over at Peter, whose face drops as he takes several steps back, clearly struck by my words.
“Whoa, where did that come from, Beth? What did I do?” Marshall says as he winces.
“You have some nerve,” I spit. I turn to say, “I look forward to hearing from you later, Peter.” I manage a smile, but it’s miles from reciprocated. I head into the office, and I’m trapped in here with no other exit.
Marshall comes into the office. “Beth, I really want to talk to you.”
“You’re not allowed back here. Plus I have no interest in anything you have to say.”
“Please give me a chance to talk to you.” His face is red with embarrassment, but his eyes blaze with urgency.
I slow down for just a second as I consider letting him talk. I keep my back to him, covering my face with my hands and trying to steady my breath in the heavy air of our silence. I’d asked him if he thought I was an idiot, and the fact of the matter is, I am. I can’t do this. I can’t be with a married man. As much as I long to be touched by him, it’s the sting of knowing what I was willing to do that strikes my heart. How naïve of me to think he may have actually been interested in more than just sex. I wanted so badly for every one of his sweet words to be honest.
“I think it’s best if you leave.” The words sting as they pass over my lips.
I hear him take a deep breath. “All right” is all he says, then he’s gone.
Chapter 10
Tuesday, June 1
May passes into June. Peter never calls me. Not that I’m surprised in the least. I suppose he is one of Marshall’s employees, and who wants to piss off the boss? Poor guy looked terrified when he realized Marshall and I knew each other. There’s really no potential with Peter anyway, right?
Five of the longest days in my four years at Beacon are under my belt, and for all of them, Marshall was still back in Minneapolis, leaving no chance of my running into him. Knowing that I would have slept with a married man if I’d had the chance consumes my thoughts, but it’s the persistent wish that I’d never known he was married and that I’d have been brave enough to carry out my fantasies that has me rattled. I wanted—needed—to know what being with a man like Marshall would have felt like.
I finally have a day off. Krystal has insisted on coming over to get me out of my “funk.” She’s due to arrive in a half hour, so I decide to check my e-mail. Another mess of class reunion bullshit floods my inbox, only this time, I see there is a Facebook page for our graduating class, and I have an invite.
My finger hovers over the accept button while I contemplate what this means. I’m friends with some of my classmates, but I hardly ever look to see what they’re up to. Do I really want to be noticed, so more of them decide to friend me, granting them a look inside my mundane life? I decide not to accept, until I spot a small thumbnail with the picture of a baby and the name Holly (Pierce) Osborn. The post reads, “A few more pictures from back in the day.”
I go to my page and change my profile picture to one of me and a guy from
The Walking Dead
, his arm around me; he’d stayed at Beacon two years ago. At least one exciting thing has happened in my life that I can show off. After adding interior designer to my jobs, I reluctantly hit accept on my group invite.
I go right to the photos. Just as Holly had said, there were pictures from high school, and I’m in many of them: She and I peeking out of the top of Tanner’s red Camaro; several lake shots from the big graduation bash, where I later hooked up with Tanner; and, last but not least, one of my favorite pictures of her and me, smiling faces, arms around each other’s shoulders, sporting our best-friends-forever necklaces. I’m saddened by the fact that Holly and I are no longer in touch after fifteen years of friendship.
As kids, Holly, Rose, and I played house. I always seemed to get the role of the dad, but
“Whoa, where did that come from, Beth? What did I do?” Marshall says as he winces.
“You have some nerve,” I spit. I turn to say, “I look forward to hearing from you later, Peter.” I manage a smile, but it’s miles from reciprocated. I head into the office, and I’m trapped in here with no other exit.
Marshall comes into the office. “Beth, I really want to talk to you.”
“You’re not allowed back here. Plus I have no interest in anything you have to say.”
“Please give me a chance to talk to you.” His face is red with embarrassment, but his eyes blaze with urgency.
I slow down for just a second as I consider letting him talk. I keep my back to him, covering my face with my hands and trying to steady my breath in the heavy air of our silence. I’d asked him if he thought I was an idiot, and the fact of the matter is, I am. I can’t do this. I can’t be with a married man. As much as I long to be touched by him, it’s the sting of knowing what I was willing to do that strikes my heart. How naïve of me to think he may have actually been interested in more than just sex. I wanted so badly for every one of his sweet words to be honest.
“I think it’s best if you leave.” The words sting as they pass over my lips.
I hear him take a deep breath. “All right” is all he says, then he’s gone.
Chapter 10
Tuesday, June 1
May passes into June. Peter never calls me. Not that I’m surprised in the least. I suppose he is one of Marshall’s employees, and who wants to piss off the boss? Poor guy looked terrified when he realized Marshall and I knew each other. There’s really no potential with Peter anyway, right?
Five of the longest days in my four years at Beacon are under my belt, and for all of them, Marshall was still back in Minneapolis, leaving no chance of my running into him. Knowing that I would have slept with a married man if I’d had the chance consumes my thoughts, but it’s the persistent wish that I’d never known he was married and that I’d have been brave enough to carry out my fantasies that has me rattled. I wanted—needed—to know what being with a man like Marshall would have felt like.
I finally have a day off. Krystal has insisted on coming over to get me out of my “funk.” She’s due to arrive in a half hour, so I decide to check my e-mail. Another mess of class reunion bullshit floods my inbox, only this time, I see there is a Facebook page for our graduating class, and I have an invite.
My finger hovers over the accept button while I contemplate what this means. I’m friends with some of my classmates, but I hardly ever look to see what they’re up to. Do I really want to be noticed, so more of them decide to friend me, granting them a look inside my mundane life? I decide not to accept, until I spot a small thumbnail with the picture of a baby and the name Holly (Pierce) Osborn. The post reads, “A few more pictures from back in the day.”
I go to my page and change my profile picture to one of me and a guy from
The Walking Dead
, his arm around me; he’d stayed at Beacon two years ago. At least one exciting thing has happened in my life that I can show off. After adding interior designer to my jobs, I reluctantly hit accept on my group invite.
I go right to the photos. Just as Holly had said, there were pictures from high school, and I’m in many of them: She and I peeking out of the top of Tanner’s red Camaro; several lake shots from the big graduation bash, where I later hooked up with Tanner; and, last but not least, one of my favorite pictures of her and me, smiling faces, arms around each other’s shoulders, sporting our best-friends-forever necklaces. I’m saddened by the fact that Holly and I are no longer in touch after fifteen years of friendship.
As kids, Holly, Rose, and I played house. I always seemed to get the role of the dad, but
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