Tomorrow Michael was taking me on a date. We’d create new memories that had nothing to do with the ones I’d lost.
We’d fall in love again.
I reached for the pills on my nightstand—the ones Michael left every night —and swallowed them.
Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.
CHAPTER 10
Claudette
The carnival assaultedevery sense at once—neon lights strobing against the night sky, speakers blasting pop music from three different directions, the smell of fried everything competing with sugar and diesel from the generators. It was chaos packaged as entertainment and I loved it immediately.
Michael stood next to me looking at the whole thing like he was trying to solve a particularly difficult equation. “This seemed more appealing in theory.”
“Having regrets?”
“Reconsidering my definition of romantic.”
“Too late now.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the game booths. “Come on. You promised me the full experience.”
We stopped at a balloon dart throw where a bored teenager explained the rules like he was reading a eulogy. Three darts, pop three balloons, win a prize.
Michael paid, picked up a dart, studied the balloons with far more intensity than necessary—and missed entirely.
The dart sailed past everything and embedded itself in the wooden backing.
“That was reconnaissance,” he said, completely serious. “Watch this now,”
He threw the second dart. It grazed a balloon but didn’t pop it.
“I’m adjusting for wind resistance.”
“There’s no wind. We’re in a booth.”
The third dart bounced off a balloon and clattered to the counter.
I laughed so hard I had to lean against him. “You’re terrible at this.”
“This game is rigged.” But he was already pulling out more cash, handing it to the teenager who now looked mildly interested. “The balloons are underinflated. It’s a scam.”
“Or you just can’t throw darts.”
“I negotiate multi-million-dollar contracts. I think I can handle a children’s game.”
“Apparently not.”
This time he hit three balloons in rapid succession like he’d been playing me the entire time.
The teenager handed over a massive stuffed elephant without comment.
Michael presented it to me with a slight bow. “For you.”
I took the elephant. It was purple and ridiculous and approximately three feet tall. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Display it somewhere prominent. Name it. Tell everyone your husband won it through sheer determination and questionable dart-throwing skills.”
“I’m naming it Failure.”
