“I can do the splits,” she admitted quietly.
“See? I cannot compete here. I’m not worthy to follow in your shadow.”
“Oh quit that. But if it makes you feel better, I won’t set you up with Mike. Or anyone else in my little black book, either. Which significantly limits your potential mates in the Fort Wayne area, but I’m sure we’ll make due.”
I recalled what I’d said to Will in my bedroom on moving day about Blake and her brother. “Sex on a stick” might have been an understatement. I bit the inside of my cheek to stifle a laugh.
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me here, Blake. Really I do. But you don’t have to take me on as your pet project. I promise I’m not going to crumble without the support of a guy.”
“I know that. And I certainly hope you don’t think that I’m implying that you would. But you and I are a little more alike than you think. In fact, Chris has a name for us as a pair: yin and yang.”
“So who’s the darkness and who’s the light?”
She shrugged. “It possibly changes by the hour. What I’m saying is that I didn’t crumble without a man, either. And I could have gone on with my life being a good interpretation of happiness without Chris.”
“You did kind of a lousy job of getting over him,” I reminded.
She held her finger up to silence me. The look on her face was anything but insulted by my commentary. “My life would have been full without him. I mean, look at all that I have. My company, you, Matthew, Lauren, Sadie. You get the picture. But with him, my life is complete. And there’s a marked difference between the two.”
I bit my lip. I was getting where she was going with this one. When you were with someone - the right someone - a portion of your life opened up to embrace that relationship that you didn’t know existed. A part of your world expanded to allow that other person in, to allow them to share it with you.
“So are you happy with just being full?” she pressed. “Or do you want to be complete?”
Chapter Nineteen
My life was already full. So full, in fact, that I didn’t have a moment to consider what was missing that made it incomplete. The transition to my new job and my new city took the place of any loneliness that could have crept in. I realized why Lauren had been so intent on working long hours and throwing her pittance of free time at decorating her house inside and out when she’d been running from the truth.
If you were filled to the brim, to the point of overflowing, you had to stay moving in order to keep everything from spilling out of the confines of your brain. You didn’t have time to consider what it was that wasn’t there. That big, gaping hole in your heart, in your very soul that would hurt too much if you stood back and really drank it all in.
Between my days at work slowly creeping closer to the ten hour mark instead of the eight hour one - not that I minded, Lauren’s regular visits after picking up Sadie at Regina’s place, me tagging around with the married folks and trying to piece together a cohesive vision for my own redecoration at home, I was spent by the time I kicked off my shoes at the end of the day. Asleep before my head hit the pillow, I was so out of it that I didn’t dream.
Or my subconscious wouldn’t permit me to remember what I thought about in my slumber, either way. What it meant for me was no whacked out dreams like Lauren had told me about with appearances of my infatuation hovering in the clouds like an angel; no flashbacks to that initial point of collision.
No, when it hit, it was in the most unexpected of ways. At the least opportune of times. I’d find the green eyed monster tapping my shoulder when Matthew said something to Lauren, or when Chris looked at Blake in a certain way. Then the dam would break and I’d think how I could have had that, if only I’d chosen a willing partner. Pun intended.
But most of the time I was perfectly fine. And the other moments I chose to ignore for the most part, burying them deep inside after allowing myself to feel the twinge of remorse that they brought forward. It was good, after all, to still feel something, to know that it had mattered to at least one of us. It kept me from feeling like a total idiot.
Blake began feeling more comfortable with our working arrangement, leaving me to my own devices for hours on end while she flitted about from business client to business client. I felt less like she was babysitting me, and more like she was treating me like a peer. Not an equal, but an associate at least. She didn’t have to tell me twice that I wasn’t ready to take my show out into the corporate world, so I didn’t feel slighted when she’d make those runs herself. If there was one thing I disliked more than being babysat, it was having others realize that I was being babysat. I hated the stares that I got, the looks of sympathy that came with the territory of being the new girl. So the bulk of my training was done behind the scenes, away from the judging eyes of clients.
I wasn’t big on admitting that I’d never done this gig before. I’d know that I was on my way to being a contributing member of the company when no one else knew it either.
When Blake was gone, I’d hang back at the storefront, flipping through some of her books in the rear workroom. Sometimes I’d look for ideas for a smaller project we had going on, jotting down my take on things and handing it to Blake for approval later. Other times I’d sneak peeks for inspiration on my own place. If there was something that I needed to pick up from somewhere nearby, I’d go play errand girl. At no time did the minutes ever drag along until she got back, and that was exactly the way I wanted it.
I was back in the back debating between fabric samples for a client’s curtains when Blake sauntered in to grab her purse and hook it over her shoulder. She stopped behind my shoulder to take a look at what I was doing, which made me freeze. Her finger pointed to the selection on the right and I nodded. Of the two, that was the one that I was leaning towards myself. Strangely enough, we did that more often than not.
“I’m off again,” she announced. I couldn’t help but notice that her voice hinted at a distinct tone of weariness, and I felt momentary guilt at not being able to take on more responsibility. Her eyes swung up to the clock on the wall opposite us and she did some mental calculations. “It’s almost lunchtime. You should take a break and grab something to eat.”
The way she said it was more an order than a suggestion. If she wasn’t around and if we didn’t go out to lunch together, I was inclined to work right through. If I was lucky, I’d duck out for a quick break to grab a soda and a sandwich, then bring it straight back to wolf down while I immersed myself in more design goodness.
“Gracie, I mean it. Take some time for yourself. You still need stuff for your own place; see if you can find something you like. Then actually eat a meal that doesn’t come from a drive through window or a gas station. I might not be back for hours, maybe not even before you leave for the night. Just be sure to lock up.”
“But I hate leaving the place unattended.”
“Gracie,” she growled, going all mother bear on me, “just do it. The place was unattended all the time before you got here and I don’t think it hurt anything one bit. You can take a couple of hours to goof off.”
“Fine.” I closed the sample book decisively and jumped down from my stool.
“And don’t think about cheating and coming back fifteen minutes after I’m gone,” she grinned. “I’ll have Chris do a drive by to make sure the place is unoccupied.”
“Who me? Cheat?” I played the innocent card, even though that very scenario had entered my mind.
Things were so different now. What seemed like ages ago, when I’d still been at the bank, I’d ticked off every second on the clock until it was time for my lunch break. Especially after Lauren had taken the management position in Fort Wayne and left the Indianapolis branch, I didn’t have much to look forward to at work besides lunch and leaving for the day. Now that I had an occupation that I actually had an interest in, even ten hour days felt like they flew by. Funny how when I was here, I was truly here, not imagining e
verywhere else I’d rather be.
“Yes, you. I mean it. Shoo.”
She dismissed me with a wave of her hand and I chose not to argue. Instead, I obediently collected my own purse and walked out the door with her. I paused as she locked up the store behind us, then we trekked to the small parking lot behind the building. We split up then, her waiting patiently in her Miata, letting me pull out first and go along on my merry little way. I wouldn’t put it past her to wait in the parking lot for ten or so minutes after my departure just to make sure I didn’t return. Curious as I was, I wasn’t about to tempt fate and circle back around to find out if my theory was true.
With the shop being centrally located, I had options for where I wanted to head. Go out north, with the sprawling indoor mall and myriad shopping centers, or go the opposite way and head into my comfort zone, the southwest side. I chose southwest, picking familiarity over adventure. Unlike most of Fort Wayne, I didn’t find the north side traffic a detriment to my shopping experience; I had just slid into an easy routine. There was no comparison between Indianapolis traffic and Fort Wayne traffic. People here didn’t know how good they had it.
Since I wasn’t hungry enough to have a clear handle on what I wanted to eat for lunch, I chose to wander the aisles of the nearest department store first. Again, searching for something to come out and grab me, like the paint color had the day that I went out with Blake. Surprisingly, this portion of the process was much more difficult when the client was yourself. I couldn’t put into words what I was looking for, but Blake and I asked other people to do it all the time. And regular people would attempt to describe what they wanted, leaving it up to us to interpret. I was amazed at the number of times that Blake got it right. It either spoke volumes about her talent or alluded to the fact that the general public was more than happy to leave it in the hands of the professionals.
Me, if Blake had done that same guessing game for my project, she’d have come up with a blank stare and perhaps a grunt. I had absolutely no clue. And she was being no help, offering to impart none of her wisdom. This exercise was all about me. The thing against which my natural design prowess would be judged. Not only did I want to impress my teacher, I also had to live in the confines of what I’d created.
The paint had dried at home, but as Blake had alluded to, I really didn’t have a firm grasp on what I wanted to do with the rest of it. I could go either dark or light and I was kind of stuck. Maybe I could do both. Maybe I would know when I saw it. I was searching for perfection, not good enough. And if I had to scour the internet or special order, it wasn’t going to stop me.
Nothing more than a pillow caught my eye. I carried it around with me as I searched the aisles, clutching the black corduroy fabric tightly as I walked. I considered putting it back, but then drug it up to the register with me and paid.
Perhaps the next stop would be better.
Which it was. At the next store, I spotted a massive filigree cross wall hanging fashioned out of wrought iron just as I’d envisioned. So the religious theme hadn’t been expected, but as a design piece, it was absolutely gorgeous. A basis for the room, something concrete that I could work everything else around.
I crammed the cross into the backseat of my Taurus, cushioning it with the pillow so it wouldn’t poke into the driver’s seat. No wonder Blake chose to drive the Trailblazer when she collected items; even in my four door car, just two items were becoming a tight squeeze. Granted, I still had trunk space to offer, but my growling stomach effectively ended my shopping spree. Time for food.
I debated my options at the shopping center, but wasn’t really feeling anything within the boundaries of the parking lot. So what if Blake would ridicule me about sliding through one of the drive up windows for lunch; what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Besides, I didn’t have to eat in my car or take it back to the shop; I could always go inside the restaurant. Yes, I nodded to myself, that’s exactly what I would do.
Suddenly in the mood for some Italian, I turned right out of the lot and onto the main drag. Being lunch time, there were more cars out now than at other random times of the day. No matter. According to Blake, I had all the time in the world. And she thought I deserved it. No rushing back to punch a clock; another advantage to being employed by a friend.
My destination ahead on the left, I pulled into the turn lane and waited for the light to change to green. When it did, I headed into the intersection. High on retail success, I didn’t see the car on the other street barreling towards me. Or rather I did, like it was all happening in slow motion though I knew it wasn’t. I considered the best course of action: speeding up or slamming on the brakes, but it really didn’t make a difference at that point.
It was already too late.
Chapter Twenty
The next thing I knew, I was intimately familiar with my airbag. Not the best feeling in the world, but at least it worked like it was supposed to. I closed my eyes and did a physical inventory. Everything appeared to be functioning. Sore, but that was a good thing, right? I tasted blood, saw stars, and that was before the anger kicked in.
It wasn’t long before the sirens sounded in the distance. Somehow, I knew they were coming for me. There were lots of witnesses, loads of potential callers who could pick up their cells and dial the authorities so that I didn’t have to myself. Tons of people who’d vouch for me that the idiot in the other car had run the light. Plenty of people who’d likely cheer me on if I got out of the car and went over to kick his ass like I wanted to.
I opted to stay in the vehicle. A criminal record may be dead sexy on Matthew, but I didn’t see it as desirable for my own self.
As I debated, the sirens got closer and closer until I knew they were right up on me. It was then I had the presence of mind to take my keys out of the ignition and attempt to open the driver’s side door. It responded with a creak and movement of about an inch and a half. Great. Just great.
Amid all of the ruckus, I could have sworn someone was calling my name. But it was so damn loud and everything was muffled by the airbag shoved in my face. I pushed harder on the driver’s side door, trying to will it to open, but to no avail. Defeated, my fingers slipped from the handle and I attempted to untangle myself from the safety equipment.
Then I heard the sound of more breaking glass, close, and the voice I thought I heard became much more clear.
“Gracie? You’re going to be okay.”
“Chris?”
I don’t know that he heard me. He just kept repeating that I was going to be fine, which made me wonder who he was trying to convince and even if his words were true. He reached through the now shattered passenger window and unlocked my car, brushed the broken glass from the seat and settled down next to me. A strong arm reached out and supported my shoulder, and then I was free of the airbag.
“Look at me, Gracie,” he commanded.
I swung my head around to face him, trying to gauge how bad the damage was by the look in his eyes. He had a pretty decent poker face, but I hadn’t missed the grimace that contorted his features for just a split second. I knew head wounds bled like mad and I could tell I was battered and bruised, but to have someone who dealt with gore day in and day out do a double take was not exactly promising.
“Do you know what happened, Gracie?”
“Yes. That motherfucker in the red car hit me. Then you broke into my car and now we’re here.”
That elicited a hopeful grin. He ran through the rest of the standard issue “does she have a concussion or not” questions, which went more quickly for him than usual since he didn’t have to verify any of the answers to the personal ones. He already knew them.
As we played our game of twenty questions, he worked to assess the rest of my injuries. I sat stiff as a board, dumbfounded that his touch could be so feather light and yet confident. He talked me through what he was doing as he did it, maybe to make me feel less scared, maybe so I wouldn’t think he was using the situation to his advantage
and trying to cop a feel.
“Do you think you can get out of the car and walk over to my ambulance?” he asked me. “I’ll get you cleaned up better over there.”
“My door doesn’t open. I tried, but it wouldn’t budge.”
“That’s what happens when your front fender’s collapsed on top of it. Let me clarify. Can you crawl across the passenger seat and get out of the car for me? I’ll help you.”
I nodded, an action that came with its own sensation of pain. He ignored this, or expected it, but paid it no attention either way. Instead, he vacated the car and stretched his arm across the interior, allowing me assistance to climb across the center console and out. Not the most graceful of exits, but by that point, I didn’t care.
Chris slipped his arm around me and I leaned into his body, allowing him to help me the short distance to where he had parked. He jumped in the back to grab some supplies while I settled onto the bumper of the ambulance and surveyed my surroundings. The scene appeared stolen from a movie, so many bystanders and emergency personnel. I mean, really, did one little accident necessitate a fire truck, the ambulance I sat on the back of, and a good helping of police presence?
“Is all that for me?” I asked Chris when he returned.
He handed me a towel, silently permitting me to assist in my own clean up, and took in the mayhem. “It kind of is. It was a bad wreck, sweetie.”
“Is the other guy okay?” I asked, only because I would feel like an ass later if I didn’t. I really didn’t give a crap. It was all his fault, anyway.
“Seems to be. He’s giving his statement to the cops.”
“Shit. I have to do that, too. Don’t I?”
“It can wait. Someone will likely meet up with you at the hospital after you get checked out.”
“I’m not going to the hospital.”
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