by Jacquie Gee
His words steal my breath away.
“I’d better get back.” He tips his champagne glass toward the party, walking backward toward it. “You know what, on second thought,” he doubles back, “it’s, ummm, it’s getting late and I… ah, I should get to bed.” He motions toward his house, then starts in that direction, picking up speed.
Every fiber of my being is shouting for me to stop him.
“Listen, if I, uh,” Trent turns, his voice cracking, “if I don’t see you again before you go, have a good one.”
He lifts his cap to me, then stalks away, twisting the stem of his champagne glass.
My heart pulls near out of my chest. I fall back against the bridge’s rail, trembling.
Why does this hurt so much?
Come on, Becc, it’s not like you didn’t know you’d be leaving. You barely even know him.
You worked on a cause together, that’s it.
Then the other night, you had too much to drink, and let yourself fall into his arms, so what?
You did the same with Jebson, and look where that got you.
I look longingly back at the house as he disappears into it.
But Trent is not Jebson.
I set down my glass. Oh gobs, what have I said, what have I done?
“Wait! Trent?” I scramble after him, rushing from the bridge over the stones, toward the front porch—just as he shuts off the lights.
Chapter 58
The next morning comes too soon. The alarm sounds and I’m still staring at the ceiling. I swear I haven’t slept an hour all night. I look around at my array of half-packed clothing, shirts hanging over the backs of chairs, jeans neatly folded on top of my suitcase, panties still sitting in their drawer.
I’m half in and out of this world. I couldn’t finish packing last night.
Couldn’t stop thinking about Trent.
I have to go. I have a business to attend to. I sit up and rub my temples. Besides, he’s made his position abundantly clear. Becca, let’s face it. He loves it here. You don’t. It’s never gonna work.
New York is your home now. Where you belong.
I rock. Trent belongs here.
Besides, Tia is counting on you. You’ve been gone, like, forever.
You’ll be coming back here in a month. You can talk to him about it then. Maybe the time apart will be a good thing. Or maybe things’ll change, and he won’t know your name.
Who knows? I bite my lip to keep it from trembling. Maybe if you stayed, it wouldn’t work out.
And then you’d lose everything.
I sit up in bed and force my feet to the ground. Not one part of me is happy about leaving.
Another time, another place, maybe.
I run my hand down the fringe of the curtains and stare out at what’s left of the bridge.
When I come back, that’ll look better.
“Becca?”
Mom's frail knuckles rap lightly on my door.
“Becca? Are you awake?”
“Yes, Mom,” I answer.
She presses her ear to the door. "The cab company called. They said they'd be here within the hour."
“Thanks, Mom,” I say, plopping sadly back onto the bed. My head hits the pillow and I scrunch it up around my ears. One hour. That’s all I have left.
“Becca.” Mom raps again. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No, Mom,” I sigh. “I’m almost packed.”
“You’re starting out awfully early,” she says. “I mean…the sun’s barely even up. Don’t you usually take a later plane?” She whispers through the door, her voice shaky.
“Usually. But I’ve got to be getting back.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Mom’s voice is sad. I look longingly out the window at the glowing orange sunrise just now peeking over the bay.
“It’s a long way back to New York,” I tell her, trying to convince myself.
“I suppose it is,” she says. The sadness in her voice is thick. “I’ll go make some toast.” She pulls away from the door.
“No, Mom, don’t. I’ll just grab something at the airport.”
“You’re sure?” Her hand pets the door. “At least let me make you some tea.”
I purse my lips, holding back emotions. “Tea would be great, Mom. Thanks,” I say, weakly.
Soft slippers scurry away.
And I fall back, tossing the covers over my head. Am I doing the right thing? How can I be leaving her? So much has taken place. I get up and follow her, out the door into the kitchen just in time to catch her batting back tears. “Oh, Mom,” I pull her to me. “I’ll be back, soon, I promise.” I hug her head to my chest. “And then at least once a month, every three months after that.” I look her in the eyes.
Mom raises her hands and cradles my face. “That sounds lovely, dear,” she whimpers. “I’m sorry,” she says, fanning her face, and holding in her sobs. “It’s just been so nice to have you here.” She cries.
“Oh, Mom. It’s been nice to be here too.” I hug her again, and she falls against me like a child. When she tilts back, I sense she’s lost who she is. Confusion brews in her eyes. Our slender thread of communication has snapped. “Mom?” I say, looking into her vacant face. “Mom?”
She’s searching for me. She has no idea what I’ve just said.
I wonder in part if what’s happening to her isn’t a form of protection—her brain’s way of checking out when things get too hard to handle—and then I privately admonish myself for being so selfish as to think that way.
I think about how hard it has been for her to place me, consistently, while I’ve been here. The times she’s drifted in and out, and how they’ve become increasingly more frequent. The bewildered look on her face the times she didn’t know me, and the joy in her face when she did.
Will she even know me the next time I’m here? When I show up on her doorstep, will I be a stranger?
Will she be able to draw me back out of her memory as she has this time? Or the next time, will I be gone to her forever?
The thought drops like a stone in my gut.
“I want us to talk more, Mom,” I say quickly, praying she’s hearing me. “Every night, if you can. Do you mind?”
“Of course not, darling.” Her eyes focus back on me, and I know she’s there.
“I’m going to teach you how to use Skype before I go this morning. We’ll use that; it’ll be just like we’re together, sitting in the same room, having a conversation. You’re gonna love it.”
“Whatever you like, dear.” She pats my hand. “I’ll make us some tea,” she says through two steaming cups already sitting on the counter.
“You do that, Mom.” I smile.
Her lips tremble, and she turns away, and then doesn’t remember why she’s done it.
“Mom,” I say, desperate not to lose our fragile connection. “Mom?” I grab her arm and turn her slowly my way. “I’m sorry,” I say.
“For what dear?” She scowls.
“For not being here. For not calling more often. For not asking you the right questions.”
Mom bites her upper lip and squirrels up her face. She stares at me long and hard, her eyelid twitching. “Do I know you?” she says.
I shatter inside, as she drifts further away like an unmoored ship across the open water.
She turns to leave, and I pull her back, planting a firm kiss her on the forehead, then hug her hard, whether she likes it or not.
“Goodness.” She pulls away. “You’d think you were leaving or something.” She laughs it off. “Now, where was I? About to make tea, right?”
I nod and watch her thin frame move inside her dressing gown, as she ambles around the kitchen remaking the tea that’s already made, fanning the toaster when it pops up with nothing, though I told her toast wasn’t necessary.
I bite my lip and add a sweater to my ensemble. It's always cold on planes. I fling the remainder of my clean clothes into my suitcase, squash it down, and zip the si
des, then throw my bed back together. Sitting on the edge, I stare out the window at the bright sunlight now illuminating the edges of the bridge.
“Cab’s here!” Mom yells from the hallway. She comes rushing in, the end of her nightgown balled in her fists. “It’s early,” she says, looking frazzled. “The cab is early.”
“They do that sometimes.”
Her cheeks are berry red. She’s breathy and fighting hard not to cry, which makes me want to cry.
“It’s gonna be all right, Mom.” I hug her close to me, crushing her delicate frame to my chest.
The cabbie honks on the road below.
“I’d better get going.” I spring back from her and collect up my suitcases from the kitchen.
Mom loops her arms around my middle and clings to me tightly. "You know how much I love you, right?" she whispers to my chest. "I want to make sure I've said it before—" she stops herself. Desperation pours thick as syrup, from her eyes.
I pull her close, trying to eradicate the hard truth that is tearing us both apart—with what’s happening to her, there are no guarantees—this could be our last goodbye. I kiss her on the head as the cabbie honks.
For land sakes buddy, chill!
“You’d better get on,” mom says, looking up. She pulls herself away from me. She straightens to her full, proud, five-foot-two height and stands like a soldier, shoulders back. “Don’t forget to say a quick goodbye to Aunt Penny before you go,” she says to me. “She’ll never forgive me if I don’t send you over.”
“I will.” I lean forward and kiss again, as she presses back tears.
The cabbie lays on his horn.
“All right, All right!” I shout out the window, snap up my suitcase shut, and charge out the door. “I’ll get Trent to show you how to use Skype, Mom,” I stop on the stairs, remembering the promise I made her.
What’s wrong with me? Why didn’t I show her?
“That’ll be fine, dear.” She waves, and I know she has no clue what I’m talking about.
“I’ll get him to write down the directions so you can remember.” I clomp down the stairs, looking back when I reach the landing. “Mom,” I say, one last time. “You know I love you, right?”
“I know, dear.”
The cabbie beeps, and I push out the door onto the sidewalk, waving to Mom looking down from the top window. “I’ll call you as soon as I get home,” I holler up, opening the cabbie’s door.
Mom nods then taps on the window. “Penny!” She points.
“Oh, yeah.” I turn to the cabbie. “I need five minutes more.”
The cabbie sighs. “Hurry it up,” he groans.
“Look, it’s not like you won’t get paid.” I toss my luggage in the back and leave the door ajar, so he won't take off without me, race across the parking lot, and pound on Aunt Penny's back door. It flies open, and I nearly rap on her face. “I heard the car,” she says, drawing the belt on her dressing gown tight.
“Couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to you.” I throw my arms open.
“You better not have.” She squishes me tight. “You’ll look after yourself now.” Her voice teeters on tears.
‘You’ll look after Mom for me, won’t you?”
“Always,” she purrs.
“Promise you’ll keep me informed this time.”
“I’ll be a regular sieve.” She smiles pulling back from me.
“I’d best be going.” I jerk my head toward the pissed off cabbie. “Mr. Happiness there is growing impatient.”
“He can wait.” Aunt Penny pulls me in for a second hug.
“You know she didn’t know who I was just now?” My voice wobbles as I whisper in her ear.
“And that’s different from every other day, how?” Aunt Penny strokes my head.
“You’re right,” I say, biting my bottom lip. “And it’s not likely to get better, is it?”
The cabbie beeps again.
“You’d better get on,” Aunt Penny says, reaching up, clearing a tear from her eye. She cups my cheeks. “I love you, dumpling, you know that right?”
“Dumpling? You haven’t called me that in years.”
“Yeah, well, some things we never outgrow, right?”
I half-laugh, half-cry as she kisses me on the forehead, then lets me go.
"Where's Trent?" I look around. "He's usually up roaming around with his coffee. Have you seen him yet?" I check the porch and the bridge, then look back to her, suddenly consumed by the feeling that you get when you're trying to hold back a full- on ugly cry. I don’t know why I’ve been struck with this all of a sudden. I was resigned to leaving him behind, earlier.
“Haven’t seen him, I’m afraid,” Aunt Penny answers me.
I glance back at his darkened porchlight.
“Come on!” The cabbie shouts. “I’ve other fairs!”
“Hold your horses!” Aunt Penny hollers out. “You’d better go dear,” she says to me and hands me a Kleenex from her sleeve. “Oh, and, I almost forgot.” She turns around and races inside, springing back onto the porch with a box in her hands. “I’m supposed to give this to you.” She hands the box over. It’s tied with pink and white polka dot bow. Green Grub is stamped on the lid. I look up at her, perplexed. “You’re not supposed to open it until you’ve left Heartland Cove. Strictest order.” Aunty Penny pats the box. “I was to give you those instructions, explicitly.”
“But—”
“That’s all I know. Now, get going.” She turns me around and pushes me from the porch. “Remember now. Not until you’ve left town. Understood?”
“Understood.” I wave as I leave, a lump of sadness in my chest.
“Come on, lady! I’ve got other places to be,” the cabbie snarls.
“The hey you do!” Aunt Penny shouts. “It’s Heartland Cove, for gripesakes.”
I sprint toward the taxi about to jump in back, when something stops me dead. The light is on in Trent’s kitchen. The cabbie throws the door open wider. “Can you wait, just one more minute?” I raise a finger to him, my eyes fixed on the old Victorian that used to be my home.
“Not again,” he grumbles as I lunge away, up the porch steps, taking them two at a time. Gathering my shaky breath, I approach the front door, like it’s the very first time. I wring my hands and hesitate, then reach out to knock—but don’t.
For a long moment, I just stand there, shaking, my hand hovering inches above the old carved wood, my mind replaying all of the time I spent with Trent: the first time we met, my rudeness, his spunky responses, the smile that played on the edges of his lips. I close my eyes, envisioning him now, silly old ball cap turned backward on his head, the ropes of his hammock imprinted on the side of his cheek—those vibrant green eyes of his, how they shine so brightly in the morning… like new grass on the bluffs of the Cove in spring. I smile thinking about his dimples, and his unshaven face—and the lost look in his eyes last night on the bridge, as I’d told him I was leaving…and I’m haunted by the it.
I pull my hand back from the door, turn away, and rumble down the steps, back toward the cab. “Let’s go,” I say, jumping in, swiping tears from corners of my eyes.
“You sure, this time,” the cabbie snarls.
“Just go.” I shut the door. He steps on the gas.
I suck in a tattered breath as we pull away out of Heartland Cove, past the bank, and fry trunk, Heartbeat Inn and Sal’s Burgers. Stones crunch beneath the tires, as we hit the county road and my heart pounds like a drum. I look back, catching a last glimpse of the bridge as we round the final corner, my favorite corner, with that glorious Hallmark-card-worthy view, before turning off toward the highway.
A lump strangles off my throat, as I lay my head back on the seat. The rumble of the secondary clay road turns to asphalt and then to pavement, as the quick clip and zing of the highway spinning under the tire's treads, catapults me far away from Heartland. My hands tremble in my lap. Tears threaten my eyes.
I look over at the whit
e paper box perched on the seat next to me. Technically, I’ve left Heartland Cove, haven’t’ I? Hurriedly, I yank away the pretty ribbon and tear open the lid of the box.
Inside sits world’s ugliest cupcake. It's lopsided and its icing is far from smooth. But it’s the most beautiful cupcake I’ve ever seen, because, it was made by him. I lift it out, twirling it around and inspecting the workmanship, laughing. The fondant is lumpy, the cake is too dry, and the piping work is sad and drooping.
I smile as I take a bite, and to my pleasant surprise, it tastes rather lovely—buttery and smooth, and miraculously chocolatey sweet. A near match to my Fondant & Lace’s three-time, award-winning, New York Buttercream Supreme. Not bad for organic. I lick my lips. I wonder how he pulled this off.
I spot a note folded on the bottom of the box; my name scrawled across the front in marker. I scoop it out and flip it open, and fall back in my seat.
Don’t look back, that’s not where you’re going.
Happy trails.
Love Trent.
I’m awash with emotion, pulsing through me, happiness, sadness, regret.
I twist back, searching for the town, chills sparkling down my spine. Turn around!” I shout at the cabbie, pounding on the seat.
“What?”
“You heard me, turn around!”
Chapter 59
The cabbie pulls up to the door of the Green Grub, and I jump out before he’s even stopped. “How much do I owe you?” I say.
“Twenty-seven, seventy-five, but—”
I rummage through my wallet and toss him a fifty. “Keep the change!” I holler as I bound toward the porch. Scaling the steps of the Green Grub in second, I burst through its front doors.
Trent stands behind the counter, looking bug-eyed and startled. His one hand inside the cash register and the other on the handle of a mop.
“If I’m gonna stay, we’re gonna have to change the name of this place.” I drop my bags at my feet.
“We are?” he says, shakily.
“I was thinking Grub & Gravy,” I say.
