A week later, he still hadn’t replied.
I ignored the photographers and journalists who hounded me, asking about my personal life and trying to snap more photos. With obsessive zeal I focused all my despair and anger on getting the café repaired. Call me stubborn, but something deep inside me rebelled against having to take Butch and Gigi’s insultingly low offer.
One useful thing I learned was if you cry in front of builders, they actually work faster.
A permit wasn’t needed for the repairs, the insurance company came through, and the large payment from the humiliating interview with Mona hit my account at just the right time. The walls were fixed with amazing speed.
And as usual, when there was a knock on the front door of my house just over a week after Kade’s departure, I ignored it. The café repairs had just been finished, but I hadn’t reopened for business, so I had nowhere to be. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. And I didn’t need anything but what was in front of me: a stack of cryptic crossword puzzles, and a jumbo tub of cookie dough ice cream.
Whoever it was knocked again, a lot louder. Then Carlotta’s voice rang out. “Nat, let me in. I know you’re in there.”
I put the ice cream down with a sigh, went to the door and cracked it open. At four o’clock in the afternoon, Carlotta was going to find me in my pajamas, surrounded by empty food containers, a sea of wadded-up tissues, and enough empty wine bottles to start my own recycling business. Up until now, I’d been insisting on video chatting with Carlotta instead of seeing her in person, so I could angle the camera away from the mess and pretend I wasn’t completely pathetic.
Now I was busted.
“You look terrible.” Carlotta pushed the door right open before I could suggest meeting at her house instead, maybe sometime next week when I was feeling better.
She strode into the living room and took in the devastation. “Okay, let’s see. Looks like you’ve wallowed for long enough. That’s at least four boxes of tissues, right? Any tears left?”
“Um. Maybe?”
When she turned to me, Carlotta’s expression was sympathetic. “Come here.” She pulled me into a long, tight hug.
I sighed and squeezed her in return, and started to feel a little better. Then I remembered I hadn’t actually bothered to shower today—or yesterday—and pulled back.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“You’ve been nowhere but here or the café for a week, have you? I’m taking you out before you lose your marbles and start collecting cats. Or navel fluff.”
I shook my head. “I can’t face anyone. Not when I’m the nation’s most hated woman.”
“Forget about that stupid photo. It was news for a day or two, but now there’s a fresh Kardashian scandal. Oh, and three dismembered human feet washed up on Venice Beach this morning. Your fifteen minutes are over. Nobody remembers you.”
I blinked at her. Could my horrible infamy really have a chance of ending so quickly? “Are you sure?”
“Would I lie to you?” Her eyes dropped to my hand. “Why are you still wearing a wedding ring?”
“This?” I fiddled with it self-consciously. “I can’t get it off. My finger must be swollen.”
It was a bare-faced lie. I could take the ring off, only it felt like my last connection to Kade. Remembering the day he gave it to me made me both incredibly sad and foolishly happy, both at the same time.
“Try rubbing it with soap.”
“Okay.” I started toward the fridge. “I may be out of wine, but I’ll check. You’ll have a glass if I can find some, right?”
“Nope. You need to shower and dress, then I’m taking you to a drawing class.”
I stopped. “A drawing class? But I can’t draw.”
“That’s why it’s called a class. I can’t draw yet either, but I’m a talented drinker.” She grinned. “Gloria said we can have cocktails while we give it a try. I’m pretty sure she’s making martinis.”
I scratched my scalp, conscious my unwashed, oily hair was sticking out in all directions. The last thing I wanted was to fall apart in public, or weep on anyone’s shoulder.
“Um, I’m afraid I never drink and draw.” I scrunched my nose, trying to look regretful. “It’s kind of a rule. Maybe another time though?”
“I’m not leaving.” Carlotta moved some wadded-up tissues aside so she could sit on the couch. “I’m waiting right here while you get ready.” Her face was set in a determined expression.
I huffed a heavy sigh, knowing I couldn’t win and already resigned to my fate. “What exactly is it?”
“Some kind of drawing class. Does it matter? It’ll get you out of the house, and we can have cocktails.”
Less than an hour later, we walked into the community art center, where we found a group of easels set up in a circle around a small platform. Paper was pinned to the easels, but nobody was doing any drawing. Instead, a small group of women were standing around a makeshift bar, mixing drinks.
When I recognized all the women present, I perked up a little. There was Iola, Gloria who ran the community center, Sylvie who owned the town’s lingerie store, and Emmy the realtor.
Gloria greeted us warmly, looking pleased to see us. Except for Iola, the rest of us had gone to the same school, and known each other most of our lives. Gloria often taught children’s art classes, and was clearly trying something new.
“Welcome to our life drawing class,” Gloria said. She grabbed me for a hug, and her mass of crazy red hair tickled my nose. “Are you okay, honey?” When she pulled back, her eyes were full of sympathy.
“I’m okay.” I tried to sound like I meant it. “I mean, I’ll be okay eventually. Until then, could we just pretend nothing’s wrong? Only, I don’t think I can talk about it without getting emotional.”
Sylvie handed me a cocktail. “Here, drink this. Forget about everything, and try to enjoy yourself.”
I took
