Leaving Amy (Amy #2)

by Julieann Dove

  “What happened, Amy?”

  “What do you mean what happened?” I gave my best impression of innocent until proven guilty.

  “From the time you received my flowers, to calling me—I didn’t call you; you called me—to now. What happened in that time?”

  “I just don’t feel well. I just want to go upstairs to lie down. I’m really sorry to disappoint you, Tom. Really, I am.”

  I turned and walked away before checking to see how he took that. I couldn’t bear to see the letdown.

  I was stuffing a pack of those oyster crackers in my mouth that I’d found in my bag from the restaurant earlier, when Tom knocked on my door. I quickly chewed them up and forced them down my dry throat. I didn’t plan this out completely right. I was starving.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you decent? Can I come in?” His voice was muffled, coming from the other side of the door.

  I jumped in bed, throwing a blanket over my legs. “Yes, come in.”

  Tom carried in a tray. On it, I saw what looked like a bottle of water. Thank goodness. And a bowl of something, with a medicine container on the corner.

  “I’m sorry I accused you of not being sick, Amy. Of all people, I know that you’d go out of your way to not disappoint me. Forgive me for doubting you?”

  He held out the tray like a peace offering. I felt like the bug on a windshield.

  “Tom, there’s nothing to forgive.”

  He proceeded in farther and set down the tray. “I brought you something in case you’re up for it.”

  “Thanks. I’ll take the water.” I reached out to get it.

  He handed it to me, went to the other side of the bed and flopped down beside me. His cologne was dancing with my hormones. A nice slow dance, where I’d become entranced and expected to do anything I was told to do.

  “The moving company called me, by the way.”

  I set down the water on my side table. “The moving company?” I’d forgotten all about my boxes.

  “They said they couldn’t get a hold of you and I was listed as an alternative number.”

  I hit my forehead. “Yes, of course. Why is it I always list you for these things?”

  “Because I’m reliable.”

  “I swear, Tom. I might have you down for my next of kin for more than one thing.”

  It was true. When Wesley took me off his medical insurance and I had to file for some myself, I listed Tom on every form. There wasn’t even a question in my mind.

  “I’m pleased to hear that, Amy.” He smiled and put his hand behind his head to avoid resting it on the wooden frame.

  “What did they want?”

  “They needed to know where to drive the truck to with all your belongings. Evidently when you dropped the key to your apartment, you forgot to give them a destination.”

  Another Freudian slip. Who knew?

  “Oh crap. Where did you tell them?”

  “I told them the address here. I hope you don’t mind.”

  I would’ve minded more if he’d said Wesley’s house. But that was a safe bet he wouldn’t.

  “Thanks.”

  “They said they’d leave it sometime in the morning and shove the keys in the mail slat.”

  “Perfect. I’ll deal with it later.”

  We ended the evening with Tom bringing in his laptop and watching It’s a Wonderful Life. I kept in the blankets while he stretched out beside me on the top of the covers. When the movie was over, I looked over and saw him asleep. I got closer and stared at him for a second. Looking at his handsome face, his eyelids, his lips. I stared perhaps too long at them because he woke up and caught me.

  “Is the movie over?”

  I jumped backward, landing on my pillow. A guilt-ridden look plastered on my face. “Yes. I was about to wake you.”

  He rose slightly, leaning on his elbow and situated in my direction. “Why didn’t you?”

  I forced a swallow. “I was about to and then you woke up.”

  “I see.” He sat there without moving…without saying a word.

  My phone on the nightstand buzzed, forcing me to move positions. It was Wesley. He was telling me good-night and he’d hoped my day was good. I guess he was trying to seem involved. Why did I suspect foul play with his sentiment? I typed out for him to have a good night, too and pressed off my phone.

  “Who was that? Or do I need to ask?”

  “It was Wesley. He wanted to say good-night.”

  He fell back on the bed. “Amy, why are you entertaining the thought of returning to that life?”

  “It’s not like I’m returning to prison, Tom.”

  “Well, I’m going to get to bed myself then.” He got up.

  “Thanks for the visit.”

  “Do you feel better?”

  Why do I think he knew there was nothing wrong with me? And why wasn’t he arguing more about Wesley?

  “I do. Thank you for the goodies. I managed to eat the soup faster than the movie started. It saved my life.” Now I didn’t want to see soup until after the New Year.

  He took the tray and computer and walked toward the door. “Sleep well, Amy.”

  “I will. You too.”

  He closed the door and I sunk down in to the blankets. Was running away such a bad idea? All of my things were already packed and on a van. What could be the harm?

  The next day when Tom came home, I tried not to be in a position where we’d be alone in the same room. That way I could avoid being killed by him. You see, I kind of hijacked Kate earlier in the day and planned for her to go and make Tom dinner at his house. I figured I owed it to the both of them to see that Cupid kept the directional signs coming. And I knew Tom wouldn’t seem to mind that much. He was a gentleman, after all.

  “Amy,” he yelled out from the front door.

  “Tom, we’re in the kitchen.”

  I looked at Kate with a sneaky smile on my face. She stirred the pasta in the pot, wiping one hand on her apron. The house smelled delightful. All bread-rising and chicken baking kind of smells. I was a little disappointed I wasn’t going to partake in the fruits I’d begun with my evil…er, angelic plan. Depending on who you asked, it was a good deed no matter what. Who turns down French loaf bread, baked lemon chicken, all resting on creamy fettuccini alfredo?

  He came around the corner and stopped before making it to the oven. I gave all the indication I could with one single look for him not to get upset. My eyes opened fully, suffering from over-drying, and my mouth twisted in a forgive-me kind of way.

  “Hey there!” I laid on the friendly hostess jargon. “Doesn’t it smell fabulous in here?”

  “It certainly does.” He smiled, but it was one of those fake ones, like my hostess one.

  “Hi, Tom. I hope you don’t mind the intrusion. Amy thought you’d appreciate not eating from a takeout carton. And fettuccini is my specialty.”

  Yeah, now come to think of it, with all that black hair and big, dark eyes, she did resemble a little bit of Italy.

  “You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble.” He set down his keys on the counter and proceeded to remove his coat.

  “It was no trouble at all. Look, I even picked you up a crossword puzzle.” She laid down the spoon beside the boiling pot of water and grabbed a book lying on the counter.

  He took it and smiled. All was progressing better than planned.

  “Well, that’s my cue.” I picked up my purse from the barstool.

  “Don’t tell me you’re not staying for dinner.” Tom’s frown managed to wrinkle his eyes.

  “I have to actually go out for a while.” I said it slowly as it came to my head.

  “Nonsense. Kate has enough, I’m sure.” He looked over toward the chef. Her silky hair was pulled back in a blue scarf and it looked as if she came with the kitchen.

  Kate gave a half-hearted smile as she prepared her hands with oven mitts to drain the water. “Of course, Amy. You can stay if you want.”

  “No,
really. I have to go. You all enjoy.”

  I walked past Tom, hoping I was home-free. Instead, he followed me to the front door.

  “Here, let me help you.”

  He held out my coat. I slipped in my arms and felt a little tug inside me.

  “Amy, what are you doing?” He whispered it close to my ear. I could smell his faded cologne.

  “I’m giving you all a chance to have some time alone, Tom.” I stepped back. Nowadays I couldn’t stand too close to him without a snap to my hormones. “And don’t break her heart. She’s really going out of her comfort zone by showing you she cares.”

  I looked up into those full-of-security brown eyes of his. Gosh, couldn’t they just dry up or something? Did they always have to be so come-hither like? It was easier to ignore them when I was preoccupied with Mark and trying to do the impossible—get him to commit to me. Now that there was no distraction, Tom was like a bull’s-eye.

  “I know what that feels like.”

  What? What what feels like? Being out of his comfort zone? Was he directing that at me? I had to get out of here. I was nothing but a disruption for what really needed to happen in this man’s life. Whether he knew it now or not. Sometimes wisdom doesn’t always come with age, Tom McTavish.

  “Well, I’ll see you later.” I turned and grabbed the doorknob. When I made it to the other side and had it safely shut, I closed my eyes with my hands and took a deep breath. I knew what I was doing was right. So why did it feel like the exact opposite?

  After trying unsuccessfully to reach Sonja, I ended up in the parking lot of a fast-food restaurant. I kept the car running so I wouldn’t get cold and ate my apple slices and Asian-orange salad. It was definitely not warm chicken nestled in a bed of fettuccini noodles. Oozing with Alfredo sauce. I saw her make it: cream cheese, chicken broth, and a dash of pepper. I salivated during the entire process. Kate did comment on how Tom needed a few more dishes. Give her time; she’d have him completely stocked with whatever she needed to perform those mouth-watering meals.

  I tried not to think about them. Tried not to think about how he sometimes puts on his glasses to see his food. Or stretches back in his chair and pats his stomach, indicating just a few more bites before he sets his fork down in the classic ten and two, his knife taking the position of the ten. I love seeing that look of satisfaction on his face when he’s full. He always claims he’s had too much, but I know he’ll eat whatever dessert I got to surprise him with. It’s so nice to be able to take care of him. He needs it so much. He’s such a hard worker. He’s been on his own for so long. Oh well, that’s Kate’s job now. I’ve got other places I need to be. Which told me—go over to Wesley’s. I’d been putting this off for too long. There was now a change in the plans. I couldn’t be at Tom’s that much anymore. I was pretty sure Wesley wouldn’t care.

  I arrived at my old house. I looked at it, feeling something. I didn’t know quite what. Was it nostalgia, regret, or disbelief? When I had packed up my last box, I turned around and told this place good-bye. Now to see the overgrown flower beds, blackened from the frost that had grabbed the un-cut blooms, it made me sad. The house looked sad. A light was on in the living room, but I didn’t feel drawn to it. My life had moved from there.

  I mustered up some conviction and got out of my car. It was getting darker by the second and I had a familiar fear of something lurking in the bushes. Luckily they caught the mugger who attacked me. He’s still in jail, awaiting trial. I try to stay abreast of the situation. After he mugged me, two weeks later he shot someone who was in the house he was stealing from. He was expected to continue his stay in prison for a couple of years. Thank goodness.

  I got to the door and didn’t know whether or not to knock. It didn’t seem right to just barge inside, so I did the knocking thing.

  Wesley answered the door. He wore a blue striped shirt hanging out of a pair of dress pants. There was a spaghetti stain on the front of it.

  “You’ll need to pretreat that stain, Wesley, if you want it to come out.”

  “Hi, Amy. What are you doing here?” He moved aside for me to enter.

  “I was in the neighborhood.”

  He closed the door and kicked some shoes out of the way for me to walk. I did a quick glance around at what I could see. He’d brought down a futon from the spare room and it looked like he was sitting, eating, and sleeping on it inside the living room.

  There were chip bags, empty beer bottles, Coke cans, and cereal bowls with curdled milk inside them. Yikes. I think living under a bridge would be more appealing. At least it has recycled clean air and grass.

  “What happened?”

  “What do you mean? I haven’t cleaned today, if that’s what you’re referring to. I worked late again.”

  I looked from the mess to him. He had bags underneath his eyes and he seemed paler than I remembered over the weekend.

  “Come and sit down.” He went to the futon and cleared away the trash and papers with one single motion.

  “Okay.” I held onto my purse, stepped out of my shoes, and walked on the cleared path to the chair. He sat down beside me.

  “Want something to drink?” he asked.

  “No, thanks. I just had dinner.”

  “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

  “I know. I really didn’t either.”

  I looked and saw my poor fern. I must’ve forgotten him when I moved. His foliage was brown and crunchy. It reminded me, I had to make sure to get my plants out of the moving van and water them. Poor things.

  “I tried to give it water, but I think it’s dead.” He must’ve seen where I was looking.

  “Thanks for trying.”

  “Something’s wrong with the washer, too. It keeps stopping and giving me a code.”

  “That means you’re putting too much in it.”

  “Oh.” He looked at the television. It was new. I forgot, I’d taken that too. Boy, I was in a taking kind of mood that day.

  “So, I was wondering if I could stay here tonight.”

  His head jerked toward me. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does this mean you’re back?”

  Like on a team?

  “It means can I stay the night. I’m not sure about tomorrow.”

  “Of course you can. You can stay forever if you want.” His weary look had changed into one of hope. I could’ve sworn his cheeks became rosier and some luggage had lifted from underneath his eyes.

  “Okay. Well, I don’t have anything with me, so I’ll have to borrow a shirt.”

  “They’re all upstairs.”

  “Okay. Maybe I’ll just straighten up a bit before going to bed.” I took off my coat and began picking up the trash like men do litter on the highways.

  “Amy, you shouldn’t spend your first night back cleaning.”

  “Wesley, I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I’m just staying the night. It’s not the beginning of anything. Yet.”

  “Okay. I’ll take it whatever it is.”

  He stood and helped me. I tried to keep busy and not think about Tom wondering where I was. I would text him in an hour and tell him I wouldn’t be home. Because I was home? I’m sure the identity crisis of where I saw home would soon end. I hoped it would, at least.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I woke up before Wesley and made it out of the house before he knew I was gone. I refused to sleep in the bedroom, stating I was still confused. I even wore my same outfit because I knew: one, I’d get cold in the night with just his shirt on lying under a flimsy blanket and two, I wanted to make a quick getaway the next morning. I left a note on the refrigerator telling him I’d call him later in the day. See how he liked a note hanging on that thing.

  I had turned off my phone after texting Tom I wouldn’t be home. I couldn’t bear to see his response. And after waiting down the street, watching for him to leave for work, I was resolved he was fine with it. I would pretend his dinner was a success, the
y had a little peck at the door underneath the mistletoe I hung, and he fell asleep in his chair, gritting his teeth that I didn’t listen and come home like he probably told me in a text I didn’t read. He’d be fine after a day at work. I would plan my strategy that day on what I’d say to him later.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t have the day I thought I would. After calling in and telling my boss I would be late, I grabbed a much-needed shower and was putting my hair up in a towel when I heard a knock on the bedroom door. I stopped mid-stride to the closet.

  “Who is it?” Was Marcella, his cleaner, scheduled to come in that day? I thought she came on Thursdays.

  “Tom.”

  Holy mother. What was I going to do now? After not having my phone on all night, I checked it before getting in the shower. Curiosity had me by the throat and I couldn’t take it anymore. He’d texted me back, telling me to come home. It was followed by about ten other “Amy, are you there?” messages.

  “Just a second.” I pulled my robe tight and went to answer the door.

  He stood there in his three-piece gray suit, baby-blue tie, and smells of seducing atoms drifting my way. I conjured up images of Wesley in his spaghetti-stained shirt to get my mind off Tom.

  “Tom, what are you doing here?”

  “A better question is what are you doing here? Twelve hours after I texted you to please respond to me.” His weight shifted to one leg while he waited for my answer.

  “My phone was off. I’m sorry.” Not a lie.

  “Amy, where did you go?”

  He walked into the room. Yes, uninvited. His shiny shoes squeaked a little until he made it to the rug.

  “I was worried about you.”

  “I’m sorry. I just wanted to give you and Kate some unsupervised time to yourselves.”

  He leaned up against the edge of my bed and crossed his feet.

  Just how long would this interrogation last?

  “About Kate.” He raised his head, looking me dead in the eye. “I will get back to where you went in a second. Kate’s a great lady.”

  “Yes, she is. And Tom, she’s really fond of you. You can’t break her heart. Trust me on this.”