KING'S BAY METROPOLITAN HOTEL
"I can't do this."
Brent
can't believe he actually says
it, but he does. He watches Sarah's
expression change from one of delighted
anticipation to confusion and then to outrage. She grabs him by the arm,
offering no greater explanation than a sharp look, and leads him out to
the terrace.
The late-night -- or rather, early
morning -- wind is laced with a biting chill, but Brent doesn't even notice
it. Sarah doesn't seem to mind it, although she folds her bare arms in
front of her chest. The light wind toys with a few loose strands of her
upswept hair.
"What was that?" she demands.
Despite having a variety of words
on the tip of his tongue, he doesn't have anything resembling an explanation
to offer her.
"I thought everything was going all
right!" Sarah exclaims. "You couldn't even give me one kiss to ring in
the New Year?"
"I--" He trips over another false
start. "I don't know. It just didn't feel ... right."
"I'm your wife!"
"This isn't exactly your run-of-the-mill
happy marriage!" he fires back, his voice filled with a sad brand of sarcasm.
"I thought you were going to give
us another shot tonight! We were having a good time together--"
"No, we were having a pleasant time.
A civil time. It wasn't 'good,' Sarah."
"It was a step in the right direction."
"Just because we've been able to
spend a couple of hours together without biting each other's heads off
doesn't mean everything is fixed," he says hotly. "And now ... God ..."
"What?"
"When I was standing there, trying
to kiss you ... I knew I should, I saw everyone else kissing -- but I couldn't.
I just couldn't do it, Sarah."
"I noticed."
"And I realized something in that
moment," he continues, trying to ignore her sarcastic barb, "and as you
were pulling me out here. It can never be the way it was before. Not anymore.
Things are too different between us."
They have had so many back-and-forth
conversations and she has become so accustomed to having her hopes jerked
around that the depth of what he is saying doesn't hit her for a few seconds.
But when it does, her face seems to drop several shades of color. She grabs
him by the arm.
"No -- Brent ... You don't mean that.
You don't know that. We can get that back -- all we have to do is keep
trying. It'll work, I know it will--"
He yanks his arm away from her. "No,
it won't. It's time we stopped this--this farce."
She searches for a moment for the
right words to convince him that he is wrong, but the emotion is too great.
She spins on her heels and storms back inside. Brent watches her through
the glass door for a few seconds before following her.
She storms across the room, her hands
balled up in fists at her sides as she burns a path through the crowd.
Only when she comes to Molly --
who is, incidentally, right in her path
-- does she stop.
Molly, who is engaged in conversation
with Paula
and Bill, notices her sister standing by her side and also takes
note of her very visible rage. "What's wrong?" she asks, not sure if she
should ask but knowing that she cannot ignore it.
Sarah just stares angrily at Molly
for several seconds. A waiter walks by with a tray of champagne glasses.
Sarah grabs one off the tray and holds it in front of her mouth, poised
to take a sip.
She shakes her head at Molly. Bill
and Paula exchange baffled glances as their daughters seem to be silently
facing off.
"Damn you," Sarah finally says through
gritted teeth.
"What?" Molly responds.
Sarah lets the stare linger for another
moment before she tips the glass forward and flings the champagne right
in Molly's face. "Go to hell," Sarah spits as she storms out of the room.
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