She definitely wouldn’t miss that aspect of him. She wouldn’t miss any aspect of him, not even his money, his status, his looks or reputation. None of those were worth her heart. Or her self-respect.
As she glared at the tiny screen, it gave her a low-battery warning and then went blank. All the better, she thought. Except she really did need to make a call.
She looked around for a pay phone. The only one in range was a phone booth about fifty yards across the frozen tundra of the parking lot. Please, no, she thought, approaching the counter. “Excuse me,” she said to the girl working there. “Is there a pay phone indoors? My cell phone died.”
“Local call?” the girl asked, eyeing Kim’s outfit.
“Yes.”
The counter girl indicated a phone on the wall, surrounded by scribbled-on Post-it notes. “Help yourself.”
Kim watched her own fingers punch the numbers as though they belonged to someone else. To her horror, she was shaking uncontrollably. She could barely connect her fingers with the correct number. After a couple of false starts, she finally got it right.
“Fairfield House.”
Kim frowned, momentarily disoriented. “Mom?”
“Kimberly,” her mother chirped. “Good morning, dear. How are you?”
Trust me, you do not want to know.
“You’re up early,” her mother continued.
“I’m not there,” said Kim. “I mean, I’m not in L.A. I came home on the redeye.”
“You’re in New York?”
“I’m at the county airport, Mom.”
There was a beat of hesitation, weighted with doubt. “Well, for heaven’s sake. I had no idea you planned to fly out from L.A.”
“Can you come and pick me up?” To her dismay, Kim’s throat burned and her eyes smarted. Fatigue, she told herself. She was tired, that was all.
“I was just cleaning up after breakfast.”
Screw breakfast, Kim wanted to scream. “Mom, please. I’m really tired.”
“Of course. I’ll be there in a jiff.”
Kim wondered how long a “jiff” was. Her mom was always saying things like “in a jiff.” It used to drive Kim’s father crazy. He always thought colloquialisms were so déclassé.
“Wait, can you bring a spare coat and some snow boots?” she asked hurriedly. But it was too late. Her mother had already hung up. She wondered what her father would think of her current getup. No, she didn’t wonder. She knew. The form-fitting gown would earn his skepticism at best, but more likely disapproval, her father’s default mode.
I wish we’d had time to forgive one another, Dad, she thought.
She pulled her thoughts away from him, telling herself not to go there, not in her current state of mind. One day, she would get to work on making peace with the past, but not this morning. This morning, it was all she could do to keep from turning into a sequined Popsicle in the waiting room. She found a bench to sit on in the terminal, and started nodding off like a wino.
She jerked herself awake and glanced at the clock. It would probably take her mother another ten minutes to get here. Ten more minutes. How many things could happen in ten minutes? That was about how long it took to send a flower delivery. Or to write an e-mail.
Or break up with a boyfriend. Or quit a job. These ten minutes, Kim thought, right here, right now, were the start of forever.
The notion made her sit up straighter. Right here, right now, she could pick a new path for her life. Leave the past behind and move ahead. People did it all the time, didn’t they? Why couldn’t she do the same?
Her mother had made a new start in Avalon, Kim reminded herself. It could be done. After the death of her husband, Penelope Fairfield van Dorn had moved to the small mountain town to live in the house where she had grown up. Kim had visited only one other time, two summers ago. Penelope claimed she preferred to meet her daughter in the city, having lunch and strolling the Upper East Side neighborhood where Kim had grown up. Penelope was certain Kim would find Avalon too uneventful and boring.
Penelope was endearingly dazzled by Kim’s work, her friends, her way of life. Just a few weeks ago at Christmas, they’d rendezvoused with Lloyd’s family in Palm Springs. Penelope had adored Lloyd, and vice versa—or so it had seemed to Kim. But after last night, she wasn’t sure she knew Lloyd Johnson at all. She did, however, know enough now to realize she never wanted to see him again. Ever.
The waiting room rang with emptiness. The girl at the counter and a couple of workers stood around, sipping coffee and acting as though they weren’t sneaking glances at Kim. On an ordinary workday, Kim might be having coffee and gossiping, too. In her line of work, gossip was more than just a way to fill the silence. Sometimes it was a mortal enemy, to be fought off like the bubonic plague. Other times, it was a means to an end, a way to get a client attention. Kim had used gossip like a power tool. She wondered what people would be saying back in L.A., at her old firm.
She just lost it, right in the middle of the party.
He always had a mean streak in him.
Then again, who knew she had that kind of fight in her?
And the breakup was so public….
People at the firm had no idea what had happened after the public part of the breakup. Lloyd had followed her to the hotel parking lot and—
Agitation drove Kim to her feet. By now, her toes were numb, so the shoes didn’t bother her so much. She went to the ladies’ room and removed the dark glasses. As a resident of Southern California, she was never without a pair of shades. This was the first time she’d used them for such a purpose, however.
Taking out the concealer, she touched up her makeup. It was a top-of-the-line product, used by professional makeup artists
