The Idea of Love (15 page)

“No, thanks. But look, I brought you something.”

Ella saw the box she knew contained homemade cookies—Amber's claim to fame in Watersend. She offered them whenever there was a death, a wedding, a graduation, a first date, making the cheerleading team, any monumental event (or what would be called a monumental event in Watersend). She decorated each cookie appropriately for the occasion: round sugar cookies with fluffed icing. She'd put smiley faces on them for kids' parties; wedding bells for a marriage; baby booties for the baby shower; a heart for funerals. (Yes, a heart.) Amber wouldn't share the recipe.

Ella looked at the open box. A single scripted word written in pale blue icing on top of the cookie:
Sorry
.

“Are you doing okay?” On the breakfast table, Amber pushed aside the lamp and Ella's sketches to make room for her cookie box.

“I'm fine.” Ella took a large bite of a cookie and looked to Amber. “I'm fine.”

“Do you accept my apology?” Amber's eyes filled with tears. She could do this on cue—both cry and sing.

“Why are you sorry?” Ella asked, taking a second bite.

“I should have told you as soon as I knew about it. I thought it would stop. I thought they'd get it out of their system and just get on with life. I thought it was terrible, I really did. But I also thought it would end quickly and we could all just go on like normal. I didn't know they thought … they were really in love.”

“In love,” Ella said, and cringed. “Really?”

“That came out the wrong way. They believe they are in love. I don't think they are. Sims has loved you forever. That doesn't just go away. And I thought, well … I don't know what I thought. I'm an idiot.” She paused to wipe at her eyes. She smeared mascara across her face like any good actress would. “I'm sorry this has happened to you. I've tried to intervene. I've tried to tell my sister and Sims that you deserve better than this.” She waved her hand around the apartment and then spotted Ella's list, the “how to get over your ex” list. “What's this?” she asked and picked it up.

Ella rushed to Amber and grabbed the sheet. “It's nothing.”

“No, seriously. This is fantastic. You could blog this or write about it or whatever. You aren't just sitting here crying; you're trying to
do
something.”

“Trying to do something?” Ella's voice rose as she crumpled the list and tossed it across the room. “I'm trying to survive. I think about how much I hate your sister, and I wonder how anyone could do what she's done. What was she thinking when she took off his clothes? When she snuck into his office at the marina and asked him to sail on top of her…?”

“Ella, stop. You can't picture them like that. You can't go there.”

“Really? Your sister is sleeping with my husband and
I
can't go there?”

“You're mad at her. You hate her. I get it. But I think Sims might have been a little complicit in this, Ella.”

“I know that. So you know the best thing on that list so far?” Ella pointed at the crumpled paper resting in the corner of the room. “
Renounce hope. Give up. Let it go
. That's what I'm doing, Amber. And it seems that includes you since you just disappeared. My best friend. And in all this hell I've been living through, where have you been?”

“I'm sorry. I'm sorrier than I know how to be. How many more times can I say it?” Amber held out her hands. “You can't live here, Ella. You have to come live with me or your dad or—”

“No way.”

Amber's eyes were dry now. Her voice strong. “I didn't sleep with Sims, Ella. It is not my fault. You can't blame me. We are best friends, always have been.”

“The time I needed you the most, you disappeared.”

“Because I didn't know what to say or do. You know that when I don't know what to do, I … I go into a cave. That's what I did. It's not like this hasn't also broken my heart.”

Ella fought the desire to hug her friend, to tell her everything about the past weeks, the pain and longing, even about Hunter. Instead she asked, “This has broken
your
heart?”

“Yes. Of course it has. I love you. I loved Sims. I love my sister. What the hell was I supposed to do? I cried. I pleaded with Betsy. I baked cookies, ate them, and slept. I've missed parties…”

“Oh, parties?” Ella asked. “You went and missed parties?”

“Stop.” Amber said, “You can't be mean to me. I know you're hurting, but—”

Ella sat on the edge of the coffee table, and motioned to the single chair, the one she'd picked up at the thrift store. “Sit,” she said.

“Do you have anything to drink?” Amber asked.

“Like drink-drink or water?”

“A real drink.”

“I have some cheap chardonnay.”

Amber brushed her hand through the air. “Forget it.”

“It's nine
A.M.
,” Ella said.

“I know. Just forget it. I wasn't thinking straight.”

“Are
you
okay?” Ella asked.

“No, didn't you hear me? I'm miserable. I don't know what to do. I mean … she's my sister. But you're like a sister. And there's Sims—I always believed he was the perfect one for you and now Betsy tells me he's perfect for her. And I don't believe in love anymore and I hate my sister for hurting you, but I hate Sims worse. But it's family and—”

“Stop.” Ella raised her palm and dropped her elbows onto her knees. Here she sat looking up at Amber sitting in the chair and wanting to console her. This was crazy. “I know it's hard for you, Amber. But I'm miserable here. I have to wait on paperwork and all kinds of crazy just to get in my house.
My
house.”

“Well, just go!”

“I can't. I tried. He changed the passcodes and the alarm system is always set, probably by your sister. If I get arrested, I lose … even more.”

“He will calm down,” she said. “He's reasonable.”

“No man getting laid a few times a day is reasonable,” Ella said.

“Why are you making jokes about this?” Amber's tears started again.

“Because I don't know what else to do.”

“Go get him back?” Amber said this with hesitation, her voice rising at the end like a question.

“Really? You think I should just make a fool of myself and beg him when he has made it clear, abundantly clear, that he does
not
want me.”

Amber groaned. “I know.”

“You want to lecture me about what I did, don't you? You want to say that if I hadn't thrown his baseball card collection into the Dumpster, I would have a chance. Go ahead, say it.”

“No. I won't.”

“Amber, it's not like I was thinking straight. My husband came to tell me that he was in love with my best friend's sister, that they'd been sleeping together, that he wanted to leave me. I guess I just wanted to ruin something valuable, something that meant something to him. I couldn't really throw your sister in the Dumpster now, could I?”

“God, it's like I don't even know you.”

“It's like I don't even know me, either.”

Amber stared at Ella as if she expected the meeker version to show back up, her best friend, who did everything she wanted her to do, who didn't complain, who was adorable and sweet—almost too sweet. But Ella just sat there, without apology.

“I don't know what to say now,” Amber said. “‘I'm sorry' doesn't seem to be enough for you and it's all I have.”

“I forgive you, Amber.” Ella stood up and looked down at her. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“Only if you mean it.”

“I forgive you,” Ella said again. “I do. This isn't your fault. I can't imagine being stuck in the middle like you are. Just sitting there not knowing what to do.”

Amber nodded.

“Would you help me?” Ella asked.

“Of course. What do you need?”

“The code to the alarm system. I know he changed it.” Shame brought with it a slight nausea. Ella didn't want to ask for these things. She didn't like to ask for anything. She didn't like much of anything lately, so what the hell. “I won't take anything of his or destroy anything. I just want a few things of my own. It's like he's holding our house hostage.”

“He sort of is.” Amber stood up to face her best friend. “I will get that code for you. Not sure how but I will.” She then lowered her voice, as if Sims and Betsy were outside the door or hiding under the couch. “They just left for Napa for two days. They aren't even here.”

“Are you kidding me?” Ella exhaled the anger. “He promised to take me to Napa so many times.…”

“I know. I'm sorry.”

“Are they … happy?” Ella asked.

“You don't want me to answer that, do you?”

“No, I don't.”

“I miss you, Ella. Do you think we can find a way to get back to normal?”

Ella shook her head. “No.”

“Don't say that.” Amber took both of Ella's hands.

“It's true, though,” Ella said. “We can't go back to normal. Maybe later we can fix this. Begin again. Maybe we can find a new normal. But if you are hanging out with my husband and your sister, I can't see you. You know that, right?”

“Why not? I'm not dating Sims.”

Ella looked at Amber, at her round, almost-purple eyes and short bob that curled into the air like it was reaching for something unseen, at the freckles that spread unevenly across her cheeks. Amber. Her best friend. Her selfish friend. Her do-it-my-way-all-the-time friend. Ella saw her for the first time with a clarity that only living in a crap apartment seemed to give her. “Let's give this some time,” she said, and pulled her hands away. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Amber said, and reached to hug Ella.

This time, Ella gave a little bit of a hug in return.

*   *   *

In Sole Mates at Swept Away, and in complete boredom, Ella spent her time rearranging the displays. She rearranged shoes, made pyramids, restacked them, and lined up the toes in a wave pattern. Margo hadn't been to work in two days. At least not when Ella was there. “Designing,” everyone told her. “She's in one of those phases where she stays up all night sketching and drawing.” Nadine whispered this as if Margo's designs were sacred somehow.

Ella calculated where Hunter would be: over the Midwest, heading into California, landing in L.A. It was then, as she estimated his landing, that his text came through. She smiled as she read his note.

You at home or work?

She told him she was at work, busy, busy she said. He replied that he was stuck in Savannah, nowhere near L.A.

I'll cook you dinner if you stay.

Ella stared at her phone. Had she really just asked him to dinner? His text took a few seconds, an interminable time in which she imagined him fashioning his response, typing and erasing and typing again to find a way to tell her “No, thank you, but no.”

Instead she read:

I might cancel the flight myself just for that. I'll keep you updated. Don't let the seagulls get you down.

 

How can I not? They are so sad all the damn time.

 

Ignore them.

 

Good luck. Let me know how it goes.

 

I will! xo

He'd typed
xo
. Was that something he always did? A twitch of the thumbs, a good-bye that meant the same to everyone? Ella typed
xo
and then deleted and then typed it again, but didn't hit send. She left it there, unsent and dangling on her phone screen.

nine

Amber texted the four numbers without explanation. And thank God, because there was no way she was going to cook for Hunter at the Crumbling Chateau.

Evening arrived and the white ibis gathered above, extended against the sky, white on blue. Ella sat on the concrete bench in the courtyard at the back of the apartment. Weeds filled the garden areas once bloated with flowers. A dried-out concrete fountain held two beer cans, an empty bottle of vodka, and a pack of cigarettes. Ella noted each detail as if distraction was her best coping mechanism. Which it was, in a way. Thinking about the almost Gothic surroundings of her apartment building, about what to cook for Hunter, and how to sustain the facade just one evening longer, kept her from thinking about Sims.

A door slammed and Ella startled to see Mimi exit the building with Bruiser straining forward, his leash taut in her outstretched arm.

“Mimi!”

“Oh, darling, hello there.” Mimi waved, and in doing so, released Bruiser to the freedom he obviously craved.

The fluff of white bolted toward the parking lot. Ella ran after him while Mimi hollered: “Bruiser. Stop, Bruiser!”

Ella never did understand why so many owners thought that yelling at their dogs was a good idea. No dog she'd ever seen had ever responded to the frantic screaming commands of their owners. Ella caught up to Bruiser just as he ran to the middle of the road, scurrying toward the oak tree on the other side. She stepped on his leash and his tiny head jerked back with a high-pitched yelp. A squeal of tires and a holler from Mimi combined in a grating jangle. Ella glanced up to see the hood of a white SUV van, one of those windowless utility vans she always associated with scary movies and kidnappers.

A greasy-haired man poked his head out of the window and yelled, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Catching this dog,” Ella said, lifting Bruiser to her chest. He barked. Of course he barked.

“I almost killed the both of you. Get the hell out of the road before I run you over.”

Ella stepped aside and joined Mimi. “Here you go,” she said, and handed Bruiser to her.