by J. B. Havens
I grab my duffel and head to the registration desk. Ten minutes later, I’m in a room on the fourteenth floor with a comfy king bed and a great view of Lake Michigan. Since this is a historic hotel, some of the fixtures are original and the thirteenth floor doesn’t exist. My stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten since midday. I change into a T-shirt and shorts and pick up a menu to order room service.
I see barbeque on the menu and a knot forms in my gut. Drew. Fuck. Ordering the cheeseburger and battered fries instead, I settle on the bed and flip on the TV. Aliens is on HBO. Dammit! I turn off the TV and pace the room. This trip is supposed to be about Brandon and his memory, but all I can see in my mind are eyes the color of the sea.
While I wait for the food, I grab the notepad and pen from the desk and proceed to make a list of the places I want to see in Chicago over the next few days. I also need to shop for some essentials.
The next morning, I ask for directions to the nearest Target. I set out on a fifteen-minute walk over to State Street, grabbing a coffee and doughnut on the way. I’m in awe of the multi-story building as I spot the big bull’s eye up ahead. As I enter, I go through my mental list: practical underwear, tees and sweatshirts, a winter parka, and some warm socks. As I head toward the clothes aisles, I see a souvenir area and wander over. A T-shirt and baseball cap with the Route 66 logo catch my attention. I grab one of each and throw them in my cart. After finishing up in the clothing area, I make my way to the registers. On a whim, I stop at the school and art supplies section. It’s been ages since I sketched or journaled. After browsing the selection, I choose a sketch pad, a box of colored pencils, and a writing journal with a world map on the cover. I haven’t really given myself a timeframe for this trip of almost 2500 miles through eight states. I’m going to take my time and play it by ear. But, first, there are some places in Chicago that I need to visit.
Chapter 38
Drew
The next morning, Drew rose early. Considering he hadn’t slept at all the night before, it wasn’t too much of a stretch. It was Saturday, and there was nothing pressing he needed to do, but he couldn’t sit in his room any longer. He could see and smell Meg everywhere. He stripped his sheets, tossing them in a pile to take to the laundry. When he’d watched her walk out last night, he’d decided he was going to get on with living. He wasn’t going to lie around and stagnate waiting for her to return. That didn’t mean he wasn’t hoping she would. It was a long shot, he knew and owned the insanity of it.
He needed to purge her from his thoughts, even if he knew it was impossible, he still had to try. He didn’t know if she was ever coming back, but he knew a piece of him had left with her. A large piece. Thinking of her every moment of every day was going to push him over the edge, his temper would consume him, and his years of hard work would be for nothing. Running his hands through his hair in frustration, he slicked it back and put on his ball cap, pulling the bill down low over his face.
He said good morning to Nana and took the keys for the housekeeping closet. He’d clean Meg’s room while he was at it. Opening the door to her room, he stepped inside cautiously. He took a deep breath, looking around. He wasn’t sure what he thought he’d find—it was like she’d never been there. Stripping the bed first, he replaced the sheets with clean ones and tackled the bathroom, cleaning it and replacing the towels with fresh ones. There wasn’t a lot to do; she’d spent most of her stay at his place. He opened the small closet and was shocked to see Meg’s dresses hanging there. The red one and the white one, the matching shoes neatly lined up below them. His anger tried to come to the surface, but he pushed it back down. He refused to be angry with her. She’d made it very clear from the beginning she wasn’t going to stay.
“Okay, Meg.” Heaving a heavy sigh, he took the dresses and shoes back to his place, tucking them neatly away in the closet. They gave him hope. No matter how misguided it was, he felt the dresses were a sign she’d be back. He decided right then and there, he was going to wait. Give her time to finish her bucket list and pray she didn’t forget him.
His gut told him to scream, smash his fist into the wall, and go find a fight. Concrete beneath his feet and bones breaking under his hands were the things his old habits would demand. He’d gone so long without giving into his dangerous temper, he wasn’t going to quit now. Meg’s face flashed into his mind, her lips moving, mouthing the words be brave.
“I’ll be waitin’, darlin’,” he muttered, running his fingers across the dresses, sending them twisting on their hangers.
Chapter 39
Meg
It’s a beautiful, sunny, unseasonably warm fall day in Chicago. First on the bucket list is to take a ride on the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier. Not the biggest one around, but impressive still. The gondolas are climate controlled so it can run year-round. The pier is not very crowded on this Monday afternoon, getting my ticket only takes a moment, and I stand in the queue for the ride. There are video screens along the way with interesting facts about the exhibit. The monitor tells me that the device I remember as a kid is gone now, replaced a few years ago by the new Centennial Wheel. The new model is 196 feet high and has forty-two gondolas. I also learn the very first Ferris wheel was introduced at the Chicago World’s Fair in 1893.
I stand in the loading spot and wait for my car to approach and for the door to slide open on my side while the group finishing their ride exits on the opposite side.
I climb inside and settle on the seat for my twelve minute ride that will be at least three rotations of the wheel, in addition to the loading and unloading of the cars. As I ascend to the top, I’m struck by the vastness of the water and the far-reaching views in all directions. The sun sparkles across the lake, almost burning my eyes. I deliberately choose the seat on the right of the car, so I’ll be facing east. As I sit at the top and look out across Lake Michigan, I imagine I can see all the way to Cleveland, my former home. My heart aches with the loss. All I’ve known for months now is pain and despair, except for the times I was in Drew’s arms. He helped me forget for a little while. But this isn’t about him, so I push thoughts of him aside.
My eyes burn and water as tears begin to fall. I think of my former life with Brandon and what never came to be. My chest aches with the pain that never seems to leave me. The agony lives and breathes inside me. Sometimes I can push it aside a bit, but it always seems to be there. What we lost. Through my tears, I see the image of Brandon in the car with me. He’s clutching the hand of a small child, a little girl, her coloring matching his, but her features are a reflection of my own. A sob escapes me, and I put my hands to my trembling lips.
“Brandon?” I gasp, unable to believe what my eyes are telling me I see. I feel no fear, only wonder.
I reach out, my hand shaking. He looks down at the little girl holding his hand. He doesn’t speak, smiling all the while. Reaching down, he brushes her hair off her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. Her wide grin and apparent happiness are my undoing. I clutch my abdomen as pain and joy assault me. They’re okay. They’re together. Brandon steps backward, maintaining eye contact with me, then they disappear through the back of the car. I lean forward, reaching for them, looking around frantically. They reappear on the shore of the lake far below me.
They’re strolling along the beach, heading away from me. Brandon swings her arm, skipping along the sand with her. They appear to be happy. I call out to them. “Wait! Don’t go yet!” But they don’t hear me. As they move away, they fade slowly and eventually disappear.
The ride ends and the gondola comes to a stop at the bottom so that I can make my exit. I depart the car and try to compose myself, ignoring the annoyingly cheerful staff peddling the photos of the wheel riders. I don’t need a photo to remind me of this experience. My mind is in turmoil, reeling like a video on fast forward. Did Brandon just tell me goodbye? Is he telling me it’s okay to move on? Why are they leaving me?
But no answers come. Only more tears. My cheeks are h
ot and wet, and I wipe at them frantically. Everyone around me must think I’m insane, crying on the Ferris wheel.
I decide to walk back to the hotel so I can get myself together and not face any questions from nosy drivers. After walking for about fifteen minutes, I’ve calmed and my stomach growls, demanding I eat something. I see a street vendor’s kiosk ahead on the corner. Time to cross another item off the list—eating a Chicago-style hot dog. As I approach the window to place my order, I see a sign that warns: Don’t ask for ketchup!
The hot dog vendor, an older man with a shiny, bald head, addresses me, “Whaddaya havin’?”
“A hot dog, of course, but why can’t I ask for ketchup?” My voice is still thick with the remainder of my tears. I swallow harshly, trying to push my pain aside again.
“Bite your tongue, little lady! A Chicago dog don’t have ketchup on it.”
“What does it have? I’m not a fan of mustard.” I wrinkle my nose in distaste.
“Trust me on this. You’re gonna love it.”
“Okay, I’m here for the experience, so give me a Chicago dog and a Diet Coke.”
As the vendor hands me the dog wrapped in foil, he says, “Okay, take a bite and tell me what ya think.”
I open the wrapper cautiously and see it’s loaded with condiments. It’s on a poppy seed bun, and—what the hell—there is a dill pickle strip on it. I open wide and take a bite, and a host of complementary flavors hit me all at once. I don’t even notice the mustard on it. “Mmm, this is so good.” I lick my lips, savoring the flavors exploding in my mouth.
“See, you don’t need ketchup. That would be a crime around here.”
“I think you’re right. What all is on this thing?” I ask before taking another big bite.
“It’s only an authentic Chicago Dog if it’s on a poppy seed bun, with mustard, onions, relish, a dill pickle spear, tomatoes, sweet peppers, and the secret ingredient—a dash of celery salt.”
“I think I’m going to need some napkins, because I’m really enjoying this.”
I finish my dog on the spot while chatting with the vendor. As I say goodbye and prepare to leave with my drink, the man says, “Come back and see me anytime.”
I wave at him and set out for the hotel, planning to book a tour for the next day when I reach my room. I fully intend to sleep the rest of the afternoon away and order room service later. I’m emotionally and physically exhausted.
The next day I head over to the dock for the Chicago River Architecture boat tour. For almost two hours, we float along the river as our tour guide points out some of the most famous buildings in the country along with iconic architecture. I pull out the sketch pad and pencils to capture some of the more interesting buildings. I can’t help but think of Drew and his construction dreams. After the tour, I stroll along the Riverwalk and its abundant underground of restaurants and shops. I take a reverent pause at the Veterans Memorial Park, which honors Chicago’s military members killed in action.
Another unexpected treasure just under the Michigan Avenue bridge is the McCormick Bridgehouse and Chicago River Museum. I enter the five-story building at the water level and see the gears that power the raising of the bridge. As I ascend to each floor, I learn about the history of the river and its impact on the city. When I reach the top, I take the time to look out the windows at the beautiful sight of the water and all its activities, marveling at how clean it looks. I also spot several kayakers making their way downstream, and once again my thoughts wander to Drew and our kayak adventure. I grin at the memory, remembering how he’d gone down on me in his truck. My face heats and I chuckle softly to myself.
I make my way leisurely back down the flights of stairs to the exit. I notice some books and crafts for sale and wander over to take a look. My eye for design quickly focuses on some stacks of matted and signed photos taken by a local photographer. I flip through them and pick out the three I like the best: a shot of the draw bridges raised along the river as if in a saluting position, a beautiful nighttime shot of a large American flag draped on a downtown building on 9/11, and one of colorful autumn foliage shot from the zoo facing the downtown Chicago skyline.
After my day of sightseeing, I go down to have dinner at the Irish pub in the hotel, choosing a corner booth where I can people watch through the large window. As I linger over my food, I decide my Chicago stay has come to an end and it’s time to start the Route 66 journey. I pay my tab and head upstairs to pack my few belongings.
As I look over some of the purchases I’ve made in Chicago, my mind wanders back to Drew—him in his ballcap, his love of nature, his fondness for building. Even though this trip has nothing to do with him, everything seems to remind me of him, and, maybe subconsciously, I want him to remember me too. So I make a decision. Before I leave tomorrow morning, I’m going to visit the FedEx business office in the hotel. Drew’s getting a package.
After checking out of my room, I head for the breakfast buffet in the hotel, then over to the business center. I go to the self-service area to find a small box and shipping label, placing the Route 66 baseball hat, one of my sketches, and the colorful photos I’d bought inside. No note, no explanation. I address the label to Drew, care of the motel, then take my box to the counter.
Feeling like a load has lifted from my heart, I head out to the valet to get my jeep. Next stop, Missouri. St. Louis is an easy day’s trip from Chicago, so I’ll take my time and stop whenever and wherever the urge strikes.
Chapter 40
Drew
A week passed and Drew didn’t speak of Meg. He kept her locked up tightly in his memory, where she stayed until night fell and he lay alone in his bed. She invaded his dreams every night. He woke with his alarm, swearing he could feel her skin under his hands, and every morning he’d get up, take a cold shower, and go to work. He was pulling extra shifts at Nolan’s, socking away every extra cent he could. He wasn’t going to wait any longer to go after his dream of owning his own business.
It was another early Saturday. He pulled up to the garage, travel mug of coffee in his hand. He kept his sunglasses on and his ball cap pulled low. Juggling the coffee and keys, he got the shop open. A sharp woof woof echoed throughout the garage.
“What the hell?” Dropping his keys onto his toolbox, he set aside his coffee and followed the noise to Nolan’s office.
He found Nolan sitting on the floor, holding a squirming puppy. A puppy that was doing its best to lick every inch of his face, much to his friend’s disgust.
“Dammit, stay down. I don’t want you lickin’ all over my damn face,” he said gruffly, pushing the puppy aside and standing, only to have the puppy plop onto his boots and begin to chew on his laces.
“Good. You’re here. I got you somethin’.” Nolan scooted his feet back, stepping over the puppy and closer to Drew.
“Is that so?” Drew chuckled. The puppy was following Nolan around, barking all the while.
“I figured you could use a female that won’t leave you. Here ya go.” Scooping the tiny dog up, Nolan deposited her into Drew’s arms.
“What the hell, man. I don’t want a dog.” Holding her up to look at her, Drew couldn’t help but be drawn in by the dog’s big, brown eyes. Her markings and coloring were gorgeous. A German shepherd by the looks of her.
“You need a dog. See, she likes you.” Nolan chuckled as Drew got his own tongue lashing by the puppy.
“A female that won’t leave me, huh? You tryin’ to tell me somethin’ here, Nolan?” Drew put the puppy down and tucked his hands into his pockets, observing his friend.
“Well, Drew, it’s like this. I know, a bit anyway, about what it’s like to want a woman you can’t have. Meg left and maybe she’ll come back, maybe she won’t. You haven’t said shit about her to anyone. But I got eyes and I can see as plain as day, you got it bad for that girl. In the meantime, this little lady needs a home. She might be a good distraction for you.”
“I’m doin’ okay, Nolan. I swear. I haven�
��t been drinkin’ or wantin’ to fight. There was a moment, the day after Meg left, I considered it, but I think I’m finally past that. Knockin’ some guy’s teeth out and bustin’ up my hands aren’t gonna make her come back. If she does, I’ll be waitin’, and if she doesn’t, well, I guess I’ll have a dog to keep me company. Not sure how Nana’s gonna take to havin’ a dog runnin’ around, though.”
“Oh, I already asked her. You think I’m a dumb ass? I know better than to spring a dog on you without checkin’ with Nana first. I don’t want to be on the other end of that wooden spoon of hers.”
Laughing, Drew bent and picked the puppy back up. “She sure is a pretty thing, isn’t she?” Holding her closer and ruffling her fur, he looked over at his friend. “You know who else is pretty? Sally.”
Nolan’s face colored and he waved his hand. “I suppose she is.”
“There’s no supposin’ about it, dude. Sally’s a knockout. You should ask her to dinner.”
“You should mind your own damn business.”
“Says the man who bought me a puppy so I won’t be lonely. Maybe you need the pup more than me.”
“No. She’s yours. Speaking of, take her and get on outta here. She needs food and stuff. Toys or whatever. Take her on over to the pet store and pick out some stuff, take the day off and bond. Or whatever it is you’re supposed to do with a dog.”
“Sure, I’ll get right on that. As soon as you ask Sally out. You’ve been sweet on her since she moved here. Buck up. What you waitin’ for anyway? The second comin’?”
“Listen, asshole.” Nolan pointed one long finger at him, “You just . . . never mind. Country and city do not mix. She’s got no interest in an ol’ country boy like me. Go on now, take that puppy and get outta here.”
