“Long enough to assume you were ignoring me.”
“Why would you think that? I didn’t see you.”
“How could you have not seen me? I was only inches from your leg. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“It’s fine. I’m used to it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? How can you be used to being startled?”
“My peripheral vision is for shit, so a lot of the time, I don’t see people approach me from the side, and by the time I see them it scares me.”
“Is that normal?”
She slams her case and latches it. Then she turns her head and looks at me. Her eyebrows are drawn, lips pursed, and a bright shade of red covers her face. She’s not happy. Not. At. All. What the fuck did I do?
“What?” I shrug.
“Nothing. Just don’t do it again.”
“Do what? Startle you, or ask you if you’re normal?”
“I need to get home.” She hops down from the ledge.
“Wait. I’m sorry I upset you. I know I can be a dick at times, but most of the time with you… well, I don’t know what I’ve said or done that’s upset you.” I pick up the guitar case and fall in step with her.
“I can carry my own case.” She reaches for it, but I pull back.
“Stop being a bitch, Henley. Seriously, let me do something nice. Like carry your guitar case and walk you home. Or at least to the shop because I know how you feel about me finding out where you live.”
I don’t realize she’s stopped walking until I’m about five or six steps away from her. I turn back to find her standing, looking directly at me.
“You win. I’m tired of fighting with you every time we’re together. The only time we haven’t argued is the one time we were naked.”
I quickly tread toward her. Once I’m standing next to her, I set the guitar case down.
After everything that happened with Piper, I made a promise to myself that I would never hold back. If I wanted to be with somebody, I would no matter what the circumstances. Life is too fucking short. But this with Henley is wearing me out.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“I’m giving you your guitar back, so you can carry it home.”
“Okay,” she mumbles.
“See ya around, Henley.”
She gives me a small wave, her face devoid of emotion as she watches me walk away. She needs to understand that this time, it’s me walking away. I’m leaving her, not the other way around. I can’t afford to have a stressor in my life that could potentially push me back into the lifestyle I barely got away from. Maybe one day, she’ll figure out what she wants. Until then, she doesn’t have to worry about me harassing her. I maneuver through the small crowd of people and out of the courtyard.
Twelve
Henley
“You had a phone call today.” I look toward my open classroom door to find Mrs. Fowler leaning against the frame with her arms folded across her chest. She smiles softly. This woman is amazing. Not only is she a great principal, but she’s also Heath’s mom. I hope that little guy knows how lucky he is to have such a caring mother.
I continue to place the tablets on the small shelf in the back of the room. It’s three-thirty, and all my students are gone. And today, I don’t have any after-school tutoring so there is no one here to interrupt our conversation.
“Who was it?” I ask.
For a moment, Caleb’s face flashes in my mind, but I quickly remember he doesn’t know where I work. And, after our last encounter, it’s clear he doesn’t want to know anything else about me. I believe that the reason he walked away from me was because I pushed and pushed until he figured out that I wasn’t worth the fight.
“Not sure. Shirley answered the phone. She said it was a woman.”
Shirley is the school secretary but doesn’t always get the messages right. I’ll never understand why she’s allowed to answer the phone.
“A woman?” I ask.
“Yes, but unfortunately, she didn’t leave her name or number.”
“I can’t imagine who would call me here,” I tell her.
The only people I know in New Orleans are my co-workers and the guys at The Drunken Peacock. But Smitty is the only one who knows I teach here. Plus, Shirley did say it was a woman.
“Didn’t you tell me that you were going to get a cell phone?” Her voice is stern, almost motherly.
“I have a Tracfone for emergencies. I keep minutes on it, but nobody has the number. I’ve never used it. And you know where I live in case you need me.”
“I worry about you, Henley. How are you?” Her eyes scan my face, searching for the truth, because she knows I won’t give it to her.
“I’m great. Everything is wonderful. I love my job and the kids. I’m doing exactly what I want to do.”
Except I’m lonely, but it’s my choice. I sometimes think I miss Caleb, but then I remember I barely know him. And he was never mine to miss. Plus, it’s only been a couple weeks since he left me in the courtyard. How can I miss somebody that soon?
“You know what I mean. When’s the last time you saw the doctor?”
She walks into the room, the sternness in her voice gone. I tell myself that she cares and wants what’s best for me. But damn her for sticking her nose into my personal business.
“I don’t know. A while. But I’m going to make an appointment soon.”
“I’m confused…,” she replies.
I turn and face her. She pinches the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes. She is not happy with me.
“Confused why?” I ask.
“When you took this job two years ago, it was my understanding that you wanted to live in New Orleans, so you would be near your doctor. You mentioned he had been treating you for years, and you trusted him. Am I right?”
“Yes. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to live here. But if you remember, I also wanted to escape the confinement of my mother. I was looking for peace and happiness without the constant nagging and negativity of the woman who thought she was the perfect parent.”
My heart clenches and a wave of sadness shoots through me. I haven’t spoken of my mother since I arrived in the city, and I rarely think of her either. But with the woman calling me today, it makes me wonder if it was her. I’m not in hiding. She can find me if she decides to. But I guess, for now, she’s letting me live my own life. Like I asked her to.
Mrs. Fowler looks at her watch before glancing over at me.
“It’s only 3:45, so why don’t you go down to my office and call and schedule that appointment? And if you need to take a full day off from work, don’t hesitate to ask. Because I’ll give all the time you need,” she says.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I don’t argue with her, because it wouldn’t do any good. I drop my gaze toward the floor and make my way out of my classroom and down the hall to her office.
I step into Mrs. Fowler’s office, and Shirley greets me with a smile. I guess she knows why I’m here, because she nods toward the phone.
As I make my way to the phone, she pushes her chair back and hops up. She smiles at me and then exits the room.
I clutch the receiver in my hand before taking a deep breath. At least Dr. Bartholomew’s number is easy to remember. It’s three short words that make up the seven-digit number. I. See You. How clever. I press each key slowly, still unsure that I’m truly ready to do this. Now that Mrs. Fowler is involved, I guess I really don’t have a choice.
I squeeze my eyes shut and relax my shoulders.
Mrs. Fowler is right. I have to do this. My time is running out.
“May I help you?” The voice on the other end prompts me to schedule my appointment with Dr. Bartholomew.
Now, I’ll spend the next couple weeks waiting for my appointment and praying my life is not about to change.
Thirteen
Caleb
“She was always so volatile. I’m sure there are plenty of other women out there
with that same personality, but I just haven’t had the pleasure of meeting any of them.” I laugh.
Even though I only had a few interactions with Henley, she embedded herself into my thoughts. I rarely have a day go by that I don’t think about her at least once. I worry about her being alone in the city. And I wonder why she was always so secretive. At least when I’m thinking about her, I’m able to push Piper out of my mind.
Mike and I stop walking just before we make it to the exit door at the end of the hall. I lean against the wall, before continuing, “What really makes me mad at myself is that I spent entirely too much time trying to figure out why she is the way she is. Why is she fine one minute and then angry the next? I even asked Smitty about the kid.”
Mike raises his eyebrows, which causes his eyes to look like they’re gonna pop out of his head. I hold in the laughter, because Mike’s cool, and I don’t think he knows his facial expressions are borderline comical.
“What kid? You never mentioned Henley had a kid.”
“That’s just it. She doesn’t. One Saturday, after you and I had coffee at the café, I saw her with a young boy. Just the two of them. So, I assumed he belonged to her, and that’s why she was so moody. But Smitty swears she doesn’t have any family here. Especially not a kid. I guess she’s just a fickle bitch for no reason. None of it matters now anyway.”
“The crazy ones always seem like the most fun for a while, but having to deal with one on a daily basis becomes old—fast. After a while, you’re basically walking on eggshells. Trust me, I know from firsthand experience,” Mike says as we walk out of the building that houses the AA meeting we attended earlier this morning.
“Firsthand?” I ask.
“My ex-wife. She was as looney as they come. And it only took me a couple months living with her to figure out I wasn’t staying on that crazy train.”
I throw my head back and laugh. Listening to middle-aged Mike give me relationship advice is funny as shit.
“But seriously, Caleb, you know the rules. You don’t need to be in a relationship this early in your recovery anyway. And I know you two didn’t really know much about each other, which makes it worse. Live your life one day at a time, and everything will work itself out.”
He pats me on the shoulder before walking down the steps in front of the building. Once he reaches the last step, he turns around as if he’s about to say something. But instead, he just nods and steps onto the sidewalk with the dozens of other people making their way through downtown New Orleans.
“Yeah I know the rules, but Henley was reason enough for me to break them,” I mumble.
I slide my finger over the screen of my phone to unlock it. Almost eleven o’clock. Damn. I walk in the direction of the shop, hoping to make it there without running into anybody I know. Since I’ve been here, I’ve already built a decent-sized client base, and I tend to run into them on the streets from time to time. The one person I really don’t want to see is Henley, because as long as I don’t see her, then I’m not tempted to charm her back into my bed.
Over the last several weeks I have avoided the café, the courtyard, and any other area of the French Quarter where she may be performing. She hasn’t been back in front of The Drunken Peacock in weeks. I can’t even remember the last time she played there. I know, eventually, my luck will run out, and we will cross paths. Until then, I’m going to attend my meetings, avoid the bars, work my shifts at Smitty’s place, take my bike out at least once a week, and hang out with my middle-aged sponsor, Mike.
As I walk around the corner, making my way down the final stretch of sidewalk to my apartment, I see Henley. She’s standing in front of the shop, talking to fucking Rex. Every muscle in my body tenses. My breathing picks up, and a sudden pain shoots through my jaw from clenching my teeth. Our eyes meet only briefly as I walk by, then she quickly looks back at Rex and continues talking.
“Hey man, what time are you coming in today?”
I don’t want to look at his face because I may lose my shit. There’s no doubt in my mind he’s trying to piss me off. But I also know Henley’s not interested in him. If she were, something between them would’ve already happened.
“Around five,” I answer with no signs of anger or jealousy in my voice. I’m not giving him the satisfaction of knowing that seeing him with Henley bothers me. I jog up the stairs to my apartment, hoping by the time I head to work they’ll both be gone.
Fourteen
Henley
Seeing Caleb last week in front of The Drunken Peacock was hard. It had been the first time I’d seen him since he left me standing in the courtyard a few weeks earlier. I miss him so much. I just wish my life were different and that I had more to offer. Today, I refuse to let my mind go there—I will not feel sorry for myself. So instead I close my eyes and let my mind drift to a place far away from here. One where my life is perfect and Caleb still wants me.
Henley, you’re here. I was wondering if I’d ever see you again.” The deep voice of Dr. Bartholomew jolts me from my daydreams and back into reality. My eyes flutter open and I give them a few seconds to focus on the man standing in front of me.
“Well, I’m here.” I force a smile.
“Yes, indeed you are. Let’s get started with the exam and then we’ll discuss my findings afterward.
I nod and keep the forced smile plastered on my face.
* * *
“Your central vision has changed some, but your peripheral is significantly worse,” Dr. Bartholomew says as the light flashes in front of my right eye.
“I’ve noticed a huge change over the last couple of years. I can’t see people when they approach me from the side. Let’s just say, I’m startled a lot.” My voice is wobbly. Being here makes me nervous. The room reeks of cleanliness, a sterile environment where you go to discover your destiny. And mine… pretty much sucks. I immediately push all negative thoughts to the back corner of my mind, because I need to stay positive to make it through this day.
“Are you still driving?” he asks as he walks over to his computer.
“No, sir. I stopped driving when I moved here two years ago. I knew that privilege would be taken away from me eventually, so why prolong the inevitable?”
Retinitis Pigmentosa. Those two words have defined me since I was ten years old. Of course the diagnosis didn’t mean much to me as a kid, but as I got older, it became my identity.
My night vision went first, but I learned to adapt, because not many people see well at night anyway. At least, that’s what I told myself. Then when my peripheral vision declined, I panicked. That’s when I knew this shit was real.
Statistics tell me most people with Retinitis Pigmentosa are legally blind by the age of forty. This statistic, as bad as it is, doesn’t sound too terrible to me. At least, not at twenty-six years old, because it gives me about twelve more years to take in all the beauty this world has to offer.
Unfortunately, forty is not always the magic number. Sometimes, it’s twenty, or thirty, or forty-five. No one has a definitive answer, because everyone progresses at a different rate. So basically, I’m playing a waiting game. Waiting to wake up one morning to darkness. And it sucks.
“I see your attitude hasn’t changed since our last visit.”
“Attitude? I’m sorry, but I’m not following you. I didn’t realize I had a bad attitude,” I say.
This is one reason I don’t like to come here. Even though Dr. Bartholomew is a great doctor, he always gives me shit.
“I didn’t say you have a bad attitude. What I meant was you’ve been preparing for doomsday, so to speak, ever since you were a teenager.”
Unfortunately, I know Dr. Bartholomew too well. He became my Ophthalmologist a year after I was diagnosed. My mom thought he could fix me. So, we made trips to New Orleans twice a year to see him. Ultimately, he’s the reason I moved here. I thought being near him would somehow slow the progression of the disease.
Once I got settled into my routine, I de
cided that I didn’t want to know the truth about how bad my eyes were or how fast my vision was deteriorating. I was alone and scared but would never tell anyone. I figured that maybe if I just ignored the disease, then it would somehow go away. I wanted to live, have a life, be normal. And that’s what I’ve been doing. At least, trying to do.
I avoid arguing with him about my “attitude” by changing the subject back to the original question. “I don’t have a need for a car here anyway. I live three blocks from work and if it rains, I use an umbrella or Mrs. Fowler, my supervisor, gives me a ride.”
“What about your mom?” he asks.
“What about her?”
“She’s not living here with you?”
I don’t want to explain this to him, but until I do, he won’t let it go.
“No. I needed to be on my own. Once I graduated from college, I left that life behind and started a new one here. In case you haven’t noticed, Dr. Bartholomew, I’m a grown woman. I don’t need my mother living with me.”
“Henley, you know I was not insinuating that you couldn’t take care of yourself. I just don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to be alone with your declining vision.” His voice is full of concern.
“I’ll be fine. My goal is to do this declining vision thing by myself, because I don’t want to burden anyone else with my problems,” I mumble.
“I hardly think your mother would consider taking care of you a burden. She’s probably worried sick about your decision to do this alone,” Dr. Bartholomew says.
“Has she called you?” I question him, because it would not surprise me at all if she has.
“No, of course she hasn’t. Even if she did call, I would not tell her anything. These visits are only between the two of us.” He shuffles some paperwork around and then looks at me, before continuing, “Have you made any new friends since you’ve been in New Orleans?”
Beautiful Tomorrow: A Twisted Fate Novel Page 8