How Many Times Do I Have to Say I'm Sorry? (Maudlin Falls)

by Lesli Richardson

  Wish him love and luck and cut the cord to him once and for all.

  He’s probably moved on, right? I told him to date. I knew dating wouldn’t be in the cards for me, at first, because of work and because I knew I’d be missing him.

  But if he still wanted me and we do still have a “relationship,” wouldn’t he have taken more initiative to, you know, stay in touch with me?

  Maybe I shouldn’t have texted him. Responding like that isn’t unusual for him, either. Our standing agreement is that if he can’t talk, he’ll send it to voice mail and text me as soon as possible to let me know what’s going on.

  I don’t know what I thought would happen and now I’m kicking myself in the butt for even contacting him.

  Waiting until I know the orchid class is over to return to the store, I go in the back way and dart up the stairs, avoiding everyone downstairs. Quickly gathering my things, I let Jasiri, my assistant manager, know that I’m taking the rest of the day off. Then I return downstairs and leave through the back door before anyone can engage with me.

  From the concern in Jasiri’s eyes, I’m certain she’s heard the rumors. Bless her, she has the tact not to say anything to me about them, and exudes more than a little protective mom energy to potentially shut others down who she thinks might upset me.

  Once I’m securely locked inside my house again, I breathe a sigh of relief.

  Alone.

  I’m not an extrovert. I never have been. Which is odd, considering both of my parents are. Working in the store, I never minded those interactions. It gave me contact with other people in manageable doses. I never had to force topics of conversation. I never felt at a loss for words. School wasn’t unbearable, but I despised college.

  I loved the classwork part of it, but I had no desire to socialize outside of a classroom. It’s amazing I even made any friends, much less fell in love with Desi.

  He wouldn’t give up on me. We shared a class and he kept talking to me before and after every day, asking me to coffee. Not obnoxiously, but I wasn’t sure why he was talking to me.

  It took him a couple of weeks to slowly work me to the point where I finally found myself agreeing to meet him at a local coffeeshop. From there, it took him another couple of weeks to talk me into going out to dinner with him.

  And so forth.

  Three months later, I was in love and terrified that once Desi graduated he’d walk out of my life.

  But he didn’t. He went home with me for holiday visits, and my parents loved him immediately. I slowly started working on him to make Maudlin Falls his home, and to my shock, he said yes. Once he completed law school, he moved in with me.

  Oh, he still traveled some for work. He also took the bar in Florida, where he was originally from, and would sometimes work on cases there for a firm owned by a friend of his parents. I didn’t mind that. We shared my small apartment, and when my parents turned over the business and house to me, we moved in there together.

  I thought that was it.

  Tuesday karaoke became one of our routines. This introvert does love to sing. Desi would indulge me, sometimes singing along. I’m no Pavarotti, but I’m okay.

  My sweet Desi, though…

  Oof. He could set off car alarms and make dogs howl. Not the worse I’ve ever heard, but definitely not the best, either.

  But he’d do it for me, because he saw how much fun I had. He’d let me drink too much and enjoy myself before driving me home and pouring me into our bed, where he’d hold me while I sang myself to sleep in his arms.

  Why wasn’t I good enough?

  I try to snip that line of thinking at the source, yet it’s difficult not to let my mind meander down those dark and twisted back roads.

  A year before Desi moved permanently, he was offered a junior partnership at a major firm, where they guaranteed he’d make over five hundred grand a year. One of the senior partners was friends with his mom, I guess. My heart broke a little as I told him I wouldn’t stop him, that we could make it work, and he took me up on my agreement and stayed with his parents when in Miami. First, he would come home for three-day weekends. Which then became a couple of times a month.

  Then he bought a condo in Miami and permanently moved back there once he took the bar in New York and passed it there, too. They were sending him up there several times a month.

  He insisted we could still make things work between us, that people made long-distance relationships work all the time.

  But I knew. I knew the day he packed the rest of his stuff and drove out of town three years ago that it was only a matter of time before the inevitable end came, even if he kept wanting to try to make this work.

  My sweet guy hoped to convince me to follow him, I know he did. That’s why when we were together, his phone stayed off and he kept his attention focused totally on me while he wined and dined me and showed me all the sights.

  There’s no way I’d walk away from my business, though. Or my town. Maudlin Falls is in my soul and I’ve never wanted to live anywhere else. I’ve never had dreams of “escaping” and living elsewhere. He grew up in Miami. I know that’s an entirely different world, not just a different state.

  But escaping this place never held any lure for me.

  I’m content helping my friends and living my quiet life. New movies dropping on Netflix and whatever Jester’s next fixation happens to be are my big excitement.

  The longer I sit here this evening, the more I realize I’m only going to make myself miserable. I head up to Colley to do some shopping there. Not that I don’t like shopping at the Pig in town—although it hasn’t been an actual Piggly Wiggly in years, but we all still call it that—but I don’t want to see familiar faces.

  Yes, I might be checking my cell phone way too often for any missed calls or texts from Desi.

  It’s after six when I return home and still no call from Desi.

  Anger tries to creep in but my grief and loneliness drown it out. He’s busy, I’m sure. He’s never not called me back when he’s promised to call me.

  But if I sit here tonight and do nothing but wait for his call, I know it’s not good for me.

  The book club is absolutely out of the question. I don’t need all of them staring at me, obviously biting back their questions or hoping their sympathy isn’t too visible.

  Then I remember what else I can do—every Tuesday night, the Falls Inn holds karaoke. They make decent burgers, and I can have a couple of beers while I keep myself distracted.

  With that settled, I scoop Jester’s litter box and go take a shower. At least I won’t be “alone” for most of the evening.

  * * * *

  I haven’t been here to sing karaoke in over a year, at least. It’s moderately busy tonight, and being closer to Webley and Sarcan than it is to Maudlin Falls means that there are fewer friends here tonight. I recognize at least half of the people by face if nothing else, but no one who, even if they did hear the rumor, know me well enough to be bold enough to ask me about it.

  Thank goodness.

  I settle in at a small table in a corner and order a burger, fries, and a beer to start with. Then I grab one of the binders of song lists and a notepad and start picking out my favorites. I go for fun showtunes and songs I can really lose myself in, making sure I stay away from any rock ballads or love songs that will most likely put me over the edge.

  Definitely don’t want to be one of the sloppy drunks crying on stage tonight.

  I’ve already sang my first number when my order comes out. Deanna, my waitress, smiles and holds out her palm. “Hand them over, please. Phil’s orders, you know that. You can check in with him before you’re ready to leave.”

  Chuckling, I dig into my pocket, pull out the keys to my truck, and hand them over. If someone comes alone and doesn’t have a specified designated driver, Phil confiscates keys and makes you prove to him you’re sober enough to drive and reclaim your keys. Otherwise, you have to be driven home by a sober patron, or call
for a rideshare. If you can’t drive, your car is safe there in his parking lot until you can come get it the next day. Or else you can pay a couple of dollars for one of the wait staff to bring it to you.

  He used to have two of his sons work tag-team to drive patrons home, the younger one following in his own car to ferry the older brother back, but they graduated college and moved away.

  Considering Phil’s run the Falls Inn for over thirty years and has never had any of his patrons have an incident, I’d say that’s a darn good track record.

  My cell phone sits on the table in front of me, face-up, and I switch it to silent mode. When—rather, if—Desi calls me back, I’ll be able to see it.

  But it’s already after six and he hasn’t called me back.

  I flag Deanna down next time she passes. “You know, I think I’d like a Jack on the rocks. Double.”

  She arches a carefully sculpted eyebrow at me. “You sure, Tom?”

  I nod and force a smile. “Phil’s got my keys.”

  She shrugs. “All right, sweetie. Sit tight. I’ll get it for you.”

  I settle back in my chair as one of the other patrons, an older woman I’ve never seen before, gets up and does a damned good version of Fleetwood Mac’s “Landslide.” Sounds eerily like Stevie Nicks.

  As I listen, I choke back my own tears because I sense I’m not getting a call back. I think I knew he wasn’t going to call back and I lied to myself.

  I think it’s time I finally start mourning so I can move on with my life.

  Tonight is that first step. Taking a deep breath, I reach over and turn my cell phone facedown. I go up and add a couple of numbers to my list because I feel like singing out my pain.

  I need to accept reality.

  I need to accept the facts. He’s not coming back.

  Once I do that…then I can deal with my own emotional landslide.

  Chapter Eight

  Desi

  Excitement fills me as I verify my ideas with more research at the county courthouse in Webley. Once they close, I race back to my hotel room to start working on compiling all the forms and filings I’ll need to make it happen.

  And then I lose track of time. It’s nearly eight and almost dark when it finally smacks me that I never called Tomas back.

  Dammit!

  I immediately call him but it goes to his voice mail. “Listen, I need to talk to you. I’m sorry I got delayed. Please, call me back as soon as you get this.”

  Screw waiting, though. I’d planned to show up at his door instead of calling him back, but that was before I got ass-deep into what I was doing and stupidly missed that opportunity. I grab my phone chargers, my laptop and tablet, make sure I have the rings, and race out the door without even changing out of my suit.

  I want to say everything to him in person. I want to stand in front of him, where he can’t hang up on me or not look me in the eyes when I apologize, admit how wrong I was, and beg for another chance with him. I want to talk to him, drop to my knees, and grovel.

  I can only hope it’s not too late for that.

  A mix of disappointment and relief hit me when I pull up in front of his house and find his driveway’s empty. It doesn’t mean he’s not involved with someone else, but a guy can irrationally dream, right?

  Jumping out, I race up to the door and knock, just in case, but the house is dark and no one answers.

  So I try calling him again. This time when his voice mail picks up, I hang up.

  In the window next to the front door, the curtains move and I see Jester’s face poke through. Choking back a sob, I laugh and walk over to touch the glass.

  “Hey, buddy. How are you? Long time, no see.”

  His muffled maow as he sniffs at the glass where my finger is makes me laugh again. I’ve missed this little guy, too. I remember the day we adopted him from the shelter up in Colley. As much as I hated saying good-bye to him, I knew it wouldn’t be fair to take him with me. I wanted Tom to have him, and I knew Tom would have far more time to spend with him.

  Plus, I didn’t have time for any pets the past couple of years. It wouldn’t have been fair to them to leave them alone for so long, or constantly arrange for boarding or pet sitters.

  Another reason I knew I could never be with Freddy—he hates animals as pets and he’s allergic to cats.

  Anxious energy flows through me. I don’t want to just sit here all evening. I want to find Tom. Talk to him. Despite knowing the hardware store is already closed I drive past it anyway, including circling around the back to see if his truck’s there.

  Nope.

  He’s not at Alacea’s, either, because I can see through the front windows that they only have two customers.

  That’s when it hits me—it’s book club night. Maybe he went there. But there’s no sign of his truck in front of Edith’s house when I cruise past it.

  Well, darn.

  I spend a few minutes driving around town and looking for his truck. Yes, I feel somewhat like a stalker at this point.

  Returning to his house I find he’s still not home, although Jester’s now sitting in the window and watching me. I think about the keys in my pocket and know that’s a really bad idea. Tomas never revoked his standing permission for me to come home anytime, but it’s been…a while.

  Yes, I let my heart override my common sense. When I slip the key into the lock, I feel relief when the knob turns. I already have the door open when I realize I don’t know if he’s added an alarm or not.

  Guess that would be one way to get him home fast, though, wouldn’t it?

  But no telltale beeps break the silence. Only Jester’s happy maows as he jumps out of the window and runs over to twine around my legs.

  I shut the door behind me and scoop him into my arms. “Hey, buddy. Missed you, too. Where’s Daddy?” I walk through the house as I carry the happily purring cat, happy to see no signs of someone’s presence other than Tom’s.

  There’s only one toothbrush on the vanity in the master bathroom upstairs, and none in the second bathroom.

  Everything looks achingly and comfortingly the same as it did that last time I was here, with very few changes.

  Home.

  I try calling him again after I go to the kitchen and look at his wall calendar where he writes appointments. This time, I leave another message. “Hey, please give me a call back as soon as you get this. I have some news. Good news. I want to talk with you. Love you.”

  There are no odd appointments on his calendar for this month. Yes, I flip back a few months and find nothing more than haircuts, Jester’s annual vet check, and Tom’s scheduled oil change. He writes everything down on this calendar, because he checks it every morning while waiting for his coffee to brew.

  Okay, then. So, where is he?

  I find a grocery store receipt on the counter from this afternoon from a store up in Colley. So he’s not at the Pig—well, he wasn’t there when I cruised through the parking lot a little while earlier.

  Where else could he be?

  I mean, yeah, he could be with someone but I don’t want to let my mind go there.

  As I walk back to the living room with Jester on my heels, I spy that morning’s newspaper on the console table behind the sofa. A quick flip through it, and an ad catches my eye for the Falls Inn.

  Excitement fills me because I’m almost certain I now know where he is, and it’s no wonder I didn’t find him in town. Because he’s not in town.

  I give Jester one last snuggle. “Hopefully I’ll be back soon with Daddy.”

  He maows at me as I carefully let myself out and make sure he doesn’t escape. He’s an inside cat and has never been outside. Not that I’m aware of, at least. I can’t imagine Tomas would change his mind on keeping the orange tabby safely inside.

  Hurrying out, I lock the door behind me and make my way back toward Sarcan. It’s nearly nine o’clock when the Falls Inn comes into view around a turn and relief floods me when I spot Tom’s truck sitting in t
he parking lot.

  Doesn’t mean he’s alone, but it does maybe explain why he hasn’t called me back yet. He might not even be able to hear his phone.

  I can do this. I can do this.

  I pause in the doorway and let my eyes adjust. They’ve rearranged things since the last time I was here. I peek around a new dividing wall in the entry and now I can see the little riser that acts as a stage. On it, Tomas holds what looks like a glass of liquor in one hand as he belts out a heartbreakingly mournful version of Elvis’ “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry.”

  I am a horrible person. I really am. I never should have left Tomas or Maudlin Falls. I should have stood up to my mother when she insisted I take this job and guilt-tripped me to hell and back about them paying for my college and law school tuition.

  Which I never asked them to do. They insisted that I go to college and law school, and that they’d pay for it. When I’ve tried to pay them back, or at least arrange to make payments, they refuse to take my money every time.

  No, I guess my mom would prefer the emotional ammunition against me.

  I should have been secure enough in who I am and my love for this man—it should have been enough.

  When his song ends, he unsteadily steps off the stage and heads to a table down at the front corner of the dining room. He’s apparently the only one seated there and sets down his glass but doesn’t take a seat. He makes his way to the restroom and disappears inside. From the way Tom’s staggering, I hope Phil confiscated his keys. My guy doesn’t have a high tolerance for alcohol and a couple of beers can get him plastered.

  I could follow him into the bathroom.

  But another idea hits me.

  A woman I don’t know is already up on stage and singing a song P!nk made famous. I hustle my way over to the DJ, who I recognize, slip him two twenties, and tell him what I want and when. To wait until Tom’s back in his seat before calling me up. I can stand off to the far side behind the DJ and remain out of Tom’s view. But before settling there, I grab Deanna, one of the waitresses, and pay Tom’s tab now.