by Owens, Wendy
At times, I find myself wondering if the Bastrop tourism office might pay this guy for his dedicated praise of the town. He proceeds to inform me at one point that they even have a Wal-Mart. To which, of course, I answer, “Thank goodness, I can’t live without my Wal-Mart.” I think my sarcastic tone might have escaped the poor fellow.
Quite honestly, though, after all the fast-paced, pushy New York cabbies, it is kind of nice to have a guy that really enjoys his job, as well as the area where he lives. He even makes me promise to try the Roadhouse, a restaurant off State Highway 21 during my stay.
Emmie and Colin had decided, when they were expecting Olivia, they didn’t want to raise kids in the city. She wanted the small town Midwest feel she had grown up in as well as a strong art community so they could open a gallery. After extensive research, and a lot of visits to various towns, they settled on Bastrop.
It is hard to believe they have lived here for a little over a year now, and this is my first time visiting. They made such frequent trips back to New York in the beginning, as Colin was liquidating a lot of his properties, there never seemed a need for me to head south. Then came my apprenticeship in Paris, and before I knew it, I was back and living in a penthouse with Henry while Emmie had her family in Texas. Sometimes it feels like the entire world lay between us, and I miss her being just across the living room.
As we pull down the main strip I can hardly believe what I am seeing. It is like I’m on the set of a movie. I’ve seen places like this on television, but I suppose I never processed that they actually existed. Could it be? Places like Mayberry were out there? The street is quiet, with a handful of cars parked on either side.
“This is downtown?” I ask in disbelief.
“Sure is.”
We roll past one small building painted in a muted teal color, and across the stone building I read, ‘Chamber of Commerce.’ Just past that building the cab pulls into a parking spot. Opening the door, I step out and look around. On the far side of the street I see numerous galleries, antiques shops, a quaint bakery, a florist, even an old-fashioned looking drug store.
Turning and walking around to meet the cab driver, currently removing my bags from the trunk, I hand him the fare with a generous tip, thanking him for the information-packed ride. Throwing my travel bag over my shoulder, I roll the oversized suitcase behind me. When I come around the other side of the cab and see the small, beautifully carved sign that reads Bennett Family Art Gallery a smile emerges, covering my face from ear to ear. I am here. This is it. I am about to see Emmie, and she will bring the calm back into my life I have been missing.
To the left of the gallery is a picket fence leading to a courtyard, along with a wooden sign, similar to the one for Em’s gallery. It reads, Bennett Woodworking. I should have guessed Colin couldn’t slow down enough to just be a dad and run the gallery after being a property investor in New York. I am a little surprised, however, Em hadn’t told me about his latest venture.
I hear the driver pull away, and I pull my bags behind me, fumbling for the front door, finally grasping it with my partially free hand. I yank the door open, a service bell above me chimes, and that’s when it happens. I hear something I never expected to.
“Hey Christian,” a man shouts from across the street. Instinctively, I turn my head and look. He’s already looking at me as the man approaches him. He looks different than the last time I saw him, but it’s Christian. His shoulders seem broader; his hair is longer, the dark strands falling into his eyes. He has a few days worth of beard growth on his jaw line.
He begins talking to the man who had called out his name, constantly looking over at me as he does. I feel a pain in my chest and a fluttering in my stomach. I panic; I don’t know what to do. The taxi is gone—I can’t run—there’s nowhere to go.
“Paige?” I hear Emmie’s voice as she emerges from the back room.
I turn and look at my friend. Her hair is twisted up into a bun, and she’s wearing glasses, which I’ve never seen her in. Sweet Olivia is on her hip, no longer bald, no longer my Olive head. Tugging on the luggage, I push my way into the door. I don’t look back at him.
“Colin, Paige is here!” Emmie shouts. Colin rushes out from a hidden corridor and across the room, scooping me up into that big brother-like embrace I’d forgotten about. He has always looked out for me, even when I was a kid, and suddenly that same feeling comes back. My bags fall to the floor as I wrap my arms right back around him, squeezing as if he were about to slip away. It’s hard not to see Christian in him, but I do my best not to think about his brother. His brother who was right outside on the street, the last place he should be.
Colin sets me down, grabbing my bags as if they were empty. He carries them off out of sight, as I open my arms, wrapping them around my sweet Emmie and Olivia. “She’s so big!” I exclaim.
“Momma,” Olivia squeals in delight from the excitement in the room.
“Oh my God!” I gasp. “She sounds even cuter in person than over Skype.”
Emmie smiles and holds Olivia with one arm while wrapping her other around me. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you, too,” I reply, looking around the room, recognizing several works by my friend. “Oh, Em, this place is incredible. Your description doesn’t do it justice.”
Emmie nods, glancing at all she has accomplished over the past year. “We like it. We’re up to thirty consignment artists, and the list seems to be growing all the time. The online orders for my work keep Colin pretty busy with shipping.”
“Well, that and the woodworking, but why didn’t you tell me?” I inquire.
Emmie doesn’t reply. I look at her face as it twists into a horrific expression.
“Em? Are you okay?”
“I wanted to tell you so many times.”
“That Colin started his own business? Why would I—”
Emmie is shaking her head no, and suddenly it all makes sense. It feels like someone punched me in the gut. She can see it on my face. I can tell. The woodworking business isn’t Colin’s; it is his brother’s.
“When you called, I tried to tell you, but I just didn’t know how,” she pleads.
“How long has he been here?”
“He came to help us move in and get set up. He never left.”
“What?” I cry.
“He said he wanted to be an uncle. After a couple months, he started making furniture to sell at the local markets, and then they were so popular he—”
“I need to lay down,” I interrupt her, my head now spinning.
“Colin!” Emmie shouts, beckoning him from the room he had disappeared into.
I don’t even remember walking to the guest room. I vaguely recall some stairs, a green door, Colin saying some words, and then I am alone, in a room, my plan to seek refuge from my haunting past, from that horrible dream, coming undone.
I SIT ON the bed, staring at the floral wallpaper for quite some time. I remember Emmie knocking on the door, but I didn’t respond, I didn’t move, I just sat there, staring. I’m not even sure what I was thinking about, my thoughts had been jumping all over the place, all morning. Should I call Henry and tell him that Christian is in town? Would that make it into a bigger deal than it actually is? Is it a big deal? Christian is my past, which is long over. Perhaps it is a non-issue.
At some point I must have laid down and dozed off, because now, the bright afternoon sun that had been flooding into the room, has shifted into a hazy cast of dusk. Standing, I grab the suitcases Colin had set inside the door for me. Taking a deep breath, I swallow hard. Tossing the larger bag on the bed and unzipping it, I decide this is a non-issue. I’m sure Christian could care less that I’m here, so I won’t let it bother me either. After all, I’m happy now.
Looking around the room, I catch sight of a small, hand-painted teal dresser that is pushed back into a window cubby. Grabbing a stack of my blue jeans, I walk over, pulling out the second drawer, and neatly place my items inside
. With a little bit of wiggling and maneuvering, I shove the drawer back into place, falling against the top of the dresser, catching myself with my palms as I do.
Just outside the window, I stare into the quaint courtyard directly next to the shop. At the back of the courtyard was another building set back from the street some. Movement near the entrance of the small business catches my attention. I hold my breath at the sight of Christian. He lifts a log, placing it across a seesaw, random tools strewn about him. It reminds me of when I used to watch him working with his brother on their properties in New York. They were like artists with what they did with some of those rehabs.
Panic overwhelms me as Christian looks up to the window, locking me into his gaze. He is only wearing a tank top now with his tattered and well-worn jeans. He uses the back of his forearm to wipe the sweat away from his brow. The entire time, though, he doesn’t take his eyes off me. Suddenly he smiles, and I find myself smiling back. Looking over, I realize I’m waving at him. Using my other hand, I pull my flailing arm down, which has developed a mind of its own, and push myself away from the window.
Before I realize what’s happening, the memories begin to play out before me, all the moments of our lives in New York—the happiness and laughter. I was okay with never seeing Christian again. I’d made peace with him no longer being a part of my life. Damn it, he’s not a part of my life. He’s Colin’s brother. Christian is part of their lives. He isn’t here because of me, I tell myself. He’s here to be an uncle to his niece, and I shouldn’t even be thinking about him.
Frantically, I return to my suitcase, pulling out a sheer dress, then a lacy blouse, and a gorgeous vintage mini skirt. I make my way to the closet, hanging the clothes up with care. Stop thinking about him, Paige. His strong shoulders, those muscles on his upper arms when they lifted that massive log, those eyes as they were staring back up at me. Henry! Henry has amazing blue eyes, I remind myself sternly. You love those eyes, the ones you get lost in. You can stare into them for hours while he talks about anything. Henry has the most amazing smile. Then I remember Christian’s smile. The way one lip lifts higher on one side. That goofy, crooked smile with one deep dimple. That’s something I used to get lost in, that dimple.
My phone rings. I’m thankful for the interruption. I race across the room, grabbing it off the nightstand and look at the picture on the front. Henry, there he is smiling back at me. My heart starts to race. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself before answering. I swipe my finger across the phone.
“Hi baby.” My voice cracks a little.
“Hello beautiful,” he responds, and the panic inside me calms, his voice a reminder of what I have now. “I guess you made it all right?”
“Sorry, I should have called.”
“No, I’m sure you’ve had a ton of catching up to do with Emmie. Have you girls been going on non-stop?”
I pause, wondering if I should tell him about Christian again. “Actually, I fell asleep.”
“You’re kidding me? Are you feeling all right?” Henry asks, chuckling.
“Yeah, I set my bags down, and next thing I knew I was asleep,” I answer honestly.
“I’m a little jealous. I tried to nap earlier, but I couldn’t sleep without you next to me.”
“You? Nap?” I question. “You never nap. Who is this?”
Henry laughs again. I’ve missed that laugh. He enjoys my sarcasm, which I love because that means I get to hear that laugh a lot. “Actually, I’ve had a headache I can’t seem to shake. I thought a nap might do me good.”
“Honey,” I begin, my voice shifting to one heavy with concern. “You had a headache before I left.”
“I know.”
“That’s not normal.”
“It’s fine. I’ve just not been taking as good of care of myself as I should. Someone keeps me up all night, not that I’m complaining. I’ll give up sleep any day for that.”
I realize I’m smiling.
“I miss you,” he adds softly.
“Me too.”
“I miss your body,” Henry continues.
“Oh yeah?” I inquire, hoping for more, as I make myself comfortable on the bed.
“Yeah.”
“And what exactly about my body do you miss?” I ask, eagerly awaiting the details.
“Your legs.”
“You like my legs, huh?”
“Especially when they’re wrapped around me. When I can run my hands down your soft back until they meet your ass. I love holding your amazing ass while you rock against me.”
“Henry!” I squeal.
“What? I thought that’s what you wanted,” he replies in an innocent tone.
“You’re going to make me fly back home tonight if you don’t watch it.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“I love you.” The words slide out of me effortlessly. It’s not a part I’m playing—it’s my life. In the back of my mind I am processing the idea. I’m okay with Christian being here, because I mean those words when I say them to Henry. The things I feel when I see Christian are hauntings from my past, and I can handle that, because I have Henry. And I love him.
“I love you, too. Can I call you tomorrow?” he asks.
“You better,” I say, staring at the ceiling.
“Go hang out with your friend, have some fun tonight, and then get to work tomorrow,” he instructs.
“Okay, you don’t have to twist my arm. Promise you’ll get some rest?”
“I’ll do my best in this cold, lonely bed.”
“Don’t make me feel bad or anything,” I gasp, acting as though I were hurt.
“You should feel bad. You’re forcing me to get takeout for one. Do you know how pathetic that is?”
“Very,” I say, taking in a deep breath. “Smells like I’ll be having a home-cooked meal.”
“Oh, you’re so cruel.”
“I try,” I say before laughing wickedly.
“I miss you.” His voice is now soft and sincere.
“I miss you, too.”
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, baby,” I say, and then wait for him to hang up first.
I WATCH IN amazement as Emmie and Colin scurry around one another. Their movements are like a dance—there is no music, but they’re in harmony together. Colin grabs the baby bag, throwing it over his shoulder, while Emmie, with Olivia on her hip, grabs a couple snacks with her free hand. She spins, tossing them to Colin, who catches them effortlessly, placing them with the other items he has been collecting. Emmie wastes no time grabbing Olivia’s favorite blanket, and Colin places the stroller on his spare arm.
“Now, you have our cell phone numbers, in case you need us,” Emmie reminds me as if I were a clueless teenager.
“I’ll be fine, I told you,” I insist.
“I’m serious, if you need anything at all, just call one of us, but like I said, in the middle of the day during the week it’s rare we get a lot of foot traffic, so I’m sure you won’t even have to do anything,” Emmie continues, clearly unsure about leaving the gallery completely in my hands for the afternoon.
“It’s thirty minutes to the pediatrician and then thirty back, we should be home within a couple hours,” Colin adds.
“Go!” I exclaim. “I’ve got this.”
“All right, all right, we’re going,” Emmie says, lifting a hand defensively.
I watch out the kitchen window as Colin and Emmie pack Olivia, and the massive amount of objects it takes to care for her, into their Prius. It amazes me how much they have fallen into the family role. Even when Colin and Emmie met, I knew they would be a perfect pair, but if you would have told me five years later they would be married with a baby, I’m not sure I would have believed you.
The idea of commitment terrified Emmie, after such a tragic ending to her first marriage. Who could blame her? Colin was so patient, though. I’ve always thought of him like a big brother, but for him to treat her with so much understanding through
their relationship only made me love him all the more. Eventually it became natural for her to let him love her. It was like an acceptance settled over her, she finally seemed to realize Colin wasn’t going to turn into something else. He was being who he really was with her, and he was in it for the long haul.
I think the end of Christian’s and my relationship was more of the shock for everyone. For the first year Emmie and Colin expected us to figure things out and find our way back to each other. Once I moved in with Henry, those assumptions seemed to fade away, slowly though. There was a time even I thought Christian was my soul mate, but we eventually all have to grow up and realize that when we’re young we can mold things into fairytales they’re not. We romanticize situations, making more of something that doesn’t exist.
Walking to the stove, I remove the screaming teakettle and pour the boiling water over the tea bag at the bottom of my mug. Just as I set the pot onto one of the cool burners, the bell in the front of the gallery rings, signally that the door has opened. Yeah, this place is dead on weekdays; I didn’t even have time for my tea to steep. Staring at the mug, as I carefully carry the hot beverage out to the front counter and set it down, looking up to greet the customer, which I know I have no clue how to really do, but how hard can it be? It’s not a customer looking back at me, though; it’s Christian.
“What are you doing here?” The words escape my mouth before I can even process what I’m saying.
“Nice to see you, too,” Christian laughs, both arms wrapped around a large package.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean—” I begin, stopping myself to take a deep breath before continuing. “I wasn’t expecting to see you. I thought you were a customer.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but I do come bearing gifts,” he replies.
My face contorts and twists into a look of puzzlement.
“Well, I hope it’s a gift. I really have no idea what’s inside, but it’s addressed to you. I was picking up a delivery this morning, and they asked me to drop this off to the shop.”