Stone in Love

by Cadence, Brook

  Lindsay shrugged her shoulders. “I’m still not with you. Exactly what is the problem?”

  “The truth. But before I tell it, I have to warn you, you’re not going to like it. I did it for your own good. I was just trying to—”

  “Charlie!” Lindsay said, her eyes wide. “Get to the point already.”

  “Don’t you see the correlation?” Charlie asked, wondering why she hadn’t read between the lines by now. “My dad’s a doctor. You needed a job in a doctor’s office. Must I spell it out for you?”

  “Wait a second,” Lindsay said holding up her index finger. Her eyes narrowed. “So you’re telling me, you were behind my getting hired at Surfside?”

  The prominent scowl on Lindsay’s face spoke volumes. In an instant, Charlie had been downgraded to the scum of the earth. Right now, he imagined a sewer rat could run across her bare feet and she would look at it more favorably.

  Charlie held up both hands, palms up. “There you have it. The awful truth laid out before you.”

  A feeling he wasn’t familiar with started to wash over him. Anticipating Lindsay’s angry response (when most normal people would be thanking him) a fire began to burn inside. Tiny beads of sweat formed on his brow.

  Lindsay paced back and forth. “I can not believe you. You know it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I wanted to do it on my own. Now I understand why it hadn’t been necessary for me to interview for the position. I thought it must have been my lucky day; boy, was I na�ve. Now I can tell everyone that I have my pilot boyfriend to thank for my dream job. My credentials had nothing to do with it. Having high–society connections helped me along the way.”

  She stopped, looked at Charlie, and threw her hands in the air. “Just freaking perfect. Everything I stand for I also lost along the way.”

  Charlie was standing against the deck, arms crossed, the rails supporting him. It was a good thing too, as shaky as his legs were. Was it possible for the same sweet lips that had kissed him earlier to spew such venom–filled words? He’d never been more enraged. And what was coming to his mind to say would mirror—and exceed—her hostile words. The best thing he could do was remain silent.

  Maybe if she had a second to think about what she’d uttered out of frustration, she would apologize. Charlie waited.

  She stood, lips tense, with hands on her hips.

  Charlie realized that it was she who was expecting the apology. It wasn’t about to happen; she’d crossed the line.

  “Excuse me,” Charlie said, passing her with short, defeated steps.

  Turning around, Lindsay folded her arms. “Where are you going?”

  Charlie stepped inside and gently closed the door behind him, keeping his back to her.

  He didn’t care what she thought, where she went, or what she did. She was on her own now … just like she always tried so hard to be.

  Chapter Nineteen

  That was it. For him to close the door right in her face, without so much as a “sorry”, was a deal breaker. Hadn’t he listened to anything she’d ever told him? No. He didn’t know her at all.

  Lindsay pushed down the handle of the back door and tip–toed inside. Charlie was nowhere in sight. She grabbed a pair of shorts and a shirt out of the downstairs dryer and dressed.

  Everything was too good to be true, as she so often suspected.

  She hooked her arm through her purse strap and dug out her keys. She’d started toward the front door when she remembered what was on that keychain: the key to her—his—Camry.

  Struggling to remove it from the key ring, she broke a nail. “Mother F!” Damn thing was on there good, but it wasn’t going to beat her. It was coming off if it was the last thing she did.

  Lindsay reluctantly slipped her feet into the sandy flip–flops that were on the porch and descended the steps. She sprinted down Atlantic Avenue, never looking back.

  She didn’t know where she was going; obviously she couldn’t foot–it all the way to Goose Creek. All she knew was she had to get away. She was sick to death of trying to wrap her head around this fantasy of a relationship with Charlie.

  Turns out, it was everything she always expected it to be: a sham.

  She ended up at Joe’s Tavern, where they’d had lunch only hours earlier. She was ushered to a table out on the deck, where she called a cab.

  As usual, the place was bustling with singles and couples alike. Something about the beach/bar environment made p.d.a. a normal occurrence at Joe’s. The couple standing in front of her were fully absorbed with each other. The college–age guy touched his finger to the blonde girl’s lips, right before he leaned in for an open–mouth kiss, balancing his poured–from–the–tap beer in his other hand.

  One good thing came of the disgusting make–out session in front of her. It gave Lindsay the idea to order her own drink. But beer wasn’t what she had in mind.

  “Waiter,” she called to the fellow schlepping by with a tray full of drinks.

  He slowed his pace, but didn’t stop, taking orders on the fly. “What can I get you?”

  “Crown on the rocks.”

  “Gimme a sec.”

  To hell with all this water drinking. What was the point of having a flawless complexion anyway? Might as well look on the outside as bad as she felt on the inside. Better yet, why feel anything at all? She wanted to be numb … forget. At least for tonight.

  * * *

  In the middle of the night, Lindsay awoke to a cold, hard floor against her cheek, and the worst headache of her life. From the neck down, she lay on itchy woven carpet. She’d passed out on the square of linoleum just inside the front door of her apartment.

  After her first round of Crown last night, she’d ordered two, maybe three more. She recalled stepping into the cab, but the drive home was a blank. How she’d made it inside her apartment and shut the door behind her was a mystery, and a blessing.

  She put her hands on the floor and slowly came to a sitting position. Her head swimming, she considered lying right back down. Instead, she forced herself to crawl to her bedroom. She was far too sick to worry about dignity.

  When she made it to the foot of her bed, she clutched the end of the down comforter and lifted herself. She flopped down on her belly, her legs hanging off the end of the bed, and passed out again.

  Hours later, she awoke to a violent shaking of her shoulders. “Lindsay, wake up. Are you all right?” a feminine voice said.

  “Who’s there?” Lindsay asked, squinting to make out the silhouette sitting beside her on the bed. Her eyes blurred and she struggled to hold them open.

  “It’s me.” Ireland turned on the bedside lamp.

  Lindsay sat straight up. “Ireland?” She wrapped her arms around her friend. “What in the world are you doing here?”

  “Checking on you.” She smoothed Lindsay’s hair back from her face. “You look terrible. Mind telling me just what the hell is going on?”

  “I will. Let me wash my face first.” Lindsay’s mouth was bone dry. “And brush my teeth.”

  She walked gingerly to the bathroom sink and winced at the haggard–looking wreck staring back at her in the mirror. “Ouch, I do look like shit, don’t I?”

  “To put it nicely.”

  Lindsay splashed her face with a few handfuls of cold water and reached for the hand towel. Her face buried in the towel, she said, “So, tell me again why you’re here?”

  “Don’t you remember calling me last night?”

  “No.”

  “You did. I could tell you were wasted. You said you broke up with Charlie and that you were in the back seat of a cab. You said you needed me, so here I am. I took the red–eye flight out of New York.”

  Lindsay scratched her head and cleared her throat. “Clearly a case of drunk dialing. I’m glad I did though. Where’s Jeffrey?”

  “He wasn’t able to come with me. He’s taking his apprenticeship at Dad’s law firm very seriously. He wouldn’t take a day off even if he were allowed to.”r />
  Her equilibrium off, Lindsay steadied herself on the bathroom sink. “Can we talk after I take a shower?” She crossed her arms over the edge of the sink, and rested her head on top of them. “God, I feel horrible.” She started to sob.

  Ireland wasted no time getting to her side. “You poor baby.” She gently rubbed up and down Lindsay’s back. A minute later she was holding back Lindsay’s hair while she vomited.

  When she was done, Lindsay crumpled on the floor next to the commode.

  Ireland pushed back the shower curtain. “I’m gonna run some water for you.”

  Lindsay couldn’t manage a reply; her throat burned like someone had taken a lighter to it.

  Ireland lifted Lindsay’s arms one at a time and helped her remove her shirt and bra.

  Lindsay crossed her arms over her chest. “I can manage.” A second later she started dry heaving.

  “You’re a hot mess who can’t manage to stand up straight,” Ireland said. “Besides, I’ve seen plenty of t–and–a in my lifetime. There’s nothing special about yours.”

  “Thanks.”

  Ireland helped Lindsay finish undressing and positioned Lindsay’s arm around her neck. Ireland lowered her into the tub and turned off the faucet. “Be right back.”

  She removed a nightlight from the bedroom wall and plugged it into a bathroom socket. Then she opened the cabinet below the bathroom sink and retrieved a bath pillow. “Here you go, kitty,” she said, gently lifting Lindsay’s neck. “The low lighting should be more comfortable for your eyes. Relax for a while, and call me when you’re ready to get out. I’m going to brew you a pot of coffee.” She shut the door without so much as a creak.

  Lindsay closed her eyes. Her heart was fragile. So fragile in fact, that she felt like crying for ever thinking Ireland an airhead. In her weakest moment, she was her hero.

  Lindsay cried quietly, to the point her nose was completely stuffed. When she could no longer breathe, she supported herself on the rim of the tub, reaching for the toilet paper. She lost her grip and fell back into the water, creating a giant splash.

  Seconds later, Ireland burst in. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I was trying to get some toilet paper, but I didn’t quite make it.”

  “Why do you need toilet paper in the tub?” Ireland flipped on the light.

  “Your eyes are swollen twice as bad as when I got here.” She put her hands on her hips, head to one side. She took in and let out a long breath. “Have you been crying?”

  Lindsay giggled. The way Ireland was standing there with her furrowed brow and completely clueless look on her face took Lindsay back to better days. “Of course I’ve been crying.”

  “Then why are you now laughing? Girl, your emotions are all out of whack.”

  Ireland kneeled beside the tub. She reached for the bottle of shampoo and squeezed a glob into her hand. She massaged it into Lindsay’s hair. “So, you wanna tell me what happened?”

  Lindsay put a hand on each side to keep from sliding underwater. Ireland, as tiny as she was, had strong hands and nearly sent Lindsay into a daze. Eventually she gathered her thoughts and started talking, filling Ireland in on everything from the second she’d left town.

  They talked until the water turned luke warm, and Lindsay was ready to get out. Ireland looked at the empty hook on the back of the bathroom door. “Where’s your robe?”

  “I left it at Charlie’s.”

  “I’ll get mine.” Ireland handed Lindsay a towel and stepped into the bedroom.

  Drying off, Lindsay heard Ireland unzip her luggage. She wrapped the towel around her chest and tucked in the end.

  Ireland returned with a plush, teal–colored robe and held it open for Lindsay to slide in her arms. “You think you can walk unassisted?”

  Lindsay nodded.

  “I’ll go pop some bread in the toaster for you.”

  Lindsay piled her hair into a bun and toddled down the hall, plopping down at the kitchen table.

  Ireland arranged two slices of plain wheat toast on a plate and set it in front of Lindsay. “You need to get something in your stomach.”

  “Thank you.” Lindsay sipped black coffee from the mug that Ireland had poured for her.

  Ireland unplugged the toaster and cleaned the crumbs from the counter. “What are you going to do, Linds?”

  “About what?”

  “Charlie.”

  “What’s there to do? I told you—it’s over between us.”

  Ireland wiped the trail of crumbs into the palm of her free hand. “I don’t think it is.”

  “Meaning?”

  Ireland walked across the kitchen to the trash can, dusting off her hands. “In my personal opinion, I don’t think him … interfering, as you put it, with your career is a good enough reason to drop him forever.” She moseyed to the other end of the kitchen, grabbing the broom from beside the fridge.

  Lindsay started getting dizzy again, watching Ireland go back and forth. Her elbows on the table, she massaged her forehead with her fingertips. “He betrayed me.”

  Ireland leaned the broom against the counter and stood at the opposite end of the table. “He also loved you.”

  Keeping her head in her hand, Lindsay gave Ireland a sideways glance. “If that were true, he wouldn’t have gone pulling strings behind my back.”

  Ireland sat and intertwined her fingers on the table. “He was trying to help you the best way he could.” She wrinkled her brow and turned her head to one side. “Something doesn’t add up. There has to be another, deeper reason why you’re so upset with him.”

  Lindsay’s head throbbed. “Can you get me a Goody Powder from the medicine cabinet?”

  “Sure,” Ireland said, and circled around.

  Ireland’s suggestion replayed in Lindsay’s mind. Maybe there was something, perhaps subconsciously, that was adding to her anger. Though at the current moment, she had no idea what it could be.

  The pounding in her head canceled out her thought process and she laid her head on the table. She would consider it again later … when it didn’t hurt to think.

  Chapter Twenty

  Night after restless night passed by. It’d been less than a week since Charlie had last seen her, but it felt like an eternity.

  He tried, but couldn’t make sense of what she’d said. Where had she come up with this nonsense about his alleged high–society lifestyle? He didn’t wave his money or achievements in front of her like a flag. He wasn’t even a member of a country club, for cryin’ out loud.

  Besides, he’d worked hard to earn every penny he ever made, which made this even more bizarre. He would expect that she’d be proud of him for his work ethic, when it was such a top–priority for herself.

  Now he understood who the fortune–teller was referring to when she’d predicted loves lost. What was it she’d said? Something about old burdens renewed. That described Charlie perfectly, since he’d suffered heartbreak before, but nothing nearly as painful.

  Lying awake in the dark, the outline of the large photo above his bed caught his attention. He flipped on the light and took the canvas picture off the wall.

  Sitting on the end of the bed, he studied it, hoping to discover a flaw that he hadn’t noticed before: crooked teeth, big ears, some wrinkles around the eyes maybe. Anything to validate that she wasn’t as perfect as the image in his mind.

  As expected, there were none to be found. Why couldn’t it be as simple to lose her, as it had been to let her inside his heart?

  Closing his eyes, he traced his finger along Lindsay’s face. The bumpy texture of the canvas beneath his touch was imperceptible. Instead, he felt the silkiness of her skin, remembered the smell of her spicy perfume. The girly pitch of her laugh resounded in his mind.

  He wanted so badly to forgive her. All she’d have to do is ask. He held out hope that she wouldn’t be so cruel on a regular basis. Either way, he would risk it. His heart had been bruised and battered before. He wasn’
t letting her go without a fight.

  On Wednesday, he decided, he would drive to her apartment after she got off work. It would be awkward. A lot of indirect eye contact. Then, the conventional nice–weather–we’re–having exchange, and finally the ice would break.

  The question was: Would they fall to their doom, into the frigid waters below?

  * * *

  Lindsay had gone back to work on Monday, as scheduled. For a moment, she had considered calling it quits at Surfside. The offer still stood for her at North Charleston Emergency Care. She decided against it. Job–hopping wouldn’t be very appealing on future resumes. Besides, she was happy where she was.

  At first Ireland’s plan was to stay in town only for a week or two. She was missing crucial lessons in her photography classes in New York.

  Lindsay tried convincing Ireland that her absence from school would cause setbacks, but Ireland wouldn’t budge. “Not until I see you and Charlie patch things up,” she would say.

  Meanwhile, Lindsay was regretting her behavior. She’d taken Charlie’s chivalrous and thoughtful nature for granted.

  A question occurred to her: What if Charlie had little, or no money, but the same personality? Would she be as quick to push him away? She wasn’t sure.

  Going through the daily motions became a huge task. She arrived late for work all week and misplaced several patients’ files. By Wednesday, when she’d worn two different shoes to work, she decided to take Ireland’s recommendation.

  The only way to fix this was to swallow her pride and admit to Charlie she was wrong. The time had come to talk face–to–face.

  * * *

  That evening after work, Lindsay showered and primped, becoming as visually–satisfying as possible. Her hair and makeup were set with a steady hand.

  When she finished, she checked herself in the full–length mirror behind her bedroom door. There she found a yellow sticky note: “I knew you’d see Charlie tonight. Why do you think I put this here? Hair appointment at six, then nails. Good luck, kitty. Love, Ireland.”

  In her anxious state, Lindsay hadn’t given poor Ireland a second thought. She’d arrived at her empty apartment rehearsing in her mind what she’d say to Charlie. Good thing Ireland had left that note—Lindsay would have panicked when she realized her friend was missing … if it occurred to her at all.