Chapter 28

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Later that evening, I was in my hotel room, all by my lonesome again.

“Bon appetit,” I said, sitting down to my meagre meal: toast and marmalade, accompanied by a handful of red grapes and a slice of cheese. I rarely cooked for myself. I needed an audience. It really was a show, and without anyone to appreciate the food, I lost interest.

I poured myself a glass of white wine—it would go well with the apricot marmalade, right?—and after taking a bite of my toast, tried Derek’s phone one more time. His voicemail came on again. I’d already left him three messages in the last two hours. I hung up and dejectedly picked at my meal. It was so quiet in this damn room, I could hear myself chew. It irked me. I gulped down my first glass of wine and poured another. I’d get a little drunk, have a shot of ZzzQuil, and hope for the best.