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“Turn him down, honey!” I yelled at the screen. “He’s only going to break your heart.”
The vixen didn’t hear me and went on making out with the hero. I felt like I was drunk, though I hadn’t touched a drop. My eyes were swollen and itchy, as if I had been rubbing them in poison ivy. My heart felt heavy and two sizes too big for my chest.
After the movie was over, I put on another. This one was a kid’s movie, so there wouldn’t be any sex. Still, the mother and the father sent me into another crying fit. Who knew that a movieabout talking dogs would be so triggering? I watched as the fictional family went through the wringer together, coming out the other side having learned a valuable lesson.
I wanted a cigarette, but I had never smoked. I wanted to get drunk, but I didn’t have any alcohol, nor did I have any desire to leave the house. I wanted to eat junk food until I exploded, but I was too sad to get off the couch. Instead, I just sat there, watching stupid movies and crying over the dumbest things.
It was two in the morning, and I was beginning to nod off when I heard a knock at the door. Fear gripped my chest. I threw off all the self-pitying haze that had been surrounding me since I got home and sobered up quickly. There was a baseball bat in my closet right by the door. I grabbed it, holding it like a weapon as I braved the intrusion.
“Who is it?” I yelled.
“It’s Linc.”
His voice sent a shiver of relief through my body. I lowered the bat and turned my back to the door. The fight or flight response left me feeling boneless, as if I had swum across the ocean and back. A moment later, I remembered that I hated him, and anger flared in my heart.
“What do you want?”
“Can I talk to you?” he asked.
“No!” I snapped. “I’m done talking to you.”
“I’m sorry.” His words cut me to the core, planting a tiny fragile seed of hope somewhere deep inside. “I was a jerk. I got scared. I know there’s no excuse for treating you that way, but I want to make it up to you.”
I couldn’t help it. The idea of getting back together with him sent a wave of pleasure coursing through my veins. If it had all been an accident, if he hadn’t used me in the worst possible way, then maybe there was still hope. Maybe the incident at the kitchen sink could be explained. I didn’t see how, but maybe.
I searched for my anger and found it right where I had left it. It didn’t matter what the cause of his betrayal was. He had hurt me beyond what was acceptable. I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling a delightful power. He was on my doorstep, begging for forgiveness. I was the one who could choose to let him in or deny him his heart’s desire just as he had denied me mine.
“I’m not sure,” I said cautiously. “I’m not ready to talk right now.”
There was silence on the other side of the door, and I wondered if he had followed my advice. As a minute stretched into two and then ten, without any new declarations, I chanced a peek outside. There, on the welcome mat, in the greasy light of the porch lamp, was a bouquet of flowers. Linc was nowhere in sight.
I stooped to pick up the gift. They were roses, wrapped in cellophane, at least two dozen of them. I let the door swing shut and locked it before crossing to the kitchen to find a vase. They went a long way toward healing the injury Linc had caused. The angry part of me didn’t want to forgive him, but the lovestruck half was pleased.
I realized with a start that Linc didn’t have a car. Had he walked all the way out here? It was at least five miles one way, down winding roads without sidewalks in the dark. Maybe I should go out and look for him. Even walking very fast, it was going to take him more than an hour to get home. I could probably catch him on Deer Tail Road, just beyond the turnoff to my cabin.
Instead of giving in to my romantic impulse, I set the flowers on my breakfast table and went back to the couch. Now for some reason, the implicit sexuality of the characters on screen made me grin. I didn’t have to be heartbroken and mopey, but how far should Lincoln go to learn from his mistakes?
25
LINCOLN
On the way back from Aly’s house, I stopped at the diner. It was four a.m., and the staff was already beginning to arrive. The cook rolled up at 4:15, ready to get the coffee going and the pancake batter out of the fridge. He took pity on me and let me into the dining room.
“Waitress doesn’t get here until 4:30.”
“That’s fine,” I said.
“You want some coffee?”
“Yes, please.” I took a seat in one of the booths, grateful to get the weight off my leg. The injury was killing me; I had overextended myself by walking so far. Cocky from so many pain-free days walking around the lumberyard, I had thought I could complete a half marathon. It turned out that was wishful thinking. I decided I would stay at the diner until the sun came up and then text someone for a ride.
The cook gave me a cup of coffee to drink while I waited for the restaurant to open. When the waitress arrived, I ordered breakfast and ate it slowly. Everyone who came in gave mesympathetic looks, bordering on intrusive. Without confronting them, I was sure they all knew exactly what had happened. Though they might not have guessed that I walked all the way to her house, they could tell I was consumed with guilt and desperate to make it right.
I texted Danny and asked him to pick me up at the diner. It was Sunday, my day off, but Danny was working. The lumberyard had to stay open seven days a week to make sure that all the contractors and hobbyists were afforded a chance to make their purchases. I didn’t think it would be too much of an imposition for Danny to swing by on his way to work.
Sure,he responded.
I ordered a coffee to go, paid, and went to sit outside on the curb.
