“Yes.”
“These would be adorable on you.”
“I don’t know, Darlene. Cowboy boots aren’t really my thing.”
“They’ll keep your legs warmer.”
I laughed and thought, Why not? I was feeling bold. “How much do you want for ’em?”
“A hundred bucks.”
“Ha. You’re insane.”
“Maybe so. Whaddaya got?”
“Five bucks, and I’ll give you these Mary Janes.”
“Deal.”
I looked at the bottom of the boots; they were brand new. After I handed over my shoes and money, I slipped the boots on and clunked my way toward the L.
When I got to the Crier, Beth said, “What’s with the shoes?”
“I’m a little bit country, I’m a little rock and roll? Lay off.” I turned to find Jerry leaning against my partition, smiling.
“Aww, Kate. Remember when you first started working here and you tried to get everyone to wear certain colors on certain days of the week?”
“Yes, I do remember that. What’s wrong with a little team spirit? The assholes in the design department said it would hinder their creativity. Come on.”
“And remember when you petitioned the coffee cart girl to sell gluten-free pastries?” He smirked.
“Those scones were hard as rocks,” Beth said.
“Yes, but the chocolate croissants were to die for.”
“What about when you asked if we could have a mascot and then dressed in that stupid outfit all week?”
“What stupid outfit?” I squinted my eyes.
“It was a pink rabbit, right?” Beth asked.
“No, that was Easter.” Jerry held his stomach and started laughing.
“That was fun, guys,” I fake-whined. “Tell me your kids didn’t love that, Jer.”
“My kids didn’t love that,” he said seriously. “My son Davey was traumatized. He kept saying, ‘Dad, why does the Easter Bunny have boobs?’ ”
“You should have told him the truth, that the Easter Bunny is a girl. It would have been the perfect opportunity to discuss the birds and bees.”
“He was four years old, Kate.”
“What’s this all about, Jer?”
Beth winked at me while I waited for Jerry’s response.
“I just saw you in those red cowboy boots and thought maybe you were gettin’ your spark back, that’s all. Have a good day, ladies.”
“You, too,” I said as he walked away.
“You want to get a hot dog at lunch?”
“Beth, seriously?” I skipped back into my cubicle and opened a fresh Word document on my computer.
I titled it “Whispers in the Dark.” I wrote two, then three, then six, then nine thousand words before shutting down and going home. The next day, I repeated the same thing. There was a story forming, purely fictional, but one that echoed so many themes in my life at that moment. I was getting work done at the paper, but between completing short tasks I would go back to the story, and the words would flow right out of me. On the third day, I had written roughly five chapters. I e-mailed them to Beth without telling her anything.
She came over to my desk, clutching the printed pages. “What is this?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“It’s fucking awesome. It’s fiction?” she asked.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You have to keep going.”
“I don’t know what I’ll do with it.”
Beth crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re writing a goddamned book, Kate. Keep going and figure that out later.”
What I wrote was dark and unsettling at times, but that’s how my life had been. The only brightness and warmth I could remember was being in Napa. My memories of the beautiful connection Jamie and I had shared started coming back to me, coursing through my veins like a rushing river. I would daydream about his lips on my neck, so tender and warm, and his strong hands on my waist, making me feel safe. The story was about the pain we sometimes have to endure before the universe rewards us with real love. Through the writing, I was able to let go of the idea that I should be alone. I purged all of the feelings and preconceived notions I’d had going into my adulthood. The characters from the story and the memories of my time with Jamie brought me back into the light. They showed me that love was real and burning inside of me, and that no matter how hard I tried, I wouldn’t be able to stifle it.
I avoided Jerry, but I had a feeling he knew what was going on, and I knew that I would be faced with some serious decisions. The Crier wasn’t going to pay me to write love stories, and the idea of writing one more article on the dangers of trans fats made me want to stick pencils in my eyes. On the fifth night, I woke from the fog of writing and realized Jamie hadn’t left me a voice mail in two days. I scurried from my apartment and headed for the mail slots on the first floor.
When the elevator doors opened, Dylan and Ashley came into view. He was standing tall with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Ashley was pink all the way from her cheeks to her neck and down toward the low cut of her shirt. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. They had done it, was my guess—maybe on the roof, maybe in the doorless laundry room—but I was sure, with every ounce of my being, that they had done it.
“Hey, kids,” I said with an ear-splitting grin.
“What’s up, chica?”
“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Yes,” Ashley said so softly I barely heard her.
Dylan gave an awkward, nasal laugh and then cleared his throat. “Where are you headed to?”
“Getting my mail.”
When we reached Ashley’s floor, Dylan turned toward me. “I’m gonna walk her to her door. Hold the elevator and I’ll come with you.”
I held the open-door button and watched as Dylan and Ashley walked hand in hand down the hall. He whispered something in her ear and she smiled with a peaceful and content look on her face. They kissed tenderly for just a few seconds and then he kissed her forehead before she turned and entered her apartment. So sweet.
He ran back toward the elevator, grinning the entire way.
“Well?” I said.
“I’m so fucking in love with her.” He sighed.
“Do you really think it’s love?”
He looked over at me pointedly. “Oh no, you’re not gonna start your cynical shit with me now, are you?”
“No, Dylan, it’s just that sometimes it can be hard to tell the difference between love and lust.”
“I don’t care what the difference is. All I know is that I can’t stop thinking about her. I want to be with her every second of the day. Not just in that way, either. I want to talk to her and laugh with her and see the world with her. If that’s not love, then I don’t fucking know anything.”
“Why are you so sure?”
“I have to be. I know she’s amazing and she likes me. I don’t think there’s any room for fear or doubt when it comes to love. I’m willing to take my chances. You should be, too,” he said just as we reached the mail slots.
When I stuck the key in and turned the little lock, the door practically jumped off the hinges. The slot was jammed full of mail. Most of it was junk mail that I managed to catch as it came spilling out. One envelope fell to the floor. Dylan and I looked down simultaneously. The return address was the R. J. Lawson Winery. It was Jamie’s answer.
“Is that the guy?”
“Yes.”
“Are you gonna open it?”
“I don’t want to cry in front of you.”
“You’ve cried in front of me about four hundred times since I’ve known you. You’re the biggest crybaby I know.”
“I’m tough,” I declared.
“You wish. Just open the dam
n envelope.”
I shoved my armful of mail into Dylan’s hands and reached down for the letter. As I tore the flap from the back, I got a paper cut.
“Goddammit, it’s a sign.” I shoved my bleeding finger into my mouth and sucked. “Cay u beweve it?” I mumbled over my finger.
“For the love of God, Kate, open that letter right now.”
I huffed and then finished opening the envelope. I took the familiar paper out and unfolded it. My eyes first went to where I had underlined Jamie’s words, I am completely in love with you, and then in my big letters the word WHY? Underneath that was Jamie’s response. It was two words. That’s it. Two. Simple. Words.
MARRY ME.
I’ll admit, it wasn’t exactly the proposal every girl fantasizes about, yet somehow it was better. It was totally unexpected but completely fitting for the way things had gone down. He knew I needed it all. I put my hand over my heart, took a step backward, and leaned against the mail slots.
“What? What does it say?” I turned the page toward Dylan and began crying. “Holy shit. I mean, wow!” He scanned my face and then one side of his mouth turned up into a lopsided grin. “You’re crying. Are those happy tears?”
“Yes,” I blubbered.
He pulled me into his chest with his free arm and held me tightly.
“What will you do?”
“I’m gonna go out there and . . .” I hiccupped and took a deep breath. Dylan rubbed my back, soothing me. “I’m going to quit the Crier, go to Napa, finish my book, and say absolutely, one hundred percent yes to Jamie.”
“Attagirl.”
I pulled back and wiped the tears away with the back of my sleeve. “Will you do something for me, Dylan?”
“Anything.”
“Will you take care of Anchovy for me?” I asked, sniffling.
He laughed. “You’re such a drama queen. Of course I’ll take your fish.”
“And will you promise me that you’ll always stay this honest and sweet?”
“I’ll do what I can.”
He walked me to the door of my apartment and handed over the giant stack of mail before leaning down and kissing my cheek. “You deserve to be happy. Keep in touch, okay?”
“I will. No more drugs, right?”
“Nah, I’m done with that. I think I’m gonna go to college with Ashley next year and study music.”
“Good boy,” I said, breaking down into tears again. “These are happy tears.”
He smiled. “I know.”
I closed the door and immediately ran for the phone to call Jerry.
“Hello?” Jerry had six adorable kids, and they all happened to be talking at the same time when I called.
“Jerry!” I yelled over the noise.
“Hey, Kate. Let me go outside, hold on.”
While I waited, I heard at least three different tiny voices yell, “Daddy!”
“What’s up?” he asked.
“I don’t want to bother you while you’re with your kids, but I’m going to need to talk with you soon. I’ve made some decisions.”
“Well, I’m going to put the kids down and then meet Beth at Harvey’s to go over a breaking story. Do you want to meet us there at nine?”
“That would be perfect. I need to tell her as well.”
“Okay, I’ll see you there.”
I hung up, threw on a pair of jeans, my red cowboy boots, and my winter coat, and headed out into the freezing Chicago air. I contemplated going back up to my apartment to grab a scarf, but I didn’t have much time so I made my way toward the L. Walking into Harvey’s, I instantly spotted Beth and Jerry seated at the long oak bar. When I approached Beth, she stood up and moved down one stool so I could sit in the middle.
“Well, what’s this all about?” Jerry asked.
“I’m going to do it!” I said triumphantly. The bartender turned and looked in my direction. I waved him toward me. “I’ll take the Lawson Pinot,” I said, then faced Jerry and grinned. “It’s a sexy wine.” He nodded, looking somewhat bewildered.
“I have a feeling you’re going to give us some bittersweet news,” Beth said.
“I want to see about finishing my book.”
“I knew it.” Jerry smacked the bar top. “I knew you were up to something. I guess this means you’re done with the Crier?”
“You both have given me so much support. You had faith in me when I was producing crap. When I could barely formulate a coherent sentence, you continued sending stories my way, Jerry. And Beth, you are an amazing writer and a serious inspiration to me. I am done with the Crier, but I’m not done with you guys.”
“What about Jamie?” Beth asked.
“I’m gonna see about him, too.” I looked down at my fidgeting hands. “He asked me to marry him.” Beth almost spit her mouthful of beer out, but Jerry wore a knowing look.
“Well, kid, I couldn’t be happier for you. Congratulations. We’ll miss you at the paper, but I think you’re doing the right thing.”
“That’s amazing, Kate,” Beth said sincerely once she regained composure.
“I wanted to tell you both right away because I plan on flying out as soon as I can, possibly tomorrow. I want to say ‘yes’ to Jamie in person.”
Jerry smiled. “My little Kate is going to marry R. J. Lawson . . . unbelievable.”
“Yeah, you’re going to be a bazillionaire.” Beth snickered.
“I don’t care about that. I love him.” It was the first time I had said it out loud. “I love him and I can’t wait to tell him.”
We left each other with huge hugs in front of the bar and then went in three different directions. I headed toward the L feeling as light as air. I literally bounced up the stairs to the station. I felt myself smiling even though I wasn’t trying to. It was quiet and empty on the train platform as I waited. I entered the third car, which I thought was empty, but realized very quickly that there was a man sitting in the very back. There was a brief rush of Chicago wind through the back of my hair just before the doors closed. The man’s long black peacoat contrasted severely with his white, almost translucent skin and hair. Sitting all the way across the train car, I could see the ice-blue depths of his eyes. He looked haunted as he stared back at me. I broke the uncomfortable staring contest first by looking out the window. Buildings and tunnel walls zipped by like film in fast motion. I watched the lights string neon webs through the sky as the train picked up speed. I kept the man in my peripheral vision but tried to look fearless and confident.
Relief washed over me when a couple got on at Belmont. They stood near the door and kissed for about sixty seconds until they got off at Wellington, two stops before mine. The fear was back, and with good reason. I should have stepped off with them. Once the train was in motion again, the man stood up and stalked toward me. I backed up until I was almost against the door. Hurry, open, I kept chanting in my head, hoping the next stop would come soon. I stuck my hand into my coat pocket and pulled out the note from Jamie.
When the man was inches from me, he reached toward my neck. I took another step back. I clutched the note and covered my necklace with my right hand and held my purse out to him with my left.
“Here, take it,” I squeaked.
“I want the necklace.” His voice shot down my spine, raising warning alarms throughout my body.
“Please, I have money and credit cards in here. Please, take it.”
“I said I want the necklace!”
I was shaking, and I couldn’t move. In one fluid motion he reached into his pocket, pulled out a pistol, and held it up. I cowered and squeezed my eyes shut with all of my strength. I heard him shout, “Stupid bitch,” and then I felt an overpowering force to my head, and that was the last thing I remember.
Page 15
* * *
Irony
To
what degree do we really shape our own destiny? Are the people who seem down on their luck unable to see the signs, unable to hear the whispers? Would I have been laying in a pool of blood on the Chicago subway in my red cowboy boots if I had listened more closely to my instincts?
I floated into the darkness, where I stayed for an immeasurable amount of time. Time didn’t seem to matter and neither did my physical being. I was warm and in no pain, and although I was seemingly alone in that wormhole, I could sense that someone was with me. I wondered if it was my mother or Rose. There was no fear, just a sensation that I was loved. I felt I needed to wish, pray, want, and try hard to see a light in all of that darkness, but when I did, it came with the most excruciating pain. I recoiled again and again and went back into the blackness, where I spent what seemed like an eternity lost in my thoughts.
I wondered who would bury me. Who would make sure I got my placard? I wondered if Jamie would be at my funeral. Would he cry? Would he be able to go on with his life? The thought of Jamie losing me was harder to accept than the thought of losing Jamie. Not because I didn’t care for him, but because he would be in pain, and that gave me more strength to fight than anything else. I loved him and could not stand the thought of causing him pain.
There were two bright lights that came into my view first. Both were completely haloed and foggy. One was shining down on me from above what I quickly realized was a hospital bed, and the other was coming from the window to my left. My head was screaming with excruciating pain. I saw a figure sitting in a chair a few feet away. He was hunched over, resting his head on the foot of my bed. I thought it was Jamie. I sensed that it was him, but I didn’t know for sure. I blinked several times, trying to refocus my eyes, but my vision was still so muddled, and the light was increasing the intense throbbing in my brain.
I closed my eyes and drifted off again. The next time I stirred, I kept my eyes closed but heard voices.
“She’s my fiancée. Please, you have to tell me something.”
“We cannot release information to anyone other than family.”
Nowhere but Here: A Novel Page 19
