“I will,” she promised, laying her hand over mine on the windowsill. “Drive safe, and call me when you get in, or I’ll worry like crazy.”
I noticed that like my dad, Becky stood on the curb hugging herself inside her sweater, watching as I disappeared down the street. The image of her started to blur the last time I looked up into the rearview mirror, and I reached up to blot at my tears with a tissue.
Nostalgic appreciation tingled in my chest as I passed by the Sonesville Standard building. Part of me wanted to get out and arrange the letters to read, “I’ll Be Back!” But would the town even miss me? As much as I hated to admit it, I wouldn’t be able to get the houses or the people’s faces out of my mind for weeks.
The stretch of road to Troy’s house seemed to take an eternity to drive, and I wondered if that had anything to do with the leaden dread that replaced the weightless butterflies I’d associated with seeing him all week. I climbed the long driveway and parked beside his truck, trying to calm myself with several deep breaths before I got out of the car.
Troy stepped out of the opened garage door wearing a pair of well-worn jeans and a white long sleeved shirt, and though he’d been adorable in his Sunday best, there was something even sexier about him in plainclothes. He had a baseball cap on backwards, tufts of blond curls sticking out on the sides.
“I thought I heard you pull in.”
“What are you doing?”
He half-shrugged and shook his head, “Messing around in the garage.” He hung his thumb on the belt-loop on his jeans. “Working on a hutch I’m building for my mom.”
“Can I see?”
He gestured with a slight nod for me to follow him, and I slipped past his truck into the garage. He drew a dust cover off of the unfinished project, but even unfinished the attention to detail took my breath away.
“It’ll look like an antique when I’m done with it,” he said. “Her mother had one similar when she was a girl, and it would have gone to her when Gram passed, but there was a fire and it was lost. She’s always wanted one like it.”
“Troy, this is amazing,” I reached out and ran my fingers along the smooth surface of the wood. “You have an incredible talent.”
Almost as if he didn’t know how to respond to my compliment, he moved forward to recover it with the dust cloth. “Do you have time to come upstairs for a bit before you go?”
“Of course.”
He grasped my hand when he turned back around and led me out of the garage and up the staircase. We were barely in the kitchen with the door shut behind us when he drew my body close and claimed my lips in an almost desperate kiss. From there it was a flourish of movement while we worked at each other’s clothes in a strange, but passionate course to his bedroom.
I was actually surprised that we made it into the bedroom, much less to the actual bed.
His strategy to burn the memories of our final moments together into me was well executed, completely selfless and left me dreading the notion that I had no idea when next we’d see each other. When at last I lay spent on his chest, catching my breath and listening to his rapidly pounding heart, I closed my eyes to keep from crying right there in front of him. Crying with Becky was one thing, but the last thing I needed was to show him just how deeply he had gotten under my skin over the last week.
I don’t know how long we lay there in silence, his fingers tracing loose patterns across the base of my spine, but I never wanted it to end. Finally, he kissed the top of my head and got up in silence, disappearing across the hall into the bathroom. I gathered my clothes and dressed before he came out and found his jeans. I sat on the edge of his bed and watched as he slid them on and buttoned them, and then I reached out and gripped the two front loops and drew him close to me. Face pressed against his stomach, I kissed him gently there as he ran his fingers into my hair.
“I wish I had more time,” I muttered, not even sure I’d spoken loud enough for him to hear me. I lifted my face away to look at him. “You will come and see me, right?”
He nodded and cupped my face in his hands. The soft white flecks that made his eyes such an intense blue seemed more brilliant than they had even moments earlier. “One more week and we’ll be done with the harvest. If you want me to, I can come next Sunday and stay for a day or two.”
“I want you to.”
“Then I will.”
I took his hands and kissed them and wished that I could just pull him back into his own bed with me and never let him go. And though I knew it would be a fool’s confession to even utter such words so soon, a part of my heart wanted me to confess that I loved him, but I said nothing of the kind.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The drive back to Pittsburgh felt like it took an eternity. Every time I saw an exit to turn around and go back toward Harrisburg, it took every ounce of strength in me not to steer onto that ramp. I soldiered on, however, arriving just after seven that night and begrudgingly dragging my luggage down the hallway to my apartment.
It felt strange to me after having been away so long. All the food in the refrigerator turned, and the mail was stuffed so thickly into my box that it would take days just to sort through it. For the first time since college I actually felt homesick as I padded around the empty space that felt like home just two weeks earlier. I ignored the full answering machine and called Dad and then Becky to let them know I was home. I slipped into my pajamas and climbed into bed with the phone before placing my goodnight call to Troy.
For three hours after we hung up, I lay in bed staring into the darkness, tossing and turning, but it was no use. He’d been hesitant on the phone, almost aloof as I tried to make conversation and I’d hung up the phone feeling completely alienated from the man who made me feel like I was falling in love just a few hours earlier.
Confusion clouded my mind as I flipped my pillow onto the cool side and buried my cheek into the softness. I stretched out my legs and my arms, but couldn’t reach the edge on either side of my bed. This revelation only heightened my solitude, a loneliness I hadn’t even realized consumed my life until I’d actually stopped and taken a moment to surround myself with people.
Sure, there were people in my life before my mother died. I interviewed politicians and business owners, musicians and authors all the time. I had contacts I phoned when I needed a tip or some information. My co-workers at the Tribune got together once a week for a beer or two, but we weren’t friends. We were colleagues.
We didn’t ask what was going on in each other’s lives, and when we did it was superficial courtesy more than actual curiosity. My personal drive attracted Cal Rodgers to me in the first place, and he appreciated the fact that I was like him. Dedicated to nothing but the work, I had no strings to tug me away, and that dedication always made me feel holier-than-though.
I succeeded because there was nothing holding me down, but what had I sacrificed along the way? Suddenly that personal drive that made Cal Rogers adore me made me feel a little sick to my stomach.
Was the Janice that lived, ate, breathed and slept for the Tribune-Review even worthy of someone like Troy, someone with so much heart and soul? Someone so willing to give up his own dreams to care for his mother and his family’s farm? I wanted to believe I deserved him, but how could I ever balance the life I’d had before and still be the kind of woman Troy needed? Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe I should have never given in when he’d asked me to dinner, or fallen so easily into his waiting kiss.
It was one-thirty when I finally threw the blankets aside and decided if I wasn’t going to sleep, I might as well do something useful. That turned out to be reorganizing my desktop, and when I finished with that I wandered into the bathroom and started to clean out the tub, then the toilet, and by three a.m. my entire apartment was in tip-top shape.
Still wide awake, I dropped into the seat behind the computer. At some point an email came from the address Troy gave me before I left. Titled, “Can’t Sleep,” the time stamp revealed it had on
ly been sent about forty minutes earlier. I double-clicked the envelope and waited for the text to load.
When I hung up the phone tonight I felt like I had left a bad impression. You sounded so enthusiastic and happy to talk, but I’ve never been very good with the phone. It always feels impersonal and weird because you hear the person, but they’re not really there, and hearing your voice just made me want to reach for you. Guess I should work on that because I really do want to talk as often as we can while you’re far away from home. Went to bed hours ago. Have to get up at four-thirty, but every time I close my eyes I see your face, and the pillow you slept on still smells like your hair. It’s like you’re still here, and I don’t think it’s really hit me yet that when I wake up tomorrow, I won’t have you to look forward to later in the day.
Damn, I miss you. I didn’t think it would come up on me so quick. There, I said it. Whether it makes any kind of sense, I have no idea. My mind is cluttered, and even though I can’t sleep, I’m so tired. I promise to work harder on my phone etiquette and become some kind of email Romeo so you don’t forget that I’m still here waiting.
Yours
Yours… that one word gripped me more than all the others.
Was he mine? Could I really have him?
I wanted him to be mine more than I ever wanted anything else, but every time I thought about what it would take to actualize that want, to take him as my own, it meant sacrifice and moving back to the one place I told myself I would never go again. I already knew he’d never leave again. The town sunk into him and claimed him as its own, and as much as I once hated the place, it fit Troy, and that was one of the things I was growing to love about him.
Then I remembered the conversation we had about making a rash decision to move home so soon after my mother’s death, and I knew he was right. If I moved too quickly, if I made my decisions based on the impulse of that want, I might one day wind up resenting him. The truth of it was just as real as my want for him, and they battled viciously inside of me until my stomach hurt.
I lifted my fingers to the keyboard and began to type.
Dear Troy,
Or, maybe I should say, where forth art thou, Romeo? But seriously, everything you say makes sense, and it makes me want to get back into my car and drive a hundred miles an hour until I’m there with you again.
As you can see, I can’t sleep either. I spent three hours in bed trying to figure out which of the voices in my head was right, which part of me was crazier. Finally I got up and started cleaning. I could entertain the Queen of England right now, my apartment is that clean.
I should have snuck off with one of your T-shirts or something. This’ll probably sounds incredibly freakish, but I miss the way you smell, and maybe if I had something of yours to curl up to in bed, I might feel less alone. Even more, I miss the way you kiss me, and though we only spent one night together, I miss lying in the dark and watching you sleep.
God, I wonder if it’s too soon to feel the way I do, but on the other hand, I feel like I’ve never wanted anything more.
Crazy, maybe?
Yours
After I hit send, I stared at the screen forever. I wanted him to still be there, to write back instantly, but after twenty minutes and no reply, I shut everything down and climbed back into bed. Not even the ghost of my mother could comfort me then, as I closed my eyes against tears of confusion. It was hard enough losing her, now I felt like I was losing myself and my ideals as well. I was losing the drive that brought me to that great, lonely place.
“I’m so confused,” I whispered.
I didn’t know if she could even hear me, if she came along or if she stayed at the house with my father. I imagined her at that moment hovering over him as he slept just watching. The thought brought comfort to me, and as I finally slipped away into that strange place between sleep and dream, I felt myself floating. I looked down and there I was in bed asleep. Beside me in that ethereal glow stood my mother, her hand reached out to brush the hair away from my forehead. Head tilted, she was thoughtful as she watched me sleep.
“It isn’t going to be easy, you know that,” she whispered, leaning closer. “You have always let your head rule over your heart. Listen to your heart, baby. It’ll show you the way home.”
Why couldn’t she see me? I didn’t even know where I was, but I was there and I could see her. I opened my mouth to speak to her, but no sound followed. I wanted to panic, but there was no body to experience the sensation in, just a soul floating somewhere overhead, a soul watching over its sleeping body, and then the alarm started to buzz. It drew me back into myself in sharp tugs until I sat up and turned it off. It was time to slip back into my routine, and as I climbed out of bed and headed toward the shower the fragments of that strange dream slipped further and further away.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Slipping back into a routine was the furthest thing from my mind when I sunk in behind my desk, a tall Starbucks mocha with a double shot of espresso steaming in one hand, and my eyes heavy with lack of sleep. I no sooner sat down at my desk and started to open up my web browser when one of my coworkers paused over the top of my cubicle and announced, “Cal wants to see you in his office before the morning meeting.”
I drew in a breath through my nose, my nostrils flaring with the notion that facing my boss was the last thing in the world I wanted to do after a sleepless night.
“Thanks, Jerry.”
I pushed away from my desk and grabbed my coffee before stalking down the hallway into Cal Roger’s office. I rapped on the door, which was partially opened and then peered into the room. He looked up, the phone already tucked under his chin, and motioned almost impatiently for me to come in.
Without being offered, I took a seat and listened to him schmooze with the communications director in the mayor’s office. “Sounds good, Marla,” he finally said. “Definitely, I will. All right, honey, I’ll see you then.” Cal spun in to hang up the phone and rested his arms on the desk. He leaned forward just a little, his bemused grin making my already uneasy stomach feel sick. I still hadn’t forgotten what he’d said to me during our last conversation. “Janice, I wasn’t sure if you’d actually join us today.”
“I said I’d be back today when I talked to you last Sunday,” I reminded him.
“Yes,” he nodded. “Yes, you did. You also said you were only going to be gone a week when you went home for your mother’s funeral, so how was I to know you really meant it this time?”
I bit down on my tongue until it hurt. “So, have you decided I’m expendable then, because if you have, I’d like to go home and go back to bed? I had a long night.”
I was a bit surprised when he started to laugh, but I didn’t join him in smiling when he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his belly. “See, that is what I love about you. You’re not afraid of me, Janice. It makes it easier for us to be honest with each other, and it’s allowed me to get closer to you than most of the other people on my team. It’s shown me first hand that you’re a damn good journalist. Not a phony like Steve Jorgen, whom I let go while you were gone, by the way.”
I said nothing, but raised my eyebrows at his revelation and the double-edged compliment he’d given.
“See, I can already see you sitting in this desk someday,” he went on. “You’re a little young yet, a little green, but you remind me of myself when I was your age. You’re driven, determined and you’re not afraid to give yourself to this job.”
“Why do I feel a ‘but’ coming on?”
He laced his fingers together on top of the desk and just stared at me for a moment. I wasn’t sure how to feel about his comparison of himself to me, though three weeks earlier I was pretty sure I would have been flattered. Twice divorced and with three kids he barely knew by name, Calvin Rogers devoted his entire adult life to hacking into the world’s issues like a keyboard wielding samurai. People both loved and hated him, and that was why he was the senior editor. He took me under h
is wing gladly, taught me more than I could have ever dreamed, but he did not take failure lightly, and he never put up with mediocrity.
“But,” he nodded, “this last week was proof that you’re not as ready as I thought you were to step up to the plate and play with the big boys.”
“I see.” I leaned a little sideways in my chair.
I’d always known he was vicious, in fact, I was fortunate enough to have landed on his good side early on, but I definitely pushed a button. As my mentor, I would have done anything to please him in the past, but my mother’s death changed me. In its own right, it tested my devotion to him, to my work, and had it been anything else, I might have easily passed.
“I want you on Local Living covering holiday events.”
I must have gone paler than my usual shade of white when I shrieked, “Local living?”
“Parade coverage, local turkey raffles and charities, find out when and where Santa Claus is coming to town, and schedule an interview.”
“You’re kidding, right, Cal?”
“You’re a creative kid, I’m sure you’ll use it to your advantage.”
Numbness moved through my entire body, and I could barely feel my own head nodding. “So my mother dies, and you punish me?”
“Janice, look,” he turned his head in mock sympathy. “I’m not punishing you because your mother died, but treat this as a lesson.”
“A lesson?”
“Death is one thing, you say goodbye and move on, but this business isn’t gonna hold your hand and wipe your tears, and it certainly isn’t gonna stand still while you pull yourself back together.”
“No,” I swallowed hard against the razor sharp fear building in my throat. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”
“I’m glad you see it that way,” he nodded once. “And you know it’s only temporary, hon. Give it a couple weeks and you’ll be back in your old shoes.”
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