting for Josh's feedback on the final drafts I've sent him, I realize I haven't eaten anything today.

I grab my purse and drop by Josh's office. I pop my head in his room. “I'm going to grab something to eat. Do you want me to get you anything?”

He lifts his head above his screen. “No thanks, I'm good. Great job on the Road Trip drafts, I think we'll go with the clean-cut one.”

I nod. “It's classier. So I'll be back in thirty. I'll be on my phone if you need me.”

My mouth literally waters as I unwrap my roasted beetroot and goat cheese sandwich. Looking out the window of the cozy sandwich shop, I enjoy every bite of my late lunch. I take a generous sip of the sweet tea, trying to call Daniel again. I frown when I discover he still has his phone switched off. Searching for his PA's number, I notice two new email notification in my private inbox. The first one is yet another formal representation rejection, and the other makes me swallow hard on my next sip. I set the beverage aside and reread the email.

 

Hello Hayley,

I've reviewed your illustrations sample and I'm very intrigued. I'd like to discuss representation. When would be a good time to call?

Thanks very much. I look forward to hearing from you.

All the best,

Terry Henson

Orange Illustration Agency

 

Holy shiz
! Filled with excitement, I reply to the email. Beaming, I reach for my sandwich. Halfway through my next bite, my phone hollers. My forehead wrinkles at the unfamiliar number on my screen. My tentative, “Hello,” soon dissolves into a stream of introductions and compliments coming from the other end of the line.

“Nice to meet you too, Terry. And wow, thank you. I'm humbled.”

The agent hardly lets me string a syllable, telling me how much she liked my work. When she says she thinks it will be a perfect fit to an upcoming children book, I drop the sandwich in my hand. I swallow hard, stunned. Here I was excited about someone interested in representing me and connecting to my work, but an actual job?

“Hayley, are you there?” Terry says to my silent pause.

“Yeah. I'm just. Yes, sure, Thursday sounds perfect.”

I stare at the phone in my hand, trying to grasp the last five minutes. A smile spreads across my face as the realization sinks in. I ask for the bill and leave a generous tip, beaming at the waiter. High on excitement, I make my way back to the office. My fingers prickle at the thought of trying Daniel's number again. I can't wait to share the news with him and on a whim decide to go visit him at the office right after work.

I pass by the coffee shop below the Stark Software offices to get Daniel his favorite before climbing up to his office. I frown back at Anne's frown when she sees me. Acentric and uptight as she usually is, she'd always been nice to me. Even a bit too trying, but she always means well, bless her neurotic soul. “Is he with someone?” I ask tipping my chin at Daniel's closed door. Her frown deepens and she jumps out of her chair. “I brought him coffee.” I gesture with the cup in my hand.

“Miss Grace, um.”

“It's Hayley,” I murmur. Not sure why I even bother anymore. It's a lost cause.

Her brows almost meet when she says, “Mr. Stark didn't come in today.” She looks at me. “I thought he was at home actually. His phone has been switched off since early morning.”

I try to search my mind to remember if Daniel mentioned anything about being away.

“He had a full day. He didn't even let me know he was going to be absent or ask me to cancel his meetings.”

What's going on, D?

“I see,” I say, not sure what to think. Trying hard not to let the worry seeping into me grow, I say, “I'm heading home, so I'll ask him to call you when I see him.”

On my way to the car, I go through my emails again. With Daniel's constant traveling, we got to the point where he just forwards me his itineraries, instead of telling me about them. There's nothing planned for today.

With my handbag still on my shoulder, I pass by each room, including the guesthouses, finding them all empty. I plunge onto one of the kitchen's highchairs, my mind working overtime. I drop my bag on the counter, my shoulders slumping with the weight of my worry. The more I think about it, the less sense it makes. Erratic as he may be at times, he'd never just up and disappear without letting me know he'd be gone for a while. Or let Anne know, for that matter. She practically runs his life. I try not to wander into worrisome territory. Pushing out of the chair, I make my way to change into something warmer.

 

It's not okay to sit in one place and delve for hours on end. It's not okay to sulk for the equivalent amount of time. It's not okay to feel such healthy belligerence toward your significant other without a sound reason. And it's definitely not okay to screen your best friends' calls. But that's exactly what I've been doing since I got home. I chance a glance at my phone's clock.
Nine thirty. D, where are you?
As much as I try, I can't tune out the whispers of our recent “hiccups,” and the very vivid dream I had hums in the recesses of my mind. My stomach is so strung, I feel nauseated. I curl on the living room sofa, wrapping a throw around me, waiting. Somehow, our home in a way still feels warm by his presence, yet painfully cold by his absence. Fatigue laced dread sneaks in, slowly and heavily pressing on my eyelids.

Shaken, my eyes rip open at the chime of my phone. For short, hazy moments, I'm disoriented, surfacing from a brief, tense doze. Relief washes over me to Daniel's name on the screen.

“Daniel,” his name is an urgent breath.

“Hales . . .”

I used to think love was an urban legend and that you could never be that connected to another person. But now I know it couldn't be truer and that that person lives in your bloodstream and you come to know them so deeply that simply the cadence of their voice can shake your entire world with dread.

“Are you okay?” is blurted out of my mouth.

“Yes. Can you come down to Baja?”

Baja?
“What? Baja? When? What are you doing in Baja?”

“You're booked on the next flight going out at half past ten. Hales, I can't talk right now. Just come.”

And he is gone.

Jarred to my core, I stare ahead, holding the phone in a tight grip. I blink twice and drop my eyes to the device. It's hard to comprehend the nature of my emotions, I'm burning from the inside—part anxious, part mad. Not sure which part is greater.

The moment the plane's wheels come in contact with the ground, I try Daniel's number once more. Nothing. Mixed emotions swim in my head, weighing on my stomach.
Don't go there, Hales.
The fear and anxiety throw me back to when he was held hostage in Thailand. At least, this time, I know for sure where he is, and most importantly, that he's alive. This time, besides harboring tension that makes it hard to properly breathe, I'm also mad. Because whatever it is that he needs to tell me, he could have done it in so many different and better ways. Talk to me, confront me, instead of letting me jump into the rabbit hole that is my imagination. Feels like in a way, we're back to when we started seeing each other when he kept everything to himself. This is something I'm not willing to endure again. Not anymore, especially at this point in our relationship when we're planning a future together, a family.

Sitting in the cab, I stare at the scenery passing before me, not really seeing it. My mind, fueled by worry and irritation, doesn't take anything in besides the thoughts twirling in my head. I heave loudly, shaking my head. I'm upset. Majorly upset. Because whatever he needs to tell me, he shouldn't have made me come all the way to Baja to do it. With only moments left of the drive, I start composing the mother of all lectures in my head. But no matter how mad I am, I'll be there for him, whatever it is. I just hope he still wants me to be there for him . . .

I believe that we all possess an innate intuition of what's right and what's wrong for us. How we choose to utilize that intuition is a different story. For me, I've disregarded it many times, or occasionally even defied it. Alas, very seldom, I have embraced it. However, when it comes to Daniel and our relationship, the moment I chose to put that ring on my finger, I took an internal oath to trust my feelings for him, my intuitions, our bond, and mostly, his love for me. In the same breath, I also pledged to toss my insecurities into the garbage and pay less attention to the pinch of maddening traits my beloved psycho has been blessed with. Because, boy, since the tsunami that is my Daniel has barged into my life, I've been both Danielized, and to a degree, let's call a spade a spade, stupefied. Vowing to first listen and then lash out, I pay the driver and search for my key.

The key isn't necessary, though, for the front door is unlocked. I feel my way through the dark till my hand reaches the light switch. I give the living room a peep and cringe at the half bottle of scotch standing solo on the table. I pick up Daniel's shirt that's lying on the floor next to his deserted shoes. I drop the shirt on the armrest, and head toward where blurry music is playing.

“Daniel,” I call out, still nursing confusion, and to a greater degree, anger. I'm more than ready to confront him with everything that has been boiling inside me for the past twenty-four hours. A quick glance at the panoramic windows reveals his whereabouts. My heart lodges up in my throat as I make my way to the deck. The only light illuminating the space is the full moon's soft gleam. The background music is loud and angry, pounding in perfect harmony to my heart. I take a couple of steps toward the outdoor surround system and turn the volume down. That's when Daniel finally realizes I'm there.

The look in his eyes as they shine from under the cowl of a hoodie makes my next breath trap inside. I study him for a stilled moment, slouched on a recliner, clad in a dark hoodie and board shorts. He opens his mouth to speak and shuts it right back, a frown, painful frown, veiling his face. I take another step, eyes steady on his, fearing to hear what was about to leave his mouth. The air he is radiating makes me want to both hug him tight and run the other way, as fast as I can. The look on his face tells me that whatever he is about to say will break my heart because that's exactly how
he
looks. Wrecked. I take another hesitant step to reach him. He tips his head to look up at me, and I physically feel his pain filtering into me.

I part my lips to speak but no words come out. Instead, I'm being pulled forward by his arm that's encircling my waist. “Hales,” leaves his mouth as he buries his face in my stomach. Instinctively, my fingers thread in his hair, holding him to me in compassion. I bend down to kiss his hair, my eyes closed, my heart pelting at the walls of my chest. I let him take comfort in me for a silent beat.

“Daniel,” I say in a dainty voice. “What is it? You're scaring me.” It feels like a small ice cube is making its way slowly down my neck as I wait for him to speak.

He looks up, his features hard, the creases between his brows dense. “Iris's cancer is back.”

“No,” is ripped out of my throat. A watery screen blurs my vision as I stare back at Daniel.

“The results came in today,” he says, overwhelming sadness sitting in his eyes.

“I-I'm so sorry,” I stutter, gazing back at him through unshed tears.

Daniel pulls me onto his lap, embracing me tightly, burying his face in my hair.