Yesterday's Half Truths

by Carey Heywood

  Besides, shopping is my superpower, when it comes to women’s clothes, that is. I’ve never seen him in anything other than workout clothes. He would look beyond hot in a leather jacket. That’s seems a bit excessive though as a gift for a friend.

  All at once, the perfect solution comes to me; I can get a gift for his dog. That way the gift wouldn’t be overly personal. If he doesn’t get me anything, I can play it off as if it’s a gift for his dog, so no big deal. If he does get me a gift, I’ll have one to give him that is safely within the perimeters of an acceptable friend type gift.

  An embroidered collar and matching leash would be perfect. With a few clicks of my mouse I have exactly what I’m looking for ordered, with rush shipping. I should be done. There’s no reason for me to start searching for men’s leather jackets.

  Logically recognizing that does nothing to stop me from also ordering a leather jacket. I have no intention of giving it to him; that would be crazy.

  Our last two virtual training sessions went okay. I was almost late to our Thursday one. If I was out of breath from running as I connected, Lindsay didn’t act like she noticed. In fact, if anything, she was distracted. I hate that I can’t ask her what’s wrong. Every time I push her, she gives; but the not talking to me while she makes up her mind to do it sucks.

  I have a new strategy for all things Lindsay related. Patience. I’m not going to push her to do anything other than what we’re already doing. I want to get to know her without feeling as if I’m torturing her. She’ll still get her ass kicked by me workout wise though. As much as I want her to like me, I can’t slack on what she’s paying me to do.

  Her blinds move as I park my car. She thinks she’s subtle, I think she’s adorable. I reach over to grab our drinks from my cooler on the passenger seat. One thing that sucks about having an older car is no cup holders. That doesn’t apply so much today since I needed the cooler to keep the smoothies cold.

  By the time I’m out of Sally, she’s on her front porch, locking her door.

  “I brought you something.” I move closer to her, reaching out to pass her the drink.

  She hesitates before taking it from my hand. I had hoped our fingers would touch but she was careful to avoid any accidental brushes.

  “What is it?” She slides the mouth spout open and sniffs.

  “Just try it.” I grin.

  Her brows furrow before she takes the smallest of sips possible. Her nose scrunches as her mouth puckers. “What is that?”

  “You don’t like it.” I grimace.

  Her eyes widen. “It tastes weird, not bad, not that good either.”

  “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t like it,” I say, reaching out for it.

  She turns, pressing the cup to her chest. “Will you tell me what’s in it first?”

  Dropping my hand, I smirk at her. “Spinach, carrots, apples, and ginger.”

  She takes another sip. “I can taste the ginger.”

  “You really don’t have to drink it. You won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t like it.”

  She lifts the cup, turning it in her hands. “Where did you get it?”

  I drop my eyes to the hood of my car. “I made it.”

  “You made me a drink?”

  The hushed whisper of her words pulls my eyes up to meet hers. I hold her gaze for a beat before I nod.

  Her cheeks redden. “Thank you, Luke.”

  “You’re welcome.” I tilt my head toward the field and wait for her to nod before I start walking.

  She walks behind me, close enough that I can hear each time she takes a drink. Ignoring the desire to turn back and watch her, I keep my eyes forward.

  Today, we aren’t jogging. It’s almost impossible to hold a conversation that way. I want to get to know her better and give her a chance to get to know me as well.

  When we reach the track, she stays behind me and I stop, motioning her to walk next to me. There’s plenty of room for us to walk side by side with a healthy amount of space between us. I wonder what she’s thinking as I wait for her to decide whether to walk next to me or not.

  Is she comparing the differences between walking behind me or next to me? Is she calculating the actual distance from me that will make it acceptable? I hold my breath waiting for her to move. When she does, it feels like a victory; and one where I didn’t have to push, so it’s that much sweeter.

  We walk in silence, another part of my plan.

  “Are we only walking today?” she asks after five minutes.

  Inside my head, I’m doing an end zone dance; outside, I glance over at her, like I didn’t hear her question. “What?”

  She moves her drink from one hand to another, using her now free hand to push some of her hair behind her ear. “Are we not running today?”

  No, she didn’t ask me what my hopes and dreams are but her starting a dialogue of any kind is the cause for my celebration. “I thought we’d just walk today.”

  I watch her from the corner of my eye as she takes another drink of her smoothie before she asks, “Why?”

  I shrug. “You had a tough workout Thursday, so I thought I’d take it easy on you today.”

  We lapse into silence once more. I watch her, as she explores the field and the trees lining it with her eyes. Can the same field weekend after weekend lose its luster or will the way the seasons change around us be enough to keep Lindsay interested in coming here every weekend?

  I haven’t seen inside her house. The way she quickly shuts and locks her door as she comes and goes leads me to believe I won’t be anytime soon. How did she keep herself from going crazy staring at the same four walls all day, every day for all these years? In every prison movie I’ve ever seen, solitary confinement was each prisoner’s nightmare.

  The prisoners who went there came out even more broken. Strange someone would choose that life on their own.

  Before and after my dad took off, my family has always been close. There’s no way my sisters would have allowed me to retreat from the outside world the way she has.

  After around ten minutes of silence, she speaks again. “Thank you again for my smoothie. It was nice of you to make it for me.”

  Her face is tilted toward mine, only half committed to looking at me. “Anytime. I can email you the exact recipe when I get home if you’d like.”

  “Yes, I’d like that.” She takes another sip; by how far she drops her head back to drink, she must be almost done with it.

  Knowing she’s finished something I made for her, even though I don’t think she’s crazy about it, does something to me. Like the first full gulp of a cup of hot tea or coffee sliding down into your gut and reaching out to warm your entire belly.

  It makes me want to do other things for her, too.

  We walk the remaining thirty minutes in silence. She broke the silence twice today. I might not know what makes her tick yet but I hope week after week of spending time with her, she’ll open up to me. Watching her, watch the world around her is enough.

  As we walk back toward her house, she continues to walk next to me, even where the path narrows and our shoulders almost touch. Another victory.

  She fidgets with the cup in her hand, and steps away from her door. “Do you want me to wash your cup?”

  I shake my head and stretch my hand out toward her. “I’ll wash it.”

  She hesitates, regarding my hand before focusing on my face. “Are you sure?”

  I don’t lower my hand and nod. She sighs but gently sets it in my hand, again careful not to touch me.

  “Bye, Luke.” She gives me a small wave before slipping into her house, the click of the dead bolt behind her.

  It’s not until I’m halfway home before I wonder if her hesitation over giving me back my cup was her wanting to keep something that was mine. To test this, next week, I’ll bring something I can leave with her to see if she’ll try to give it back to me or not.

  Once I’m home, I take Loki for a quick walk. There was a
road closure on the way back from Lindsay’s and now I’m running behind. Clay’s niece Maggie is in her school’s choir. I’m meeting Clay and Courtney for her winter concert. I’ve never been to her school, but I couldn’t turn down the invitation when it came straight from Maggie.

  Courtney thinks she has a crush on me, so it’ll mean a lot to her that I show. I manage to dash into a grocery store on the way and pick her up some flowers. Clay is waiting for me at the main entrance.

  He lifts a brow at the flowers in my hands. “Shit. Courtney and I didn’t get flowers.”

  I frown and look down at the bouquet and go to hand them to him. “Take these.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am.” I look around. “Where’s Courtney?”

  He turns, pulling open the door. “She’s saving seats for us.”

  Maggie goes to a private school. She started going there when her mom was still in the picture. Since her school goes year round, it was Clay’s parents’ way of trying to keep Maggie from being too influenced by her mom. Her mom was bad news. Clay finally had enough of what she exposed Maggie to. After this happened, Nicole, Maggie’s mom, skipped town. No one knows where she went.

  Since she technically abandoned Maggie, Clay was able to get custody of her. She’s a great kid and lucky to have an uncle who loves her as much as Clay does.

  Courtney sees us when we walk into the auditorium and waves.

  “Where are your parents?” I ask, not recognizing any of the people sitting around her.

  “They came last night. There are three shows. Courtney’s mom and her boyfriend are coming tomorrow.”

  “So, you’ve seen the show once already.”

  He nods.

  I lean in to whisper, “Will I need ear plugs?”

  He laughs before leaning in. “The beginners’ choir is up first.”

  That is answer enough.

  When we reach Courtney, I kiss her cheek. “So, shoulder or ankle?”

  She turns so her back is to me and points to the back of her right shoulder.

  When she turns back around she reaches down to grab her phone. “I have a picture of it. Want to see?”

  “Sure.”

  She scrolls through pics on her phone before finding it and holding her phone up for me to see. It’s a lily, delicate, pink-tipped white petals.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” She grins. “It itched like crazy though.” She glances at Clay then back at me. “I think I want another one.”

  Clay drapes his arm around her shoulders. “Tattoos are addictive.”

  The lights start to dim and we sit. The beginners’ choir sings first. From Clay’s warning, I expected them to be worse. Who knows, maybe they got their nerves out last night. They sing four songs, the last one being “The Twelve Days of Christmas”.

  I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been busy, or maybe the fact I’ve grown older and don’t have kids yet to experience the excitement of Christmas with, but I haven’t thought about the holiday season at all. I suck at getting gifts and have been getting my mom and sisters’ gift cards forever.

  Hearing this music, being surrounded by families all together to celebrate, I find it hard not to feel some Christmas spirit. It’s not lost on me that this is probably Lindsay’s worst nightmare.

  I’ve spent the last week obsessing over the smoothie Luke brought me. He made me something, with his own two hands. Sure, it was a drink and he made one for himself as well, but it was so thoughtful; it caught me off guard.

  Also, his travel mug. Many a minute has been spent contemplating that my lips touched a place where his at one time also touched. I practically mug kissed him. It’s amazing how erotic something as innocent as that could be when you haven’t had contact with a member of the opposite sex in years.

  The smoothie was disgusting, but I’d drink a hundred of them if Luke made them. I’ve been so focused on the smoothie and mentally prepared and hoping for another one, that it takes me a moment to process what I’m seeing.

  I see it. I just don’t believe it. I pull my hand back, letting the slats of the blinds fall closed. Luke is here, parked in the same spot he always has, removing a Christmas tree from the top of his car.

  A Christmas tree.

  From the top of his car.

  In front of my house.

  When he knocks on the door, I stupidly peek through the peephole and see nothing but evergreen. What do I do? Luke getting me a tree is a beyond sweet gesture, but…I can’t let him in my house. I can’t. How do I accept a tree, or do I not accept it? Crap!

  He knocks again and I pull the loose ends of my scarf in either direction, nervously choking myself as I panic. Must breathe. My hands loosen their grip and I reach up with one to tug at the loop around my neck.

  “Lindsay?” Luke calls out from the other side of the door.

  Willing myself the strength to get through this moment even though I still have absolutely no idea what to do, I open the door.

  “I got you a tree.” Luke smiles sweetly as he states the obvious.

  “Ahhh,” is all I can manage in response.

  He holds up his hand. “I didn’t do this to freak you out or anything. I’m only trying to be nice.”

  “Ahhh.” Yep, still can’t form words.

  “Okay, I get it. You’re freaking out. Do you want me to take the tree back or would you like it?”

  I stare at him, my eyes wide.

  “I’m going to need some kind of response. How about if you want me to take the tree back you close the door and if you want me to set this tree up for you, you take a step back so I can carry it in?”

  Finding my inner tree, my feet seem to sprout roots, making it impossible for me to move. Luke sees my reaction or complete lack of a reaction and groans, dropping his face forward so it’s resting on a branch.

  “I swear I wasn’t trying to freak you out. I had a plan. I wasn’t going to push you and now what am I doing, pushing you.”

  He starts to take a step back and I find my voice. “I want the tree.” I do?

  “You do?” He looks up, his eyes hopeful.

  Gulping, I look back into my living room, the inside of my home, my sanctuary. Somehow, letting Luke in seems as dangerous to me as inviting in a vampire. Once you let someone in, it’s hard to undo.

  Curious what all the racket is, Coco walks out of my bedroom and heads toward me and the open door. More concerned about her getting out, than letting Luke in, I step away from the door to herd her back toward my room.

  Luke takes this as his invitation to enter. When I turn back around, he is inside my house.

  “Where would you like me to set the tree up?” he asks, as if being inside my house is no big deal.

  My throat is dry which is surprising given the ridiculous amount of water I now consume on a regular basis. I swallow, and nervously glance around my living room.

  There’s only one place with enough space to accommodate it and not rearrange furniture. I point toward it.

  “I’m going to lean this right here and grab the base,” Luke says, already halfway out the door.

  What the hell just happened? I stare dumbly at the tree and the sprinkling of pine needles on the floor by my front door.

  Luke is back inside my house within moments and has some cloth in one hand and a plastic tree base in the other.

  He looks at me. “Can you fill up a big bottle with some water?”

  I turn, my body obeying the instruction my brain has yet to process. Does he need water, or is it for the tree? It strikes me, as I fill a bottle with water from my kitchen sink, that I’m fully dressed for the outdoors and still inside. Leaving the bottle in the sink, I shrug off my winter jacket and hang it on the back of one of my kitchen chairs.

  If Luke notices I’ve taken it off, I hope he doesn’t assume it means anything. I was only looking to avoid melting into a pile of sweaty goo. Luke already has the tree situated in its stand by the time I
walk back into my living room. He crouches down in front of it, arranging the cloth he has as a skirt around it.

  Luke is in my house and he brought me a tree for Christmas.

  Luke is inside my house.

  I move near enough so the bottle I carry will be within an arm’s length of him before I set it down and back away. My hasty retreat doesn’t faze him. He reaches for the bottle and fills the basin of the stand with water before moving out from under the tree.

  There’s a Christmas tree in my house. Coco comes out to investigate both Luke and the tree. She has depth perception issues with her first sniff of the tree and ends up being poked by its needles. Her back comes up as she hisses at it.

  Luke covers his mouth as he laughs, watching her.

  My entire life, I’ve never had a real Christmas tree. My parents had an artificial one when I was growing up and once I moved out on my own I, too, bought a plastic tree. My tree is tiny though, only meant for a tabletop. The tree Luke brought almost reaches my ceiling.

  It smells fantastic, too. One year I ordered a pine-scented candle around Christmas time to try to have my house smell like a real tree. It was my pathetic attempt at pretending I wasn’t different; that I could have a Christmas like the ones I see on TV. Sadly, the candle did little to make me forget I was still all alone.

  “Do you like it?” Luke asks, looking from the tree to me and then back again.

  I nod, looking away.

  “I have some ornaments for it in my car.” He lifts his hand. “I’ll be right back.”

  The pull to follow him to the door and then lock it behind him is basic and I fight it. I haven’t moved an inch by the time he is back holding a Target bag.

  “I have lights and some ornaments. I didn’t get glass ones. I had a buddy growing up whose cat would knock them off the tree and make a mess.”

  I find my voice. “You shouldn’t have.”

  He shrugs. “I wanted to.”

  Having no argument to offer, I gulp instead.

  “I’m going to leave these here with you. I expect a pic once the tree is all done since I won’t be able to see it from this angle during our web sessions.”