Hell in a Handbasket - The Journey

by Damara Blackthorne

  “Thank you Mr. Sampson.”

  “So what’s in the box? You know, it’s insured.”

  “I didn’t know it was insured and I don’t know what’s in the box. It’s a long story, Mr. Sampson.”

  “Do you want to open it and see what’s so important?”

  “No sir, I really don’t want to know.”

  “Well then, let’s classify it as refused, and get it returned to its sender, shall we?”

  “Yes, sir. That would be nice.” Smiling the only smile that seemed to be in my repertoire, a weak, watery smile, I released the box, and with slumped shoulders, I shuffled my feet back into the house. At least this time I wouldn’t have to drive into town to return it.

  * * * *

  Three days later, I was headed out to run into town, when I tripped over a box someone had left on my porch. I stared at the box big enough for an enormous flat screen TV, as if it had a zombie hidden in it. I looked around and couldn’t see anyone who might have left it. Maybe it wasn’t the box from Ryder, maybe this was a coincidence, maybe it was a mistake…well, there was only one way to find out…I was going to have to open it. Damn it.

  Looking it over, I didn’t see a name or return address. Once again, taking my keys, and using them as a knife, I cut the tape holding the box together. I slowly opened it as if the hidden zombie might jump out and eat what little brains I obviously had. Inside I found another box. Seriously? I carefully opened it and inside I found a smaller box. Really? This wasn’t even remotely funny. Although I had a pretty good idea who had sent this conglomeration of aggravation, I had to make sure it was indeed from Ryder, so I opened this box too. Sure enough, there inside this last box was the tiny fragile box Ryder hid inside my belongings a little over a week ago. You have got to be kidding me! Well, obviously the only way I was going to be sure that he got this damned box, and kept it, was if I took it to him myself, and told him in no uncertain terms, where to put it!

  Chapter Eight

  I didn’t pack much since I wasn’t planning on staying. An overnight-carry-on bag, my purse, which housed that damned tiny fragile box, and I was set. The cheapest round-trip ticket had me staying overnight. Hell, I’d sleep in the airport lobby if it meant Ryder would stop sending me that blasted box.

  I stuffed my carry-on into the overhead compartment and shuffled into my seat. I think it was bad luck that I got a window seat. I really didn’t like flying, and preferred the aisle seat, but on such short notice, I had to take what I could get.

  Settling more into my seat, I made sure the window shade was drawn tight. If we were going to crash, I didn’t want to be able to see it coming. I closed my eyes and practiced the deep breathing techniques my therapist had taught me after my Gram died.

  Deep breath in for a count of four, and then out for a count of five. In-four, out-five, in, out. I was on my fourth deep breath when I heard a sweet yet oddly familiar voice say in my direction.

  “Haven’t we met before?”

  I glanced up and nearly wet my pants. It was Gertrude, the little old lady from the airport where I first met Ryder. The one who got paid to spy on me for him. What in Holy Hell was she doing on my plane, in my row, sitting next to me now? That Son-of-a-Bitch! How in the hell did he know I was going to fly out to see him today, and on this flight? This is just beyond crazy!

  Not wanting to upset her, though Lord only knew why, I smiled sweetly.

  “Yes, we met a little over a week ago. On a plane ride, I was going to Boston.” Still trying to find a smile that wasn’t full of the doubt and disbelief that I was feeling.

  “Oh yes, I remember now, that sweet young man asked me to find out why you were so infatuated in your lap thingy.” Her smile was warm and friendly and I was having a hard time remembering that I didn’t really trust her right now. “So, tell me about that sweet young man, are you two friends now?”

  “Not really.” My smile faltered and I felt my face fall into a weird smiling frown.

  “I’m sorry, dear, he seemed like such a nice fellow and he really seemed to take a real interest in you. I had such high hopes for the two of you.” Her expression was genuine and I could see she meant what she was saying.

  “Thanks, he did seem nice at first. We hit it off really well, and—well, I thought things between us might become—well—more.”

  “So what happened?”

  I looked at her as if she suddenly sprouted horns and a tail.

  “Come on, you can tell Ole Gertie. Your secret is safe with me.” The pleading look in her eyes convinced me to at least talk to her, I really could use a friendly ear. Maybe she could help me figure a few things out. I began regaling her with the story of Ryder and Maeve, having the decency or discretion to only hint at the sex in very public places. She listened intently as if this was the best story she had ever heard, intrigued when she heard how well we had initially connected, and disappointed when she realized he had lied to me. I watched her face fall as I told her of the box he had stashed in with my belongings, and how after several attempts at returning it, the box kept arriving back at my house, through different carriers, and with different return names, and addresses. She suddenly got a look of a shrewd business person, and I was a little taken aback by her expression as I explained that now after everything, I felt that the only way he was going to get my message was if I returned the box personally.

  “You don’t sound as if you’ve opened the box yet?” Gertrude’s expression was warm and open and a little bit disconcerting.

  “I haven’t opened it, and I don’t intend to.” With a steely resolve, shaking my head trying to convey that my choice was the best answer.

  “Can I see the box?” Her face showed a mild excitement, and she reminded me so much of my Gram, I couldn’t tell her no. Reaching inside my purse, I pulled out the fragile looking box and set it in Gertrude’s outstretched palm. She turned the box over and over, looking at it intently as if it held the secrets of the universe.

  After peering at the box from every possible angle, she gingerly handed it back to me, almost as if she didn’t want to part with it.

  “Don’t you even want to know what’s in that pretty box?” Gertie tilted her head and her soft eyes tried to tell me something that my angry brain just couldn’t seem to grasp.

  “Why would I want to know what’s in it?” Anger and humiliation coupled together to make my voice barely a squeaky shake.

  “Maybe he’s sincerely sorry and he just doesn’t know how to make it up to you.”

  “Make it up to me? He lied to me. He knew who I was and pretended he didn’t. In a lot of places, that’s called stalking, and I don‘t think you can make up for that.”

  “Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, there’s a very real possibility, women throw themselves at him because of his money and he was trying to gauge what type of person you are before getting involved?”

  “Oh please, please tell me you’re not on his side? I really like you Gertie, you remind me so much of my late grandma and she would have kittens if, A…she knew what he and I have done together and B…she thought for one second that I was going to be okay with someone not only for lying to me, but stalking me. Stalking me. Gertie, he was stalking me. I just…I don’t…I just don’t…I…Gertie, I just don’t know.” My words deflating towards the end.

  “It’s okay to be confused, dear, he may have had valid reasons for why he did what he did, but that doesn’t mean that what he did was right. Why don’t you just talk to him, hear his side of the story. There are three sides to every story. Your side, my side, and somewhere in the middle is the truth. You need to hear his side of the story, even if its sole purpose is to help you clear your head and get to the truth.”

  “I guess. It’s just…Gertie, when I get near him, I can’t think. All rational thought goes right out of my head. Don’t laugh, it’s true—I even forget to breathe sometimes—and that’s supposed to be involuntary—and yet, I just stop breathing. How am I supp
osed to—to get to the truth if I can’t even remember to breathe?”

  “I’m not laughing at you, dear. You remind me of myself when I was your age and I first met my late husband, Harold. I was like you—I couldn’t think, and I kept forgetting to breathe.”

  “Husband?”

  “Yes, dear, husband.”

  “Did he stalk you too?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes. But times were different then, society was different. A shy boy might follow a girl around until he got up the courage to speak to her. It wasn’t the negative thing it is today.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “Oh, he was so cute. He thought he was clever, trying to hide behind trees and such. I never let on that I knew he was there, It would have embarrassed him, and then he never would have approached me, and we never would have gotten married, or had four children, ten grandchildren, and to date two great-grandchildren.”

  I didn’t know what to think anymore. Here Gertrude sat, explaining in a very convincing way that Ryder may have had a valid reason for being stupid and acting like a real royal jackass. Yet, I could hear my Gram’s voice in my head, Liar, Stalker! and yet there sat Gertrude smiling sweetly, trying to convince me that maybe I was wrong and he had something worthwhile to say in his defense.

  “Just talk to him, dear, talking won’t hurt you. Men can be difficult and sometimes I wonder what God put in their head for thinking. But truly, if after you’ve talked to him, you still can’t get past his stupidity, then by all means walk away.” She took my hand that was still holding the box into both of hers and she held my hand and the box tight as if her words held more meaning than I could hear.

  The rest of the flight was relatively uneventful as I sat holding the little box, replaying Gertrude’s words in my head and wondering if there was any way she could be right.

  * * * *

  I caught a cab to the Towers. Still sitting in the back seat, I glanced out the window and up toward Ryder’s office floor. It felt like deja vu. I could have sworn I saw Ryder looking out of his window, looking right at me.

  “Miss?” The Cabbie looked at me through his rearview mirror. “That’ll be $17.50.”

  “Oh, yes. Sorry.” Pulling myself out from the car window and back into my seat, I took a twenty from out of my purse, handing it to the cab driver through an open section of the clear safety glass that separated us.

  “Keep the change.” I clutched my purse to me tightly, grabbed my overnight bag, as a sudden feeling of uncertainty washed over me. Easing out of the car, softly closing the door behind me. I glanced back up at the window, and Ryder wasn’t there. Maybe it had been an illusion, or a figment of my imagination.

  * * * *

  I made my way through the front doors that led into the main lobby of the building. Glancing around, I didn’t want to take the stairs and get sweaty with the exertion, but at the same time, I wasn’t sure I could handle an elevator ride. Trying to weigh the pros and cons, I decided that maybe I could handle a ride in a different elevator, especially if there were people riding with me.

  Walking around, I came to the elevators. Pushed the button and impatiently waited. Anxious to get this over with. Yet scared that Ryder’s story might, just might make sense, and then I’d be right back where I was before, forgetting to breathe, and unable to think.

  I heard the ding that told me an elevator car was arriving on my floor. Crap on a cracker, it was the one Ryder had taken my first time here. Well, I could wait for the next car, right?

  The doors opened, and that same elderly man was in there.

  “Going up?” His smile was warm, and seemed to hold a secret.

  “No, I think I’ll wait for a different car. Thank you.” I nodded politely.

  “Don’t be silly. This car’s here, and I can keep you company.” His smile broadened, and if he hadn’t seemed like a million years old, I would have been worried. I thought long and hard about what he said. Ok, I thought about it for just a few seconds. I did want to get this over with, and if I could ride in that elevator, I could handle anything.

  “Sure, thank you.”

  * * * *

  The elevator ride was uneventful, and it gave me hope that I could actually talk to Ryder without losing any more self-control, or self-respect.

  I stepped up to the receptionist desk. The elderly woman sitting behind it was such a stark change from Taryn. Where Taryn had been young, perky, and only truly interested in herself, this lady was the epitome of professionalism. I liked her.

  I read her name plate. Cynthia Bonner.

  “Hello, my name is Maeve Bendis, I’m here to see Ryder Madsen.”

  “Yes. I’ll see if he will see you. Please have seat over by the book shelf. I‘ll let you know what he says.”

  Huh. I never thought that he might not see me. Wow, I am really stupid.

  I walked over to the book shelf, and found myself staring at rows and rows of beautiful books. I never did find out if these were books that Ryder’s company published or not.

  “Miss Bendis? Mr. Madsen says to wait right there. He’ll come out to see you in a few minutes. You can have a seat, you don’t have to stand.”

  I looked at the furniture that seemed so familiar. The mahogany wood chairs with burgundy leather seating. I was lost, unable to place the furniture, where had I seen it before?

  I was still standing there trying to figure it out, when I heard that deep rumbling voice that shook me to my core.

  “Maeve?”

  I spun around trying to look calm, cool, and collected. I don’t think I pulled it off. My eyes started at my eye level which was at his chest, and my breath caught as I took in his barrel chest filling out his sapphire blue silk shirt, under his gray suit jacket. I had to force my eyes to travel up his neck, his face, that mouth, and it was a real struggle to reach his eyes, but when I did, I honestly thought the world had stopped spinning.

  It took everything I had to remember why I was there. I grabbed my purse, and pulled it around to my chest. I fumbled inside for the little box. Finding it, I grasped it as gently as I could, removed the box from my purse, and handed it to him.

  He looked down at the box in my hand. His face showed a deep sadness.

  “You didn’t open it. I had hoped that your visit here was because you had opened the box, and understood the contents.”

  “Ryder, please, you can’t buy my understanding, or forgiveness. You lied to me, and stalked me. That’s creepy, and it’s wrong. I can’t accept this gift.”

  “Maeve, I know you don’t have any reason to trust me, and I understand. Just open the box.”

  “Ryder, you can’t buy my forgiveness. Take the box.”

  “Not until you’ve opened it. Once you’ve opened it, and you see what’s inside, if you still want me to take it back, I will. Just open it, please.”

  Shaking my head, I glared at the little box. What could possibly be in the box that would be that important? It must be awfully expensive. I reached over with my left hand, and slowly raised the lid, releasing the lower half of the box. And there, resting inside was a very old and worn, folded piece of paper. I glanced back up at Ryder, confusion written on my face.

  “Take it out.” He nodded at the piece of paper in the box.

  Gingerly, I pulled the piece of paper out of the box. It was so old and worn, I had to be extra careful when I unfolded it.

  I looked at the paper. It was a note. A very old note. It looked as if it had been read several times, over several years. Looking closer, I recognized my handwriting from when I was younger, before my parents had died, and I had to move in with Gram.

  As I started to read the note, that day came flooding back.

  I was at summer camp, I was twelve years old, and the whole world was ahead of me. It was my first year at camp, and I didn’t really know what to expect. Although my parents had raised me to be outgoing, I felt a strange peace here, and wanted to be alone to let it soak in before I had to ming
le with everyone else.

  I had walked down to the lake, and sat down on a log. I didn’t know if the log had fallen there or had been placed there. Either way, it was the perfect spot to sit and watch the sun play off the water of the lake, to just listen to the birds and insects singing about their lives.

  I don’t know how long I had been sitting there when I heard a rustling behind me. I was so at peace, I didn’t even turn around to see who or what was behind me.

  I glanced over as someone sat down on the log beside me. A cute boy was looking at me as if he had found a rare treasure. His dark hair blew in the wind, and I had an odd and almost uncontrollable urge to brush his hair out of his eyes. I had to practically sit on my hands to keep from reaching over and touching him.

  “Hi.” I smiled at him, proud of myself for being able to keep my hands to myself.

  And he just sat there. This cute boy with a look of pure bliss on his face.

  “Hello?” I tilted my head in an attempt to bring him out of his stupor.

  “Uh…My mother says I shouldn’t talk to strangers.”

  With a smile as wide as the Grand Canyon, I reached out my hand for a handshake.

  “Hi, I’m Maeve.”

  Still, he sat there, and just blinked. I was beginning to wonder about his mental faculties. I knew if my mother knew I was thinking such things she would have given me a lecture on how each person is special in their own way, and yet we are all equal, and that I shouldn’t judge someone because I don’t know their story.

  “And you are?” I actually arched my neck in the hopes of getting him to talk to me. After all, he was the one who came over here to sit with me.

  “Oh, um…Dylan.” He shuffled something from his right hand to his left, and then reached over, and shook my hand.

  “Well Dylan, we’re not strangers anymore. You can talk to me anytime, about anything.” I gave him a smile that my mother swore was one day going to rock the world.