by Cat Mason
Shelby, we all know those ghosts aren’t buried anywhere…
“You wanted answers, Shel,” I say, pulling out the book labeled with a large ‘one’.
Leaning back in the rocker, I glance around the yard, waiting to be caught like some kind of spy. Opening the cover, I spot a bright yellow sticky note.
HA! I knew you’d open it!
Get to reading.
I’ve made notes.
Mad
“Yeah, she’s mad alright,” I say to myself, shaking my head when I see she has even included her phone number in case I want to discuss and reflect on any entries. What the fuck is this, the nosy bitches’ book club? “But, here I am diving head first into the kettle of crazy soup with her. So what does that make me?”
Taking a breath, I flip to page one and am met with another Mad note.
We will label this ‘pre-Mitch’, so irrelevant.
Continue to next note.
Mad
About fifteen pages in, I find another sticky note. Scrawled across it are the words ‘and so they meet’ with little hearts all around the words. “Splash,” I murmur, “right into the kettle.”
Dear Diary,
I’ll never understand men. Today, this guy walked into the spa and, while all his friends watched through the window, had me paint his toes pink just so he could ask me out. He was kinda cute in this dark and broody sort of way, but totally arrogant, and possibly the craziest man I have ever met. His name is Mitch and he is in the Navy. I never date men from the base, but there is something about him. Something that makes me want to smack him and kiss at the same time. I’m not saying it’s normal in any way, but I can’t deny that his sexy smirk is damn near edible.
After I was done with his feet, he managed to persuade Maddie to take my last appointment for the day so that we could eat at this little place down the street. Oddly enough, he already had a reservation for us. Talk about being a little too sure of himself…
“Well, his arrogance sure hasn’t changed,” I mutter to myself. “If anything, all you did was stroke the man’s ego and make it worse, Becky.”
Oh, great. Now, I’m talking to a ghost. Someone call one-eight-hundred-chattin’-up-dead-chicks, in case I need a spotter.
Feeling like an asshole for reading the pages she poured her heart out on like they are some kind of how to understand Mitch guide for dummies, I close the book. Shoving it back into the bag, I lean back in the rocker and close my eyes. “What are you doing, Shelby?” I scold myself, covering my face with my hands.
Male voices from the side of the house catch my attention. “Frank always said it wasn’t a real fishin’ trip until someone got dirty.”
I can hear Mitch laughing with the guys, his voice echoing through the yard, becoming louder the closer they get. I start to push to my feet, wanting to go inside and avoid any awkwardness between Mitch and me in front of Micah and Luke. Despite our argument last night, I don’t want to add to the shit he has stacked on his plate to deal with.
Especially not here.
But it’s too late.
“Seriously though, Micah, you should be more careful,” Mitch laughs. “Your coach wouldn’t be too thrilled if you showed up casted up like a plaster version of King Tut’s mummy.”
“Very funny, asshole.”
I look over just in time to see Micah come around the side of the house. His dirt streaked face is red and he is soaked to the bone and covered in mud from head to toe. “I tell ya that was not a fuckin’ fish. All that beer basted chicken liver Frank has been feedin’ those bastards all these years have caused some sort of blood thirsty mutation. The water is not safe. I could’ve been killed!”
“What happened to you?” I ask when he opens the door. “Lose your footing?”
Micah looks down at himself and shakes his head. “You could say that,” he huffs. “Along with my pole, my Duke U hat, and probably a good ten years of my life.”
“Oh, and his balls!” Luke shouts jogging up the steps, a big smile nearly splitting his face.
“Startin’ to wonder if he ever had those,” Mitch chimes in, earning him both of Micah’s mud covered middle fingers.
“Not everyone has theirs safely tucked away in a jar on their girlfriend’s mantle like Luke. Go easy on the kid,” I reply, giving Luke a wink.
My heart lodges in my chest the second my eyes land on Mitch and catch him watching me. The smile that was playing on his face just seconds ago is gone, replaced by something drastically different. His gaze is distant, almost cold. It hurts more than anything he said to me last night, more than anything he could ever say to me. As long as I have known Mitch, after everything that has happened, he has never looked at me this way.
As if I don’t matter.
“So,” Luke says, leaning his pole against the house and collapsing into the seat beside me. “Anything eventful happen here?”
Seeming uninterested, Mitch turns his back to me and begins talking to Micah. Shaking off the hurt and urge to hit Mitch over the head with my coffee mug, I turn my attention to Luke. “Nothing nearly as interesting as Micah being attacked by the River Monster,” I shrug. Standing, I grab the bag at my feet and head for the door. “I’m ready to head back whenever you are, Luke. I’ll just go pack.”
“Soon as I shower and load the car, we can head out if you want,” he replies, “I’m anxious to get home to Ki and check on the shop.”
Stepping into the house, I feel his eyes on me, watching me through the screen door. I start to turn around, but don’t. Instead, I push myself to put one foot in front of the other until I am safely behind the closed bedroom door.
Not wanting to have any more awkward time with Mitch, I take my time packing my things. Once I am done, I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the bag Maddie left for me trying to figure out what to do. I battle inside my head on whether to tell Mitch about Maddie’s visit and give him the journals or not. I know without a doubt if I give them to him they will only end up in the trash, just like Maddie said everything else had. Regardless of how I feel about the situation, or Mitch at the moment, I can’t let them be thrown out like garbage after Maddie already saved them once, can I? The woman doesn’t even know me and yet she trusted me with them.
On the other hand, how can Maddie be so sure that me having these could possibly help Mitch? Is there any way that books full of memories from a past life could ever give him the closure he needs to move on? Even if there was, how could I possibly sit and read through them all, knowing that what they had isn’t possible for us? Why would I willingly put myself through that kind of torture? The thought of knowing she got parts of him that I will never have makes me hate her. Yes, I am jealous of a dead woman and I don’t care how stupid and petty it makes me sound. I’m angry that she got the best of him, only to leave him this broken shell of the man that I know he is. Here I am, in love with a man I can never have, and it’s all her fault. The least she could do is be here for me to punch in the throat so I can feel better.
Yanking out the book I was reading earlier, I glare at it. “Spoiler alert,” I say, chucking the book at the wall. “She dies and he just stops living.”
The book lands face up on the floor, opened to a page. The words ‘love is full of sacrifice’ leap off the page at me.
Bending down, I scoop up the book. Blinking furiously, I scan the entry for the words again, needing to know that I am not losing my mind.
Dear Diary,
Mitch got his orders today. He leaves next month and there is no real estimate on how long he will be gone.
The man I love will put on his uniform and go halfway around the world to fight a battle that we didn’t start. He sacrifices himself in a way that most can’t, or won’t, to insure safety and freedom, for this country, as well as others. As hard as it is going to be to be without him, I know those nights lying awake, wishing he were here with me, are going to make the day he comes home to me a
gain that much sweeter.
I’m not delusional, I know this will be hard. It will test the strength of our relationship daily; but, I love Mitch and what we have is strong enough to weather anything that comes at us.
Pop once told me that love is full of sacrifice. You find this person and they turn your world upside down. They make you as dependent on them being in your life, as the air you breathe. You give all you are, hoping that they love you enough to do the same. I always saw sacrifice as losing something, until now. With Mitch, it’s different. I gladly give him everything I have in me just for one thing in return.
His heart.
“Shelby?” Luke shouts, scaring the shit out of me. Closing the book, I toss it to the bed like I have just been caught red handed. He taps on the door, “Everything okay in there?”
“Uh, just a sec.”
Climbing to my feet, I open the door and find Luke pacing in front of the door. “Hey, you all set? It’s a long drive.”
“Yeah. Yeah, all set.” Turning around, I toss the books into the suitcase and zip it closed before handing it off to Luke.
“I’m sorry about how things went with Mitch,” he says, sounding remorseful. “You’re not going to quit are you?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I assure him. The last thing I am going to do is quit a job that I love just because of a bump in the road.
Following him out, I say goodbye to Micah and climb into the car while Luke talks to Mitch. When Luke finally climbs into the car, I look into the passenger side mirror and see Mitch standing in the yard, watching as we drive away.
Chapter Fifteen
Shelby
Dear Diary,
Ninety-seven days, thirteen hours, and twelve minutes since my heart was sent halfway across the world. It will be at least that much longer before we are reunited.
I had no idea it would be this hard. I miss him so much I ache. I lie in our bed at night looking out at the stars, and even though I know Mitch is looking at that same sky, wherever he is, it does little to ease how much I long to touch him, to kiss him. Maddie says that it will get easier, but I don’t see how.
My heart skips a beat every time my phone rings, terrified it is Hannah calling to tell me he’s been killed.
I have never been so afraid of something in my life.
When Mitch calls, I pretend everything is fine. His job is to do what needs to be done and come home safe to me. I won’t waste the few minutes we get on the phone by crying. Those few stolen minutes we get are untarnished by our temporary separation. Yet, no matter how long I wish we could drag the call out, it’s never long enough. I feel like a junkie. Every call or email is a small taste of the drug I need. It’s a tease. The moment he sets foot on home soil, and I get my hands on him, I plan to overdose on Mitchell Taylor for as long as possible.
Using the Now and Later wrapper I found in the book to mark my place, I shove the book into my bag and climb from my car. The last thing I thought I’d do was read Becky’s diaries. I definitely didn’t expect to enjoy them; but, for some reason, they have become a welcome distraction. Being inside her head is much easier than being inside mine right now.
It’s been a week since Frank’s funeral and Mitch hasn’t spoken five words to me. Where the banter and normal shop bullshit once was, there is an awkward tension that everyone senses, but no one points out.
The first thing he did when he got back to Vegas was change his schedule at work so that our paths cross as little as possible. Paperwork and any type of communication are done with notes in our inboxes or left stuck to the monitor of my computer. When he sees me, he acts like we hardly know each other and instantly has something he needs to handle somewhere else. He appears totally withdrawn. It’s as if nothing and no one else matters, especially not me. His disconnect is what hurts most.
What’s funny is that, though he may be distant, he is never truly gone. My car was full of gas this morning and I had to adjust the seat in my car from where he had driven it. Sometimes I swear I hear his truck drive by my house late at night.
“Mornin’, Skins!” I call out when I see his Mohawk sticking up in the corner.
“For at least twelve hours every damn day,” he replies, not taking his eyes off his sketch. “And yet no one wants to cock-a-doodle-doo me.”
“Probably those lame ass pick-up lines. Next time, pretend to be mute.” Making my way to the front of the shop, I sit at my desk and spot Mitch cleaning up his station. I am almost in shock seeing him here.
“Make a note. We’re out of coffee,” he says coolly.
My smile fades. “Excuse me?” I ask, a bit surprised. “I’m sorry, are you actually talking to me now?”
“I know you heard me,” he replies, not even turning to face me. “Used the last scoop a couple hours ago. Make sure to pick some up, will ya?”
“Please don’t kill Mitch,” Skinner pleads from behind me. “My phone doesn’t have enough charge to video.”
Pushing to my feet, I grab my bag and walk around the counter. “Go fuck yourself, Mitch,” I spit, glaring at his back while he places his things neatly into the drawer. His entire body stiffens and he slams it shut. Spinning around on his heel, he stares at me with wide eyes.
“Excuse me?” he asks, in disbelief.
“I know you heard me,” I say, tossing his words back at him. He is completely floored and I couldn’t be happier about it. It feels good to shock him, to finally let loose some of my frustration on the one who deserves it. The dam I have kept it all safely secured behind is cracking. I have spent the week bottling up all the stuff I usually take out on him daily, times ten. It’s been torture. “Next time I’ll make a note. I’ll even use small words and draw stick figures to make it easy for you to comprehend. Okay, Mitch?” Turning to Skinner who is fumbling with his phone, I smile. “Don’t worry, Skins, no need for video evidence. I’ll be working in Luke’s office.”
“Shelby, get your ass back here!’ Mitch calls, but I ignore him.
Stepping into the office, I flip on the light, toss my bag to the couch, and kick the door with my boot. “Shel—ouch!” Instead of slamming shut, the door bounces back, slamming into the wall. “Would you stop and talk to me?” he asks, grabbing my arm and spinning me to face him.
“So now you want to talk? I get it, because you need something from me I’m suddenly worth a second of your time, huh asshole?” I choke out, fighting against his grip. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll submit that request to upper management as soon as a give a fuck can be found. Please allow proper time for hell to freeze over before your request can be met.”
“Sweetness,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to mine.
“Oh no!” I shout, pushing against his chest. “I never liked you calling me that, but you sure as hell won’t be doing it now.” Freeing myself from his grip, I step around the desk and gain some much needed distance.
“I don’t want things to be this way between us,” he says, starting to follow me. “Can’t we just—“
“Aww, is this uncomfortable for you, honey?” I ask, laughing sarcastically. “Newsflash: you did this, Mitch, not me. I’m not trying to come off frigid here, but you’ll have to excuse me if I can’t pretend that I enjoyed you using me then throwing me away when it got too real for you.”
“If you believe that,” he says, watching me pace from the other side of the desk, “then you don’t know me at all.”
“That’s exactly what you did!” I shout, stopping mid-step and slamming my palms down on the desk. I muster every bit of strength I have to glare at him, making sure to drive home how I feel. “You’re right about one thing, Mitch; I don’t know you. No one does. Go to hell.”
Turning my back to him, I close my eyes tightly, begging the tears not to come. I can’t cry now, because if I do, I know I won’t be able to stop. The second the door slams behind me, and I know that I am alone, I slump into the chair, burying my face in my hands.
A knock on the door makes me jump. “I thought I told you to go to hell,” I say, yanking my hands through my hair.
“Well,” Ki says, shoving through the door. “Aren’t we full of rainbows and sunshine today, muffin?”
“This is nothing,” I deadpan, looking at her through my parted fingers. “Wait until unicorns show up with the anal ease.”
“Does your super pleasant mood have anything to do with why I just saw Mitch and he--”
“Not a damn thing,” I blurt, shaking my head.
“Okay,” she nods, pulling the chair on the opposite side of the desk closer. Sitting down, she places a brown folder on the desk and smiles at me. “I’ll just press pause and circle back around to that in a sec,” she laughs. “Only because I’m too excited about this to interrogate you. Luke picked these up today. Here’s everything we need to start the renovations and improvements we need for upstairs,” she beams, nearly bouncing in her seat. “I can’t believe we’re doing this!”
“As if there was any doubt.” With Luke loving the business plan I put together, he gave us the green light to move forward with stage two. On top of the fact that between Leah, Kionna, and myself, there was no need for Luke to shell out any cash or take away from the revenue going into Pricks; he felt we had a solid idea that would draw big numbers. Honestly, he seems to be just as excited as we are to watch this come to life. The fact that he hasn’t had to do anything other than sign off on renovations and improvements is just added icing on his cake. “Getting Luke to say ‘yes’ was the easy part. Now comes a mile-high stack of paperwork, a massive remodel, a dozen hoops to jump through for licensing and permits, and so much more before we can even open the doors to take on the first class.”
“But,” we say in unison, “it’s going to be badass.”
“Now that that’s handled,” Kionna says, leaning back in her chair. “How about you tell me why Skinner said you were about to rain seven plagues of bitch down on the shop when I asked where you were and why Mitch ripped his head off before storming out the front door.”
