chapter 3
When Charlotte came down for breakfast carrying her laptop the next morning, her mother beamed at her. “Well, look at you! I’msoglad to see you—and you’re even showered.”
Charlotte drew a deep breath. “I’m trying to keep putting one foot in front of the other.”
“You can do it. How’d it go with Julian last night?”
“We had fun,” Charlotte admitted, but one night out with a friend couldn’t fix what was broken in her life. The fact that her mind kept circling back to Cliff and the pictures of him with that woman proved it. But after Julian’s kindness and support, at least she had the energy to try. She’d needed to hear what he had to say, and she believed him when he said that surviving her heartbreak would be easier if she didn’t let the rest of her life fall apart at the same time.
The last thing he’d said to her when he dropped her off was that it would be difficult “digging out from beneath the rubble” and warned her to do whatever she could do to make the comeback easier—which was, basically, not to let herself sink any lower.
So here she was, up and about, even though she still didn’t feel like getting out of bed.
“I see you have your computer,” Penny said. “Does that mean you’re going to write today?”
Charlotte wished she could say yes, but she was empty inside. Too empty to create. She couldn’t even contemplate staring at her computer screen, trying to force a story, and having a blank page gazing stubbornly back at her. “Not today. I just brought this down so I can check my email while I’m here in the kitchen with you. I haven’t done it in a while.”
Her mother nodded encouragingly. “That’s a step in the right direction.”
Maybe, but if she didn’t write today, she’d fall another day behind, ratcheting her tension even higher.
Charlotte tried not to let that freak her out.Be kind to yourself.Julian had said that, too. Although her deadline was marching inexorably closer, she could still finish her manuscript in time if she could get on her feet soon. And that was exactly what she was all about today. “I’m thinking of looking for an apartment. Would you like to come with me?”
“You don’t want to stay here with us for the time being—in your old bedroom?”
She heard the disappointment in her mother’s voice. At least she still had people who cared about her. “I might. But shopping for an apartment will give me a reason to leave the house. I just want to see what’s out there, get a feel for the market.”
“Sure, I’ll go with you. Let me make you some breakfast first.” Her mother took out a frying pan. “How many eggs would you like?”
Charlotte was still too upset to crave food. But, again, she decided to push past the pain and behave as normally as possible, regardless of what Cliff had done. “Just one. That’s probably all I’ll be able to get down.”
“I’ve got bacon, too.”
Fortunately, bacon always sounded good. Charlotte imagined that even during an apocalypse people would still be eating bacon. “I’ll have a couple of slices.”
“And toast?”
“No, that’ll be enough.”
Her mother chatted about the weather, Sloane’s design business, which Julian had apparently told her about while Charlotte was getting ready last night, and how busy Charlotte’s father had been lately. “Should I call your dad?” she asked. “See if he can pull away for lunch?”
“That’s a good idea,” Charlotte replied. Her father had always treated her like a little princess, but he worked long hours. It would be great to have him join them for a change.
“He mentioned he had meetings this morning, but maybe he’ll be free in a few hours. I’ll check with him.”
Although Charlotte nodded, she was paying more attention to her computer. The pictures of her having dinner with Julian had started appearing online before she’d even gone to bed. Ten hours later, they were proliferating like ants pouring out of an anthill. They were everywhere, and after seeing how they’d turned out, she was satisfied that no one would be able to tell how devastated she was on the inside. She looked okay, she thought, and Julian looked better than she’d even realized while she was so worked up about the dumpster fire her life had become. A lot of people in the comments, especially women, stated that she’d traded up and they were happy she’d landed on her feet.
She found that interesting... Maybe the world didn’t begin and end with Clifford Jackson. Maybe she’d just letherworld shrink that small.
Her mother slid an egg onto a plate and called her father as she clicked away from the celebrity gossip sites—because there were also harsh comments she couldn’t bear to see in her current frame of mind—and checked the sales rankings onher book.Playing for Keepswas experiencing another surge in sales—a byproduct of everyone talking about her online again.
At least thatwas positive.
She could hear her mother speaking to her father while she logged into her email account. Besides plenty of spam from the retailers she liked best, trying to tempt her back to their stores, she found some fan letters asking for the title of her next book. She had a release date, but no title. Sadly, no book, either.
She fumbled through those responses, asking her readers to sign up for her newsletter so she could keep them informed. Then she read an email from her web gal asking for any monthly updates she wanted on her website.
She hadn’t even looked at her website, so that would have to wait. She replied that they’d catch any fixes next month and moved on to a message from the publicist at her publisher. Shauna wanted to see if she was okay since she hadn’t been returning calls or emails.
