The Fortunate Ones
Page 58

I laugh at how naïve they’re being. “Olive wouldn’t mind so much, but Luciana will never forgive me if I don’t come back to say goodbye to her.”
Diego rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry about that. Luce will understand if we frame it as a love story: your clock struck midnight and you had to rush home from the ball. Now all you need is to find your prince.”
I’m glad they seem to think that, because when they hand the phone over to her during the FaceTime call and I begin to explain the situation, she hangs up on me midsentence, and not by accident. I call again. She answers, and HANGS UP AGAIN.
Diego shoots me a quick text.
Diego: Okay, she’s taking it slightly harder than expected, but there is still no reason for you to come back to Spain just to get your stuff. Luciana will calm down. Also, when did she get too old for fairy tales?
Olive, bless her, doesn’t give a shit that I’m leaving. She sends me a thoughtful, quick text message thanking me for being her tutor and wishing me well in the future. By contrast, Luciana texts me 15 skull emojis paired with an adorably incorrect English idiom.
Luciana: Sorry, can’t talk—too busy pulling this fork out of my back!
I hate the fact that I’m hurting her, especially because I know what it feels like to be left at her age. It’s not like Luciana expected me to stay with her and her dads forever—we even joked about how terrible her next tutor would be compared to me—but this abrupt exit isn’t ideal. If I could explain my reasons to her, I know she’d understand. After all, she knew how I felt about James.
I try to call her several more times, but she’s obviously not ready to talk. Eventually, she blocks my number, and Diego tells me to give it time. She’ll cool down, he assures me, though I fear that’s not the case. Luciana is headstrong and stubborn. All I can do is hope that one day she’ll understand my decision to stay in Texas.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Against Ellie’s advice, I try to call James first thing the next day. I’m sitting on the floor in my room with sticky notes spread out around me.
The green ones are covered with all the things I want to say to him:
I’m sorry!!!!
I’m not going back to Spain!
Our timing sucked, but I want a second chance!
Please, let’s sit down and talk.
The red ones are covered in the things I absolutely mustn’t say to him:
How many times did you and Lacy bang??
Was she good? Better than me?
When do you want to get married? What should we name our kids?
Finally, on a small note near my foot, there are three words I’m not sure I’m ready to say, but they’re there, just in case.
The sticky notes are necessary because I’m scared that once the call clicks on and his deep voice filters over the line, I’ll lose my cool. I want to be prepared. I want to sound eloquent and sure of myself. The rings drone on and on, and I unconsciously start to crumple one of the sticky notes. I freak and try to flatten it again, but my sweaty palm smears the pen. I’m sorry now looks like a jumbled mess of gibberish. The call rings one final time and then jumps to voicemail.
BEEP
“James! Hi! It’s Brooke calling again. I was hoping to reach you so we could set up a time soon to sit down and talk.” My sticky notes jump out at me. “I’m sorry! And I’m not going back to Spain! And I would really like a second chance! Did I already say this is Brooke? I can’t remem—”
The voicemail cuts off and when the little automated voice asks me if I’d like to rerecord my message, I jump at the opportunity and just delete it all together. So much for my sticky notes helping me sound eloquent.
I try his phone twice the following day, but the calls go straight to voicemail. He’s ignoring me on purpose, just like Luciana. They should probably start an I Hate Brooke fan club.
I’m now up to four unanswered phone calls, and as the number grows, it sounds more and more pathetic. Even Ellie agrees, but I can’t give up; I just need to change my tactic.
I come up with a diabolical plan while I’m shampooing my hair later that night, and I shout for Ellie to come in so I can relay it her.
“Did you get it?” I ask over the sound of the shower.
“Yeah, it isn’t that complicated,” she says, sounding less than impressed.
“Who cares?!” I say as I rinse my scalp. “Diabolical plans don’t have to be complicated, they just have to work.”
“Yeah, no shit. I’m just saying, why did I have to come in here and see your naked butt just to jot this down? You could have remembered it.”
No. It’s a universal truth that all good ideas generated in the shower are forgotten as soon as the water cuts off.
“Do you think it’ll work?” I ask hopefully.
“Sure thing,” she says, appeasing me. “But just in case, use some of that deep conditioner I have in there. That way, when this doesn’t work and he rejects you, at least your hair won’t lose volume like your heart will.”
She’s wrong. It will work, as long as Beth is willing to play her part. I call her first thing the following morning.
“Good morning, you’ve reached BioWear. This is Beth speaking.”
Her voice is chipper and upbeat. It fills me with hope for what I’m about to ask of her.
“Beth, hi! It’s Brooke.”
“Brooke Davenport?” She sounds surprised, and I guess she probably should be considering how awkward our last exchange was.
“Yes, that Brooke. How have you been?”
“I’m good, thanks for asking,” she answers tentatively. “James isn’t in the office yet, if that’s—”
“No, no. Actually, I called to talk to you.”
“Oh, okay.” Her voice sounds hesitant. “What can I do for you?”
I take a deep breath before laying out my plan to her. It doesn’t take long, and I try to speak quickly considering she probably has a busy schedule that doesn’t include scheming behind her boss’ back.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asks after I finish. “Why don’t you just try calling him?”
“I have tried, but he won’t answer.”
She hums in sympathy. “Yeah, he can be pretty stubborn when he wants to be.”
“That’s why I need your help.”
“You know this could get me fired,” she points out.
I cringe, feeling terrible for putting her in this position in the first place. “I completely understand if you don’t want to be part of it.”
“I didn’t say that,” she says quickly, then after a long, strained pause, she sighs. “Fine. Tomorrow. I’ll put it on the schedule, but you’re taking the fall if this turns out badly.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you! I owe you, Beth, and if he gets mad, you can tell him I threatened your life!”
“I’m doing this for him,” she clarifies, ensuring I know where her loyalties lie. “Last year, when you begged me not to tell him you called, I felt terrible keeping that secret for you. For months after you left, he moped around this office. I thought he was never going to break out of that fog, and…well, he never really did, but things got a little better, manageable—but Brooke, if you’re here now to just stir the pot again, you need to spare him the trouble. He puts up a good front, but he’s one of the most sensitive men you’ll ever meet.”
I don’t take her warning lightly.
“I promise I won’t screw it up again.”
At least, that’s not part of my diabolical plan.
…
The following night, I pause outside the front entrance to Twin Oaks Country Club. The ornate front doors are made of solid wood and carved with incredible attention to detail. They’re designed to feel imposing, and it works. I know it’s a trick, and yet I can’t seem to make myself step past them. Inside, James sits in the main dining room, waiting for a business associate who will never come so he can have a meeting that was never real. It’s a trick, and a weak one at that, but it’s the only way I could ensure he would be here, alone, and hopefully ready to listen.