As if he wouldn’t have enough time with his teammates on the long plane ride. “That’s it then?” she said. It was all so sudden she had whiplash. But she didn’t know how to fix anything. Cliff was completely unemotional, indifferent; she almost didn’t recognize him. He’d been an asshole at times, sure. But he’d grown up with a difficult father who’d been in and out of his life—until he’d gotten rich and famous. Then Richard was always hanging around, looking for a handout.
Cliff was also in an unusual and demanding job, despite its perks, and sometimes suffered from anxiety and depression due to the constant pressure to perform and the very public backlash if he didn’t.
She’d tried to be understanding, tried to see the best in him. She’d meant what she’d said when she’d sworn to love him for the rest of her life. But if he wanted to end their marriage, there was nothing she could do to stop him. The helplessness she felt was probably the worst aspect of what was happening. He wouldn’t even give her the chance to change whatever was bothering him.
“Have a safe trip,” she said dully.
The door opened behind her, and Jeremy stepped in. “Car’s ready,” he announced.
Relief flooded Cliff’s face. “Great. Let’s go.”
Charlotte thought he’d simply circumvent her and leave without so much as a goodbye, but as he brushed past, he muttered, “I’m sorry.”
Then he was gone.
Charlotte had packed a suitcase and moved back in with her parents, who lived in Newport Beach, while Cliff was gone. She wasn’t going to stay where she wasn’t wanted; it’d been his money that’d bought the house in the first place.
But even after living an entire week in her old bedroom, whenever she opened her eyes and took in her surroundings, she felt strange, as if she’d stepped into a time capsule. Herparents hadn’t changed a thing since she’d graduated from high school and left home. Her yearbooks were stacked in the closet, the cluttered bulletin board above her desk held, among other things, a picture of her and Doug Green at senior prom, along with the dried-out corsage he’d given her, various notes from the friends she’d been closest to at the time, her SAT results, her acceptance to Stanford and her old book lists, which were extensive because she knew, in order to become a writer, she needed to be well-read. That she’d been able to achieve her dream of getting published by a major publisher and hittingTheNew York Timesbestseller list so easily and early in her career certainly wasn’t typical. But she hadn’t marveled at the anomaly too much. For her, nothing had seemed off-limits. As far back as she could remember, the world had bowed at her feet. She’d always felt loved, valued, capable, happy.
Until now. Now the world had, without warning, become completely hostile. The press was having a field day with her divorce (“Clifford Jackson Kicks out Queen of the ‘Sports Romance’”; “NBA Star Leaves ‘Queen of Sports Romance’”; “‘Sports Romance’ Author Unable to Create Her Own Happily-Ever-After”; “Clifford Jackson Giving up on ‘Storybook’ Romance”), so she wasn’t just brokenhearted; she felt like a laughingstock. It didn’t help that the friends she’d made since marrying Cliff had become unresponsive to her; apparently, they’d decided they’d rather remain friends with him. She didn’t even know if she’d have the emotional wherewithal to finish the second book on her contract, so her career might go the same way as her marriage. The manuscript was due in just three short months, and because she’d been so intimidated by the success of her first book, so scared she wouldn’t be able to top it, she’d started five different stories only to abandon them all.
Now the fear was worse than ever—overwhelming, paralyzing, suffocating. The fact that Cliff was responsible for so muchof the word of mouth she’d received whenPlaying for Keepswas released made her feel like an imposter, as if she hadn’t deserved what she’d received in the first place, and her second book would reveal just how inept a writer she really was.
She pulled the blankets over her head to block out the light. Her mother had come in an hour or so earlier and put up the shades. Penny was making lunch—or dinner; Charlotte couldn’t keep track. She just knew that her mother wanted her to come down to eat.
But she had no desire for food. She’d been in bed since she came home and still couldn’t summon the strength to get up. Everything she’d built since she’d left this room eleven years ago had been leveled—or soon would be.
She heard someone at the door but didn’t pull the blankets down so she could see who it was. Her father, a hedge fund manager, didn’t usually get home until six, and it was somewhere in the middle of the afternoon, somewhere in the middle of the week, so she was fairly certain he was still gone. It had to be her mother, who’d been a tennis instructor at the local club before her health had started to deteriorate. The longer Charlotte stayed in bed, the more Penny began to hover. She said encouraging things, offered to take Charlotte shopping or to lunch. She’d even mentioned getting her a good therapist. Her family was wealthy, so they could afford that kind of help. But right now, even those baby steps seemed too daunting.
“You’re not coming?” her mother said.
“I’m not hungry,” she replied.
The bed dipped as Penny sat beside her and tugged the covers down. “That can’t be true,” she said as she smoothed the hair out of Charlotte’s face. “You’ve hardly eaten for days.”
“I’d rather sleep.”
Her mother’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s all you’ve been doing!”
“I must be catching up,” she muttered.
Penny’s cool, gentle hand cupped her face. “What about your book, honey?”
Just the mention of her book caused fear to burn like acid in Charlotte’s stomach. “What about it?”
“Isn’t it due soon? Don’t you need to write?”
“I’ve got time,” she lied.
Her mother studied her with concern. “I’msoworried about you.”
Charlotte curved her lips into as close an approximation of a smile as she could manage. “I’ll be okay.”
“I can’t believe Clifford would do this to you,” she responded. “You... you haven’t heard from him, have you?”
The first few days after she’d moved back in with her parents, Charlotte had checked her phone religiously. She couldn’t help hoping Cliff would change his mind, feelsomeregret. She hadn’t done anything wrong; she’d been a loving, devoted wife. Surely, he’d realize he was tossing away someone who was important to him, someone he missed and needed in his life.
But no... She winced as she remembered how torturous it’d become as the days passed and she received no calls from him—no messages, either. The Lakers had managed to beat the Knicks, and he’d scored over thirty points. She’d been hoping he’d do well because that usually made him eager to celebrate with her. But he still didn’t call.
