by Lowe, T. I.
Today we have set out on foot to explore the town. I’m loving it, too, because I get to shop! I’ve already sent Greyson back to the RV once with a load of bags. He’s back by my side now and is looking downright cute. I bought him his very own felt hat, just like the one the creepy mountain man wore at the Witching Woods—minus the stains.
“My very own hillbilly,” I declared earlier when Greyson pulled the hat on with a grin.
We are walking around leisurely hand in hand when I feel him stiffen as we pass the saloon entrance. And it’s entirely my fault. I decide to surprise him as an apology for my past behavior. “You ready for lunch?”
He eyes the saloon wearily, thinking I want to go in. “I can wait,” he mumbles as he pulls me past the swinging doors.
“But I want to check out the little BBQ joint at the corner.” I point down the walkway.
His shoulders relax and he loosens his grip on my hand some. I notice a small smile work its way along his lips and that produces my own smile. “Sounds good.”
After a substantial lunch of the best Tennessee BBQ—that’s what the waitress declared, and it was good—we go back to shopping and exploring. We are heading back in the direction of the camping ground when I spot a bookstore. We head in and I think about picking up a few novels for the road, but change my mind. I like the traveling day conversations. Greyson tells me all about his childhood with being raised by a school teacher and a college professor. He is so animated when he talks about his parents. He’s the only child, so I can easily tell he was doted on by them both.
We wander around the bookshelves, and I find myself being drawn to the inspirational section. Greyson follows and starts skimming the daily devotionals.
“Looking for something in particular?” a cute little store clerk asks as he shuffles over to us. He’s an elderly man with white hair and wire rimmed glasses perched on the tip of his nose. He’s slightly hunched and looks no more than five feet tall.
I smile at him and say, “I’m looking for a Bible.”
I didn’t even realize it until I say it. But now that I have, I know it’s exactly what I want. Greyson leaves such beautiful words from this book for me and I want my own copy of them. I look over and find my hot hillbilly smiling appreciatively at me from under his hat. That gorgeous man’s happiness just warms me all over.
The sweet little man helps me pick out a New International Version, saying the scripture is easier to understand. Greyson says he agrees and that he carries that version as well as his King James with him everywhere. The one I choose has a creamy beige cover and has soft pink roses stitched along the bottom and up the binding.
“It’s perfect,” Greyson says appraisingly as he takes it out of my hand and walks over to the ancient register.
I try to stop him. “I can get it.”
“No. You bought me this sexy hat. It’s only fair to buy you a gift, too.” He hands it to the clerk to ring up.
“Honey, that hat isn’t sexy.” I may be fibbing just a bit. He peeks from under the edge of it with that yummy head tilt. Yes. Yes, I lied. And we both know it.
“Thorton, you know it’s sexy.” A flirty tease is bathing his tone.
The little man laughs quietly at our banter, as he bags our purchases.
Tonight I try my hand at leaving Greyson a Bible verse in his journal. He’s showering and I’m searching frantically for a good one. I smile when I stumble upon Isaiah 54:12 – I will make your battlements of rubies, your gate of sparkling jewels, and all your walls of precious stones. Honestly, I’m not sure what the verse means but I do want Greyson to know how much he means to me. I write it in and put the journal back where I find it.
I stretch across my bed and begin writing in mine. It’s raining outside so journaling won’t be at the picnic table tonight. Greyson walks out rubbing a towel through his thick dark-blond hair with only sweatpants slung oh so low on his hips. My, oh my. The man just made my mouth go dry. He pays me no attention as he ducks into the bedroom and returns with a T-shirt on—much to my disappointment. The last few months of eating have done that body very good.
He grabs his journal and sits at the table. It only takes a few flips of the pages before a crooked smile pulls at the corner of his lips. He says nothing though, just goes to writing.
Chapter Nineteen
Greyson
Today is a great day! My pants are starting to get snug and that’s money! Man, I feel like a million bucks. I’m finally not waking up tired and achy. I can make it through the day without a nap like a flipping baby. I feel like a man again. And it’s something I never plan on taking for granted ever again. You certainly don’t know what you have until you lose it. Lesson learned with my health. I know there was nothing I could do about ending up with cancer, but I never really appreciated my health before getting sick. It was always just a given before. Now that I’m in remission, I plan on celebrating it daily.
The high calorie shakes and oatmeal have become my go-to breakfast. Julia is eating the oatmeal too, although I’ve not shared with her that I also have premixed a vanilla flavored protein powder in it as well. She’s looking healthier, and that brings my caveman-pride out. I want to beat on my chest and growl with knowing I’m taking care of her. I’m finally strong enough to do the one thing I’ve wanted since I met her.
After I dress, I head out of the bathroom and find the dining table set with two bowls of oatmeal and coffee, and I can’t wipe the smile off my face. My day just got better. Sharing a meal is one of the simplest pleasures Julia has denied herself for far too long. I guess it goes back to the self-inflicting pain.
After doing some research on my laptop late at night about rape over the last month and the disorders that coincide afterwards, I’m just glad Julia is a model. Cutting is one of the leading self-harming disorders. Julia has stayed away from that one for obvious reasons, but my girl is resourceful. She inflicts inner pain with the starvation, alcohol, and drugs. She’s being a champ, though. I think she is finally breaking away from some of the restraints of it, but I’m not dumb. I know a road trip isn’t going to cure her. I notice times where she gets quiet with the fidgetiness. But it’s gotten a lot better.
I’m lost in these thoughts, staring at the table, when Julia speaks and snaps me out of it.
“Good morning, honey.” She sets a protein shake by my bowl before sitting down. She’s wearing a nightshirt and her hair is all rumpled, and I swear she looks like she’s ready to pose for a sleepwear ad. She’s flat-out gorgeous.
I join her at the table. “Yes, it is.” I gesture towards the food. “Thanks.” I notice her bowl is not even half-filled with oatmeal and mine is all the way to the top, but it’s still progress and I’m thankful. I bow my head. “Thank you, dear Lord for another day—a great day. Please bless this food to the nourishments of our bodies and our bodies to your will. Amen.”
I raise my head and catch Julia doing the same. That’s another first. This day just keeps getting better and better.
She takes a sip of coffee and asks, “What’s the plan for the day?”
“Baseball game,” I answer between bites.
We make quick work of breakfast and Julia goes to get dressed for the day. Thirty minutes later she comes out of the bathroom in a sundress and heels.
“What are you wearing?” I ask as I pull on a Yankees hat.
She does one of those prissy twirls and I catch a nice whiff of her floral perfume. “What does it look like?”
I inhale deeply to steal more of her scent. “Didn’t you hear me when I said we are going to a ballgame? Did you mistake me saying a dance?”
“This is what women wear to games these days, I’ll have you know.” She’s got her hand perched on her hip in aggravation. I’m right there with her.
“That’s just the stupidest thing. You need a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and a hat.” I gesture towards my outfit. “That’s proper wear for a ballgame. We’re there to cheer on the players—not to give
a fashion show.” I walk into the bedroom and come back out with some proper clothes. “Here. This will be much more comfortable.”
Julia gives me one of her, humphs. Bet you can’t guess what this chick does next. Yep. She strips right before me and changes. Don’t worry. I painfully remember to be the gentleman my mom raised me to be and turn around. I think about fussing with her about the stripping thing, but decide not to since she is changing into more practical ballgame attire without whining about it. And Julia not whining is a pleasant first.
We make it to the game with time to spare. Julia looks around at the recreation field curiously. I grab her hand and head to the ticket booth.
“I thought we were going to a pro-baseball game.”
“No. We are going to watch some genuine all-American baseball today. Plus it’s for a charity with all the proceeds going to a local children’s home.” I pay for our tickets and we walk on towards the bleachers.
“What’s wrong with pro?”
“This is real baseball in my opinion, Thorton.” I gesture towards the field where men are warming up by playing catch and chasing ground balls. “This isn’t about an obscene paycheck or social status. It’s all about the love of the game.”
We stop by the concession stand with me snagging a bag of boiled peanuts and a root beer and Julia only selecting a diet pop. As we walk around to the guest bleachers, I continue my rant. “We’ve got the whole importance of things backwards. We pay millions for someone to entertain us, but we barely throw pennies at other careers that really matter. People moan and complain about paying daycare workers less than minimum wage to raise their children, but have no qualms about paying more than those workers earn an hour for a movie ticket.”
I pause to pop a salty peanut in my mouth before picking back up. “And don’t get me started on teachers. Those are the ones who should bring home the big bucks instead of a celebrity. Teachers get paid nowhere near what they are worth to mold and shape the future participants.”
“Wow, Stone. That’s pretty hypocritical. Such prolific words coming from someone who makes millions for entertaining the world with his beautiful face and body.” She sits on the bleacher beside me and scans the field. She’s wearing one of my ball caps and is wearing it well.
“I’m just stating the facts. I’m thankful for the career and doors that opened from modeling. But facts are facts. No matter how pretty or ugly they are. I can’t even begin to go near the whole unfairness of a nurse’s salary. For someone who cares for you and bravely holds the tub while you vomit all over it and her, then selflessly comes back during her lunch break to hold your hand just because she wants to lend some comfort.” I shake my head in frustration. “Nurses should make bank, too. These professions should be top in pay instead of someone who can merely read a movie line or pose for a picture or hit a homerun.” I feel my cheeks warm up as I get upset. I don’t know why that just hit me so hard. I take a few breaths to calm myself.
Out of the corner of my eye I notice Julia looking towards me, but I keep watching the players take their positions.
“You had good nurses?” I hear the worry in her voice.
“The best,” I answer. And it’s the truth.
“I bet you had nurses lined up to take care of your sexy self.” I know she’s baiting me, but I’m not in the right frame of mind for it.
“There was nothing sexy in those days, Thorton. Nothing.” I shake my head and glance over at her.
“I wish you would have let me be there for you.” Julia frowns and looks away.
“I’ve always wanted to be your Superman. I didn’t want you to see me that way.” I reach over and tuck a few white wisps of her hair back under the hat. That’s not enough, and so my fingers steal a few touches more of her cheek and neck before returning back to my lap.
“You ever thought maybe I would have wanted to be your Superwoman?”
I nudge her leg and she looks back to me. “You’ve been some great medicine for me during this trip. Thanks.”
Julia peers up skeptically from under the bill of the hat. “Really?”
“The best,” I repeat, making her smile.
We settle in and watch some real baseball for the next couple of hours. I grab us hot dogs after the first game and we find a spot in the grass to picnic. I hand Julia a hot dog and keep three for myself. She pulls the dog out of the bun and nibbles. I know it’s to appease me. She eats about half of it before setting it down. At least she ate some…
I’m polishing off my second one when she asks, “How did you get into the modeling world in the first place?” This catches me off guard. We’ve known each other for so long, you’d think we would know everything about our history by now.
I swallow my mouthful before answering. “I got dragged to this open modeling contest by this girl I was dating. I was just going along for moral support for her, but I ended up being selected and she didn’t.”
She smiles over at me. “I bet they wasted no time snatching you up.”
I shake my head at the memory of that fateful day. “I had a signed modeling contract by the end of that very day. Needless to say, I got dumped that same day, too.” We laugh at this. I set in on my last hot dog and mumble between bites. “I’m thankful for the opportunity, but I’m glad the modeling chapter of my life is done.”
“What? Greyson, you just can’t walk away from it. What will you do?” Julia looks genuinely upset by this.
I ball up all of the food wrappers and toss them back into the bag. I down the rest of my second root beer before answering. “I’ve had a college degree for several years, just sitting around collecting dust. I’m ready to use it.”
“The Masters in Computer Science and Business?” she asks, and I’m impressed that she remembers.
“Yeah. I also bought in partnership with Ignited right before I was diagnosed. They have agreed to send work my way. I’m starting up my own advertisement firm. Just something small.” I stand up and help Julia to her feet so we can go catch the next game. “Plus, I still have ad royalties rolling in just as you do. No worries in the money department.”
“I’ve missed you not being a part of things for the past couple of years. I don’t think I like it being a permanent change,” she mumbles with her blonde brows pinched together. I say nothing to this because I’m one hundred percent done with modeling, and I can’t ask that of her.
For now I enjoy my company on this late summer day. I’ve promised myself to live in the now for now. I don’t want to think what will happen with Julia, or us for that matter, at the end of this road trip. It’s coming faster than I had expected. For me trying to take things slow, time sure is racing right along.
Chapter Twenty
Julia
All of a sudden and all at once, time has sped up and I beg it to slow down. But it isn’t listening. I’m scared for this trip to end. I feel like I’m at some kind of crossroads in my life. It’s time for a change. I just don’t know what kind yet.
We have finally crossed the line into Georgia and are spending the day in an apple orchard. It’s been great so far. We are loaded up for a hayride through the orchard and this place is just breathtaking. The apple trees are lined in wavy rows alongside the hills. I tilt my head up to the sun and take in the sweet smell of the hay mixed with the aroma of ripening fruit. The guide is sharing some history of the orchard in a thick Georgian twang. It’s soothing.
Greyson must be on the same page with me because he leans over and whispers, “Say ain’t.”
I laugh quietly as I look over at him. “No.”
His green eyes dance with mischief. “Guess I’m going to have to figure out how to scare you again just so I can hear that sexy southern drawl from your lips.”
I actually blush. Me? Greyson Stone just made me blush.
“Knock it off, Stone.” I shove into his side and he puts his arm around me and keeps me there. I have to say, this simple gesture feels really nice. Such a new concept…
The tractor stops every so often so we can pick some apples for our baskets. These babies are bigger than my fist—larger than any apple I have ever seen in the market. Greyson is picking apples like he is starved for them. The man is just too adorable.
“Good grief, Stone. You really need that many apples?” I place one in my nearly empty basket as I inspect his almost brimming over basket.
“An apple a day keeps the doctor away,” he says with a smile.
My heart feels like it stops for a beat at his statement. Most of the time, it’s like the cancer was just a bad dream he told me about. The reality of him being sick keeps slipping away from my thoughts. And when it does resurface, it’s like a slap in the face.
His face drops when he looks over at me. “What?”
I brush past him and try to shake off my fears. “Nothing.”
After the hayride, we have a picnic under one of the larger apple trees. Greyson picked us up chicken salad with chunks of apples tossed in and apple cider for lunch from the orchard cafe. I’ve already had an apple on the hayride and now Greyson is practically force feeding me the chicken salad. He’s so cute about it, so I give in and eat a couple of bites just for him. It’s hard to deny a man as good looking as he is the right to spoon bites into my mouth.
He goes on and on about the conversation he had with the orchard guide. Greyson doesn’t meet a stranger. If you had witnessed him talking away with the guide earlier, you would have thought they were old friends. The guide gave him the inside scoop about this BBQ joint, claiming it to be the best around. I’m beginning to wonder just how many best BBQ joints there can be. Greyson has already tried to help me understand the variations in regional BBQ. I’m really not interested, but I get a kick out of how worked up he gets over it. He has some list he’s checking off about BBQ, too.
