Taming the Author

35: Don't Blame Yourself

My heart pounded painfully against my chest as I stared at the door to Loramina's apartment unit.

It had been four days since the funeral. I heard about Errol, Harriet and George going back to their own lives a day ago, and I figured everyone else who attended the wake had done the same; including Loramina.

I bit my lip.

I wasn't sure when to approach her again after the burial. I figured a day after was too early, and a week after was too late.

To be honest though, I just didn't have the courage to face her.

I didn't know how I would start a conversation with her or what reason I would give to see her. Saying I just wanted to talk to her seemed wrong and inadequate for me somehow.

I glanced at the steamy cup of espresso in my right hand and at the bag of stir-fried noodles with lots of onion leeks dangling from my left. I figured offering her favorite food to her would convince her to let me in.

I took a deep breath before moving the espresso cup to my Chinese-takeaway hand.

I looked at the door again, determined to knock on the door.

It was now or never. I would start with "Hey!" once she opened the door, followed by "How are you? I was just passing by and I thought of dropping by and would you like a cup of espresso and stir-fried noodles?"

I rolled my eyes.

I knew it was lame, and inwardly rehearsing them in preparation for what I was about to do was worse. But I was too out of my wits.

I just wanted to see her. I wanted to be friends with her again, and I was willing to let go of my angst to do it.

So throwing all caution to the wind, I knocked on the door.

I listened for any shuffling beyond the door but didn't hear anything. I hummed to myself as I thought of the time.

It was late in the afternoon. I didn't think she had any regular job so I expected her to be home.

I knocked on the door once more.

Again, the room beyond it remained silent.

I took another deep breath.

Perhaps she was sleeping.

I looked up to where the tape hiding the spare key was located.

Breaking in would be wrong, but it was too late for her to remain unconscious. So I figured I ought to check on her and make sure she wasn't sick.

But I was surprised to see nothing there - no trace of a key, and no trace of the tape concealing a spare key. I anxiously reached over the sides of the door frame to be sure; my fingers trembling against the wood.

I frowned at the door.

My heart was starting to panic.

I knocked on the door again, only to be met by another dead silence.

"Loramina," I called, in case she was wary of mysterious door-knockers. "Loramina, it's me, Dean. Are you there?"

-Silence.

I felt anxious about it for some reason.

Did this mean she didn't want to see me?

Jimmy told me he was looking for another author I could work with. I expected the change, but I half-hoped I'd still get to work with her. Come to think of it, I hadn't asked Jimmy about the status of Loramina's contract with the publication.