Then There Was You

by Melanie Dawn

  “I think I respected and trusted you more than anyone in my life. When no one else in my life could even begin to get through to me, you always did. Finding someone like you was a blessing. I moved around a lot in school, so I never really had a lot of friends. My kid brother was exactly that—a kid. I had my mom, but you know how moms are. And I had my dad, but he was locked away in prison.” He paused, and for a moment I could almost feel the heat of his breath through the phone. “Then there was you.”

  Whoa. My eyes closed, and I inhaled a staggering breath. My emotions were all over the place. I felt a pull so strong from our past that it was so easy to reconnect like this, talking and laughing as if it were yesterday. But at the same time, I found myself withholding a feeling deep inside—one I couldn’t quite put my finger on… or was afraid to, really. Something about it felt wrong because he was once a client, so I bottled it up and tried to ignore it.

  Chris kept talking, unloading as if it were a speech he’d been preparing all these years. “I made a connection with you that I never expected. You always listened to me. You never judged me. You always had the right thing to say. You were always there when I needed you. There will never be anyone who could fill your shoes.”

  I swallowed hard against the tickle in the back of my throat. “Thank you, Chris,” I rasped. “That really means a lot to me.” His words blew me away. I never expected to hear all of this tonight, but I couldn’t help the knot that formed in my stomach when I did.

  Continuing, he murmured, “It’s hard not having someone in my life like you were to me all those years ago. I mean, juvie sucked, but you always made me smile. And still, just thinking back—about you—I still smile.”

  My heart leapt in my chest. The idea of him thinking about me made me smile too. Then, I remembered those days I’d walk down the halls of Fairbanks, barely able to function under the weight of my depression, and Chris would flash me that smile that always warmed my heart.

  “You made me smile too, Chris. Those years at Fairbanks were some of the best years of my career. I miss it sometimes.”

  “You ever hear from Malik or the other boys?”

  I sighed, remembering the other boys. “No. For the most part, when any of you left, I never heard from or saw you again. It was hard at first, but I learned to accept it. It is what it is. Life.”

  “I always regretted never keeping in touch with you,” he admitted. “But, like you said, life happens. I was young and immature, and once I got out of there, I hardly gave Fairbanks another thought.”

  “I know…” I said sadly, remembering what a fleeting moment I was in many kids’ lives—a very influential moment, but a fleeting one nonetheless.

  “I’m sorry,” he said regretfully.

  “Don’t be. I’m happy for you. If you had dwelled on Fairbanks then you would have landed yourself right back in there again. I’m glad you kept moving forward. I mean, look at you now.”

  “Thanks,” he said. His voice cracked, so I knew he was smiling through the phone. “I just want you to know how much you meant to me back then.”

  “Same here,” I admitted, feeling that connection between us snap tight, despite the distance between us, wherever he was, how long it’d been, or how many years had passed. It still felt real, and now it was becoming something… more.

  I heard him sigh, soft and satisfied. “Well, I’m not sure how much longer I can keep Jeremy locked out of here. I guess I’d better let you go for tonight.”

  I silently groaned. Okay, stop. Don’t let yourself get too attached. “Okay. Have great night.” I could already hear Jeremy banging on the door in the background, and it made me laugh.

  “It was so good to talk to you again. It was great to hear your voice,” he said wistfully.

  I wished he was sitting in my living room right now, not in some hotel room far away. “It was great to hear your voice too.”

  “Goodnight, Salem. Sweet dreams.” The way my name rolled off his tongue sent shivers up my spine.

  “Goodnight, Chris,” I said.

  I ended the call and nearly squealed with giddy excitement, but I quickly reined in my emotions. Don’t get your hopes up, Salem. Let it go.

  I could barely sleep that night, tossing and turning in bed. Thoughts of Chris and the deep sound of his voice infiltrated my mind. An early morning call jarred me from my semi-lucid state.

  “Hello?” I asked as I held the receiver to my ear and glanced at the clock. 4:28AM

  “Salem? It’s Jack,” he sounded formal and business-like.

  My boss? Why would he be calling me so early?

  “Hey, Jack. What’s going on?” I asked, sitting up in the bed, suddenly overcome with dread.

  Jack sighed. “It’s your new client, Shelby Blaine. She attempted suicide last night. Her boyfriend found her before it was too late. She’s at Washburn Memorial. She’s asking for you.”

  “Oh my god,” I gasped with horror. “I’m glad she’s all right. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thank you for calling me.” I was already out of the bed, pacing the floor.

  I hung up the phone, threw on some fresh clothes, and slung my hair up in a ponytail. I needed to get Alexis up and let her know I had to head into work early. I knew she could call Olivia to have her mom, Grace, swing by and pick her up for school.

  “Alexis, honey,” I gently shook her shoulder to wake her.

  “Hmmm,” she groaned, grabbing the blanket and pulling it up over her head.

  I jostled her again. “Alexis, wake up. I need to go into work early. There’s an emergency.”

  “What’s going on?” she asked groggily.

  “It’s one of my clients. I need to head in early, so you’ll need to call Olivia and ask her mom to swing by and pick you up for school.”

  I knew it wouldn’t be a problem since Olivia just lived a few streets over from us. Grace was a single mom too, so between the two of us, one of us was always swinging by to pick up someone for school.

  “Okay, Mom,” she said with a yawn.

  “Call me if there’s a problem, okay?”

  “Okay,” she sighed, closing her eyes again.

  I checked the clock again. “Go back to sleep. Your alarm is set, right?”

  “Yeah,” she mumbled, rolling over and pulling the blanket over her head.

  “Love you,” I whispered, blowing her a kiss.

  “Love you, too,” she murmured, quickly falling back to sleep.

  I locked up the house and hopped in the car, eager to get to Shelby at Washburn Memorial.

  The electronic doors slid open and the stale scent of hospital air blasted me in the face.

  “Can I help you?” a white-haired lady behind the desk asked with a pleasant smile.

  “Yes. Could you please tell me which room Shelby Blaine is in?”

  The woman tapped a few keys on the computer then looked back at me. “Room 316,” she said with a wide grin.

  “Thank you,” I said in a rush and headed toward the elevator.

  When I reached Shelby’s room, I could hear the beep of the heart monitor through the crack in the door. I knocked quietly.

  “Come in,” her weak voice squeaked over the resounding, rhythmic tone.

  Pushing the thick wooden door open, I peeked my head in. “Shelby?”

  Her frail looking body lay under the stark, white hospital blankets. Her bleached, blonde hair with dark roots was pulled up in a messy bun on top of her head.

  “Mrs. Honeycutt,” she croaked. “I’m so glad you came.” Tears pooled in her bright, blue eyes and fell down her already tear-stained cheeks.

  “Oh, honey,” I cried as I rushed toward the edge of her bed and reached out to her. She wrapped her arms around me and sobbed into the crook of my neck.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let you down,” she cried. “I was doing so much better.”

  I pulled back, gently brushing the hair off her face. “Shelby, honey, you didn’t let me down. I just want to know what h
appened.”

  She shook her head, wide-eyed with fear. “I’m not sure, really. One minute I was putting Jayce in his crib and the next minute I was in the bathroom taking a handful of pills. I called David at work before I passed out, but I don’t remember what I said. I can’t really remember much of anything, except Jayce’s crying.” Tears rolled down her cheeks as her hands flew up and covered her ears. “I can still hear him screaming through the monitor. I just couldn’t take it anymore, Mrs. Honeycutt.” Lowering her hands, Shelby gritted her teeth and clenched her fists by her side. The feeling I had when I sank into the deep water of the bathtub to drown out Alexis’s crying came barreling back to me as if it had just happened yesterday.

  Words tumbled out of Shelby’s mouth as though someone had pulled the wrong block from an unsteady Jenga tower. “I’m not fit to be a mother, Mrs. Honeycutt. I love my son with all my heart, but some days I hate his guts. There’s something wrong with me. I shouldn’t feel like this. I have zero patience. I hate my life. I hate being a mother. I can’t take the constant crying.”

  I knew that feeling of hopelessness. I understood the plight of feeling unworthy to be a mother. I empathized with her thoughts of hating her life. I remembered everything all too well.

  “Shelby,” I smoothed her hair, consoling her. “You’re a great mother. I’ve seen you interact with Jayce. He’s such a sweet and happy little boy. We all have moments where we need a break or wish things were easier. There’s nothing wrong with that. But sometimes, hormones and chemical imbalances play a factor in our thoughts and feelings, and some mothers need just a little extra help coping with the birth of a child. I know I did.”

  Shelby looked at me, wide-eyed with surprise. “You struggled too?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Every day for the first six months.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I sought treatment. I visited a counselor and got on the right medication to help me. The pregnancy care center can help you do that.”

  Tears slid down Shelby’s cheeks. “I don’t want to hate my life. I want to be happy. For Jayce. He deserves a good mother. One who doesn’t dread having to deal with him every day.”

  “I understand your feelings, Shelby. I’ve been there. I want to help you. I can tell you this. After I got the help I needed, I was a completely different person. I was happier and healthier. You can be, too.”

  Shelby nodded. “Thank you. I just wish I had talked to you about this sooner.”

  “Me too,” I told her. “Me too.”

  I sat by her bed, holding her hand until her boyfriend, David, arrived. He held a sleepy Jayce in his arms.

  He rushed to Shelby’s side. Grasping her hand, he looked at me. “Thank you for coming so quickly. I know you didn’t have to be at work until eight, but thank you for dropping in sooner.” David said. “It really means a lot.”

  I nodded, humbled by his words. “You’re welcome. I don’t see this as just a job. My clients mean the world to me. I want to do everything I can to help them.” I looked at Shelby. “They will probably transfer you to a psych ward for a few days just to monitor you. Once they feel you are stable enough, they’ll refer you for further treatment, but you’ll be allowed to go back home.” Glancing back at David, I continued, “The best thing you can do when she gets back home is help her out as much as possible. Let her get some good solid sleep, at least on the nights when you don’t have to work the next day. If Jayce gets really fussy, take him for a walk. Get him out of the house for an hour or so and let her have a break. It’s crucial for you to help her as much as possible right now. Okay?”

  “I will,” David promised, “I just want her to feel better. I want her to be happy.”

  “I just don’t want Child Protective Services to take Jayce away from me,” Shelby said, frightened.

  “They won’t, as long as one parent can take care of him.”

  David nodded. “I’ve got mom and dad to help out, too,” he assured me.

  “Great. Then everything should be fine. Take care of yourself, Shelby. I’ll be in and out to check on you.”

  “Thank you Mrs. Honeycutt. Thank you for everything.”

  I smiled, squeezed her shoulder, and headed out the door toward my car. I could see a little bit of myself from fourteen years ago in Shelby—that frightened mom who was overcome by feelings she didn’t quite understand—feelings that should have consisted of overwhelming love and joy, but were instead blanketed by resentment and frustration.

  I drove away from the hospital thankful that I’d finally found the courage all those years ago to call a therapist and get the help I needed. I was grateful for the chance to talk to Shelby. I hoped that I’d helped her in some small way.

  A week later I got another text from Chris. After the wonderful conversation we’d had, I’d kind of expected it to be sooner. I was pulling my hair all week. The endless phone checking interrupted my entire week, my job, and my time with Alexis. I was distracted, daydreaming like a teenager with a crush. I couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed with each passing day.

  Chris: It’s been a busy week, but I just wanted you to know that I can’t stop thinking about you.

  I nearly giggled when I read his text, and suddenly a week felt like nothing—until I was standing in line at the grocery store and saw all those tabloid pictures on the magazines.

  Chris had been photographed with several different girls. One photograph was taken mid-hug, and in another he was holding one girl’s hand while they walked. What the hell? I slammed my grocery items on the conveyor with such force that the cashier gave me a funny look. Don’t take it out on the produce, Salem.

  I immediately deleted his text.

  Two days later, he texted again while I sat in the parking lot waiting to pick up Alexis after school.

  Chris: Didn’t hear from you. Wondering if you got my last text? Hope you’re doing well. Passing through Charlotte in several weeks. Are we still on for dinner?

  Ugh. I’d forgotten about my promise to cook for him. The forever-loyal Salem took control of my fingers and typed out my response, despite my efforts to beat her back down.

  Yes. We’re still on.

  A new text immediately popped up.

  Chris: Great. Can’t wait to see you.

  Can’t wait to see me? Yeah, me and ten other girls…

  I wanted to forget those photos and bring myself back to how I felt after we talked the other night, but I couldn’t. So, I added a new emotion to this constant craziness—jealousy.

  Tommy caught me texting Salem again. “Damn, son, whoever this chick is… she’s got you whipped. You do realize there are a lot of sexy, young women out there who are just dying to get with you.”

  “None like her,” I admitted out loud. Tommy didn’t have a clue. He never really even understood the depth of the feelings I had for Kaitlyn, so to see another woman having this kind of effect on me was of no significance to him.

  Tommy was a man-whore. This life on the road was an endless buffet of ass for him. It could’ve been for me too, and it was at one point when I was trying to get over that weekend at the beach with Kaitlyn, but I was over it. No one night stand could compare to this feeling.

  Days had gone by and I hadn’t heard from Salem. Not since my last text. I missed the sound of her voice already. Being on the road sucked ass. I endured long, all-night bus rides where I tried to catch up on sleep. I fought through endless crowds of women, all grabbing at me and touching me, but who meant nothing to me. I wished I had time to call her every day, but my schedule just wasn’t always conducive to that.

  “What are you gonna do while we’re in NYC?” Tommy asked as he practiced a few riffs with his guitar.

  I shrugged. “Haven’t decided yet.”

  “It’ll be nice to have a couple days off,” he said, strumming his fingers across the strings. “I was thinking I might head over to Allentown to visit my folks.”

  I nodded, lost in thought.
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br />   “Hey, you should fly that chick you’ve been texting up here and get her outta your system,” he said with a wink.

  I didn’t always listen to Tommy and his crazy fucking ideas, but for once I thought he might be on to something. “Yeah,” I said, nodding, “good idea.” But much to Tommy’s dismay, getting Salem out of my system was the last plan on my agenda.

  I was busy repainting the hallway when I heard the knock at my front door.

  Wiping my hands on my shirt, I realized I was covered in paint, and I was pretty sure I saw some drops in my hair when I passed by the mirror in the hallway.

  I peeked through the window. A man in a suit leaned toward the peephole and flashed his ID card.

  “I work for Chris King, ma’am. He sent me here,” his muffled voice called through the thick door.

  Recognizing him immediately, I opened it. “You’re Pete, right?” I asked. “I met you in Charlotte.”

  Pete smiled. “Yes, ma’am, I remember,” he said, tipping the fedora he wore on his head then thrusting a box into my hands.

  “What’s this?” I asked, turning it over in my hands.

  “A gift from Chris. He asked that you open it immediately. I will return within an hour.” The man shrugged. “Chris’s orders.”

  I looked at him, confused. “Orders?” Hmmmm, what’s this about?

  “One hour, ma’am,” he repeated and spun on his heel, retreating to his car.

  “Okay, thank you,” I mumbled, looking at the box and closing the door behind him.

  I opened the package, lifting the lid carefully. Inside the box lay beautiful, black sleeveless dress, with lace across the shoulders and back, a pair of designer black, strappy heels, and a very expensive matching clutch purse. A handwritten note was sticking out of the handbag.