Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
But it’s necessary.
I let out a gasping sob then put my hand over my mouth, as though wishing I could pull it back. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t—I promised—”
Gordon Price’s gaze sharpens. “Ms. Spencer, if you have something to say, you’ll help yourself most by saying it sooner rather than later.”
I look nervously at Colin, whose eyes narrow, because we specifically agreed not to look at each other during the interview for answers, knowing it would look nervous.
But it’s all part of Plan B.
My chin wobbles.
Forget San Francisco. I should have moved to Hollywood, because, baby … I’m about to deserve an Oscar.
I look back at the immigration officer. “I keep thinking it’ll get easier—” I roll my lips inward and press my fingers to them, as though holding back another sob before I take a deep breath and press oh-so-bravely on. “They say that time heals the wounds, you know, and it has a little, but sometimes it’s like I’m right back there again, and it hurts all over again—”
Price leans forward. “Ms. Spencer—”
“Are you married, Mr. Price?”
He’s wearing a ring, so I’m pretty confident of my tactic here.
He nods once. “I am.”
“So tell me. If you’d found the person you’d fallen in love with—the person you married—was cheating … would you want to see them? Would you fly across the country, forced to be flooded by the memories, the mental images of their hands on someone else?”
Gordon Price blinks in surprise. “You’re saying the reason—”
“What you’re looking at isn’t an illegal marriage, Mr. Price. Just a good old-fashioned relationship broken apart by an affair, and a couple’s slow, painstaking attempt to put it back together again.”
Chapter 29
Friday, October 16
“I don’t know whether to kill you or applaud,” Colin says, still looking dazed an hour after we’ve left our interview.
“Applaud and buy drinks. It’s the least you can do after the havoc wreaked on my makeup from that performance,” I say, gesturing at my still red eyes and general puffiness.
“Where’d you learn to fake cry like that?” Colin asks, lifting a hand to get the bartender’s attention.
“I’ve actually never had to pull that move before. I just did the cliché thing. You know, thinking of the saddest thing I could.”
“Delilah’s death?” he asks, referring to my second-grade goldfish that lived about as long as goldfish usually live. Delilah had been in my flash cards.
I shake my head. “That wasn’t the saddest thing. I remembered my brother ripping the head off my favorite stuffed dog, and the waterworks turned on immediately.”
“What was his name?”
“My brother?”
He smiles. “The dog.”
“Oh. Her name—Ariel. I was in a major Little Mermaid phase. But you don’t have to gather Charlotte factoids anymore, remember?”
“That’s not why I asked,” Colin says lightly, turning his attention to the waiting bartender. “Two Vespers, please. Okay?” He glances at me for confirmation, and I nod, annoyed with myself at how much I like the fact that we have a signature drink together.
The downside being that I’ll never be able to have that drink and not think of him. I wonder if he’ll think of me. Five years down the road, will he and Rebecca sip Vespers together while they talk about where to send little Colin Junior to preschool?
I wrinkle my nose. Yeeeeah, I do not want to think about that.
“You could have warned me.”
“Hmm?” I turn my attention back to Colin.
“About the interview. You could have mentioned your plan to blame our distance on my infidelity.”
“I could have,” I say with a grin. “But I wanted the surprise factor. Plus, I figured you’d have just told me not to do it, and then we would’ve fought about it. And then I’d have done it anyway, and been right, and you’d be in the very uncomfortable position right now of having to admit that you were wrong. So you’re welcome.”
A month ago, I’m pretty sure my babbling logic would have earned me a stern glare, but now he gives a slight shake of his head and an almost smile. “Your imagination is a spectacle.”
“But you would have told me not to brand you a cheater. Right?”
“Probably,” he concedes. “I can’t say I loved being the villain. Price was giving me nothing but dirty looks in between handing you tissues.”
“Sorry about that,” I say, not really that sorry. “I just figured that the entire point of these immigration interviews is to prove that people got married because of their heart, not citizenship status. So, I thought, why not show a broken heart? Reframe his image of you from an Irish immigrant to a cheater.”
Colin winces. “I would love if we could not call me that.”
“Right, sorry,” I say, smiling in thanks as the bartender puts an icy-cold cocktail in front of me. “But we did say we’d tell the truth whenever possible. And you are in love with another woman, so it’s not a lie.”