A not-bad looking woman slid onto the stool next to him. Dyed blonde hair, brown eyes, nice figure, probably a semi-pro, Joe thought. Had some kind of day job and just picked up a little extra money now and then. “Buy me a drink?” she asked.
What the hell. “Why not?” he said. “But a drink’s all I can afford tonight, unfortunately.”
“No problem,” she said, hanging her giant purse on the hook under the bar. “I could use a little company, that’s all.”
He signaled to Clark, who came over with a skeptical look – this was the first woman Joe hadn’t rebuffed. “The lady will have a…” Joe looked at his new companion.
“What are you drinking?” she asked Joe.
“Boilermakers.”
“Oh. I was thinking something festive. Clark, how would you feel about making me a brandy Alexander?”
“How would you feel about a straight shot of brandy?” he replied.
“Aw, come on, it’s my birthday.”
Clark rolled his eyes. “If I can find the crème de cacao.” He walked away grumbling and began scanning the bottles.
“Well, Happy Birthday, um, what’s your name?” said Joe, turning to her.
“Mary.”
Oh, thought Joe, a real name. Definitely a semi-pro. When her drink arrived, he lifted his beer. “Well, cheers. Happy Birthday, Mary.”
“Same to…” She giggled. “I always do that. Well, same to you, whenever your birthday is,” she said and drank. “Want me to guess? I’m pretty good at it.”
“Guess what?”
“Your birthday, silly. I’m thinking you’re a Gemini.”
That might ring a faint bell; Joe wasn’t really sure. But he didn’t mind playing along. “That’s right,” he said, trying to work a little surprise into his voice. “You are good.”
“Oh, just wait.” Her brow furrowed; then she closed her eyes and put her fingertips to her forehead. “I’m going to say…May thirtieth.”
Now he was genuinely surprised. “Well,” he said. “Got it in one. You’re either psychic or pretty damn lucky.”
Mary took another tiny sip of her drink and looked straight ahead at the back of the mirrored bar, then shifted her eyes towards him without turning her head. “You really don’t remember me at all, do you?” She smiled, a bit ruefully.
Could be true; could be a ploy, he thought. Either way, he was a little uncomfortable. She twisted on her stool to face him. “Last year, Thanksgiving?” she prompted.
Apparently she was serious. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m not real good with faces.”
“And we had such a good time.” She pouted, sipped a little more of her drink. “It was right here, we had the turkey dinner special they had that night, it was awful, don’t you remember? Then we went back to where you were staying, partied a little?”
Joe looked at her, looked around the room, back at her again. He tried to think, but holidays blended together for him, mostly because he tried to ignore them. Okay, this Thanksgiving he’d been in Hope Falls, of course…and he’d finally gone home because… His hand was shaking. He carefully set his drink down on the bar. He’d finally gone home because the year before had been such a godawful, lonely mess and…
Suddenly he was seeing the bar, Clark, Mary, the other customers, everything – through the wrong end of a telescope. Stunned, he realized he wasn’t moving on or escaping anything at all; he had just gone full circle. The checkerboard linoleum floor seemed to blur and tilt; there was an enormous roaring in his ears. From far away, he could hear Mary’s voice. “…asked because I really believe in astrology. And it’s the same day as mine, just a different… Hey, are you okay?”
Joe was standing, gripping the edge of the bar. Without a word, he walked swiftly to the door, went around the side of the building and threw up beside the dumpster. When it was over, he stood and braced an arm against the stucco block wall until the dizziness passed, then walked a few unsteady paces into the parking lot.
Looking up and down the road, he saw the glaringly lit signs of every fast-food franchise and chain motel known to man, a couple of liquor stores, a couple of gas stations, a discount suit store. Heavy traffic whizzed by; someone in a passing car threw a bottle into the parking lot and Joe heard it clank and roll without breaking. Definitely time to go home. To his right, about a mile away, he could see the headlights of the even faster traffic on the interstate. He turned and went back inside.
He gave a thumbs up to Mary as he passed and went into the men’s room to wash his face. He stared at himself in the mirror for a little while when he finished. Ah, so that’s what optimism looks like, he thought, and went back out to the bar.
“Happens to the best of us,” Mary said as he sat down.
Clark came over with a fresh beer. “On the house. Take it easy, though,” he said.
Excellent advice for any situation, Joe thought. He took a couple smooth, deep swallows, felt the cool liquid soothe his throat. Putting the bottle back on the bar, he looked at Mary. “Would you believe me if I said it has been absolutely wonderful to see you again?”
She smiled at him, but shook her head and said, “No, not really.”
“Trust me,” he said, getting up again. “Sometimes exactly the right person comes along at exactly the right time. At the very least, I want you to believe one thing – this time, you can be sure I will never, ever forget you.”
He put two twenties on the bar. “Have another brandy on me and—” He stopped and grinned. “Huh. That’s what the rescue dogs in the Alps carry, isn’t it? For the people who are almost frozen to death. Excuse me, hope you don’t mind.” He reached for her glass, took a sip, put the glass down again. “Well, so long, Clark,” he said. “Thanks for being there when I needed you. I bid you both a fond farewell with the happiest of wishes for the New Year.” As he walked away, he heard Clark saying, “…seemed perfectly okay before…”
Outside, he paused and took a deep breath. Where was she? He’d checked with the hospital, knew she’d been released, but was she still in Hope Falls? Or back in Boston by now? Didn’t matter, of course – either way, he’d have to get there. Calling would be all wrong after what he’d done.
He started walking to his motel. Tomorrow morning, he thought. Better sleep and shower first and get ready, in case he had to get all the way to Boston. But through sheer coincidence, he’d just had the luckiest break of his life. If his luck held, she’d still be in Hope Falls. Tomorrow, then.
Chapter Eight – December 31
It was strange to have the house all to herself, Emily thought. It felt larger somehow, and it was so unusually quiet she could hear the click as the furnace kicked on and the warm air began hissing through the vents. Outside, it was snowing gently, the flakes drifting silently onto the tree branches outside her window. She was up in her room folding laundry and tucking most of it into her suitcase as she went along. Tomorrow she was headed back to Boston and to work the day after that. The doctor had cleared her for normal activity and she would be fine, she knew. Almost all the fog had cleared and she was finally able to read without needing to stop and work to recall what certain words meant.
All she had to do was adjust to that echoing hollow emptiness where her heart had always been, get used to this feeling that nothing really mattered anymore. That’s all, easy as pie, right? If Joe could learn to live this way, so could she.
She looked around her familiar room and sat down on the bed, wondering if she’d ever felt so alone. Abby, Aaron and the kids had gone back to Phoenix yesterday and she missed them. Her mom and dad had gone out to a small dinner party with friends, but assured her they’d be home long before midnight. “Probably be asleep in our chairs when the ball drops, though,” her dad had chuckled.
When she finished with the laundry, Emily took a slow walk around the house, looking for stray items she might have left lying around. She found a sweater on the sofa, her watch beside the kitchen sink and her phone on the table, the
battery dead. Funny I didn’t notice that was missing, she thought – wonder how long it’s been sitting there.
She went back upstairs, took a long hot bath and let her mind drift. Once in a while something new would float by and slowly sharpen into a picture she could recognize, but not quite place in time. It was a little like sorting through a box of old, undated photographs. A house with a burned out portion – when had she seen that, and where? When had she been standing in the kitchen, her hand on the basement doorknob, laughing at something Abby had said? The wall with the patches of different yellow paints – that was probably at Joe’s house, but she couldn’t be sure, couldn’t fix it in time or space.
As she trailed her fingers down her neck, along her arms, across her breasts, she tried to recall Joe’s touch, re-create the feeling of his fingers on her skin. She could remember their first few times together, back at Thanksgiving – see with perfect clarity the scenes of the two of them making love, but the joyful exhilaration she knew she’d felt was gone.
She hadn’t wept at all. Some protective instinct told her that allowing her emotions to surface and coalesce would be dangerous, too overwhelming to bear. The loss she felt was only a dull throbbing ache that always surrounded her – and that she could learn to accept. With a deep sigh, she realized the water had grown cold; she got out, dried herself off and put on her pajamas.
Downstairs, she lit the fire in the hearth, turned on the TV set, plugged in the tree lights and went into the kitchen. There were still a few pieces of the fried chicken her mom had made at Emily’s request; she got a plate, sat down and ate, staring blankly at the wall clock. She was still sitting there when her folks came home at ten-thirty.
Her mother poked her head in the kitchen door and said she was going upstairs to “get out of this dress and put on something sensible, for heaven’s sake.” Her dad came in, already cheerfully complaining. Emily was glad to hear their voices. “Well, honey, you didn’t miss a thing,” her dad said, his head in the refrigerator. He got a beer and sat down.
“If there’s one thing I hate, it’s a set menu. Sixty bucks for a meal you could fit inside a tennis ball and three different wines that all tasted the same to me.” He drank from his beer and mused a little. “Nice band though, danced with your mother, think she enjoyed that.”
“I’m glad it wasn’t a total loss,” Emily said.
“What have you been up to?”
“Not much. Did some wash, packed, took a bath.”
“I’m sorry, honey. Not the best New Year’s Eve, I guess. Can you think of anything you’d like to do now? How about a couple hands of poker?”
Despite everything, Emily smiled. Her dad was such a good guy. She tried to look a little perkier. “Want to go watch a couple Twilight Zone episodes?”
“Sure. I just hope we’ve missed the one with Agnes Moorehead – that one gives your mom the willies.”
“What does?” her mom said, walking in.
“Oh, that Twilight Zone with the little tiny aliens that turn out to be humans,” her dad said.
Her mom shivered. “Don’t even mention it. A woman my age being slowly driven mad, scared the dickens out of me.”
They all laughed and Emily felt a little better. “Did you eat something, dear?” her mom asked.
Emily said she had. Her dad asked about champagne; Emily said she was fine with a beer. Was she cold; did she need an aspirin; did she want a piece of pie? How about popcorn? Emily knew she had to say yes to something. “Sure, popcorn sounds good,” she said.
Eventually, they got settled in the living room and her father gestured towards the Christmas tree. “I assume you’re leaving town to get out of helping with that,” he said.
“Next year, Dad, I promise. If we manage to get it down a little earlier.”
That got her thinking, for the first time, about the year ahead. Maybe she should try to change jobs anyway. A new city, a new point of view, a fresh start to everything – that might be a good idea. She sighed. Even thinking about it was exhausting.
At midnight they changed the channel to watch the ball drop, exchanged Happy New Years, and clinked drinks. “Well, we made it,” her dad said, and yawned. “Made it through another year and managed to stay awake ‘til midnight to boot. But I admit that I am all in and ready for bed. How about you, Ellie?”
Her mother started to answer, but George ran to the front door and began barking, interrupting her. “Oh, hell,” her father said. “Forgot the dog.”
“I’ll go out with him, Dad. I can use the air – I’ve been inside all day.”
George bounded back into the room, turned a circle and bounced back out. Emily got her coat and when she opened the door, the dog flew past and ran down the driveway. She closed the door behind her, stepped to the edge of the porch and looked down to button her coat. “Okay, George, that’s far enough,” she yelled and raised her head.
All the way down at the end of the long driveway, far from the reach of the house lights, she could just make out George, standing on his hind legs, his front paws on the chest of the tall man who was leaning forward against the dog’s weight. Though she couldn’t see him, Emily knew instantly who it was.
Her heart leapt, soared for a moment, skipped a beat – and then Emily gasped. It began slowly, somewhere deep in her chest, a white-hot fury that grew, then broke open and surged through her body with such powerful force she had to grip the porch railing. “NO!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. “NO.”
She watched, trembling with rage, as Joe pushed the dog away and began walking. Behind her, the front door was yanked open and she heard her father say “What—” Then there was a pause and the door was quietly, firmly shut. Emily didn’t turn.
When Joe was halfway to the house, she yelled again. “Stop. I can’t. I won’t. I can’t promise nothing will ever go wrong again.”
He’d stopped walking as she spoke; now he resumed, his steps firm, measured, undeterred. “I know that now,” he called.
Emily realized she was still gripping the railing, her knuckles white. Her other fist was clenched. She put both her hands in her coat pockets and watched him approach. This icy, implacable anger was new to her; she was surprised by her deep, regular breathing, her immobile posture.
Something in her face stopped him a foot from the porch steps. He looked up to her and said, “Please.”
George walked up calmly and sat at Joe’s side. Joe glanced down, then looked back to Emily. His face was different – younger, determined, self-assured. And…happy. He actually looked happy. Emily felt confused, felt something waver inside her anger.
“I didn’t believe before. I didn’t believe in us, in myself, in what I was trying to do, anything. I was just pretending, trying to fool myself.” He leaned towards her. “Now I believe.”
At first she didn’t realize she was crying; didn’t notice until the tears overflowed and ran down her cheeks. Joe came up the steps and put his arms around her, but she remained rigid, wooden, her hands in her pockets. He held her tightly and said quietly, his lips close to her ear, “Please. I love you. Tell me you believe, too.”
Now he pulled back slightly to look into her eyes and lifted his hands to her face. The moment he touched her skin, Emily gasped again, took her hands from her pockets and covered his hands with hers. Something deep inside her heart cracked open and she was flooded with joy. Her body relaxed; the leaden inertia of the past few days dissolved. When she answered him, her voice was low. “I love you,” she said. “I believe.”
He kissed her, and as their lips met, Emily felt transported, aware only of the bliss that enveloped her. When he broke the kiss and began to speak again, his voice seemed to come from far away. “It won’t always be easy, I know that now. Can you, will you help me?”
“For the rest of your life,” she murmured, and he kissed her again.
They remained on the porch, locked in each other’s arms until George gave a single short bark of impatience. “Shou
ld we go inside now?” Joe asked.
“Yes,” Emily answered quietly.
Her parents had gone upstairs; the lamps were off and the living room was filled with the soft glow from the tree. The fire was almost down to embers, the flames low. As they took off their coats, Flash walked over to twine herself around Joe’s legs. “Well, hello, cat. It’s good to see you, too.”
They went in and sat together on the sofa, watching the fire. Joe’s protective arm was around her; her head was on his shoulder. After a while, Joe said, “Emily, do you remember what I said in here, the night we met, before the first time we made love?”
Emily thought a moment, then smiled. “You mean will they hear us if we go up to the third floor?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I think I remember that. They still won’t hear us, once they’re asleep.”
“Later, then,” he said and began to stroke her hair.
“That seems like a long time ago, doesn’t it?” she mused.
“We’ve come a long way,” he said. “I guess I had to take a detour, but I got here, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” she said, “to my surprise. I didn’t expect to see you again.”
He was quiet for a moment. “I forgot to say I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Emily.”
After another pause she said, “You know, it was going to happen, sooner or later. Now it’s over with, and we’ve gotten through it. I think it was a good thing.”
They sat comfortably for a while, and then Emily said quietly, “I have to go back tomorrow.”
“I know. And I have to go home. I have a lot of work to do.”
“On the house?”
He kissed the top of her head. “You know that’s not what I meant. ” He paused. “Shall I take you to the airport tomorrow?”
Hope Falls: Almost Merry (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 9
