Hell Without You

Chapter 7

Donovan had handled her departure well. Suspiciously well. He'd put the new tires on her car as soon as they'd arrived, and had bid her goodbye before she'd driven away. He hadn't snarled, hadn't protested, hadn't declared his undying desire for her or his unsatisfied rage.

So why didn't her heart feel light as she drove down Interstate 83, on her way to see Jackie for the first time since she'd been a bridesmaid in her wedding? This would be the first time she'd seen the baby, ever. It should be a happy occasion.

Turning on the radio, she attempted to clear thoughts of Donovan from her mind.

It was easier said than done, and the rock station she'd settled on didn't help. All the songs had dark undertones and similar themes – anger, betrayal and unrequited passion, unappreciated love. They deepened her uneasy mood, reminding her of Donovan. As far as he was concerned, she was like one of the women the bands were singing about – a betrayer. Cold.

When she'd had all she could take, she flipped through the stations, stopping when she found something classical.

She'd always been fascinated by classical music, especially by its combination of evocativeness and timelessness, the way it captured emotions that spanned the centuries, clearly delineating feelings without words or images. Unfortunately, the song radiating from her speakers was – according to the DJ – Prelude Op. 28 No. 15, also known as "Raindrop".

It was slow and sad, not dramatic enough to sweep her away, but pervading enough to creep into her bones and enhance the melancholy feeling that was multiplying in her marrow. Besides the music itself, the word "raindrop" conjured images of the flood, of Donovan coming for her in the deluge, standing tall and strong with his shirt clinging to a body that was hot enough to dispel the chill of pouring rain.

She cut the piece short, flipping through channels again. When she settled on mindless dance music, she breathed a sigh that was half-relieved and half-resigned. The music meant nothing, made her feel nothing – and that was the point.

When the station succumbed to static as she crossed the Pennsylvania / Maryland border, she found another just like it and listened all the way to the capital.

* * * * *

Polished and professional – that was what Clementine was going for. The night before, Jackie had generously devoted half an hour to helping her choose what was hopefully the right outfit and hair style for her interview. Jackie had hair styling abilities that put Clementine's to shame, so she'd helped that morning, twisting her hair into an elegant chignon that made Clementine's usual efforts look like child's play.

High – but not too high – heels clicking against the sidewalk, Clementine approached the building the company's HR rep had directed her to. Once inside, she headed directly for an elevator and the fourth floor.

People surged around her, all in suits, and she could practically smell the well-maintained leather of dozens of briefcases. The scent reminded her of her time in Manhattan and buoyed her confidence. She could handle this interview – she was no stranger to the business world. She wanted this. She needed this. It would be equivalent to a miracle if the interview went well and they offered her the job, but still – she was hopeful.

Maybe she wouldn't even have to return to Willow Heights – maybe she could start apartment hunting in the city. The thought made her ache, with desire, with regret. "See you Saturday," Donovan had said when she'd left.

"See you," she'd replied, and driven away.

She wanted to see him again. But she didn't want to hurt him, didn't want to dwell in the hot and cold world where the past tangled with the present and nothing made sense.