BooksBarbecue
Back When We Were Bright and Beautiful
Chapters (72)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. Part One
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. Part Two
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. Part Three
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. Epilogue
  68. Author’s Note
  69. Acknowledgments
  70. About the Author
  71. Also by Jillian Medoff
  72. About the Publisher

I hang up. Trailing my fingers along my arm, I imagine they’re Marcus’s, and relive the first time he touched me. Alone in bed, I feel sad and sorry. I want to cry but refuse.

24

ON SUNDAY MORNING, WHEN THE DOORMAN CALLS TO ANNOUNCE a guest, I freak out. It’s Marcus. He drove all the way from New York! Should I let him in? Pretend I’m not home? If I open that door, there’s no telling what might—

“It’s okay,” I say. My heart is pounding. “Send him up.”

“It’s a woman.” He pauses to get her name. “Eleanor Quinn?”

Eleanor? Eleanor has never visited New Haven, not since I moved. “You sure?”

There’s a pause. “She said, ‘Yes, Cassandra, he’s sure.’”

“I need another minute.” I’m a whirling dervish, grabbing towels off chairs, scooping clothes from the floor. Although I never told Eleanor about Marcus, I feel sure she’s here to talk about him. I don’t know why I think this, but I do. A married man, Cassandra? A man who offers nothing but lies? Who betrays his family? I raised you better than this.

She knocks as I pull on shorts. Opening the door, I give her a smile. “Eleanor, this is a surprise.” Today, she’s channeling Jackie Onassis fleeing the paparazzi. She’s wearing oversized black sunglasses, rich red lipstick, and a scarf wrapped around her head. She looks ludicrous.

“A fun surprise, I hope.” She holds up a brown bag. “Double espresso. Your favorite.”

“Fun!” I’m giddy with worry.

She leans forward but not to hug me. Instead, she pats my back three times. That’s as far as she’ll go. When I was a child, she zipped up my coat, smoothed down my hair, and patted me three times—one, two, three. Firm yet kind, just enough to make me ache for more.

“It’s nice to see you,” I say.

“And you, my dear. It’s been far too long.”

“Eleanor, I was home a month ago.”

When she takes off her glasses, I note her eyes, red-rimmed and cloudy. Otherwise, she’s styled to perfection—perfect hair, perfect nails, perfect makeup, perfect everything.