Love Hurts

by J. J. Keller

  Megan, quite pleased with her work, had danced away when her mother called her to dinner.

  Shania’s axis had shifted from stay-at-home-Mom to a full-time-student―and a woman whose love for a man wasn’t returned. She needed to speed forward and let the past remain in Cyan. Did she want to readjust? Love for Morgan would not become history. Her stomach hurt at night as she lay in bed watching the gargoyle on the windowsill. Awake, she contemplated the future and it looked bleak without the real Morgan.

  Her cellphone rang. She pulled the mobile connection from its purse pocket. As she opened the top, a low battery message slid across the face. The phone immediately shut down. She took the device into the bedroom and connected it to the charger.

  Ring-ling sounded through the small apartment. She hurried to the door and opened to reveal a very hunky man. Her eyes scanned the tip of his shiny black shoes to his neatly pressed slacks, snug fitting jacket, crisp white shirt and plain red tie. Adam in a suit was gorgeous. His dark eyes glimmered with humor, as if he knew where her thoughts took her.

  “Hi, Shania. Your hair is very pretty like that.” He swirled his finger in the air, drawing an invisible line around her face.

  “Thank you. You look great.”

  “Ditto. Ready to go?” His smile brightened his face.

  “Sure, let me get my wrap. Justin, are you ready?” She took Justin’s coat from the rack and laid it on the back of the sofa.

  “Can I take my truck?” he shouted from the bedroom.

  “One Matchbox. Come on.” She tucked her arms into the black cashmere woven cloak, a cast-off from her mother years before. Adam held the garment steady.

  Justin ran out of the bedroom stuffing a tiny short-bed truck into his pocket. “Ready.”

  She held out his coat and shoved his arms through the sleeves. As they took the two steps to the door she remembered her phone. “Oh, wait. I need to get my cellphone.”

  Shania ran to the bedroom and unplugged the phone. The face didn’t light up. Crap, she couldn’t afford a new cell. Maybe the thing still worked. As she walked into the living room, she pressed buttons and the call rang through to Megan.

  “What’s wrong?” Adam asked.

  “Nothing, it’s just my phone face went out. No lights behind it.” She shoved the deep blue rectangle into her square purse.

  “Do you want me to take a look at it?” Adam asked.

  She quirked a brow. “Do you know a lot about phones?”

  “No, but I’m familiar with antiques and that looks like an antique.” He grinned and lifted the car seat beside the door.

  “Ha, ha. Let’s go. I’m hungry.” Shania slipped the strap of her purse over her arm and walked through the exit. Justin followed and grabbed her hand.

  Adam secured the child’s seat into the back of his red Volvo and strapped Justin in. “Do you like Japanese?” he asked as he slid behind the wheel.

  “Sure, we both do. What restaurant, Ching’s or Jo-Do’s?”

  “Jo-Do’s okay with you?” He started the car and glanced at her.

  “Yes. Fantastic.” She smiled. He grinned in response.

  Jo-Do’s wait-staff dressed in authentic white kosode robes and hakama. The comfortable looking garments consisted of a simple pattern of rectangles. She loved relaxed clothing. Adam carried Justin. They were shown to a table near the windows overlooking a Zen garden.

  Once seated, she tried to instruct Justin in the art of using chopsticks as Adam ordered a family meal. The food arrived, starting with egg drop soup. To Shania’s surprise, Justin consumed most of the broth. He created a ramp with the wooden utensils, then drove his truck up and down.

  “Tell me about your family, Adam,” Shania asked and shifted the partially filled bowls to the edge of the table and out of the line of a falling toy.

  “My parents live five miles outside of Briarwood. My father taught physics here at BU, my mother’s a doctor. It seemed natural for me to do both.” He took a sip of his Saki and shifted his chair.

  He’d unbound his neck tie. It hung an inch from his throat. The top button was unfastened and dark curls of hair sprung through the opening. His Adam’s apple worked up and down as he talked.

  He placed the glass on the table. “I have two brothers and three sisters. All of them are married and have a horde of kids. I enjoy watching football, basketball, baseball and hockey. You could say I enjoy sports. However, I only played tennis, soccer and baseball in high school. House hunting is taking up a lot of my time.”

  She took a sip of her water, placed the glass on the table and asked, “Where are you looking for a house? Near your parents?”

  “Near the university. I teach night class, so it’s easier to be close to work.” He pressed his back against the chair so the waiter could place dishes in front of them. “I like the older stately houses near your complex.”

  “Favorite color?”

  “Red.” He speared his fish.

  “Favorite musical artist?” She took a bite of her veggie noodle dish.

  “For each genre?”

  “Ah, I guess I’ll find out through experience. I’m assuming Rascal Flatts is your country fave since we listened to the Flatts’ recent CD on the way to the restaurant?” she asked.

  “I have to go potty,” Justin announced.

  “Let’s go.” Shania placed her napkin beside her plate, hoisted her purse over her shoulder and shoved her chair away from the table. Adam stood. She walked around to lift Justin off his booster seat. “Excuse us. We’ll be right back.”

  Several moments later they returned. Adam stood and pulled out Justin’s chair and then hers. She strapped Justin in and took her seat.

  “Thank you.” She placed the napkin on her lap. “I’ve delayed your dinner enough, let’s eat.”

  He touched her arm. “I kind of thought you’d ditch me.”

  “Why? I’m having a good time, talking and becoming friends. Aren’t you?” She moved food around on her plate. Adam was nice. She hoped they could be more than acquaintances. Her heart skipped a beat as she thought of Morgan. Bruised spirit or not, she couldn’t easily get over him. Her love remained true.

  “Yes, I am. How about dinner on Tuesday?” He lowered his hand and picked up his fork.

  “Sounds lovely.” She took a bite of carrot. The sharp scent of the vegetable infiltrated her senses.

  “And next Sunday? It’s my mother’s birthday. If I don’t take a date, she’ll set me up with every available female in Briarwood. Would you go with me as my friend-date?” His eyes glowed and held a smidgen of his previous success.

  Smooth. He maneuvered her by confirming they were friends, got her sympathy by stating it was a celebration for his mother, and ended with save-me-she’ll-make-me-date-her-women-choices. She felt conflicted. Too much, too fast, three friend dates in one week was a lot. She’d make the excuse of no babysitter.

  “They love kids. My mother’s anxious to meet Justin. I’ve talked about him quite a bit.” Adam finished his meal and scooted the dish away.

  “What did you say?” Justin asked.

  Adam laughed. “That you were adorable, smart and you liked trucks.”

  “I like trucks.” He yawned.

  “Let’s see how Tuesday goes first.” She placed her napkin on the table. Her cold food grew undesirable. Their friendship had quickly gone from occasional get-togethers for coffee to scheduled events. “Ready to go home, Justin?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Adam graciously paid the bill, settled them into his Volvo sedan, and after a short drive they arrived at her apartment. He carried a sleeping Justin, child seat and all, to the door. As a friend, he was very considerate and very strong. Maybe their friendship would work out. Perhaps she misjudged his motives. She resented the bit of arrogance in herself, thinking he wanted to date her.

  “Thank you, Adam, for dinner. I had a lovely time,” she quietly said. She unlocked the door and took Justin from him.

  He leaned
and kissed the side of her face. His lips were dry, but his thoughtfulness was nice. “So did I. Tuesday at six.”

  “Good night,” she whispered. She set the booster seat down in the living room. The click of the door as it shut furthered her thoughts of his kindness.

  As she lifted Justin out of his seat, her cellphone rang for the first time that night. She carried him to bed and removed his clothing. By the time she got her purse open the ringing stopped. The face was dark. The phone had finally died a silent cold death.

  Chapter 7

  “Dad?” Morgan entered his parents’ home through the kitchen door. A bell attached at the top of the window pane jingled. The chime was a recent addition. His father had installed the signal so Morgan’s mother, Margaret, could hear when someone entered the house. The Hardwick homestead was situated in a wooded lot half-a-mile from Country Road 200, two miles in front of the veterinary clinic. Sometimes desperate animal owners chose to come to the house instead of driving back to the brick building. Often they’d enter without knocking or ringing the bell, and had scared the hell out of his mother on occasion.

  His father, Mark, had become quiet this past year. Steady in his work ethic, he didn’t veer from his routine. He had a firm philosophy: Work starts at sunrise and ends at sunset. A person should always keep his or her debts at a minimum. If a person doesn’t have cash they shouldn’t buy it. Mark was to retire next month. Perhaps his silence related to the impending departure from his practice. Accustomed to a full day of activity, he was having difficulty adjusting to retirement.

  “I’m watching the Pacers, Morgan,” his father shouted from two rooms over.

  Morgan’s ancestral home was decorated in American Traditional. His mother claimed the Patriotic American knicknacks were not clutter. Morgan didn’t allege to be a decorator, but it sure looked like hodgepodge to him. His mom loved to accumulate anything from American Flags folk art to those baskets--Longaberger or something. He admitted he’d added to the masses by creating pieces of furniture for her to store her collectibles. His father groaned as Mother’s Day came around, knowing another handcrafted unit to hold her stuff would be coming into the house.

  The hallway wall was nearly filled with more of her breakables. He glanced at a new oil painting depicting typical simple Amish life. A woman raked a hoe through a vegetable garden. In the background, a boy child held a wood plank swing, ready to release a tiny girl holding onto thick ropes tied to a fat-branched oak tree. Morgan focused on his mission. His father reclined in a mustard-colored leather chair watching the basketball game. His gray-haired mother sat on the sofa to the right of his father’s easy-chair, cross-stitching near a bright table lamp. Her long slender fingers, still nimble, weaved the thread in and out of the cloth. The clink of her ring bumping against the wooden bracket chimed through the room.

  “Hey, where have you been the last couple of months?” His father muted the sound on the television. The sprinkling of silver had taken over, leaving only a small amount of visible blond. Noticeable excess rested on his belt line, a result of attending meals on a regular basis.

  “Busy. Are the ladies still bringing their pets in for check-ups so they can look over the new partner? What did the office staff call the guy? Some odd term.”

  “Hunk-a-V,” his mother supplied.

  Mark snorted. “Waning.”

  Morgan tried to smile. He was about to reveal something he wasn’t proud of, yet he knew they would always be there for him and trust they’d be fair and honest. If he needed a good shaking, they’d give it. He coughed, trying to open his closed throat. “I need to ask for your help.”

  His mother put her stitching on the coffee table. “Sit, I’ll get you a glass of water.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” He sat on the edge of the sofa, still anxious. His chest eased a little knowing he wasn’t alone. Unfortunately, his mind created different violent scenarios in his head of Shania and Justin being held hostage or killed.

  His mother hustled into the room and handed him the glass. He sipped. The cold fluid slid down his throat. It tasted delicious, so he drank the remainder.

  His father switched off the basketball game.

  “Shania and Justin left town, and I can’t locate them. I went to the house the day after the canceled wedding and it was empty. Her neighbors refused to give me information. Her mail’s not being forwarded.”

  “That poor girl. Something horrible must have happened to make her leave. She loved living in your small house.” His mother touched his arm. “It seems like yesterday instead of four years ago you brought her to us. Poor girl, heartbroken and pregnant... It’s hard to believe she’d leave without telling you.”

  “I know she loved the house.” But did she love him? “I’m shocked she left without a word.”

  She picked up her stitching. “She’s such a sweet girl. When it was obvious Beck didn’t want to be with her, I imagined you two would get together. Maybe she couldn’t reach you because you weren’t answering your phone. I’ve tried to call and a monotone female recording told me you weren’t available.”

  His father leaned on the arm of the chair.

  Morgan bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t want to burden his parents with his mistakes. They’d taught him better. “I love Shania.”

  There, easy enough.

  “Son, we’ve known that since you first met the girl. When she stayed with us, we came to care for her. She’s a lovely young woman, sweet, honest, proud and a hard worker. The horses loved her, and they are always a judge of good character.” His father tapped his finger on the chair arm. “You didn’t tell us exactly what happened at the church. We thought it was your business. Considering this--” He waved his hand at Morgan. “--Shania must have been involved. Do you want to share with us now?”

  Morgan couldn’t get past the character and horse reference. Had she helped with the drafts? Their massive hoofs would have crushed her. He’d ask for details later. “Shania came to me in the chancery. She said she loved me.”

  “And?” his father prompted.

  “Let’s just say Patty was rude. I broke the engagement. As you know I canceled the ceremony, and I’m almost finished paying for my half of the wedding. I’m probably paying for all of it.” He glanced at his watch, needing to get to his night construction job soon.

  “Do you want me to talk to her mother?” Maggie glanced over the top of her eyeglasses.

  Morgan held the laughter inside. Was it his mom or were all women under the illogical belief they could solve problems by talking mother to mother? “No, thank you, Mom. Another week of working nights and I’ll be finished. Tell me how to find Shania? I’m scared she needs help. When I call her cellphone, I keep getting an out of service message.”

  “Have you talked to her friends?” His mother propped her glasses on top of her head.

  “Yes, during the past few weeks I’ve checked with as many as possible.” Morgan rubbed his chest. An ache had been present since she walked out of the church. He should have told her he loved her that night. However, it seemed wrong to walk away from a wedding and a couple of hours later tell another woman of his feelings for her. Would she have believed him?

  He’d wanted her to see him as a desirable man for such a long time. He’d convinced himself her declaration of love hadn’t occurred. What if she had said “Patty doesn’t love you,” and in his mind he’d heard “I love you”? If he had been thinking clearly, he would have known before the wedding incident that Patty wanted to be married and anyone would suffice. Morgan had needed an escape from his fantasies, his longing, to be with Shania.

  “Go to her parents.” His father picked up the remote.

  “Why would you think they’d know where she’d be? Remember I brought her here after her folks abandoned her and Beck’s parents refused to believe her.” Morgan didn’t trust the Millers or the Longviews.

  “Morgan, don’t give me that look. I remember exactly how distraught Shania was and the bits
of conversation she replayed. Her parents kept track of her. Back in early summer, I was at Shania’s house fixing the water heater when I witnessed Mrs. Miller driving by. She turned her head quick enough, but I glimpsed her face,” Mark said.

  “And my hairdresser knows Anne’s stylist, they go to the same conferences. Did you know hairdressers go to shows and conventions?”

  “Maggie,” his father groaned.

  “Oh, right. Anne’s always trying to pry information, asking if I’ve said anything about Shania to her friend.” She nodded, the spectacles falling forward.

  “So they were curious, but never contacted her. Even after Justin was born.” A fresh wave of anger roiled through Morgan.

  “Pride will be the downfall of that family,” his father agreed.

  “Remember the first few nights Shania stayed with us? We heard her crying most of the night.” Maggie pulled a tissue out of her house-jacket pocket, repositioned her frames and dabbed her eyes. “She tried to keep quiet. Poor dear must have been sobbing into her pillow.”

  Morgan scrubbed hair away from his face.

  “Morgan, if you love Shania and she told you she loved you, why didn’t you go to her before now? Track her down the day she left, instead of months later?” Maggie frowned and balled the tissue in her hand.

  “I wanted to get rid of Patty first and make sure she wouldn’t take me to court or give me grief. I planned to track Shania and go to her this Thursday, when I’m debt free. She’s not a risk-taker, so you can imagine my surprise she’d moved. We always talk and now I haven’t been able to see…communicate with her.”

  Maggie sighed. “Well, that’s just silly. Can you imagine what that poor girl has been thinking? She probably thinks you don’t care about her. Did you tell her you loved her?”