Chapter 97

I stare at Hugo in confusion and surprise. Hugo cares… about my heart? As my boss, I expect him to give me warnings about my career, but never would I have thought he’d want to protect my heart as well.

It could simply be his hatred for Hugo that is driving his concern, but I’m not so sure that’s the case this time. Hugo has stepped up to help me several times now, including speaking for me at my divorce hearing.

He may not like Miles, but I know he has my best interests at heart.

As I try to think of a response that would both convey my gratitude as well as assuage any concerns he has about Miles and me, Hugo continues talking.

“I won’t pretend to know the full extent of your relationship with Miles,” he says. “Frankly, I don’t want to know. But I am not blind or foolish. I see the two of you together, and witness firsthand the chemistry you share. There is definitely something going on between you.”

His intense focus lingers on me. I feel like he can see right through me, deep down to my heart. I’m exposed. Can he know me better than I know myself?

Hoping to break the connection and protect myself, I glance down to the floor. Hugo’s carpet is worn down in some places. He paces too much.

“I know Miles Hamilton,” Hugo says. “Please let me tell you what will happen if you continue on with this foolhardy relationship.”

“It’s not a relationship,” I say, weakly trying to defend myself.

“Whatever it is,” Hugo says, pressing onwards. “Miles is enamored with you. Whether you want him to or not, whether he intends to or not, he will eventually pull you into the spotlight right beside him. You’ll ride high for a while, on the drug of feeling important.”

“That’s not how I…”

“Then, to protect himself, he will abandon you,” Hugo continues. “His infatuation with you will fade, Esther. I’m not saying that to be cruel. His ambition is too strong. He won’t let anyone hold him back from achieving the life he has planned for himself – even you.”

Hugo’s words slice through my heart like a blade. I don’t want to believe him, but Hugo is only giving voice to some of my own buried fears.

I’m a woman in my thirties. I have my own ambitions, but my dreams are realistic.

Miles, as a twenty-five year old, doesn’t even see the sky as the limit. His reach is infinite. Nothing could possibly hold him back.

I wouldn’t dare dream to. I wouldn’t want to.

And, with Hugo’s words mirroring my own inner doubts, I don’t think I would be able to.

My relationship with Miles has many conditions. It’s not meant to last.

Hugo and I stand in silence. I don’t know what to say to him. What can I really say?

“Thank you for your concern,” I tell him, after a moment. “But I assure you it is not necessary. I know where I stand with Miles. I know things will end sooner rather than later.”

I start to turn away from him.

“I’ll get back to work now,” I say.

“Esther, wait,” Hugo says, stepping forward. He catches my arm with his hand. We both look at his hand, then I look up at him. This isn’t the first time he’s stopped me this way, and we both know it.

But he doesn’t let go this time. In fact, he just tightens his hold, his fingers sliding snugly around my bicep.

My heartbeat starts picking up pace for reasons even I’m not sure of. This just feels special somehow. Hugo doesn’t touch anyone, but he’s touching me.

And he’s not letting go.

“Miles is charismatic and charming, even I can admit that,” Hugo says. “But please, Esther. Put yourself first with him and don’t lose sight of who you are and what you want.”

He means these words deeply, so I take them seriously.

“I will, Hugo,” I tell him. “I swear.”

He nods. Then, after a moment more, he drops his hand away from me. “Back to work. I know Kimberly is expecting your article.”

“Right away,” I say and though I don’t run from his office, it still feels like I’m fleeing.

Back at my desk, I put in my headphones to drown out the sound of Miles’s voice coming from so many computers across the cubicle pit, and I focus on finishing my article.

Near the end of the day, as I’m wrapping up to go home, my phone starts to ring. Checking the caller ID, I recognize Mrs. Pine’s number, my realtor. I’d earlier emailed her about possibly putting a down payment on that house Violet liked. The one with the turkeys.

“Mrs. Pine? Is everything all right?” I ask quietly, not wanting to disturb my co-workers, many of whom often put in long hours, staying late.

“I have bad news, Esther. I thought it best to tell you over the phone. That little house that you were thinking of. Someone came in this morning and scooped the whole thing up. I’m sorry. We were too late. It’s already under contract.”

My heart has been in pieces for a while now, ever since news of the divorce turned my daughters against me. This is just one more thing I can’t get right, one more disappointment my daughters now have to suffer through.

“I’ve lined up three more for next weekend,” Mrs. Pine says. “Don’t give up. When you find the right home for you and your family, you’ll just know it. It will speak to you, in a way. This wasn’t the one yet.”

It’s very kind of her to say so, though I still feel like a disappointment. I won’t take it out on her though.

“Thank you, Mrs. Pine,” I tell her. “I don’t know where I’d be without your help.”

“Think nothing of it,” she says. “Goodbye now.”

Driving home, I think about the best way to break the news to the girls. Iris will act like she doesn’t care, but Violet might. I know they both liked it in their own ways. God, I really don’t want to see any more tears in their eyes – because of me or anyone else.

When I get to the house, the girls are on the couch watching television.

Thinking it better to get it over quickly, I walk over to them. “Girls, I have bad news.”

They both turn to look at me.

“I tried to buy the house with the wildlife but someone beat me to it…”

“Oh,” Violet says, deflating a little.

Iris huffs. “I didn’t get my hopes up.”

“We’ll find another house, okay? A nice one,” I say.

“Okay…” Violet says, frowning.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Iris snaps.

“Iris, please. I’m doing my best,” I tell her.

“Then stay with dad,” she says.

Closing my eyes, I shake my head. “Your father and I are never reconciling, Iris. The sooner you accept that –”

“I hate you,” Iris grumbles, and looks back to the television.

“You don’t mean that,” I say, but she doesn’t respond. “Iris.” Grabbing the remote, I turn off the television. “Tell me you don’t mean that, Iris.”

“I mean it,” Iris snaps bitterly. She hops from the couch. “I mean it, Mom. I hate you!”