I scan his face, his five o’clock shadow, a small scar above his right eye. I want to look him in the eyes, but I can’t. I shift my eyes back to the table as I say, “That’s not all I lost…”
“Sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
I shake my head. “Not tonight.”
“Want to go hiking this weekend?”
I bark out in laughter before asking, “What?”
“Hiking.” He has a wide grin on his face.
I begin to fidget. “That was random.”
“Not really. I think it’d be good for you. Get out of the house. Get some fresh air, get your lungs moving. Ever gone hiking?”
“No.”
“Might be good to try something new. I’m already planning on going, so you can join me if you want.”
Butterflies soar through my stomach as I ask, “Would it just be the two of us?”
“Yeah, sorry. I typically don’t hike with others. It’s more therapeutic that way. Want to invite someone?”
“No, that’s not why I was asking.”
“Oh? Why then?”
I feel a slight surge of adrenaline, like when he told me we were going to the motorcycle show. I want to look away but I don’t. “Because I want to go if it’s just you and me. I don’t feel like being around other people.”
“Just you and me.”
I’m not sure I’m the hiking type. But he’s right. I need a friend. I need a distraction. I need to take a step, even if I already feel as though I’m too close to the edge. “I don’t have hiking gear. Do I need it?”
“Only thing you need is decent hiking shoes. I have everything else.”
“I can run out to get some tomorrow.”
“Okay.” He picks up the paper that I grabbed for him, and a grin slowly spreads on my lips.
We relax back into our comfortable silence and eventually call it a night. As I’m driving home, I think about what this weekend may bring. I typically don’t think much about the future. Why focus on something that consumes you with fear? Yet I’m looking forward to a hike. I need a change of scenery, and I trust that Nash can provide that for me.
Chapter 16
I’m sitting at the dining room table looking out the window again. This is a pretty typical spot for me. For some reason, I feel closer to Jeff here. We liked to cook together, and we made a point to eat at the table almost every night and enjoy the time with one another. We would also spend time on the weekends at the table working on our respective cases.
After going to the mall today to buy hiking shoes, I needed a break. I felt overwhelmed at all of the options. I texted Nash asking him what exactly I should buy, but I never heard back. I’ve never been much on outdoor activities, or outdoor anything for that matter. But when Nash mentioned it, I realized that was the old me. And at this point, I’m sick of being alone. It’s ironic since I’m the one that pushed everyone away. But my family and friends all look at me like I’m broken. Nash doesn’t. I’m lost in thought and startled when I hear my phone ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey.”
“Hi.” There is something about Nash’s voice on the phone. I feel guilty for the desire that begins to spread. His voice encases my ears and oozes strength and confidence. I envy that about him.
“Just got off work and read your texts.”
“Oh.” I chuckle and try to push down the feeling of rejection. I have no right to that feeling. “I thought maybe you were ignoring me.”
“No. Can’t have our phones in the field. Too many distractions.”
“That makes sense.”
“Seems like you need some help making a shoe decision.”
I roll my eyes. “I can hear you snickering.”
“Sorry. I think you’re making it more complicated than it needs to be.”
“I didn’t make it more complicated. The shoe companies made it more complicated. Why does there need to be so many options? I mean low-cut, mid-cut, full-grain, split grain…seriously! My head hurt when I left.”
“I take it you didn’t buy anything?”
“Oh, no. I bought eight pairs, and now you have to help me choose.”
“Eight?” I hear him break out into full laughter now. “You’re joking?”
I fold my arms across my chest and wait until he stops laughing. “No, I told you. I’ve never been hiking and have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Have you eaten?”
“No, why?”
“I can grab a pizza and come over to help you choose. That okay?”
I feel a slight flutter in my stomach, but I don’t want a repeat of last Saturday. “Do you mind if I come to you?”
“Sure. I’m still at work and need to shower. Give me thirty minutes or so?”
“Great. That will give me time to change and call it in before I come over. Any preferences?”
“Anything with meat on it.”
I smile. Typical male. “I’ll grab a salad too. Dressing preference?”
“Italian.”
“I need your address.”
“I’ll text it to you so you can use GPS.”
“That would be great, thanks.”
“See you in a bit.”
Thirty-five minutes later I walk up to his house and manage to ring the doorbell with my pinky finger while juggling a pizza box, a six pack of beer, and a grocery bag around my arm.
I hear him yell out, “It’s open.” But my hands are full so I ring it again.
The door opens and his eyes grow wide. “Oh, sorry. Let me help you.”
“Thanks.”
He grabs the pizza box and beer. “I love Primo Pies. Good choice.”
I kick my shoes off and follow him into the kitchen. “I didn’t know we lived so close to one another.”
“Yeah, should have told you that the other night.” He sits the pizza box on the counter and I follow with the salad. “Would you like a beer?”
“Sounds good.” He walks to the fridge and pulls out one bottle. I sit down on the barstool while he opens it for me. I guess he’s not drinking. I take a sip and then ask, “How was work?”
He grabs a bottle of water. “Boring.”
“I didn’t think that happened in your line of work.” I watch him move about his kitchen getting out paper plates, napkins.
“When it comes to action in my job, it seems to be feast or famine.”
“What do you do when you’re not on calls?”
“Restock or clean the truck, complete paperwork. Stuff like that.” He has a pained expression on his face while he says it.
“I take it you don’t like that part of the job?”
“I don’t hate it, but it's not why I got into my line of work. I like to stay busy. Time flies when we're trying to help someone as opposed to restocking.”
“I get it.” I walk over and grab a plate. “Where’s your silverware?”
“Whatcha need?”
“Salad tongs and a fork.”
He smiles. “No salad tongs. How about two forks?”
“Sure. Typical bachelor,” I say and then nudge him.
He gets out the forks and hands them to me. I put some salad on my plate and then do the same for him, but then I stop. This is too easy, too familiar. It’s a simple gesture, but there is nothing simple about the meaning of putting together a plate for someone. Couples do that, friends don’t. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I feel hot and my breathing becomes ragged. I then feel someone touch my shoulder.
“You okay?” He gives me a gentle squeeze, and my first instinct is to pull away. Instead, my gaze locks with his. “There you are. Where’d you go?”
“I’m sorry. I just… It’s nothing.” I pick up a piece of pizza and grab a fork. “Where did you want to eat?”
He pauses. I can tell he’s trying to decide if he wants to push me on the issue. I smile and raise my eyebrows.
He scrunches up his lips and narrows one eye at me but then shakes his head. �
��Outside on the patio? The sun is on the front of the house, so it should be cool.”
“Sure.” I walk to the sliding glass door. “I’ll come back for my beer.”
“I’ll get it.”
“You can’t carry all that.”
“Watch me.” He picks up his plate, his water, my beer, and the salad bowl and shuts the door behind him with his foot, smiling.
“Thanks.”
We sit down at the glass patio table and start to eat. “So, you’ve never been married?”
He laughs. “I knew this conversation was coming after you said the word bachelor.”
I shrug. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I thought that was a mutual understanding between us.”
“It is. Just giving you a hard time. But no, never married.”
“Ever lived with someone?”
“Nope. You and Jeff live together before you got married?”
“Are you kidding me? No! Our parents would have had a fit. I’m not opposed to it. It’s hard to suddenly be married and share your space with someone.”
“Meaning?”
I wipe my mouth and try not to dwell on the fact that I feel as though it’s someone else’s life I’m talking about. I guess if it were someone else’s, it wouldn’t hurt to talk about. “I mean, it was new and exciting, but some of your independence is gone. I remember the first night I stayed late at the office after we were married. I lost track of time and forgot to call him. He called me in a panic wondering where I was.” I exhale while shaking my head.
“What?”
The last moment I saw Jeff flashes in my mind. A few moments pass before I can find the courage to keep talking. “I should have been up pacing that night worried about him, but instead I was asleep in bed.”
“Would it have changed the outcome?”
I sigh. “No, but I wouldn’t feel like a total asshole for not knowing that my husband wasn’t in bed with me where he should have been.” I’ve never had to tell this story to someone before. Everyone who knows me has already been briefed on the circumstances before I even get the chance. I’ve never been thankful of that until now. I clear my throat and attempt to continue. “Do you remember hearing about that high-speed car chase after a man robbed the convenience store over on Oak? It wasn’t quite a year ago.”
He inhales a large breath before releasing it. “Yeah,” he says.
I try to detach myself as I explain what happened. But how do you detach yourself from the most painful experience of your life? “That’s who shot my husband. Jeff had left to buy a gallon of milk. The police told my father that the robbery was already in progress when Jeff walked in. He walked up behind this guy, and the worker there told the cops that the robber freaked out. Jeff struggled with him, and he shot my husband in the head.” I set my piece of pizza down. I hadn’t realized I was still holding it. “He didn’t even take the money. The clerk called the police, and I guess they tracked down the car and chased him for a while before they got close enough to shoot his tires. He shot himself.”
I avoid Nash by focusing on the trees that are lush and green and just beginning a new season in bloom. A couple of doors down, kids are screaming and laughing.
“How do you feel about that?” he asks.
My head jerks toward him. “The fact that he was so desperate he committed a crime and then took his own life?”
“Yeah.”
“Nothing. I feel nothing for him.”
“Really?”
“I mean, I don’t think good things about him, but to be honest, I don’t think about him much. I got a letter from his widow a few months later. She apologized, said that he had been out of work and that they had a three-month old at home and they were having a hard time putting food on the table. She said she knew it didn’t excuse his behavior, but she wanted me to know he wasn’t a bad person. I guess we all make mistakes. Plus, hating is such a useless, crippling emotion. It won’t change the fact that my husband’s dead and I’m alone.”
“Doesn’t mean you’ll be alone forever, Jensen.” His hand holds mine, and instead of pulling away, I grab on. He squeezes and the guilt slowly creeps in, so I pull away.
I shrug and tilt the bottle back, tasting the bitter fizz of my beer. I sit it down. “I want to be alone.”
“Being alone won’t bring him back.”
Looking back to Nash, I say, “I have no plans of ever being anything but alone.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because he took all of the good in me with him when he died. My strength, my passion, my sense of humor. Now all that remains is a bitter, selfish shell of who I once was.”
“You’re strong enough to live without him.”
I wish he was right. But he doesn’t understand. No one does, and I can’t explain it. Instead of arguing with him like I have with my mom, my dad, Olivia, and even Julia, I shrug and try to move the conversation back. “I figured you were curious about my story and how I ended up at group so…that’s it, that’s my story.” It’s not the whole story. Like why Jeff was out that late or the fact that I was three months pregnant at the time, but it’s enough. It’s all I can share at this point.
He takes a deep breath, and as opposed to pushing me to say more, he chomps down on his pizza and angles his body away from me.
The sun has set, and it’s starting to become a little chilly when he finally says, “Thank you for telling me. I know it wasn’t easy.”
I don’t respond. I pick up my plate and head back inside. He follows and we both move around the kitchen as though we’ve done it a thousand times. He’s so confusing. One minute I feel the tension between us, and the next we’re covered in utter silence and it feels completely normal. But there isn’t much about me that’s normal these days, and I kind of have a feeling Nash is in the same boat. I just don’t know why.
I lean against the counter and watch him clean the surface with a sponge. His black hair is cut short, and he has a combination of charm and easiness about him. Yet, there are times I see that easiness weighed down by something that I can’t pinpoint. It’s almost like he struggles with making up his mind which person he wants to be.
“Where are these boots we need to check out?” He’s put everything away while I’ve been freely staring at him.
“Oh, they’re in the car. I couldn’t carry them with everything else. I’ll go get them.”
“Need help?”
“Nah. I’ll be right back.”
I walk through the front door to my car and take a deep breath as I lean against it. I take a few more for good measure. How did I get here? I don’t know this man. But for whatever reason, my walls haven’t been up with him. I’ve always been a person with walls. Tall, thick ones. And with Jeff dying, my heart has been protected like Fort Knox. But Nash is the first person I’ve met and befriended who didn’t know Jeff. Maybe that makes it easier. Or maybe harder. All he knows of me is my current, pathetic self. How could he say I was strong earlier? He knows there is nothing strong about me. He’s seen it.
“Jensen?”
My head whips up and I see Nash standing in the driveway next to me. “Huh?”
“You were out here for a while, so I came to check on you. Here, let me help you.” He pauses, silently asking for permission. I step aside and let him lean into the backseat to grab the boxes. He gets all but one bag, so I grab that one while he waits for me to cross in front of him back into the house.
I plop down on the floor in the family room and remove box after box. He sits across from me and does the same. After all of the boxes are on the floor, I locate the ones I like best, strictly on looks because I have no idea how any of them are different. “I like the look of these the best.”
He examines them. “These look like backpacking boots. What does the box say?”
I pick up the box and read the label. “Yep, is that bad?”
“Not necessary for what we’re going to be doing. The midsoles are stiffer a
nd they’re typically heavier, which means they’ll just slow you down. What else you got?”
For the next twenty minutes, we look over my selections and settle on a mid-cut boot in full-grain leather with a waterproof lining that Nash says I need just in case, whatever that means. But I trust him, so I go with it.
“Thanks for your help.” I start to pack up the rest of shoes and return them to their boxes. “Now I can take the rest of these back. When did you want to leave on Saturday?” I’m sad that we have to wait forty-eight hours to spend more time together.
"Around 8:00 a.m. We can spend as much or as little time there as you like. I need to take my truck so that we can haul all the gear."
"Any update on the bike?"
"Yeah, it’s going to here sooner than they thought. Next few weeks, actually."
I chuckle as his eyes light up. "I know you're anxious to get it."
"Yes ma’am, I am. You should be anxious too, you know.”
“Really, why is that?” I reach down to grab the bags, but Nash beats me to it. He grabs all of them but one again and smirks at me.
“Because you’re finally going to get to ride a motorcycle.”
I shake my head. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.” But he’s right, I am a little curious.
Chapter 17
Nash pulls into the parking lot and I gape at the trail. My head then turns toward Nash.
He smiles. “What?”
"Um, that seems steeper than I was expecting."
"You afraid of heights?"
"Nash, one thing you'll learn about me sooner or later is that I’m afraid of a lot of things, even moreso now. I’m not much of a risk taker, not a fan of adrenaline, and I pretty much hate anything outside."
He laughs. “Wow, so glad I brought you.” I roll my eyes and he continues. “Duly noted. But the trail is away from the ledge. At least until we get to the top, but the view is worth it.”
We grab our packs, secure everything, and head toward the trail as the crunch of the gravel steadies our feet. "So, how long does this take to get to the top?"
The Loss Between Us Page 8
