Unfashionably Dead

Chapter Eighteen

"I can do it." Lanie inhales a deep breath and inserts the key into the lock. She shudders as the lock disengages. "No, I can't. I'm not ready." She covers her face and leans against the wall. "Can you grab clothes for me?"

Adam frowns and scans the hallway. "I'll go inside with you, but I'd prefer not leaving you out here alone." He takes her hand, opens the door, and tries leading her through it. His effort is fruitless.

She does not budge. "I'll take my chances with Margaret."

"Are you sure?" He looks toward Margaret's door. With Lanie's nod, he relaxes then steps into the apartment.

Lanie sits on the floor. She inhales slowly like she's in yoga class. I've seen her do this numerous times when she's stressed and trying to calm her nerves. If I could communicate with her, I'd distract her by knocking Kim Kardashian for her most recent social media stunt or I would talk about the fashion from a celebrity award ceremony held in the past few days. Gosh, they have so many.

"Anything specific you want me to get?" Adam peers around the door.

"Work clothes, sweaters, skirts, pants, underwear...whatever you can fit in the large suitcase."

Amazingly, Adam doesn't balk at the idea.

The old Adam freaked out when Lanie asked to keep a few of her belongings at his condo after they were engaged. It was at that point that their co-sleeping shifted primarily to her apartment. He'd claimed it was easier, probably the truest thing he's ever said to her. Her gift of a key to him considerably shortened his commute time between her place and Margaret's.

"The place is clean," he yells.

"I'll trust you." She wipes a tear and takes another breath. It doesn't seem to be working for her.

I gape as she reaches into her purse, a purple Fendi sachel. It was less than two weeks ago that we spotted the bag as we walked through Sak's. Lanie had fallen in love with the fishtail braid strap of the Peekaboo Whipstitched Leather Satchel in Purple Rain. I'd lusted after the bag's black brother. The price tag dashed my hopes of ever owning it. Lanie could have bought hers right then and there but she didn't, even after I encouraged her to buy it. She claimed the mojo wasn't right with the bag, that she could think of better ways to spend her money.

I can't fault her for buying the purse now. If our roles were reversed, I would have bought both bags and everything in sight to help extinguish the grief...and I'd spend years recovering the funds.

She whips out her cell phone and opens the app for her favorite word game. I decide spying on Adam is less likely to make me re-die from boredom.

When I enter the bedroom, his hand is in the top drawer of her nightstand. He rifles through it and smiles as he lifts up two lace teddies. He stuffs them in the suitcase before searching through her bras and panties in the drawer below it. Ugh.

Just as he opens the closet's sliding door, his cell phone buzzes. He fishes it from his pocket and looks at the caller ID. The number is from an unknown caller. He seems to debate whether or not to answer but finally relents. At the sound of the other voice, he tenses.

"I can't talk right now," he says, pulling two pairs of pants off their hangers and dropping them into the suitcase.

Against my better judgment, I hover close to him, dissipating and diminishing myself so I can hear the other end of the conversation. The thought of being practically one with his ear makes me want to hurl.

"That's unfortunate," the man says. "I thought you would've contacted me after our conversation the other night."

"I've been busy." Adam reaches for the tie holder that Lanie uses to hang her scarves. He spins the hanger and stops at the scarf he bought for her in the spring. It is a Hermes scarf with two pink flamingos canoodling amidst palm trees, orange trees and tropical flowers.