Leaving Amy (Amy #2)

by Julieann Dove

  “And your point is?”

  “The point is I hope you’re not going to try to drown your sorrows in liquor and act as though all your dreams have been smashed to hell.”

  “What if I do?”

  “I won’t let you. Amy, it wasn’t that good of a relationship.”

  “I beg your pardon. I was going to move in with him.”

  “And God one day smiled down and said, ‘Amy Whitfield, I’m going to save you years of sadness and waste.’ Then he sent Mark to Chicago.”

  I shook my head. “Tom McTavish, you’re a jerk sometimes. I loved Mark.”

  “I don’t doubt you thought you loved him. But it wasn’t going to work out.”

  “I see.” I smiled an apathetic smile and nodded. “And you knew this all along?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, wise one, what is going to happen then with Wesley? Why don’t you save me the trouble of guessing and trying to wrap my head around it and tell me?”

  “You don’t want to hear it.”

  He finished filling the pot and poured it into the machine. His smugness was killing me.

  “Or rather you know it, but you’ll go through it because you like to feel pain.”

  “Sure, that’s it. I love pain. But enlighten me. What’s going to happen?”

  “You’ll go back with Wesley. You’ll do it to prove to yourself that you’re a forgiving person. Then when you can’t stand it anymore, you’ll just check out. You’ll be that woman at the company parties who stares off with nothing in her eyes. No future, no happiness. You’ll die just going through the motions.”

  “Lord, you make me want to stand in front of a moving train right now. Anything to avoid that train wreck of a life.”

  “You could avoid it by not going back with him.”

  “I told him I needed time, Tom. It’s not like I’m not giving this serious thought.”

  The fact Mom could have known about Dad and she still stayed with him flashed in my mind. People did it and lived to be happy. Didn’t they?

  “By the way, I’m going out tomorrow night with him. Don’t expect me for dinner.”

  “You’ll let me pick out your outfit, won’t you? I’ve got just the right one in mind. It’s black with a veil.”

  I punched his arm. “You’re bad. It’s just a date, not a reconciliation.” I took some filtered water from the fridge and grabbed a banana off the counter. “Let’s go and get a tree today.”

  “Okay. I’ll be ready after my grapefruit and paper.”

  He didn’t even put up a fight. His date must’ve gone well. I’d extract the details when he least expected it. I was excited to be doing something other than pining for a failed relationship, past or present.

  “So did you have a good time?” I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “It was fine.” He sipped his coffee and picked up his knife to cut into the grapefruit.

  “Fine? Come on, tell me something about it.” I went to get the jelly from the refrigerator.

  “It was a date, Amy. Not a marriage ceremony.”

  “Tom, you haven’t been on one in years. Did you like the restaurant? What did she wear? Did she say anything about your jeans?”

  He laid down his knife and looked at me over his glasses. He always wore them when he read. The paper was spread out next to him on the table.

  “For your information, you were my first date in years.” He went back to sawing the fruit. Juice ran down the sides of it and the tart smell fragranced the air. “The restaurant was all right. The clam chowder was runny and her chicken was tough. She wore something.” He waved his hands in the air, possibly trying to help in his recall. “Blue or other, and no, she didn’t say anything about my jeans.”

  “Me? I was your first date? What are you talking about?”

  He took off his glasses and laid them on the paper. I guess he figured he wasn’t going to be reading that morning. I tried not to be chatty, but I couldn’t help it.

  “Yes, you were my first date. Don’t you remember?”

  “Us? That night when you came to that restaurant with your friends?”

  His mouth opened wide. “Ah, now you remember.”

  “I guess it was.” I shrugged a little.

  “You guess it was? If I recall correctly, we were at a table for two, and were you not wearing that red dress with no sleeves, and you got cold because you didn’t wear a sweater? And I ordered an after-dinner cocktail just so I’d have longer to talk with you? Then I walked you to your car and…”

  I waited to hear the ending of his spectacular recollection. He seemed to have an excellent memory about something that happened an eternity ago, yet all he could say about Kate was blue or other?

  “And?” I remembered; I just wanted to know why he stopped the stroll down memory lane. I was cold and it was awkward. I think I remarked on how old he was, because I felt terrible driving home, hoping he didn’t hate me for it.

  “And, nothing. That’s all I remember.”

  “Well, it’s a heck of a lot more than your date with Kate.”

  “I just don’t want to talk about it, that’s all.”

  He put on his glasses and shook out the paper. I noticed he didn’t take time to wipe his hands on the napkin. The paper had gotten wet from the grapefruit juice still on his fingers.

  “Are you going out again?”

  There went the eyes over the glasses thing again. “Maybe.”

  “Well, I’m sure they’ll have a ton of sales after Thanksgiving.” I tried to change the subject, knowing I wouldn’t get more than a grunt and a one-worded answer.

  “Sure.” He said it with all the enthusiasm of getting a valve stent for his heart.

  “I know you don’t like shopping, but it’ll be fun. Promise.”

  I jiggled in my seat just thinking about it. In my spare time, I enjoyed going on Pinterest and pinning everything neat I saw. I had a board dedicated completely to Christmas things. Not that I expected I’d be able to try any, considering my life circled the drain with the news I wasn’t moving in with Mark, after all.

  Anyway, that was over with. I had cried about it until I had a migraine, and I’d shut down all the avenues in my brain that took me to the memories of times spent with him. I needed to get past the dream. I would focus on what was right before me: a Christmas party! I’d make sure and save my wallowing for lost love to nighttime hours and pillow squeezes. For now, I’d channel my energy into making this party a huge success. I was sure the mall would have fifty percent off sales and I could do whatever I wanted in Tom’s house. Not exactly what I imagined when I spent hours pinning a few weeks ago, but I was discovering that plans never seemed to stick in my world.

  The parking lot was packed. As in we walked half a mile to get to the entrance. Tom fussed the entire way. Like an old man, grumpy because he was told they’d taken off his favorite sandwich from the menu. Now what would he do?

  “Come on, Tom. I promise it’s not that bad once we get inside.”

  I tried coaxing this stubborn guy past the front door. It didn’t help seeing all the crazy women carrying twenty packages and fussing at their children, with bags under their eyes and hopelessness in their gait.

  “Amy, you go and get the stuff. I’ll pull the car up and wait for you.”

  “Nonsense, Tom. I need your help.”

  I grabbed his hand from his coat pocket and pulled him forward. It’s funny how that got his feet to cooperate. Now what to do with his hand? It was certainly warmer than mine. And I probably wouldn’t be thinking past a second about it, but ever since the closet thing, and the remembering my outfit verbatim on “our” date, it was all uncomfortable now.

  “We’ll go into the craft shop first. I need miles of garland for that banister and mantel.”

  I checked his face for recognition. He had a settled look about him. A smile lurked somewhere under that mustache.

  “Here, grab a cart and I’ll take one, too.” I let his hand g
o and pulled two from the front aisle area. I was lucky to have them. It seemed as though the entire store was being looted. Shoppers were scattered everywhere but mostly where there were huge signs pointing to the biggest sales.

  “I’m glad we ate dinner before this. At least I’ve got energy stored up for this.”

  I hit him on the shoulder. “Oh, it won’t be that bad.”

  We were finally finished with all that our poor arms could carry. We were on our way to the car for our third time when Tom, being the chivalrous guy I admire, tried to help an older lady into her car. Her poor husband looked to be about a hundred and had one wheel straddling the sidewalk. Tom walked over to open the lady’s door. That’s precisely the moment she turned and pounded him with her bedazzled bag. Tom took cover and yelped.

  “Ma’am, I’m just helping you into the car.”

  She relentlessly whaled him another time. I was so tickled I could barely come to his defense.

  “Ma’am, he’s trying to be nice. There’s no need in hitting him.” I waved around my lighter arm, only anchored by four bags.

  That seemed to snap her out of it. She curled her lip and got into the running vehicle. I wasn’t sure they’d make it home without a fatality. Either from the blinding glitz of her bag or her husband’s swerving wheel.

  I leaned on Tom’s shoulder, laughing my head off. His face was priceless. That’ll teach him to be nice and open someone’s door for them. He was still in disbelief, looking around as if questioning whether it really happened. That’s when we were both attacked by another whack. This one came from the appearance of Wesley. His jerked-back head and gaping mouth stopped me right dead in my tracks. My hilarity grew dead silent. After all, I was supposed to be somewhere reflecting on things. At the mall, holding packages until I couldn’t feel the blood in my fingers, and snort-laughing was certainly not reflecting.

  “Wesley!”

  Tom snapped his head in Wesley’s direction. I suddenly had lockjaw.

  “Amy, what are you doing out here?”

  “I’m helping a friend get a few decorations for a Christmas party.” I made sure not to look at Tom. Maybe if I didn’t, Wesley would think he was just a passerby…waiting for me to finish up my conversation.

  “Hi, I’m Wesley.” He used the other hand that wasn’t holding onto a large pizza box and extended it for a handshake with Tom. I waited with bated breath, hoping Tom would play nice. His only knowledge of Wesley came from me bashing him as a cheater and homewrecker.

  “Hi, I’m Tom.”

  The look on Wesley’s face had a thousand words written on it. I looked away so I couldn’t read any of them.

  “Tom.” He shook his head, as though the movement was keeping him wound up.

  They did a classic stare-down. I knew Wesley was connecting the dots of my tattoo co-conspirator, where I was hiding out, and probably wondering what the deal was.

  “So, you’ve got a pizza.” Yes, I could shout out obvious things in the blink of an eye—in a moment of panic. It was a secret ability only a few people knew I possessed. I had just realized it myself.

  “Yes, it seems my microwave disappeared. So I came out to grab something to eat.”

  My eyes grew large and had I had a free hand, I would’ve grabbed my mouth. “Wesley, I’m so sorry. I totally forgot I took that too. I promise I’ll get it back to you as soon as I can.”

  “It’s all right. I can wait until your other things come too.”

  Hmm…that wasn’t obvious. Why not just hit me over the head with his club and drag me back home with him now? I smiled. I had nothing else. The words your, things, and come too were like bolts that latched the door to my freedom shut. I made a mental note to get the microwave over to him immediately. I didn’t want that to be the thing that was hastening my return.

  “Well, I’ll let you go before it gets cold.”

  Tom was unusually mute during this Chinese torturous moment. That was all right. I couldn’t have handled too many more participants. Wesley and all of his expectations was more than enough.

  “Okay. I’m looking forward to dinner tomorrow.”

  “Me too.” I said it low so as not to draw attention. I wanted Tom to behave himself. No need for any heavy judgmental sighs right now.

  Wesley walked away and we dragged our final packages to the car. I wished the encounter never took place. I was having fun in my pretend town, buying decorations, laughing at Tom standing in the mile-long lines and doing stretches to keep himself awake. Wesley seemed to bring reality that this would all soon end. Couldn’t I have the best of both worlds? Wouldn’t I be able to keep Tom as my friend when I moved back in with Wesley? Still come out and do shopping while he ate pizza at home by himself? Right, Wesley didn’t have twenty-four-hour shifts like Mark did.

  “Do you mind if we get the tree tonight, Tom?”

  I held my fingers to the vents, waiting for the cold air to turn hot. “There’s a place in the plaza downtown. They have the best, but if you wait too long they’re usually all picked over.” I remembered something and did a little dance. “Aww, and they have a pretzel place next to it. I would love a cinnamon sugar pretzel.”

  “Sure. I don’t care.”

  No one said more when they were quiet than Tom McTavish. I didn’t have to ask what cat got his tongue, but I did anyway. We needed to get it over with. Running into Wesley meant talking about it. Whether or not I wanted to. Pots with boiling water needed to have the top lifted in order for a combustion not to erupt later.

  “What’s wrong, Tom?”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  Hmm…to leave it alone or prod it a little more? I hated that our evening was being stifled by a chance meeting of my semi-husband. If I was going to have a relationship with both of them, there had to be a comfort level for everyone involved.

  “Not who you pictured?”

  “Who?” He wrinkled his face, keeping his eyes on the traffic. The lights from the oncoming traffic lit his face.

  “You know who. Wesley. Was he not what you pictured?”

  “He was a guy. I didn’t have any particular type in mind.”

  “I see. Then what’s wrong? You seemed to be having fun before a few minutes ago.” I pushed on his shoulder. “Remember the crazy lady? The getaway car with the senior citizen driving it?” I waited a few seconds for him to say something. “Tom! We were having fun.”

  “I always have fun when I’m with you, Amy. Even in the middle of hordes of grabbing ladies, fighting over the last package of blue ornaments.”

  “Kudos, by the way, on snatching them. It pays to shop with someone taller than myself.”

  “I’m just disappointed that Wesley knows you’re coming back to him. It’s nothing he has to work for. It’s just assumed. He doesn’t deserve even your microwave.”

  “I don’t want to get into it again, Tom. Don’t let seeing him ruin our evening.”

  “Are you really going out with him tomorrow?”

  I put my head down and picked at my thawing hands. The impression from the twine handles were still impressively showing. “Yes. I told him I’d go out so we could test the waters and see if this is something we want to do.”

  “So it’s still on the table for discussion? Why does he think it’s a given, then?”

  “I guess it kind of is. I think I’m just biding time. I know we’ve got a lot ahead of us, being owners of our parents’ law practice and all that comes along with it. I just want this time to myself before I begin that life.”

  “Amy, it’s not your responsibility to take over. He’s capable.”

  “He’s got a lot on him with trying to pass the bar right now.” I wiggled in my seat, trying to erase all of this downer-talk. “I’m here now, Tom. Let me be happy.”

  He sighed, not wanting to, but doing it for me anyway. “Show me where this tree lot is.”

  I directed him to the place and was happy to see most of the shoppers had all gone home for the evening. Even the guy
s at the lot were sweeping up the needles in preparation for going to their warm homes.

  I ran to the huddle of trees and touched their limbs. I liked the soft ones, but with a few pine cones visible. I never usually got one of those because they were the most expensive, but Tom said to have my pick. I was as excited as I could be.

  “Tom,” I yelled out. He’d disappeared. I looked around for him.

  The guy near me wearing the red toboggan yelled out, too. His nametag told me he worked there. “Tom.”

  I laughed. He was a jovial kind of guy. He wore a sweater with a lit tree on it. I wondered how it worked. Where were the wires and did it keep him warm without a jacket? I became startled when he jumped, trying to look over the tall pines that were tied by their tops to overhead wires.

  “Paging Tom. Your wife is by the spruce trees and needs your assistance.” He was drawing everyone’s attention with his megaphone volume.

  Tom stepped around the front of the Fraser firs and looked at me. I bit my lip. Had he heard this? I’d pretend he didn’t so I didn’t have to act weird and correct the guy who was confusing politeness with awkwardness.

  “Ah, Tom. I’m glad you found her. I think she likes this one.”

  Tom nervously messed with his mustache. “Thank you. I see.” He looked at me. “Is this the one you’d like, dear?”

  “One thing’s for sure, you always want to please the Mrs. And she has good taste. This is one of our best sellers. The sap isn’t as messy as the others.”

  I wished that man would just go and light up somewhere else. Tom and I were not married and we were working through some other issues that involved sticky messes.

  “I certainly do want to please her. After all, she’s the one who means the most.”

  My lip was officially without feeling. I’d perhaps worn a hole right through the bottom set of my teeth. Why was he playing along with this charade?