Country Wishes

by RaeAnne Hadley

  From me.

  “Yeah,” he muttered after a few seconds, looking down at her, the look on his face still there but now even more pronounced. And I remembered.

  He would look at me like that whenever I said something funny, or did something silly, or after he would kiss me.

  But my favorite time was after we were done making love. That was when that look came out full force and my soul would bathe in it, sagging in content.

  It was a look of wonder mixed with endless gentleness.

  Like he couldn't quite believe I was real.

  And everything that was happening was true.

  I missed that look.

  I didn't know how much I missed it until I watched him giving it to his daughter.

  And I wanted it back.

  But even though I knew I couldn't get it back, he didn't want me, he made that clear years ago, I was still glad he had someone in his life he could give it to.

  After that, I stood up, pushed my want and need to the side, and went and did my job.

  And all the while, I wished he would look at me one more time.

  He didn't.

  It was late.

  I was tired.

  Still, I didn't go straight home. I went to take a stroll down the Main Street of Hopeful to see the decorations.

  The lights were hanging across the street from streetlamp to streetlamp and were hanging low. The soft yellow glow of them made everything look softer.

  There were bells, flowers sometimes even the enormous candy canes on the doors of various shops. Even the bar had a bottle of whiskey that had red and white paper bursting out of its cork, stuck to its door.

  And as I was walking to the center of it. To where the well stood in the middle of town the, decorations got more elaborate, more quirky, more fun.

  And the street stands were being put up. The festival and ceremony didn't start for a week, but the town was in full swing for the preparations. And cheers and laughter poured in from every corner.

  I loved it.

  But as I neared the old well that feeling leaked out.

  Coming to it, touching the cold stones that were piled on top of one another, lining the outer circular shape, that I used to count as a little girl I couldn't think of anything but Dylan.

  And how he left earlier.

  He was relieved that it wasn't the flu, but just some virus that would go away in a couple of days and all Zara needed was fluid and rest. And plenty of it.

  Still he turned at the door, looked out of the window, then to my desk and said, “I still don't want you here. You need to leave.”

  He left leaving me standing in the corner and whishing I was anywhere but there.

  He hadn't looked at me once.

  With the feel of hopelessness, of emptiness settling in my soul, my hand went up and touched the old wood of the side post that was holding up the cross beam which was used to wind the rope and bring up the bucket. The only thing that wasn't as it was from the beginning was that bucket. It used to be brown leather. Now it had a new one. A steel one.

  And feeling that wood that I felt so many times before under the skin of my palm, I remembered my grandmother telling me to get away from that well. It wasn't my time to be near it.

  It felt like she stood right next to me, whispering in my ear, not yet, my darling girl. Soon, but not yet.

  And feeling all that for a moment in the cold night, for a second I didn't feel alone, I didn't feel like I didn't belong.

  I felt like I was home.

  Like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

  I leaned over the stones, trying to peer into its depths, but all I saw was darkness.

  “What the hell are you doing, girl?” The question came sharp in my right ear making me jolt and scream.

  I looked that way only to see Mrs. McConnell standing near the edge of the stones that were lying on the ground with her hands on her hips.

  “I'm...” I didn't get to finish what I was saying because she gave me a sharp shake of her head.

  “Now is not the time for that, girl,” she looked up at the dark cloudy sky. “The moon is not right,” she continued her bizarre explanation. “Has your grandmother not taught you anything?” She took a firm hold of my elbow and pulled me back. Looking me right in the eye she whispered, “Or have you forgotten everything?”

  “I don't know what you're talking about,” I whispered back. There were chills that were running through my body and they had nothing to do with how cold it was. “All my grandmother ever said was to stay away from the well. Especially at night.”

  “Old fool that woman was,” Mrs. McConnell turned to me and still holding onto me started walking briskly towards home. It was surprising the spring she had in her step and the firm hold she had on me. But I didn't process any of it. I was too busy assessing her mental state. “She taught you nothing. Well, no use for me to teach you now, you'll learn on your own soon enough.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You'll see, girl,” she patted my arm, a mischievous smile on her face. “You'll see.”

  Chapter Four

  SOPHIE

  Two days later, Mrs. McConnell's strange behavior completely evaporated from my mind.

  Sure, I did decide to leave, and have already set up a meeting with Denver Thunder's coach to go through his heart condition and see what could be done. But I was determined to soak up every last possible atom of goodness that was this little town in Colorado.

  And yes, I will be back. But that was only to finalize the house sale. I still hadn’t put in on the market.

  I haven't come that far. But I would.

  And it was because of all of that and just my looking around town and in various shops windows was why I wasn't prepared.

  Why I saw him only at the last moment as we walked towards each other.

  It was as if the sun shone directly to him, calling all female attention and screaming, here’s the perfect male specimen ladies, come and grab him while you still can.

  And he was, the perfect male specimen that is.

  He was talking on his phone; his head was turned left so I could see his profile. His jaw was set hard, its angles sharp and made sharper by him clenching his teeth which was highlighted by a muscle jumping in his cheek.

  The arm holding the phone to his ear was big.

  Bigger than I remembered.

  The muscles under his thermal jumping up and down as if on some kind of showcase of their strength.

  His powerful legs eating the pavement away.

  His attire of washed up jeans, grey thermal and darker grey vest, was mouthwatering.

  And when he turned his head to the front, to watch where he was walking, I was hit with his silver, mirror aviators, Freddy Mercury style, and my knees went weak.

  And I stopped.

  Right there in the middle of the walkway, my purse on my shoulder that started slowly sliding down my arm from the jolt of my abrupt stop, the grocery bags full of ingredients for my Christmas baking, swinging in my hands.

  I simply couldn’t move.

  He not only took my breath away, he took my ability to see anything besides him.

  And my mouth started watering.

  I had maybe three seconds before his shades locked on me, cementing me in place, but in those three seconds I had a very vivid image of my tongue running through his short beard, tracing the angles of his jaw and going down the strong column of his neck.

  “You need to rethink this,” he growled into his phone stopping in front of me, ending his call, then putting his phone in the pocket of his vest. Never once looking away.

  And all the while the muscle in his cheek danced.

  “Sophie,” he continued in the same growl making my already winded breath windier. And I didn't want him to talk to me in that growl or harsh tone.

  So, I just blurted, “How’s Zara?”

  “Better, she’s mostly now sleeping, the fever’s gone and
the vomiting stopped two days ago. Mrs. McConnell’s with her now.”

  I wanted to ask where his wife was, but I knew better.

  I heard rumors, but I learned not to listen to them. Sometimes they were true, sometimes they were nothing but lies. But always, if you believed in them without reserve they brought hurt.

  And it wasn’t my business.

  Even though every cell in my body demanded to know, and hoped they were true and false at the same time, it wasn’t my place to ask.

  I had no right.

  But I couldn’t help myself. “Well, it’s good that Mrs. McConnell’s helping. Gives time for your wife to take a break.”

  “My wife?” he asked like it was a word in a foreign language that he had no idea what it meant.

  “Yes, your wife. And you of course.” I raised my arm his way in a lame attempt to, I don't even know what. It was only when his head tilted down to it that I remembered I still had grocery bags in them.

  “I don’t have a wife, Sophie,” he said slowly his aviators going back up.

  “Oh,” I muttered not knowing what to say, but I felt a warm sensation spreading though my body.

  “Divorced her four years ago, she decided that having a family wasn’t for her,” I had to close my eyes when his words came out because I could see him standing in front of me and I could see Zara in my mind. And I couldn’t fathom how any sane woman could have all that and leave it behind. Willingly.

  If I had that, the two of them belonged to me, I would die before leaving them.

  I would rather pull out my own nails before doing that.

  “Listen, Sophie,” he started but I didn’t have the energy to withstand another of his demands of me leaving. Not ever again, but especially not now when he looked as if he stepped out from one of my dreams because that was exactly how I pictured he would look like twenty years in the future when we were together.

  And I was right.

  “Don’t worry, you won’t have to put up with me much longer. I’m leaving after Christmas.”

  His head jerked back, his chin tucked into his throat and his hands balled.

  “What?” he whispered barely moving his lips. His hand released and went up to his face, tagging his shades and pushing them up into his messy hair.

  Even though I got his magnificent eyes, I still missed the shades almost instantly. They looked that good on him.

  “I’m leaving. I just want to have one last Christmas here,” I tucked my hair behind my ear, the bag rustling against my body, bumping me.

  After his eyes went back to mine from their tracing my hand, he swallowed. “So, you’re doing it again?”

  “Doing what again?” I tilted my head.

  “You’re leaving Hopeful, not caring who you’re leaving behind.”

  I didn’t get it. Wasn’t this what he wanted me to do? He actually demanded me to leave.

  “What?”

  “Just like you did all those years ago,” he finished ignoring my what.

  “You broke up with me, you demanded me to leave like you’re doing now,” I said loud not caring that there were people standing and listening to us.

  “Yeah, and you couldn’t wait for me to do it, you were gone two days later,” his hands were at his waist, he was leaning towards me and his voice was gaining volume also.

  “Because, you demanded me to do it,” I assumed the same posture. Mine wasn’t so effective as his since I was shorter than him and I had my bags which were messing with my style. Still, I ignored all of it and carried on. “And my grandmother had enough of me being closed in my room and crying. And then Mrs. McConnell came and said it was for the best. I should just go and give you some time to get your head out of your ass, so I did,” all this brought back the old pain that never really went away. I had no choice but to rub my chest, hoping it would help. “But, you never did.”

  It was his turn now to ask softly, “What?”

  “I came back twice a month for a year, but you were never here. And I couldn’t find you,” I whispered. His image danced in my eyes, but I powered through. “In the end, it became clear I never would. So, yeah I went away, giving up my home just so I could live a resemblance of a normal life.”

  “It didn’t look like you had to try very hard,” his words were dripping with acid.

  When he saw the shocked look on my face, he gave me a menacing smile. “Yeah, Soph, I went for you. I hauled my ass to Boston to get you back. And what did I find?” he asked, but didn’t wait for me to give him the answer. “My Soph, was living the life. Laughing and smiling with all those stick-up-their-asses people. Surrounded by guys. That was the moment that I knew I chose right. That you didn’t belong here.”

  “You came to Boston?” I could barely hear myself my voice was so small.

  “Yeah, Sophie, I did,” he nodded. “And I’ll repeat, you were living the big life in that college and didn’t need me or Hopeful. I only wish you didn’t demand your grandmother to haul her ass to you whenever she wanted to see you.”

  “Has it occurred to you it was too hard for me to come back?”

  “I don’t see why since you got over me and this place so easily, so fast.”

  “And has it occurred to you that it was all fake?”

  His eyes were hard and he took a step away from me. “I know that every moment we spent together was fake, you don’t have to rub it in my face now. I got to see it with my own two eyes.”

  “Then you’re blind even though you can see,” I shot back not giving him a chance to turn his back now and not let me explain. But I need to know something first. “Tell me, why did you break up with me in the first place? Even now, I still don’t get it. We were able to continue with us even through college, but the moment I started preparing for med-school you started pulling away, and then just a week before I was set to go, you cut me loose. Why?”

  “Because I didn’t want you to end up like my mother,” he roared in my face.

  This time I took a step back. Not because I was done with this conversation.

  No, we were nowhere near being done.

  It was because I couldn’t believe how stupid he was.

  “Look at how she ended up, taking her own life after my Pop got killed, couldn’t stomach the idea of living in this town and not living to her full potential.”

  “You cannot be this stupid,” I said still not believing what he was saying.

  “You know I’m right. She could have had a big life, just like you. She could have made something of herself and not be stuck here. And after he was gone, she saw that and instead of going away, she decided to end her life,” he continued with his false belief.

  “You really believe that, don’t you?” I asked softly. “You really think she regretted her choices in her life and that’s why she chose to do it?”

  “What other explanation could there be?” his chest was moving up and down harshly, his face appeared to be made of granite and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down like he was fighting against throwing up.

  It was the same look he wore when he crushed me.

  “It hasn’t occurred to you that even after three years living without your father the grief still had her in its clutches and wouldn’t let go even for a little bit? It hasn’t occurred to you that she loved your father so much she couldn’t bear the thought of living another day without him? That she missed him so much, that she loved him so much she wanted to find a way to be with him? And that all the counseling she was in and all the meds she was taking wasn’t helping one bit?” I lost count of how many times his Mom came to my grandmother and cried, of how many times Mrs. McConnell talked to her, how both of them urged her to go to therapy. How his Mom went all the way to Denver to get help. But the monster of depression was too strong, her grief too big. And in the end all the help was useless, his Mom just gave up. It was devastating, she was loved by many. But we all saw the depth of her pain, the struggle she had. It was hard to understand why she chose to do it,
but not impossible.

  How could he not know this?

  “And how would you know?” he threw the question in my face.

  “Because I felt exactly the same,” I screamed. “Every day after you threw me away was a struggle. Every day I prayed I would get better. Every day I hoped the pain would be less painful. And all through those days I slapped a smile on my face and faked my way through. And every night I fell asleep in tears wishing the next day wouldn’t come. Because even the thought of you not being a part of it ripped me in half,” the tears were now streaming down my face, my throat burned and spasmed. Still, I pushed through. “Suffering and depression doesn’t have a universal look, Dylan. With enough time, you become a master at hiding it,” And with that I shouldered my way past him.

  Which in normal circumstance wouldn’t be possible, but he was much too shocked to notice.

  He didn't deserve more.

  He didn't deserve how in the end I had no choice but to lock everything down so I could try and live. How I had years of therapy which did absolutely nothing to help. How in the end my grandmother and Mrs. McConnell came to Boston, moved me to Seattle and spent over two months with me making sure I was finding my way in the new city and trying to live.

  It was only after I demanded to never talk about Dylan or come back to Hopeful that they sighed a sigh of relief.

  And only after I got into cardiac program that they were sure I snapped out of my grief.

  They were wrong.

  It took me three more years to be able to wake up and not dread the day before me.

  And seventeen of them were not enough to get over him.

  I still loved him.

  I always would.

  By the time he came to, I was already secure on my way.

  And by the time he bellowed, “Sophie, wait!” I was in my car, ready to go.

  As I passed him on the street going the opposite way of my house I saw him running but he was too late.

  The damage was done.