Finding Goodbye

by Brittany Elise

  “Love doesn’t always make sense.” I pursed my lips together, wrinkling up my nose. It was the best explanation I had. “Sometimes I think it’s easier to follow people when they make life look so fun and easy.”

  “Speaking from experience?” Her eyes narrowed as she looked at me.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I’m good at reading between the lines, and something is off with you. Spill,” she demanded. I presumed this was another of Beck’s talents when it came to reading people. Not to mention, I had never been good at hiding my emotions–even when I was trying.

  “Luke came by last night, and we had the talk,” I said. My head still kind of hurt just thinking back to the conversation.

  “And?”

  “He pretty much told me that he wanted to be with me, and I told him I didn’t feel the same way. I feel so terrible Beck. I’m just so angry with myself for not being able to reciprocate the sentiment. He deserves so much better.” I shook my head. “He’s one of the good ones, and I let him down.”

  “Hey,” she said, forcing me to look at her. “Maybe I’m not the best person to be handing out advice considering, but, I don’t think you should force yourself to feel something that isn’t there.”

  I decided I didn’t have to pretend to be strong anymore. I was determined to get past my hang-ups, and the only way to do that was to share a few intimate details about my past. So, I told Beck about my childhood and what it had been like to grow up with my twin, living in the shadow of two boys who shaped my entire world. She listened while I unloaded my baggage. It was nice having someone who had been away from it all; totally unbiased, just sitting there, listening. When I finished, she was still looking at me, nodding as if everything was finally making sense. And to me, it was.

  “You deserve to find out who you are,” she said softly. “Everyone does.”

  “I just feel so awful that I had to come to this realization the hard way.”

  “Luke will forgive you,” she said, as if she suddenly knew him better than I did.

  “I hope so,” I said.

  “I have an idea. The annual Havenport Spring Beach Festival thing is the first weekend in April. Aunt Layla talked your grandma into having a joint bake sale, so I’m sure we’ll both be roped into helping.” She waved a hand in the air, dismissing the lengthened version of the explanation. “There’s always an after party down by the pier where all the college students hang out. Maybe you can invite Luke, and we can all hang out together.”

  “He said he wanted space,” I said. Although, I wasn’t sure what sort of time frame this “space” he needed fell under, but I wasn’t about to ask.

  “It’s still weeks away,” she said, brushing it off as a minor detail. “It would be a good opportunity for you to talk to him about everything you just told me. And, if he’s still pissed, I can distract him or something.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I lifted an eyebrow.

  “Nothing,” she said. “I just thought it might be helpful to take his mind off you.”

  “Do you like him?” I asked.

  “Well I’m not blind,” she said exasperatedly. “I know I said he was a little too preppy for my tastes, but my tastes haven’t exactly gotten me very far in life. I’ve decided I need to change my perspectives a bit–broaden my horizon, if you will. Call it an epiphany of my own.”

  I dropped my face into my hands, shaking my head.

  “Come on. It’ll be okay.” Beck assured me.

  For his sake, I hoped she was right. I lifted my face out of my hands, reaching up to straighten my bangs over my eyebrow.

  “You shouldn’t worry about that so much.”

  “What?”

  “Your scar,” she said. “It’s not even that noticeable.”

  “I don’t want people to ask questions.”

  “So what if they do? Either answer, or tell them to mind their own damn business.”

  I laughed, wondering if life was really that simple and I was just making it so much more complicated than necessary. A beat later, I noticed a slight tinged smell coming from behind the counter. “Is something burning?”

  Beck’s eyes went wide. “Oh shit!” I watched as she spun on her heel and pushed through double-sided swinging doors. I looked around at the empty store, and decided to let myself around the counter, and followed behind her.

  I coughed, batting the smoke in front of my face with my hand. “Beck,” I called, searching for her through the cloudy haze.

  “Get the window,” she shouted. I could hear her banging around somewhere to my left, so I darted right toward the stream of light and found the window. I fumbled with the latches and then shoved upward, the hinges complaining as the window gave. The smoke billowed out into the morning air, almost as if it was being vacuumed from the other side.

  I found Beck kneeling in front of an oven. She reached inside with oven-mitts and retrieved tray-after-tray filled with blackened crisps of what I assumed had once been cookies. They were completely charred, and smoke was still puffing from inside the oven. “Layla!” Beck shouted, causing me to jump. I pressed a hand over my heart to try and still my quickened beats.

  A second later, I heard footsteps descending a set of wooden stairs that were hidden on the far wall of the kitchen. “Is that where you live?” I asked her.

  “You didn’t know our apartment was upstairs?”

  “No, you forgot to mention that,” I said.

  Layla was in full view now, landing on the floor with the palms of her hands pressed to the sides of her face. “Oh, no, not again!” She ran over to the stove, picking up a spatula as she tried to scrape some of the cookie skeletons from their permanent resting place. “I can’t believe this,” she complained, “all six trays ruined?”

  “The timer didn’t go off,” Beck stated the obvious. “Again.”

  “And apparently your fire alarm doesn’t work either,” I added, looking up at the silent, circular fixture on the ceiling.

  “Darn batteries must be dead,” Layla said, still picking at one of the cookie trays, hopelessly.

  “Now do you believe me? We need a new oven,” Beck said, placing her hands on her hips. The three of us huddled together, peering at the smoking oven that was now emanating a high-pitched whistling sound.

  “I think it’s a goner,” I said, screwing up my face.

  “This is such a disappointment. I don’t have time for this,” Layla groaned. “We’re going to have to close up shop until I can get this hunk of junk out of here and get a replacement oven.”

  “We can still sell coffee and books in the meantime,” Beck suggested. “No need to shut the place down.”

  “Yeah, okay,” she agreed. “But how am I going to get this thing out of here?” Layla pursed her lips together and tapped the side of her temple, almost as if a thought would just pop right on out with her willing it to.

  “Do you have a dolly?” I asked.

  “No,” she said, sighing.

  “I’m sure my grandparents have one on the farm you could borrow, we do a lot of heavy equipment lifting.”

  “That would be so amazing,” she gasped. “I would pay you for your time and trouble of course.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” I told her. “Let me just make a phone call, I’ll be right back.”

  Outside, it had finally stopped raining, though I couldn’t say as much for my own mood improvement. I leaned up against the brick building, pulling my phone from my back pocket and dialed the farmhouse. Grandma answered on the third ring.

  “Hello?”

  �
�Hey Grandma, it’s Darcy. Is Grandpa around?” I asked.

  “I think he’s out in the barn, is everything okay?” she asked, concern lining her voice.

  “Yes, everything’s fine,” I said. “I was visiting Beck at the coffee house and their oven kind of burned up. I was wondering if Grandpa had a dolly they could borrow to haul it out?” I asked.

  “Oh, that’s a shame,” she said. “Let me go out and talk to him and I’ll give you a call back.”

  “Thanks, love you,” I said, pocketing my phone.

  I pushed off the wall, rounded the corner, and clumsily stumbled directly into a solid human barricade. I staggered backward, struggling to regain my balance. “Sorry,” I muttered, looking up only to realize that I had smacked right into Liam.

  “Whoa, hey,” he said, steadying me. The warmth of his fingertips seeped into my shoulders.

  “Hey, what are you doing here?” I had forgotten how truly small the quaint little town was.

  “I was just leaving Baron’s for the day,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder toward the vet office. “I was going to grab lunch before class this afternoon. What are you doing here?” he asked, letting go of me now that I wasn’t at risk for tumbling over on the sidewalk.

  “Solving an oven crisis,” I said, pointing to the Crescent Moon. “You remember Beck?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, she’s a little hard to forget.”

  I chuckled at that. “Well, she works there–her aunt runs the place.”

  “Oh that’s cool. What happened to the oven?”

  “It basically burned up,” I said, rocking back on my heels. “I’m actually waiting for Grandma to call me back about using the dolly.”

  “Do they need any help?” he asked. “I could run out to the farm and grab the dolly; I don’t have to be in class until two anyway.”

  “Oh, no,” I said, reaching up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “You don’t need to trouble yourself.”

  “It’s no trouble,” he said, assuring me.

  “Well let me just run inside to let them know, and if it’s okay, I’ll ride with you to the farm?” I asked.

  “Of course.” He smiled.

  “Okay.” I returned his smile and pulled open the doors to the coffee house. Beck and Layla were still standing in the kitchen when I returned, only now, they were working diligently to scrape the blackened cookies away from the metal sheet.

  “Any luck?” Beck asked me.

  “Yes, actually,” I said. “I just ran into Liam outside. We’re going to run back to the farm to get the dolly.”

  “You’re kidding me?” Beck gasped.

  “Quite literally,” I said. “I smacked right into him.”

  “Lucky you.” She smirked, wiggling her eyebrows. “That reminds me. You still owe me a full report on what happened with him over the weekend.”

  “Who’s Liam?” Layla inquired, pausing at the sink. She was wearing a pair of bright yellow rubber gloves that were up to her elbows in length. Soap bubbles were floating in the air.

  “Only this super-hot stablehand that works at her grandparents’ farm,” Beck proclaimed. “He totally has a thing for you.” She turned to me, nodding.

  “Whatever,” I said. “We’ll be back shortly.”

  “I can’t thank you enough, really,” Layla declared.

  I made a quick phone call to Grandma, letting her know that Liam and I were on our way to pick up the dolly, and then met him outside. He was waiting for me, casually leaning up against the brick wall.

  “All set?” he asked.

  “Yep.”

  I followed him up the sidewalk to where his truck was parked beside the curb, right in front of Baron’s Clinic. He opened the passenger’s side door for me and I climbed in.

  “Thank you for doing this, I know they’ll really appreciate it.” It had been admirable of him to offer, but then again, I was noticing that Liam seemed to have a strong sense of selflessness. He was quick to lend a helping hand, and I wondered if his altruistic attributes were in part of his upbringing. It must have taken a lot of strength and compassion to care for his ill mother–to watch cancer take her, but he never left her side. I wondered if I could ever be that strong.

  I wasn’t, but I wanted to be…

  “No problem,” he said. He started up the engine and then pulled the truck back on the road, pointing it in the direction that would lead us to the farm.

  With the sunlight streaming in through the window, I was struck again by just how attractive he was. I had a feeling that he was totally unaware of his good looks, or that his presence had an effect on me.

  “I was going to wait until tomorrow to show you,” he said, leaning forward to retrieve something from under the seat. He pulled out an eight-by-ten frame, and handed it to me.

  I lifted the frame, holding it front of me so that I could study the various shapes and patterns that were unfolding over the canvas. It was a horse’s head, made entirely of the wine bottle corks that Liam had told me about. I had never seen anything like it. The pieces were cut into different lengths, and sizes; positioned on the board in a careful and painstaking way. There were several different shades so you could differentiate between all of the markings on the horse.

  “This is unreal,” I said. “You made this?”

  “Did you really think I was an alcoholic?” He shot me a look that was bordering on the line of amusement.

  “Well no,” I said, “I just couldn’t imagine what you meant by the term, ‘cork sculptures.’ I studied his work; he had been entirely scrupulous, not missing or leaving out a single detail. “This must have taken hours,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Weeks,” he corrected, “but I just do a little at a time.”

  “You’ll have to show me how sometime,” I said, looking up at him.

  “Sure. You can keep that one if you like it,” he said.

  “I couldn’t,” I said. Yet, at the same time, I felt my fingers tightening around the edges of the frame. I didn’t want to give it up. “It’s incredible.”

  “It’s yours,” he said.

  “I promise to take good care of it.” I didn’t really know what else to say. I traced the three dimensional patterns with my fingertips, admiring. “You should really sell these things; you’d probably make a fortune.”

  He laughed. “My mom was the real artist, and she never sold any of her work,” he said. “She did it because it relaxed her–it was an escape to a different world.”

  “And for you?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I guess we had that in common.”

  As we pulled in the drive, I noticed a red Chevy parked beside my grandpa’s antique model, and I narrowed my eyes wondering who it belonged to.

  “That’s Mr. Harris’ truck,” Liam said, answering my silent question.

  “Who?”

  “He runs the tack and feed store in town,” Liam explained. “He’s probably checking out the rescues.”

  “Why would he be doing that?” Liam pulled up to the front of the barn, maneuvering the wheel so he could back up to the entrance, and shoved the gear in park.

  “Mr. Harris is on the board for the community livestock auctions,” Liam said. “Since your grandparents purchase supplies from his store, he keeps them updated on when and where all the auctions are.” He hopped out of the cab, and I followed after him, leaving my cork sculpture on the safety of the front seat.

  “Auctions,” I heard myself say.

  “Your grandparents get to show the rescues at the auctions–try to find them good homes,” he
explained. “You knew that, though? That’s what we do here–train the animals to get them ready for their second-chance at life.” He pulled open the heavy barn doors.

  “I guess I forgot that happened,” I said. I felt my stomach sinking with panic as I rounded the corner and saw Grandpa and Mr. Harris in front of Maverick’s stall.

  “Good morning,” Liam called out, announcing our presence.

  “Hi there,” Mr. Harris replied. He was a larger man, a little soft in the middle, sporting a flannel and a ball cap. He had a five o’clock shadow, an indicator that he’d skipped his morning shave.

  “Bill, you remember Liam, our stablehand, and this little lady is our granddaughter, Darcy.” Grandpa introduced us.

  Bill smiled warmly. “Hi there,” he said.

  I forced a smile.

  “Evelyn told me you were coming by to pick up the dolly,” Grandpa said, “that’s a shame about the oven. No one was hurt, were they?”

  “Thankfully no one was hurt,” I said, “but I don’t think they’re looking forward to purchasing another oven.”

  “This horse is sure a beauty,” Mr. Harris said to me, reaching out to touch Maverick. Maverick tossed his head back, snorting sharply, and backed away from the front of the stall. He hated new people sticking their hands in his face. “Feisty, I see; must be those blue eyes of his.”

  “He’s a slow work in progress,” I said with a rather possessive tone to my voice. “He probably isn’t the best candidate for being re-homed.”

  The barn grew silent, but Liam was quick with a diversion. “What she means is that he’s probably going to take a little extra time and care when it comes to his training. He’s an obstinate thing, but we’re working with him. The buckskin should be ready soon. I’ve been working with him for a couple of weeks and he’s a good candidate for resale. He’s completely gentled. His only downfall is he tends to be a stall magnet, but, he’d make a good trail riding companion,” Liam said.

  “Oh, yes,” Grandpa said, moving down the line to the buckskin’s stall.

  “I’ve been calling him Clipper,” Liam added.