by R. S. Lively
The conversation left me feeling better, and I decided to honor my commitment, and stay at the house to try to finish as many of the repairs as I can. Not having anyone here to help is making it much more difficult, but I'm actually finding I enjoy the challenge. It's exciting to push myself, and as I work my way through the house, I feel like I am reconnecting to my grandfather in a way I haven't in the years since he died. I don't have much time left before my vacation ends, but I'll do as much as I can. The harder I work, the less I think about the painful, empty feeling inside every time I find something that reminds me of Cade.
Two weeks later…
"Fiona? Fiona? Tina?"
I jump slightly and look up to see Esme standing in front of my desk. I wonder how long I've been staring into the distance.
"What? Sorry."
"Are you ready?"
"For what?"
"For lunch. Where are you?"
I shake my head, trying to snap myself back to reality. Ever since I returned to work, I haven't been able to focus. Not that I was terribly good at focusing before, but now it feels like I'm in a completely different place. I walk into the office every morning feeling like I'm walking into someone else's life. I keep waiting for that other person to show up and tell me they’re taking their life back now, and I can go live my own.
"I'm sorry, Esme," I say. "I'm here. I am."
I pull my bag out of the bottom drawer of my desk and follow her to the elevator. All around me, my coworkers are scurrying around the office, fully invested in what they're doing. Even those literally gathered around the water cooler seem secure in what they're doing. I walk past them, feeling like I'm in a different reality from them. For some reason, I can't connect with them anymore, and it leaves me feeling like I'm in a fog.
"Are you still thinking about him?" Esme asks as we walk out of the building.
I want to deny it. I don't want to admit I haven't been able to leave Cade or the time we spent together in Grammie's house behind me, no matter how hard I've tried. As she looks at me, though, I know there's no point in trying to say no. She already knows what's going through my mind.
"Have you ever felt like you're living someone else's life?" I ask, for the first time putting a voice to the strange sensation.
"What do you mean?" Esme asks.
"Are you sure this is what you're supposed to be doing? When you look at your life, where you live, what you wear, your job... do you really feel like it's you?"
"I've never really thought about it," she says. "But I guess if it didn't feel like I was being my genuine self, I'd know."
I nod as we approach a food truck parked at the curb. My eyes scan the menu written in several colors of chalk on the blackboard hanging on the side of the truck.
"You would," I say. "That's exactly how I feel."
Esme orders for us, and I step to the side to allow the next people in line to get to the window. It's an automatic move, just another part of the orderly little life I live here.
"What do you mean?"
She reaches up to get our order from the window without even looking.
"Like that," I say, pointing at her. "You didn't even look. They didn't even say anything to you. You just knew the food was ready. Everything is so organized and predictable."
"Is there something wrong with that?" she asks.
I watch as she picks up a bottle of green-flecked white sauce and makes a squiggle across the top of her foil-wrapped pita sandwich. Without missing a beat, she adds the same squiggle to mine.
"No," I say. "A lot of people thrive on predictability. Their whole lives are dedicated to creating those patterns, and once they establish them, they never want to let them go. That's perfect for them. But it doesn't seem like it's working for me. I thought it was. I convinced myself that was the kind of life I wanted, and that if I got it, I'd finally feel like I arrived."
Esme takes a bite of her sandwich and looks at me strangely.
"Arrived?" she asks. "Arrived where?"
"Exactly," I say.
"Exactly what?"
"I don't know. That's the point. I don't know where I thought I was going to end up, or what I thought it would be like when I got there. I thought everyone felt like this. I thought that was just part of being an adult. You look for your pattern, and you create that life, and then you're... there. But, I feel like I'm still looking because I'm nowhere close to what I'm supposed to have. I'm so disconnected from work and from everything else because I've tried to force myself into something that's not meant for me."
"What are you going to do?"
I lean back against a low brick wall that separates the sidewalk from the sad, concrete patio. Taking a bite of my pita, I look out over the street and the tall, mirrored buildings. A few trees have been planted in perfect square sections along the sidewalk, but even they look manufactured.
"I don't know," I admit.
"Maybe you just need to have some fun," Esme says. "This weekend a couple of the others from HR and I are going out. Do you want to come?"
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"We’re going to an escape room."
I look at her.
"A what?" I ask.
"An escape room. They're going to lock us into a room, and we have to figure out a way to get out."
I take a final bite of my sandwich, ball up the foil, and toss it into a nearby trashcan before striding resolutely back into the office building.
"Where are you going?" Esme calls after me.
I ride the elevator up to the top floor and walk directly to Mr. Hanson's office.
"Tina," he says in surprise as I open the door without knocking. "What are you doing?"
"Fiona," I say.
"What?" he asks.
"Fiona. My name is Fiona, not Tina. It has always been Fiona. Never Tina. Always Fiona."
"Fiona!" Esme gasps when she finally catches up to me.
"I get it," Mr. Hanson says, "Your name is Fiona."
"What are you doing?" Esme asks.
I haven't taken my eyes from Mr. Hanson, and I feel a smile forming on my lips.
"I've come to tell Mr. Hanson that he's going to have to learn another name, because I'm not going to be around anymore."
"Oh, no! What's wrong?" Esme asks.
"Nothing," I say, shaking my head. "Nothing's wrong. I just don't work here anymore."
"You don't?" Mr. Hanson asks.
I shake my head, a wide smile on my lips now.
"No."
I turn and walk out of the office, heading back to my desk so I can clean it out.
"What's going on?" Esme asks when we get there.
"I realized it's not so difficult. This isn't the life I want to live anymore. That's it. It's that simple. I don't want to do this anymore."
"Because I asked you to go to an escape room with me? You don't have to come. I can escape without you, then call you and we can go get ice cream."
I smile at her. God, I love this woman.
"No, Esme. That's not it. Well, it is. The escape room – it reminded me of where I should actually be. Being back at my grandmother's house gave me a glimpse of what my life could have been. Maybe I'm not supposed to be with Cade. I've loved him my whole life, and I will probably love him for the rest of it. Hearing him talk about his business and remembering the passion my grandfather had for woodworking and construction makes me think that there could be more out there for me. It finally felt possible to have a life I enjoy. One that actually gives me satisfaction. I don't know what that is right now. I'm not sure what I want out of life, but I know I want something more than this. I want to find something I'm passionate about and wake up excited every day, rather than just going through the motions."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going back. Grammie always told me I could go home. No matter what, no matter how old I am, I can go home. So that's what I'm going to do. I'll go there for a while and finish up the repairs. There's a lot tha
t can be done with that house. I never really saw all the potential, but now I think it could be really amazing. I'll take some time there and figure myself out. After that, I don't know. But you know what? I'm OK with that."
The next day…
When I pull in, I find the house exactly as I left it. It looks like it's waiting for me, like it knew all along that I'd be back. I unlock the front door and step inside, calling out to my grandmother as I go. I don't expect her to be back, but after her surprise arrival, I can't be too sure. As I expect, only silence is home to greet me. I set to work unloading everything I brought with me into the house, and soon I'm settled back in. Back at my apartment in the city, most of what I own is in boxes. I haphazardly packed last night, but I know I'll have to go back and finish the rest sometime soon. I still have two months on my lease, but my habit of paying rent early means I don't have any further obligations. Sometime within the next two months, I’ll go back and clear out the space. Maybe by then, I'll know what's coming next.
I walk into the kitchen, and my eyes fall on the coffee maker Cade bought. I run my fingertips along the glossy black surface. The thought of his irrational hatred toward the old coffee maker, and his delight at this one brings a smile to my lips, and tears to my eyes. I try to ignore both as I turn the machine on and pull out a mug. This time, I've come prepared, and I unpack some essentials into the refrigerator and pantry. When my coffee has brewed, I pour in the cream and sugar, and carry it with me out onto the porch so I can call Grammie. The weather is starting to change, and I feel the earliest touch of fall in the evening air.
"I'm back," I say when she answers the phone.
There's a few seconds of silence.
"OK," she says.
"I don't know how long I'm going to be here. I just needed a change. I'll make sure the rest of the updates are done. Apparently, Cade has been doing some while I haven't been here, but I'll make sure everything is ready when you get back."
"It's fine, Honey. Relax. You're home. You can stay as long as you need."
"Thank you, Grammie." I take a fortifying sip of the sweet coffee. "How are you doing?"
"I'm wonderful," she says. "Arthur and I are having the best time."
I sigh.
"Grammie, who's Arthur?"
This time, I get an answer.
"He is a very nice man I met on the cruise. He got very wealthy when he was younger with his orange grove, and now he's settled into a relaxed retirement. He still has his grove, though. He doesn't live there anymore, but he visits, and his grandchildren operate it now. He's been showing me around."
"He's been showing you around an orange grove? I wasn't aware there were too many of those in Virginia."
"Well," she says with a touch of hesitation in her voice. "There aren't. He’s from Florida. That's where we are now. It just so happens the sister of one of the ladies in my retirement community tour group lives in the same community as Arthur. We decided it would be a good time to expand our comparisons a little."
I draw in a breath and let it out slowly.
"I'm happy for you," I say.
"You are?"
"Of course. I want you to be happy."
I genuinely mean it. I'm glad to see she is finally making some use of the money Gramps left for her and enjoying life beyond her usual antics around Hoot Owl. As the call ends, my mind drifts to Cade. I can't stop thinking about what my grandmother told me about my grandfather. She said she knew he would want her to be happy, and to live the life that was best for her even when he wasn't able to be with her. For the first time, I wonder if that was what Cade was doing. He thought he couldn't be with me then, but he wanted me to be happy, and to still live the best life I could even when he wasn't there. So, he left me to live my life while he worked on building his own. It wasn't that he didn't want to be with me, or to have the future we always planned. He thought he was giving me what was best for me.
I want to talk to him, but every time I pick up the phone, my nerves stop me from dialing. It takes three days before I can finally touch his name on the screen of my phone, but it's not to call him. Instead, I found a few things he had left behind, and had snapped a picture of them. I quickly type a message telling him I'll mail them to him if he wants me to, and send it before I can second-guess myself. My chest flutters nervously as I wait for his response, but it never comes. My heart sinks, and doubt creeps into my mind. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he didn't actually mean what he had said after all. Or maybe he finally decided I wasn't worth the effort.
My heart aching, I set my phone down on the sideboard in the parlor and get back to work sanding the banister on the stairs. Cade and I had replaced it before we both left but hadn't gotten a chance to finish it. I'm nearly done with the sanding, and next I'll apply the stain that will match the floor. It's a methodical, slow process that lets me release my mind, and lose myself in the rhythm. I've made progress and am halfway up the stairs, sitting as I work on the spindles, when I hear the knob on the front door shake. My heart leaps into my chest. I look up, expecting to see Cade come through the door, having left as soon as he got my message. Instead, a face looks back at me that makes my stomach jump into my throat, and my hand shake.
It's Jace.
I should have locked the door. I fell into the rhythm of leaving it unlocked while I was here with Cade, and I never got out of it. Now Jace has walked right through it and is standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at me with a sickening smile on his thin, colorless lips. I try to remember what made me flirt with him in the first place. I immediately know it was Cade. I know I barely even saw Jace when he was here. I didn't need to.
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
The smile melts into an expression I can only imagine he thinks looks apologetic, and Jace takes a step up onto the stairs.
"I'm sorry about how we left things," he says. "I feel terrible about the way I acted. It was inexcusable, and I wanted to apologize."
"Thank you," I say.
"I heard you were alone here in the house, and I thought I'd come by and offer my services. Nothing formal, I just wanted to see if I could be helpful to you."
"You heard?" I ask. "No one around here knows I'm back but my grandmother."
Was he watching me? How long had he known I was here, and been waiting to come in?
"You're right," he says with a sheepish laugh. "I just wanted to see you again, so I came by, hoping I'd find you here."
I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"I appreciate the offer," I say, "but I'm fine. Really. I can handle this."
"You don't need to act so strong with me," he says, climbing up another step. "I know you can't do all this yourself." He runs his hand along the banister. "You need a man around."
His voice has dropped and carries a slick, suggestive note I don't think has anything to do with finishing the banister.
"What I need is for you to leave," I say, standing up. My hand grips the banister tightly. I don't want to show my fear. "I don't need your help, and I don't want you in my house. Please leave."
"Don't be that way, Fiona. I know things got off to a rocky start between us, but I can make it all better."
I wish I hadn't left my phone in the other room. I feel vulnerable, my heart pounding so hard in my chest I feel like I'm going to be sick. But I keep my eyes trained on Jace, not wanting to look away for even a second.
"Jace, leave. Cade is going to be back any minute."
He stares at me, and I can’t tell if he heard the lie in my voice or not. Finally, he steps down off the stairs.
"Fine," he says. "I was just trying to be nice."
He walks out of the house, and I finally let out the breath that had been trapped in my lungs since the moment I first saw Jace. Shaking, I drop down to sit on the stairs again. Drawing in long breaths, I do my best to calm down. When I feel like I'm in control of my legs again, I rush to the door and turn the lock. Grabbing my phone, I tuck it into my
pocket and walk around the house, checking every door and window.
That night…
After Jace left, I lost much of my motivation to keep working. Instead, I locked myself in the bathroom and took a long shower. The feeling of the warm water washing over me is soothing, getting rid of everything hanging over me. Well, not everything. But about as much as I can hope for. Slipping under fresh sheets, I read until I start to feel tired, and then turn off the lights. It's earlier than I usually go to bed, but it doesn't take me long to fall asleep. I don't know how long I've been sleeping when a loud crashing sound wakes me up. Startled, I sit upright in the bed. For a few seconds, I wonder if I’m dreaming or not. Being alone in the big old house is enough to make even a calm imagination go off the rails, and that doesn't bode well for me and the lingering memories of night terrors from when I was inspired by the giant moths outside my bedroom window. The house falls quiet, with only the pounding of my heart and the cicadas chirping outside, ringing in my ears. I’m just starting to lay back down, convinced I scared myself out of sleep with a nightmare when I hear another sound downstairs. Throwing my blankets off, I creep across the room and out into the hallway. I've only taken a few steps when a dark figure rushes up the stairs toward me.
I scream as hands grab me by my upper arms and I fall onto the floor. In the glow of the nightlight left in the bathroom, I see Jace's face hovering over mine. His eyes are wild, his jaw set as he stares at me.
"Where's Cade?" he asks through gritted teeth. He sounds furious at first but quickly bursts into laughter. "Where is he? I thought he was coming back so soon."
"Get off me," I demand as I try to fight him off.
"Stop," Jace says, lifting me by my shoulders just enough to slam me back onto the floor. "I know you were lying. You really shouldn't do that, Fiona. People are going to think things about you. Now, let's be honest with each other. I know you're here all alone. Cade hasn't been here since you got back. He's not coming back, either. He doesn't care about you like I do. You really should have been nicer to me. We could have been so good together."
