Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Vanessa
By mid-afternoon, Ethan had called my office line six times, only to be stopped by the receptionist with the same polite, rehearsed message: "Ms. Bennett is in executive conference sessions all day."
Frustrated, anxious, and suffocated by his own apartment, Ethan drove to the high-end boutique hotel near Back Bay where Vanessa had checked in after her discharge. He didn't want to go, but a text from Vanessa’s mother had insisted she wasn't eating.
When he knocked on Suite 402, Vanessa opened the door wearing a silk robe, her long brown hair perfectly styled and her cheeks glowing with natural blush. There was no trace of the trembling invalid who had collapsed against him at the terminal twenty-four hours earlier.
"Ethan!" she cheered, wrapping her slender arms around his neck without hesitation. "I knew you’d come. The room service here is dreadful—could you run down and get me those gluten-free croissants from the French bakery on Newbury?"
Ethan slowly pulled her arms off his shoulders, stepping backward into the hallway. For the first time in ten years, he looked at Vanessa through an unclouded lens.
"Where is your prescription, Vanessa?" he asked, his voice strained. "The doctor said you needed complete bed rest and iron injections."
Vanessa waved her manicured hand dismissively. "Oh, that old doctor was being dramatic. It was just jet lag and a little anxiety because the flight was bumpy. Besides, having you carry my bag made me feel so much safer."
She giggled, reaching out to pat his arm, but Ethan stepped back again, evading her touch completely.
"Did you know Claire was having treatments at that hospital?" he asked, his eyes darkening with suspicion. "You were the one who insisted on going to Mass General instead of the clinic closer to Logan Airport."
Vanessa’s smile flickered, turning sharp at the corners before melting back into innocent helplessness. "How could I possibly know where your little engineer girlfriend goes? Boston has a dozen hospitals, Ethan."
"Her name is Claire," Ethan snapped, his voice ringing through the carpeted corridor. "She’s not my little engineer girlfriend. She is the woman I was supposed to marry."
Vanessa let out a mocking sigh, crossing her arms over her chest. "Oh, please. You’ve been saying that for three years, yet whenever I call, you drop everything and run to me."
The cruel truth in her words struck Ethan right in the chest, cutting through years of self-delusion. Vanessa had never loved him; she had merely enjoyed having a brilliant, handsome man at her beck and call to stroke her bottomless vanity.
"Claire was sitting in an IV clinic for five days alone," Ethan said, his voice trembling with self-disgust. "Her veins were collapsed from dehydration, and I was holding your purse because you claimed you couldn't carry three pounds."
"Ethan, you promised my father before he died that you'd watch over me," Vanessa pouted, her voice turning sweet and manipulative. "You're my family."
"My father died two years ago, Vanessa," Ethan said coldly, his eyes burning with unshed tears. "And Claire was the only person who held my hand while I buried him. You didn't even send flowers because you were on a yacht in Monaco."
Vanessa frowned, irritated that her charm was failing for the first time. "If you leave right now, Ethan, don't expect me to call you when I’m back in London."
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"Don't call me at all," Ethan said, turning his back on her. "In fact, lose my number completely."
He sprinted down the hallway, taking the stairs three at a time, his chest heaving with an urgent, desperate need to find Claire before the invisible bridge between them collapsed forever.
