by Tia Lewis
If she was still the one I couldn’t forget, process of elimination told me the only thing missing from those other times was love.
Scott and Frank came in for lunch, and I saw pain in Scott’s eyes. “Now I know why Greenley’s back,” he muttered with a sad smile.
“Yeah. I didn’t think it was up to me to spread the news.”
He nodded. “Funny how something like this makes you feel a lot less…young. If it can happen to him…and he was one of the healthiest people I knew, too. I mean, aren’t doctors supposed to know about stuff like that, how to keep from ending up with cancer?”
I shook my head. “He was just a person, buddy. Just like you and me.”
“Nah. He wasn’t like you and me. He was different.” He took a table with Frank, and they ordered their lunch.
Scott was right. Craig was different, the way Amanda was different. Most of us were satisfied with a normal life, nothing special. Working at the garage or the school or library. Getting married, having a couple kids. No big deal.
Then there were people like my closest friends. Everybody knew they were bound for bigger and better things. They made me feel pretty stupid most of the time, actually, with all their brains and the grades they got. On top of that, Amanda ran half the clubs in school and Craig headed the other half. They were stars. I was just the lackey who followed behind them. How much of that was just in my head? I wasn’t sure. But it had felt pretty shitty sometimes, knowing they would move on and leave me behind.
It was a good reminder that I needed to be careful with her. She had always had big dreams. I wasn’t part of that. Of course, I had told her not to bother coming back, too. That hadn’t helped.
“Dawson? We need help back here.” Debbie was up to her ears in platters sitting in the window, waiting to get delivered. I jumped into action and was glad to have the excuse to stop thinking about Amanda Greenley. I didn’t need the distraction. She would leave again and things would go back to normal.
9
Amanda
I lasted all of twenty-four hours before the need to see my mother got the best of me.
Things were never easy for us. I wondered if they ever would be. It had taken a lot of time and a lot of therapy for me to understand that we had never bonded because she didn’t have the time for it. She was too busy trying to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. So I had survived, but we were strangers.
Not that I didn’t want more for us, but it always seemed like we couldn’t quite meet halfway. We didn’t share a common language. My therapist suggested she might have been a little ashamed, too, knowing I had raised myself, then letting me support her.
What was I supposed to do? Let her live the rest of her life in a house falling apart one board at a time? With a roof that leaked whenever the wind blew the rain just the right way? Not that she lived in a mansion, but she was comfortable and never had to worry about anything. I made sure of that.
Would our relationship be any easier if I didn’t help her and her pride was still intact? I couldn’t live with myself otherwise, so our relationship would have to suffer—her well-being was more important.
My heart hammered as I pulled up in front of the little house with the white fence out front. Just one floor, since neither the years nor the hard work she used to do, had been easy on her knees or any of her other joints. She still got tired easily, even after rest. I had tried to think of everything and hoped it was enough. I had relied on photos and her assurances that the house was, in fact, everything she needed.
She must have seen me coming up the street because no sooner was I out of the car than the front door opened. There she was. There was a tight feeling in my chest when I recognized how much older she looked every time I saw her. She wasn’t even sixty but could’ve passed for seventy or older. We gave each other a tentative hug, neither of us used to it. She was so thin.
“You look good,” she said. “It’s been how long?”
“I brought you up to see me last Christmas, just like every year. Remember? And I’m hoping you’ll come again this year.” I tried to push back the sting I always felt when she said things like that. It wasn’t even what she said. It was how she said it.
“I heard you were in town,” she said, waving me in. “It’s a shame I had to hear it from someone else.”
“I didn’t have time to call before now, Mom. I’m sorry. I spent yesterday trying to get Craig’s things organized. It’s going to take some time.”
Mom shook her head, clicking her tongue. “I sure was sorry to hear about his passing.”
“So you heard that, too?”
She nodded as she sank into her rocking chair. “Could you put on water for tea?” I nodded, then went to the kitchen like I was used to being there. I had memorized the layout of the house before buying, but it was another thing to walk through like I belonged. The old kettle was on the stove, rusted and dented, and I wondered why she didn’t buy another one. I gave her enough money every month to set her up like a queen.
I called out from my spot at the stove. “Is there anything you need from the store, Mom? I mean while I’m here? Do you want to go shopping?”
“You think I need to go shopping?” she asked, sounding listless.
“I just thought, since I’m here. It might make things easier for you.” The cupboards were nearly bare except for the essentials, and she was even running low on those. Had she been sick?
I walked back to the living room with the tea and sugar on a tray. “Mom, are you all right? I notice your kitchen’s pretty bare. Why don’t you make me a list so I can get what you need?”
She shrugged. “It hasn’t been the same. You know how tired I get.” Sometimes I wondered if it was truly fatigue, or if she’d just given up.
“Hasn’t been the same as what? What aren’t you telling me?” It was foreign territory, talking with her that way. She so rarely opened up.
“I used to have things delivered, you see. But now…” She shrugged again. “He’s gone.”
“Who’s gone?” Then, it hit me. “Craig? He used to bring your food?”
“Whatever I needed.”
“Didn’t you know he was sick?”
“He did call to tell me he wouldn’t be able to do it anymore but not why. He sent somebody over once, but I didn’t like her—she looked around like she was sizing the place up, you know? I was afraid she was gonna steal something.”
I did a silent count to five—she had always been just a shade paranoid. “When was this?”
“A few weeks ago, maybe.”
“It’s been that long since you bought new food?” I went back to the kitchen—sure enough, the fridge was bare except for a box of baking soda, two sticks of butter and a plastic carton of milk that sloshed, curdled, when I picked it up. I closed the door and touched my forehead to it. If she refused to care for herself, what could I do?
I went back to the living room with my shoulders hanging low. “Mama.” I hadn’t called her that in so long. “Why don’t you go to the store yourself? Or ask Mr. Jones if he could have somebody from the store deliver it?” Craig used to give me regular reports on her whenever he saw her, either in or out of the office. He never did mention delivering the food—just another thing he had chosen to keep secret. But he would’ve told me if she’d seemed depressed.
“I don’t know. It just slipped my mind.”
That wasn’t a good enough excuse. “Mama, I’m sorry, but I can’t leave you alone here if you won’t take care of yourself. Do you understand that?”
She turned her head to look me in the eye. “You don’t have to leave me alone. You could come and live here like a daughter should.”
That argument again. I felt a sharp pain between my eyes. “I could’ve moved you up there with me, Mom, or anywhere else you wanted to go. Remember? I asked you about that. If you wanted to live with me, or somewhere close to me. There was nothing here, nothing that would’ve meant money enough to support
both of us. Even moving to Richmond would’ve granted me a little more opportunity and I’m sure I could’ve made enough there. But you didn’t want to go. We’ve talked this over so many times.”
She nodded her old, gray head. “This is my home. I don’t pretend to understand your need to stay away, but my need to stay was stronger than that. I’m not sorry.”
“Nobody said you had to be,” I whispered. She wondered why I wanted to stay away. Maybe because we got along so much better via letters, cards and phone calls than we ever did in person. And it wasn’t like I could ever explain to her what Dawson meant to me, what his rejection meant. What her rejection meant when I asked her to live with me, and she’d turned me down flat.
“I’m going to the store for you,” I announced. “So either make me a list of what you want or survive on what I buy.” She grumbled and dragged her feet, but she did eventually write out that list. All the while, I wondered what could be done about her.
Dawson said he would be back that next night, and he was. I was up in the bedroom when I heard the front door open and close—I dashed out to the top of the stairs to see him walking through the living room. I smiled to myself. It had been a long day of debating over whether he’d come back or not.
“Amanda? You coming down?” His voice was gruff, no-nonsense. So he was in a mood. I had just gotten off the phone with Jim, who wanted to know when my “vacation” would end, and that came right on the heels of delivering Mom’s groceries. I’d bought household products, too, and by the time I was finished, I could barely close the car doors. I wasn’t sure if I had the energy to deal with another attitude.
He took in my jeans and riding boots as I descended, then let his eyes linger on the tiny bit of cleavage visible at the neckline of my sweater. “Going somewhere tonight?” he asked with a smirk.
“No. What makes you ask that?”
He looked me up and down again. “You look a little dressed up for this sort of work, is all.”
“I went visiting today and wanted to look decent.”
He melted a little under the sour sound of my voice. He always could pick up on something bothering me. “Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good.”
“Did you know Craig was delivering my mom’s groceries and running errands for her?”
His eyes went wide as he shook his head. “He never told me.”
“Well, the woman would rather starve than ask anybody else for help. I don’t know what to do.” No matter what I did, I felt like I was failing somebody. I hadn’t been there for Craig. I wasn’t there for Mom.
He put his hands on my shoulders. “I can do that from you now if you want.”
“You would, too, wouldn’t you?” I smiled a little, but it didn’t last long. “I don’t know if that’s enough, though. I mean, if she doesn’t want to take care of herself...how can I leave her on her own?”
“One step at a time. You can’t think about a year from now. Just think about today, maybe tomorrow. You probably stocked her up, right?”
“Of course.”
“That’s all you can do right now. You have more than enough on your plate.” He rubbed my shoulders briskly, then let his hands drop to his sides. I felt their absence when they were gone. “I guess we’d better get to work.” He turned away. The moment was over.
I pulled a full laundry basket up to the couch and sat down to fold clothes for donation. The washer and dryer had earned their keep that day, for sure. It looked like Craig had more clothes than I did, and I wanted to be sure they were all clean before I gave them away.
While his back was to me, I checked Dawson out. He was in the same sort of outfit I’d seen him in the day before—jeans and a tight tee. What else was he supposed to wear? I wondered if he ever got cold, wearing t-shirts all the time. The muscles of his chest, back, shoulders and biceps stood out clear against the thin cotton. I had to keep from licking my lips as I watched him move boxes around.
After folding a few shirts, I finally figured out a way to break the silence. “You said something last night that stuck with me. About your mom.” She’d had ovarian cancer, but her treatments were supposed to have been successful. I guessed things turned around again after I left.
“What was it?”
“I know this is personal, but it’s bothering me. Were you alone with her when she passed on? I mean, did your dad ever come back from Philadelphia?”
He winced a little—I saw the muscles in his face twitch when he turned. “No, he couldn’t make it back. His bosses wouldn’t let him come.”
“That’s terrible,” I whispered. And it was exactly what I had suspected. So he had already been at a deathbed by the time he watched Craig go. Only the stakes had been a lot higher then. “How old were you?”
“Twenty. She took a bad turn maybe a year after graduation, then spent the next year declining. I was sort of her caregiver, but a nurse had to come in at the end.” His jaw clenched tight.
Twenty years old and he had to take care of his dying mother. I couldn’t imagine it. I wanted to go back and hug that version of him. He must’ve been so scared, so lost. “I wish I had been here with you.”
He shook his head. “It wasn’t something you wanted to see, trust me. You couldn’t have done anything.”
“But you were alone.”
“I was fine. Besides, people usually end up alone, don’t they?” He shrugged like anything he said made sense. None of it did to me. Why did I feel like there was something he was holding back? Just like that night, the night before I left for school. I was sure there was something he wasn’t telling me, that he’d built a wall in front of. He had seemed like a different person that night. Someone I had never meant anything to.
“It doesn’t have to be that way,” I insisted. “People don’t have to end up alone.” Then, I laughed at myself.
“What’s so funny?”
“Me. Talking about not being alone, when I’ve been alone for a long time.”
“How long?” Ah, so that got his attention. He pretended not to care, but it was obvious from the way his posture changed. Not to mention the inflection in his voice. I had faced enough witnesses in and out of court to be an expert in reading people.
“Long.” I wouldn’t make it that easy—besides, it wasn’t something I was dying to talk about. “It was something Craig and I had in common, you know. We used to sit on the phone and commiserate over the lack of quality men in the world.”
He chuckled, but I didn’t. I missed my best friend more than ever. He would know just the right thing to say to make us laugh. He would break the tension between us. Things would be okay.
It finally hit me then. Damn it. Why didn’t I see it already? He wanted us together. That was why he made Dawson promise to help me get the house together. I could just imagine how dramatic he thought the whole situation was. Playing matchmaker from beyond the grave.
“So, there isn’t anybody in your life right now?” he asked in a too-casual tone of voice.
I stared at Dawson’s broad back as he bent to lift a stack of boxes. I just about salivated over the way his arms flexed. It had been how long since I’d been with a man? It had been over a year since Michael and I split up, and we hadn’t spent much physical time together in the months leading to the breakup. No wonder the sight of his butt in those jeans made my pulse race, why the sight of his arms made my fantasies run wild.
I swallowed hard. “No. There’s nobody in my life.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm?” All thoughts of his body dissolved. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I just figured out of all the men in New York—millions, right?—you would have found somebody by now. You have the great job and the connections and all that stuff.”
I knew he was baiting me. I told myself not to fall for it. But I was always a sucker, wasn’t I? “Just because I don’t have anybody right now doesn’t mean I never did. I’ve had to turn down more men than I could count. I’ve probably turne
d down more dates than you’ve ever had.”
“Maybe.” He didn’t turn around.
“I’ve had plenty of fun,” I added, trying to sound light, carefree.
“That’s great.” His shoulders shook like he was just barely holding back a laugh.
“So what if I’m single right now? It’s probably for the best, anyway.” I folded the last of the shirts and plopped the stack inside a box.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because if I had somebody, they might not like me being down here all on my own.”
He looked at me over his shoulder. “Oh, I see. They wouldn’t want you spending all your time with me.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.” My cheeks started getting that funny, hot feeling. “I meant they wouldn’t like it if I disappeared for days.”
“And spent so much time with your ex. Don’t forget that part.”
“It doesn’t matter.” But I couldn’t look him in the eye when I said it, because it was a lie. A great, big, fat lie. Every minute I spent with him made it harder to keep my hands off him, even when I tried to remind myself how he’d hurt me. He didn’t want me anymore. He always jumped to the wrong conclusions about what I meant, like he was just looking for a fight.
“It doesn’t?” He turned to me with an innocent look on his face. “You know how to hurt a man’s confidence.”
I rolled my eyes. “Get over yourself, Dawson.”
He took one step toward me, then another. Slow, measured steps. My heart skipped a beat, then took off like a speeding train. I forced myself to look him in the eye as he came closer and closer to where I sat on the couch. Every nerve in my body sang. The little hairs on the nape of my neck stood on end.
