by Taylor Dean
This was her burden to carry and no one could take it from her or relieve the load from her aching shoulders.
As was his style, Jack showed up on her doorstep that evening without calling first.
“My fabulous designer, are you ready to go see the ‘Time Machine’ again? The exterminator has killed public enemy number one and the coast is clear. Time to make plans and get the party started.” He held up two to-go containers. The most amazing smell of garlic and tomatoes wafted through the air and her stomach growled. “I admit, I’ve brought a bribe. Take out from a fabulous little Italian place. You design my house and I feed you amazing food, that’s how it works.”
Jack was so positive, so upbeat. It was one of the reasons why she enjoyed his company. She wanted to smile at his words, she really did, but she didn’t have it in her. She shook her head in the negative. “It’s not a good time, Jack.”
“Chloe?” he said, looking worried.
“Another time, perhaps?”
“Chloe, are you all right?” he asked as he studied her rather intently.
He was perceptive. She’d give him that. Suddenly she couldn’t help herself and she crumbled right in front of him. He set down the heavenly smelling containers, and immediately took her in his arms and hugged her to his chest as she was overcome with tears.
“It’s all right, sweetheart. Let it out. I don’t mind,” he mumbled. “It’s a rough time right now, I know that. You’re allowed to cry.”
He assumed she was crying over Mark. And she let him. Telling him the truth would only push him away. It was too much to handle for most people.
Including herself.
She was sure he was taking in the surroundings. Even though it was still light out, the drapes and blinds were all tightly shut, making the house dark, cave-like. A movie played quietly on the TV and a crumpled blanket lay on the couch, making it obvious she’d been doing nothing more than spending her time curled up in front of the TV. She’d spent the day cleaning the house from top to bottom. The usual satisfaction she received from her efforts proved to be elusive, however. She didn’t know what to do with herself. The hole in her heart seemed to be gaping open today and it hurt so badly, she wanted to start screaming and never stop.
Instead, she held onto Jack and cried harder than she’d cried in a long time. He rocked her gently, back and forth, and waited patiently until she got herself under control. He didn’t try to make everything better with useless euphemisms, and she appreciated it. Nothing could make it better and he seemed to sense that. All at once, he picked her up and placed her on the couch, covering her up with the throw blanket as if she were a small child.
“Have you eaten today?” he asked.
“A PB & J,” she said, her voice raspy. And about ten of Jennifer’s delicious homemade cookies, but she didn’t mention those.
He didn’t ask if he could stay. He just did. He grabbed the takeout, took it to the kitchen, and returned a few minutes later with beautifully plated dinners.
He didn’t say a word.
They sat side by side on the couch and ate their dinner in the darkness of her living room, with only the light from the TV illuminating the area.
They watched three movies and Jack never asked her what was wrong. Not once. His undying strength at her side was all the comfort she needed. Something within her felt fulfilled by his mere presence. Who knew that was all she’d needed? She certainly hadn’t. All this time she’d just needed someone to be there, to sit by her side, to stay with her, and help her to not feel so alone.
Just be with me.
That’s it—and yet it changed everything.
He was a rock at her side, strength personified. There was nothing he could do to change her life, but his simple presence assuaged her grief like nothing else.
Jack made a bowl of buttery, salty popcorn and they shared it until only oily kernels were left at the bottom of the bowl.
It was eleven at night by the time the last movie ended. Jack turned on the tableside lamp. The remains of their dinner sat on the coffee table and Chloe suddenly couldn’t stand the sight. It glared at her, mocking her—the plates with dried food, the crumpled napkins, the empty glasses dripping with condensation, filled with long since melted ice and a swallow of soda at the bottom, and the greasy popcorn bowl. Disgusting. How had she sat through three movies with this mess surrounding her?
As if reading her mind, Jack stood. “I’ll grab a garbage bag,” he said, making his way towards the kitchen.
“There’s a box of bags in the garage.”
First things first. Chloe could hardly stand the thought of the grains of salt—whisked away from between their fingers after every bite of popcorn—covering her couch. And the garlic bread crumbs, they must be everywhere. She grabbed the handheld vacuum and began to clean the couch, removing the cushions and getting every nook and cranny. When she’d completed the job, she looked up to find Jack watching her with disturbed eyes. The very stillness of his body told her something was wrong.
She held the vacuum behind her back, as if he hadn’t already seen it and heard it. Unable to hold his gaze, she stared down at the floor. “The salt from the popcorn…it was everywhere…” she mumbled. Why did she feel the need to explain? When she looked up, Jack hadn’t moved.
“The salt?” he questioned, tension in the very timbre of his voice.
“Yeah, you know, from rubbing our fingers together to get it off our fingertips. It must be all over the couch.”
“I can’t see it.”
“It doesn’t mean it’s not there.”
Jack slowly walked further into the room, never breaking eye contact. “What if I did this?” he challenged, grabbing one of the neatly placed couch pillows and throwing it across the room.
“Jack? What are you doing?”
Chloe turned to retrieve it and he said in a stern voice, “Leave it.” Then he threw another pillow.
“Stop it, Jack. Please,” she said as she went after the pillows.
“I dare you to leave them there for twenty-four hours.”
All at once, Chloe stilled and faced him, the discarded pillows at her feet. “What? No. Why would I do that?”
“You can’t do it, can you?”
“Leave them? Of course I can. I just don’t want to.”
“I don’t think you can.” Jack continued around the room, throwing decorative pillows, and tossing the perfectly arranged throw blankets onto the ground.
“Jack, stop it. Why are you doing this? Jack, no,” she yelled as he gently set a vase of fake flowers on its side. Nothing was broken or ruined, just misplaced. Yet inside her being, it felt as though her guts were askew, as if she and the house were somehow connected. The disarray of her living room made her feel confused and dizzy. Her world felt tilted on a most unsatisfactory axis. Jack held her gaze, his eyes flashing. He reached out and pulled on a picture frame, causing it to hang sideways.
“Stop it, please.”
Never breaking eye contact, Jack grabbed the floor lamp and slowly laid it on the floor.
“Why?” Chloe whispered. “Why are you acting like this?”
“I dare you to leave the room just as it is for twenty-four hours,” he repeated. “If you can do it, I’ll help you clean it up tomorrow night.”
Anger began to burn in the pit of her stomach. Chloe stared at him with rage in her eyes. How dare he do such a thing?
“Frankly, I like it better this way. Now it looks like someone lives here.”
“No one does.”
“Don’t say that. You live here and you matter.”
“I don’t.” A puff of wind could come and blow her away and no one would notice.
“Stop existing, Chloe, and live.”
He wasn’t referring to the obsessive cleaning of her house and she knew it. He was throwing a challenge her way. His aim was dead on.
Mark had constantly chastised her for her compulsive behavior. You can’t control your life b
y cleaning the house, Chloe. Bad things will still happen.
But it made her feel like she was in control. It made her feel as if she was in charge. It gave her power over her small little domain.
Jack saw through her actions though, and it surprised her. Cleaning her house was a poor excuse for living her life. Especially when it was all she did day after day. She’d always held firm to the belief that if she kept busy in her house, then she was living, acting, doing—and no one could accuse her of stagnating. Now she realized it didn’t mean she was living her life, it just meant she was doing something to pass the time. She was simply existing. And not much else.
Her lungs felt as though they were about to explode. His words sent a shockwave through her entire body, leaving her trembling. Chloe fell to her knees and covered her face with her hands. Jack knelt in front of her.
I can’t let go, I can’t. I just can’t let it go.
And yet, her living room was in disarray, and nothing had changed. Absolutely nothing. Mark was still gone and their lives were still shattered. Jack was right. So was Mark. She was behaving in a ridiculous manner. The realization made her shoulders shake with bubbling emotion.
“I’m sorry, Chloe,” he said, immediately apologetic. “I’ll put it all back. You don’t need to do this. I just wanted to prove a point, that’s all.”
When she uncovered her face, the surprise in Jack’s expression was obvious. “Laughing? You’re laughing?”
“Yes, my living room is a mess and suddenly, I don’t care,” she answered, as she popped to her feet and threw the couch cushions around the room.
“Chloe?” Jack uttered, clearly wondering if she was going insane.
“There, that’s better. I take on your dare. I can do it, Jack.”
Still a little stunned, Jack started to laugh too, and joined her. They tossed the perfectly arranged magazines around the room, tearing out the pages and crumpling them into tight little wads. They knocked over a few fake plants, threw books off of the shelves, and turned the ottomans upside down. They removed candles from their holders, and slapped the personal photographs right off their easels and onto their faces.
They were both breathing hard when they were done with their rampage. Chloe collapsed against the wall and slid down to a sitting position, her knees to her chest. Jack joined her.
“It looks fabulous,” Jack said.
“That felt good,” Chloe breathed, moving the hair away from her eyes. She must look like a wild woman.
Once the thrill of the moment was over, regret set in almost immediately. Her living room looked ransacked.
“Twenty-four hours?” The trepidation in her voice was evident.
“That’s all I ask.”
“The dirty dishes too?”
“Yep.”
She gulped. “I can do it, Jack.”
“I know you can, Chloe. I know you can.”
By the time Jack arrived the next evening, Chloe was about to climb the walls. The sight of her living room in upheaval was almost more than she could bear. She’d cleaned every inch of the house, right up to the exact dividing line that designated the beginning of the living room.
“Sorry I’m so late. I had to go into work today. I hate working weekends,” he said, even though they’d never set a time for him to arrive. Come to think of it, had they ever really planned to spend any time together? It just sort of happened.
Chloe had spent her Saturday sketching out plans for Jack’s “Time Machine” and had a good idea of what she wanted to do. She couldn’t wait to get started. She spoke with the contractor and he had a team available to begin next week. The notorious and vague “next week” wasn’t good enough, and she’d quickly pinned him down to an exact time and date.
Her time in The Room felt sweet today, not oppressive. For the first time, the memories felt sacred and special, not horrific and ghastly.
Stop existing, Chloe, and live.
It was exactly what she’d needed to hear. She’d been merely existing with her grief. Instead she needed to live. It didn’t make the grief go away, nor did she want it to, but it gave her a purpose, a purpose that helped her to not concentrate on her sadness.
For the first time, she realized she’d spent too much time telling people she was okay, when she was not okay. Not by a long shot.
I am not okay.
And she never would be. But that in and of itself was okay. She didn’t have to get over it and she didn’t have to move on. She just needed to live. Breathe. Put one foot in front of the other.
Mark was so right about one thing. We are not truly in control of our lives. Sure, we decide what job we’d like to do, what to wear, what to eat, who to marry, and where to live. But there are some things in life that are completely out of our hands. Sometimes that knowledge can really throw us for a loop.
But, dang it, if she wanted to feel like she was in control by cleaning her house, then she was darned well going to do it. Just maybe not so obsessively. Maybe she could let it go sometimes.
Occasionally.
Or just every so often.
Like once a year.
Maybe.
Jack studied her features a little warily. Probably trying to gauge her mood. Welcome to the house of many moods.
“I did it,” she told him proudly.
He entered the house and slipped off his shoes without being asked. “I’m impressed.”
“Can we clean it up now? I can hardly stand it for one more minute.”
“You bet.”
As they righted the living room, Jack said, “Chloe, I’m sorry if I was too hard on you last night. I know this isn’t an easy time for you.”
“To be honest, I think I needed an intervention.”
“Yeah, you kinda did.”
“Just don’t do it again, okay? I have a problem and I know it.”
“As far as problems go, I can live with this one. I actually love a clean house too. I despise clutter and mess. But if you ask me that again, I’ll deny it.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. My sisters used to call me the neat freak of the family. You one-up me on every level, but other than that, we’re a match made in heaven.”
Chloe smiled and he smiled back. For just a moment, Chloe felt something stir within her chest, a spark of life she hadn’t felt in a long time.
“Shall we go?”
“Where to?”
“The ‘Time Machine.’ Don’t we have plans to make? Things to discuss, doors to paint, walls to knock down, a house to renovate…”
“Yes, yes, we do,” Chloe agreed. “Make it stop, you’re overwhelming me.”
“Seriously, I’d like to start renovations as soon as I close next week.”
“Are you going to move in right away?” she asked.
“Yep. I’ll put most of my belongings in storage until the renovations are complete.”
“You won’t mind living amongst all the construction and paint fumes?”
Jack shrugged. “I’ll manage. I’d like to be there as much as possible, watching the transformation.”
“Good to know. I’ll do the master bedroom and bath first. That way you’ll be comfortable while the rest of the house is being done.”
“Thank you. That’d be perfect,” Jack said, pleased.
Chloe spent the evening at Jack’s house—the Time Machine—taking extensive measurements, sketching, imagining, thinking about colors, and generally sharing all of her ideas with Jack. He was enthusiastic, in spite of his declaration that it was all up to her. He quickly found out that he did have an opinion over the matter—just as she’d thought—and his ideas and input were invaluable in making her final decisions. She wanted him to be happy with his new home.
She didn’t run across any scorpions, but she couldn’t help but watch the floor as she walked, afraid that one had survived the chemical warfare.
By the time it was ten at night, they were just winding down with their plans.
“Can I ask you something, Jack?”
“Sure.”
“Why do you want such a big house?” The upstairs held four bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a master suite. The living area downstairs was quite spacious as well. Overall, it was a thirty-five-hundred square foot home. Huge for one man.
“Planning ahead. I want a family one day soon. It’s important to me.”
Chloe was touched at his sentiment. In this day and age, it seemed rare to meet a man who wanted a family and she was impressed. Taryn was a fool to leave him. He was a “catch.” It made her wonder if Jack would’ve behaved the way Mark had behaved when…
She couldn’t think that way. She just couldn’t.
When her cell rang, she glanced at the caller ID and trepidation filled her soul. “Excuse me, I need to take this. It’s my sister. Her husband is in the military and they’re stationed in Germany. It’s morning for them already.”
“Of course,” he said, watching her facial expressions closely. Could he tell she was dreading this conversation?
“Hi Renee. How are you?” Chloe began, trying to sound upbeat. The sound of her sister’s children stirring in the background wafted through the phone line.
“Chloe, what is going on?” Renee demanded.
“What do you mean?”
“I just got off the phone with Mark. I wanted to see how you were doing.”
So why not just call me?
“He said it was over between the two of you and that he’d already left. He seemed surprised that you hadn’t called and told me, and frankly, so am I. What happened?”
“He met someone else, Renee. He left,” Chloe stated bluntly.
“Well, I’m not surprised, sweetie.”
Chloe closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Renee always meant well, she really did. There were several years between them and Renee had always been a bit of a mother figure to her, especially since they’d lost their mother a few years back.
“Mark said you’re not doing anything except sitting in that room all day. You know that’s not good for you, honey. You have to move on.”
Chloe bit her lip. Why did everyone want her to seal up her grief in a nice little package with a huge bow on it and place it somewhere else? Preferably as far away from them as it could get.