Monday morning came again, and her giant rose bouquet still filled most of her cubicle although some of the blooms had begun to brown and droop.
She hadn’t been at her desk more than five minutes when her phone buzzed in her purse. She used to reach for it right away, expecting a short but sweet text message from Chris. “Thinking of you,” “Can’t wait for tonight,” or a simple “I love you.” She had ignored the messages since their breakup. In a couple of days they’d stopped, and except for an occasional message from Abby with something like, “Help! These little people are killing me,” her phone had been silent. It was kind of early for a message from Abby, but who else could it be?
She swiped across the phone and glanced at the screen. Her breath froze.
A message from Chris read simply, “Take as long as you need. I will wait.” She opened the attached file in her music app, tapped “play,” and a song called “I Will Wait” blasted.
Marcus’s head popped above the cubicle, a scowl on his face.
She quickly turned down the volume. “Sorry, Marcus.” Like the near-constant noise coming from his side of the prefab wall didn’t disturb her.
Marcus made a snarling noise and disappeared again.
Rebecca read the artist’s name, which appeared directly below the song title, but she couldn’t resist. She texted back, “Dave Matthews?”
A minute or more after she’d played back the song twice, the response came. “Mumford & Sons.” A few seconds more, and another message followed.
“You’re the one. I know it as sure as I know the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. I will wait.”
The tightness in her chest or the inevitable tears—which was worse? At least no one could see the chest pain. She’d had enough of displaying her dysfunction for the whole world. She couldn’t think about this now. Not at work. She’d think about Chris’s text and what Father John had said later.
***
Another week passed. “Later” hadn’t arrived, but Labor Day Weekend did. There were no cookouts or picnics nor anything else on Rebecca’s social calendar. She’d spend the last Sunday night of summer having her own personal Hitchcock movie fest.
She paused “Vertigo” and set the remote control on the couch’s armrest. She headed for the kitchen, dragging her soft, cotton blanket with her. It fell to the floor as she lifted her arms to find the ice cream carton in the rear of her freezer. Rebecca grabbed a spoon from the drawer and bumped it closed with her hip. Clutching her ice cream and spoon in one hand, she scooped up her blanket with the other and headed back to the couch.
Only five minutes further into the movie, her cell phone ringtone sounded. “I Will Wait,” was a masochistic choice, but she’d grown to like the song and, she had to admit, the idea behind it. The notion that Chris loved her enough to wait until she worked through her issues gave her hope. Pausing the movie again, she reached for the phone and wondered who would call her after ten o’clock at night. She didn’t recognize the number.
“Hi. This is Rebecca.”
“Rebecca, don’t hang up.”
She knew that voice. Using her legs, she pushed the blanket onto the couch, dropped the carton of ice cream onto the coffee table, and stood. She paced around the room vacillating between hanging up and listening to what Chris had to say.
“I just wanted to hear your voice. I knew if you saw my number on the caller I.D. you wouldn’t answer, so I borrowed someone’s phone.”
A loud clatter in the background melded with laughter and what sounded like banging pots. A shrill voice whined above the ambient noise. “Chris Reynolds, you get back here. I won fair and square. And bring my phone.”
She knew that voice, too. Megan. Three sheets to the wind again, or so it sounded. She could imagine her falling all over Chris. The thought of it turned Rebecca’s ice cream-laden stomach. Oh well. Chris was a big boy. He’d fended off Megan before. He could do it again—if he wanted.
“Sorry. It’s getting a little loud. I’ll step outside.”
The background noise faded and the line grew quiet.
“Where are you?” Rebecca asked.
“My parents’ place for Alan and Jamie’s First Annual End-of-Summer Barbecue and Pool Party. My parents are out of town, and they said Alan could host the party here. They’re throwing quite a bash. I’m glad I’m not on cleanup duty.”
A pool party. Rebecca’s mind conjured an image of Megan lounging in a string bikini by his parents’ pool. Maybe in her naiveté Rebecca had overlooked an unwritten rule about poolside kisses, too. Maybe a kiss tonight would earn Megan that place between Chris’s sheets that she coveted.
Rebecca dug her fingertips into her brow. That wasn’t fair, and she knew it. Chris didn’t sleep around.
The silence lingered between them, and then his voice came across the line, barely above a whisper. “I wish you were here.”
Rebecca’s eyes filled with tears, and the lump in her throat grew. He sounded sincere, but she could imagine the party atmosphere at his parents’ place. She remembered all the free-flowing alcohol at the wedding. Steeling her heart, she dismissed the call for what it was—a sentimental moment brought on by too much booze.
“This isn’t a drunk dial, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ve been getting over some kind of virus, and the strongest drink I’ve had tonight is Coca-Cola.”
Could he read her mind?
“I guess I shouldn’t have called. Maybe it’s the change of seasons and all, but I had a lot of hopes for what the coming year would look like for us, and I’m having a hard time letting go of them.”
Rebecca had hopes, too. Ridiculous, fantastical hopes that would never be. Hopes that involved diamonds, a gown with a fabulous train, satin sheets, sleepless nights, the soft glow of a Noah’s ark nursery lamp, and a minivan full of blue-eyed children. If she tried to speak, her voice would break.
“I’ll let you go. It’s late, and I’m sure you want to get back to whatever you were doing.” His voice didn’t sound so steady itself, and when it got quiet, she thought he had ended the call. She pulled the phone away from her ear and was about to hit “end” when he said, “Rebecca, I still love you.”
With an unsteady finger, Rebecca pushed the end button and ran her wrist across her mouth, trying to stifle a gasp. She sank back onto the couch, wrapped her arms around her knees, and huddled under her blanket. Then she let the tears come.
She shut the TV and DVD player off and dragged herself to bed, where she stared at the ceiling for forty-five minutes. Had she made a mistake breaking things off with Chris? What was the fruit of that decision? Chris didn’t sound any happier than she was. The roses, the calls, and the messages all proved he wanted her back. She wanted him back, too—more than she wanted to admit.
“Later” finally came the next morning, and it stayed all week.
It’s all just dragging me down, God. Mom leaving, Dad being the way he is, even what happened at Bible camp. And I can’t move forward. I’m stuck.
Oh, He already knew all of it, but she had to say it just the same. And then she listened like she’d never listened before. She recognized that she had sabotaged things with Chris on purpose. Her ridiculous attempt to seduce him was meant to drive a wedge between them. It didn’t matter whether she accomplished her goal; it would—and did—drive them apart.
At the end of the week she saw no sign, no message, no bolt of lightning or writing in the sky. There was something better—a peace she hadn’t known since she was a little girl and an unflagging confidence in what she needed to do.
18
So Much To Say
On Sunday, a full week after the call from Chris, Rebecca baked a peace offering. She called Chris and left a message three times, then texted him twice. When she hadn’t heard from him by late afternoon, she resorted to doing a drive-by. His motorcycle wasn’t at his apartment, so she drove by his parents’ house. His motorcycle wasn’t there either, but Alan spotted her as he slam
med the door closed on his car. She caught a glimpse of Jamie as the storm door swung shut behind her.
She pulled into the driveway, parked her car, and took a breath. She wanted to speak to Chris, not Alan, but maybe Alan could help her find him.
“Rebecca, this is a surprise.” There wasn’t a bit of snark in his comment and for that she was grateful.
“Hi, Alan. I’m looking for Chris. I’ve been calling and texting him all day, and I haven’t heard anything back.”
“He went to Shenandoah for the weekend.”
That explained it. He probably had no cell phone reception. Maybe he hadn’t gotten her messages.
“He has to work tomorrow, though, so I’m sure he’ll be home soon. Whether he’ll come here or not, I don’t know. Ordinarily I’d say he would, but he hasn’t been in the mood for company lately.”
Rebecca nodded and focused on the pavement, humbled. Alan probably knew everything, too. “I understand.”
“He’s probably going to end up like one of those mountain men, killing his dinner and growing a long, scraggly beard.”
She squinted her left eye and tried to imagine Chris with a big ol’ Duck Dynasty beard. She had never seen him anything but clean shaven. Not with more than one night’s stubble. “Really?”
Alan looked at the cloudless sky, thinking. “No. He’s never been patient enough to get past the itchy stage.” He offered her a smile then jammed his hands into his pockets and took a few steps toward her, lowering his voice. “I don’t want to butt into my brother’s business, but I thought you weren’t seeing each other anymore.”
“No, we haven’t been.” Rebecca twisted her hands in front of her. “I really need to speak to him, though. I want to apologize for some things.”
“Would you do me a favor?”
She nodded. “Sure.”
Alan’s gaze met hers, and no trace of levity marked his face or his stance. He meant business. “Be straight with him. He would hate me for saying this, but he’s insanely idealistic and romantic.” Alan set his mouth in a grim line, and he paused as if he were measuring his words carefully. “I saw my brother cry for the first time since we were kids. He’s not taking this well. Hence the road trip.” He paused again for a second and sighed before he continued. “He’s a good guy. Better than most. He’s in love with you, and he doesn’t deserve to be strung along.”
“I understand. I’m so sorry I’ve hurt him.” Sorry didn’t even cover it. Hearing how he was hurting scorched her insides, caused her chest to ache, and stung her eyes with tears she refused to spill in front of Alan. Alan was a good guy, too, and he obviously had his brother’s back. She didn’t deserve the decency he treated her with now, not blaming or accusing when he knew she’d inflicted such pain on Chris.
She gave Alan a final nod and turned to walk back to her car. By the time she had slid behind the steering wheel, he had gone into the house. Rebecca let loose the fresh tears she’d been holding back. What if she had screwed things up beyond repair? What if Chris decided he didn’t want her back? Could she blame him?
After a minute, she grabbed a tissue from her purse, dabbed her already puffy eyes, then put the car into reverse. As she looked behind her and released her foot from the brake, the familiar rumble of a motorcycle grew louder and then came to a stop as Chris’s Harley pulled in alongside her. She put the car back into park and hung onto the steering wheel, breathing deeply.
At first Chris didn’t acknowledge her. He parked the bike, removed his helmet, and ran his hand through his hair. Such a simple, familiar motion, but it set Rebecca’s heart racing. He placed the helmet on the rear of his bike and then taking a step toward her car, he bent down and knocked on her passenger-side window with his gloved hand. After a second, he opened the door and slid in.
“Looking for me, I presume? I can’t imagine what there is left to say. You’ve made it clear you’re through with me.” The humorless tone was so unlike him.
“There’s plenty to say…if you’ll let me.”
“Go ahead.”
Please, Lord, give me the words. “First, thank you for the beautiful roses. They were perfect, and every woman in the office envied me.”
“You’re welcome.”
He still seemed so cold, so distant.
“Second—I’m sorry. I let all my own insecurities and everyone else’s opinions get the best of me. Everyone’s but yours, anyway. You’ve been nothing but good to me and good for me, and I was careless with you and your feelings.” Her heart pumped wildly, afraid of how he might answer her question. “Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”
“Yes.”
She blinked. It shouldn’t be that easy. “That’s it? Yes? Just like that?”
“Just like that.” Finally she saw a hint of a smile.
“You don’t even want to tell me how horrible I was to you?”
“Nope.” He shrugged. “It sounds like you already know.” He tugged off his gloves one finger at a time and laid them in his lap. “I went away to get some perspective. The road and being outdoors do that for me. I had a lot of time to think and to pray, and I had already decided that I would forgive you whether you asked me to or not. Am I still hurt? Yes. Am I a little angry? Definitely. But those feelings are nothing compared to the love I have for you. Four weeks, four months, four years can’t change the way I feel about you.”
“But I hurt you—really hurt you.” Couldn’t he yell at her? Sting her with a biting remark?
“I’m not going to argue with you. Ask Alan. I was a wreck for a while. But I seem to recall you hurting, too, and instead of letting me comfort you, you used the pain to push me away. To divide us. You walked out on me—in a public place, I might add—and it wasn’t really about us. Or even me. It was a bunch of boneheaded co-workers and the ghosts of every person who ever dissed you. And I’m sure a healthy dose of daddy issues entered into the mix, too.”
Rebecca stared out the windshield, not really focusing on anything. He had forgiven her, he still loved her, but did he want her back?
“Do you…do you still want to see me?” A few tense seconds passed in which Rebecca felt as if her whole life were hanging in the balance, and, in fact, it was.
“I’m seeing you right now.” He smiled so big his dimple showed. He was playing with her—definitely a good sign.
“You know what I mean.”
“I think you know what I mean, too.”
She did. She sunk back into her seat and felt her heartbeat start to slow. Before she had a chance to gush about her gratitude and happiness, he opened the door and stepped out of the car.
He leaned back in and said, “I want to go in and let my parents know I got back okay. Then, do you want to take a little ride with me? Go someplace we can talk?”
“Sure. My helmet’s still in the back.”
His eyes darted to her back seat, and he sniffed a couple of times. “Your car smells like gingerbread.”
“It’s a cake.” She had baked it as a peace offering, but now she feared he would think she was trying to buy back his love with food. His smile let her know he hadn’t taken it the wrong way.
“Sweet. I’m starving. I’ll be right back.”
Chris drove them to the battlefield. His knowledge of its topography and history impressed Rebecca. No matter how many times she’d been there, she’d get all balled up not knowing which way to the Peach Orchard, Devil’s Den, or anything else. The narrow, one-way lanes always made her feel like a rat in a maze. Chris knew every entrance and exit, where the major monuments were located, which roads went which directions, and where you could find a quiet spot away from all the tourists. That’s where he took her. They sat in the high grass beneath a smallish monument topped by an eagle, frozen in its majesty, and spent the next two hours mending their hearts.
The late summer moon loomed large and orange over the horizon. Wisps of smoky clouds floated above and beneath the giant, luminous orb. Crickets and katydids hummed and
chirped from the thickets and trees, their chorus lending a soothing undercurrent to the heartfelt whispers and professions that passed between them like a zephyr snaking a path through the wild grasses and sedges.
Rebecca plucked a long blade of grass from the hard earth and slid her fingers up its length. The sharp edge caught the tender skin of her fingertip, and it bled. She pressed her finger to her lips, and the pain subsided. She didn’t think she’d ever forget the aching, bone-deep hurt she’d felt since she’d walked out on Chris. In some ways, she didn’t want to. He was a precious gift to her, and she never wanted to take him for granted.
She had feared that even if they reconciled, that hurt would never fully heal; it would fester beneath the surface. But when they climbed back onto his bike and she wrapped her arms around his waist, she realized the fissure was already being soothed and filled, that love was spilling into all the brittle cracks and crevices that the pain had etched. Love really did cover all offenses. It was okay. They would be okay.
She would have been elated save for one thing—he hadn’t touched her yet. His hand never held hers, his thumb never caressed the back of her hand. His fingers never dug into her hair or stroked her cheek. There was no tickling. No playful swats to her backside. His hands never grazed her arms. And his lips—they never touched hers.
***
In addition to their sporadic texts throughout the day, Rebecca looked forward to Chris’s call every evening, and they spent hours catching each other up on their lives. She told him about Ian’s latest feats and the fudge recipe she perfected. He talked about the scratch brew they were bottling and the used car he had bought. By the end of the work week, they had re-established their rapport, and when Rebecca invited him for dinner at her apartment on Saturday, he readily accepted.
After they had eaten, Chris took their dirty plates to the counter. She smiled as he eyed the decadent-looking chocolate cake she left cooling on a metal rack.
Stay With Me Page 22