Waking Amy (Amy #1)

by Julieann Dove

  I didn't know whether or not to expand on our journey of honesty. I had found my kind and wanted to pick his brain a little more. We shared some light conversation while finishing our meals. When I could see more plate than food and my stomach was sending my brain messages not to send more, I laid my fork and knife in the standard ten and four o'clock position. I noticed Tom had pushed away his plate and settled back in his chair. I stared at his hand, as he lay resting it on top of the linen table cloth. It was strong and probably had weathered a lot of storms. He had a lot of defensive arguments about why he was the way he was, and how a woman couldn't see past that to accept him. I looked in his eyes, seeing storm damage there too. A lot of heartbreak for losing the woman he couldn't please. They looked back at me without judgment.

  “Why didn't you go to the operas and symphonies with your wife? Didn't you know that's what she wanted?”

  “I suppose I knew. There came a time when she stopped asking.” He shifted on his chair as the waiter came and took away our plates. “I could have turned things around possibly. Taken her out, brought flowers home to her.”

  I waited for the “but.” Finally, I had to pull it out of him. “But what? Why didn't you?”

  “I knew I wasn't in love with her anymore. As many divorces as I did during the beginning of my career, I could never figure out what brought the couples to the table. I was certain that once upon a time, on their wedding day, they were crazy for one another. There was a time when they thought while saying their vows to each other, they'd never have to come under fire for them. Maybe they felt they were invincible to problems. Problems couldn't permeate the love they felt at that very moment. Looking into her blue eyes and seeing my future with her. Feeling the love I had for her could never run out.”

  At this point, I knew he was referring to the party-loving Mrs. McTavish. Caught somewhere at the altar of their nuptials. A sandy beach? A stain-glassed cathedral with century-old walls? He continued.

  “To think their love would foolishly sustain them. But when the missiles come, they either leave you in shreds or they teach you a lesson about your strength, making you stronger for the next inevitable storm: the symphonies, the weeks in the country with your in-laws. In her case, the weekends I just wanted to stay home.” He took a sip from his water glass. The condensation from it had left a ring on the tablecloth. I focused on it, thinking about my storm. “You know you've lost the war when, seven years later, you're sitting across the table with nothing but contempt for the other person.”

  This conversation was a godsend. I didn't want to seem as though I was pumping information, but I didn't know how to quell my questions. Obviously, it was touching a tender wound of his. Stop raising your eyebrows, stop craning your neck, and keep your notebook hidden.

  “So that's what brought them to the divorce table? They simply weren't in love anymore. It's that easy?”

  “I'm not sure love stops abruptly with flashing lights and screeching brakes. It happens like a slow leak. Before I knew it, I didn't want to try to please her. I knew I would never do enough to keep her happy. And, gradually, without even realizing it, the love I felt for her in the beginning was gone. It wasn't on purpose; it just happened. Everyone gets married with an image in mind of how their future is going to be. Sometimes, the other person isn't who they proclaim at the beginning, or sometimes life happens and changes you. No one gets married thinking it won't last. But, of course, not all marriages last.” He twirled his glass around, staining the cloth with more water droplets.

  “People change, I get it. But just imagine if you had taken her flowers and gone to the opera once in a while, don't you think it would have made her happier and, in turn, made you happy? Maybe you wouldn't have divorced.”

  The waiter interrupted this mind-altering conversation with questions about dessert. I stared at him with petulance in my eyes. Tom turned down the suggestions and asked for the check.

  “So you knew the buttons it took to save your marriage and you still looked the other way?”

  He waited a few seconds before answering. “It was important for both of us to be happy, Amy. In the beginning I would have gone nightly to parties and symphonies to please her, but she wouldn't have asked me. Because she knew I didn't like them. Later, you become more comfortable with what you truly want, and if the love isn't present any longer, you sacrifice the marriage to make yourself happy. Why stay married if you're both unhappy and not in love? Life is too short to lie to yourself.”

  I had to consciously unwrinkle my face. It was a lot to take in. And from a veteran, no doubt. He seemed to have done his research, checked in with his innermost self, and took it to the final divorce table, where you erased ever being in wedlock with the other person. I had to get home and think about this.

  Tom paid the check and we managed to stay another hour. The waiter stopped checking on us and began giving me dirty looks. Tom reclined in his chair, watching me as I talked about work, my aspirations, and my fears. I noted his sponge-like characteristics. The way he never let his eyes stray to the other people in the restaurant, how he commented on every subject, and how his eyes held onto me and kept me feeling safe. Safe to say anything and not feel judged by it. I had found someone of my kind. What a refreshing date. Not that I had many to compare it to.

  When we felt eyes of the complete wait staff hold heavy on us, we decided to leave. He walked me to my car. The nippy spring air gave me a visible chill. A shiver rippled from the back of my spine to the nape of my neck. It had been a lot warmer when I walked into the restaurant four hours earlier.

  “Are you all right?” Tom touched my shoulder.

  “Yes, I suppose I'm cold from the last sip of drink I took. That and I'm not used to being without my sweater and pants on. Doesn't that sound ridiculous? I'm rarely in a dress.” I held my arms, rubbing heat into my skin.

  “Not at all. It's dropped in temperature. It's not as near warm as it was earlier. Would you like to wear my jacket home?”

  “No, that's not necessary. I'll blast the heat when I get in my car.” I tried to control the chatter in my teeth. A small bunch of nerves were playing into my chilliness. I didn't know how to end our time together. Was I going to shake his hand, give a small hug? We’d just confessed a lot to one another in that restaurant. “I'll be glad when summer comes. I'm tired of the chilly nights.”

  He touched my hair with longing in his eyes. “Amy, why couldn't I have met you ten years ago?”

  “It would have been difficult. I was still in college.” Great going. Point out the fact that he's eligible to purchase senior- citizen movie tickets.

  “Don't remind me that I'm a tad bit more mature in age than you. Please.” He smiled at me, making a few chill bumps disappear from my arms. It was a radiant smile, one that was reminiscent of summer days, bicycle rides, and sunsets. Familiar and relaxing.

  Without thought, I touched his shirt buttons, poking fun and meaning no harm in my stupid mouth. “I'm kidding, Tom. Everyone has their own journey to walk through life. You shouldn't stay holed up at home though. Get out and experience things, be around people. I'm finding that it's a new world out there. One that I'd forgotten about. Sure, you might get tired of it some days, but continue to visit it. You might find the next chapter of your life is on the other side of your front door.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk, coach. I know I'll bounce back. It gets lonely pulling into a dark house every night, sleeping alone in a king-sized bed. A dozen eggs take weeks to eat, and did you know the news anchormen can't really hear your comments? I'm hinging on pathetic, Amy.”

  “You're not. I’ll tell you what, call me sometime and I'll have a drink with you. Just until you get your sea legs back.” I laughed. Mostly because I had no idea what sea legs felt like. Tom opened my car door and kissed my cheek. It took me off-guard. I looked at him with eyes as large as binocular lenses. “I hope that wasn't out of line. I had a better time tonight than I have had in years. Thanks for agre
eing to have dinner with me. If you ever find yourself alone on your couch, eating out of a cardboard carton, call me. I'd love to do this again. And again.”

  I tucked my legs under the steering wheel and grabbed for my seatbelt. “I will. I'm not sure what's going to happen, but I'm happy I spent this evening with you.”

  He shut the door and touched the glass. I started my car and waved good-bye. Thoughts of the distinguished gentleman and the time we shared replayed in my mind. What a pleasant and unexpected surprise to have spent time with him. I only found myself thinking of Mark and my sister two, maybe three, times. I'd have to say Tom McTavish had the ability to make me forget my problems.

  As I turned onto my darkened street, my heart pounded. Please let Ashley be outside waiting, or at least have the porch light on and no music blaring so she can hear the screams.

  I put my car in park and surveyed the street. There hadn't been any recent activity in muggings, which made me wonder if they were waiting for the perfect time to abduct me. Watching me and clocking my routine. Lately, I didn't have one.

  I sighed in relief when I saw the porch light was on. It was almost ten. There was no telling if Ashley was home or not. The old Ashley didn't get home, usually, until sun-up the next day. I knew I couldn't wait that long before going inside. I was tired and had to get up for work. I waited until I had my key out and my pocketbook in hand. With one swoosh, I opened the car door, slammed it shut, and ran for the front porch. I nearly peed my pants when Mark got up from the rocking chair in the corner by the window.

  “Shit, what are you trying to do? Give me a heart attack? What are you doing here? Where is Ashley?” I held my chest and paced my breaths. My vision had even gone blurry from getting the crap scared out of me.

  “She's inside. She doesn't know I'm out here. Where have you been? Dinner was three hours ago.”

  I relaxed my tensed arm. “Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were tracking me with a LoJack device. We had an after-dinner cocktail and talked. Why aren't you somewhere with my sister introducing her to a game of anatomy?”

  “Are you jealous?” He moved closer to me.

  “Hardly. Are you?” He made my blood boil with the way he knew me.

  “Of Father Time? Not a chance. I can see how you might be fooled by him though.”

  “I'm not fooled by anyone. You included. Tom is a very nice guy. He's a great listener, and we have a lot in common.” Why did I have to explain myself? Mark was only my husband's doctor, not mine.

  “I'll let you in on a secret, Amy. Every guy has testosterone. He's older and can camouflage it better with listening skills.”

  “And what do you camouflage yours with? Acting like you'll see the girl after breakfast?”

  He didn't respond. I had hit below the belt. Knock another guy to his knees, Amy. Great going. “I'm sorry, Mark.”

  “I've got to go. I shouldn't have waited. I don't know why I did.”

  I grabbed to touch him, but it was too late. He practically ran off the porch into the darkness. Hearing his car disappear down the shadowy street was the loneliest sound I'd heard in a while.

  I went inside, set down my purse by the banister, and kicked off the shoes that had bit into the back of my heels for the better part of the evening. I walked to the kitchen, hearing my sister raiding my cabinets, with doors and drawers slamming shut. Wearing tiny lace boy-short underwear and a rock band's T-shirt to her midriff, she turned to look at me and frowned.

  “Hey Ames, how did it go tonight? I'm starving. I only had a chef's salad at dinner and I could stand to eat something with sustenance. You got anything? Cakes, chocolate, ice cream, or all the above? It doesn't look like you've been to the store in forever. What do you guys eat around here?”

  I pulled out a chair from the table and dumped my body into it. Deflated, depressed, and oh-so-tired. My evening had gone from a nice memory to a complete disaster in two minutes. “I do go to the store, Ashley. But not for concessions. I buy the adult food. You know, proteins, vegetables, and fruit. Check the fridge, I have some Greek yogurt.”

  “I think I'd rather starve. Thank you anyway.”

  Ashley stopped the search for the impossible and looked closer at me. “You don't look so good. I mean, you look good, but what's wrong?”

  “How do you do it, Ashley?”

  “Do what?”

  “How do you go out with a guy, look flawlessly gorgeous, come home, and transfer into that?” I pointed at her outfit. “Eat Ho-Ho's, think nothing of the evening, and do it all again the next night?”

  Ashley pulled the other chair out from the table and took a seat beside me. Her long legs sprawled over to my chair. “That is something to aspire to, huh? Go out, come back, eat chocolate. You make it sound like I don't even rehearse.”

  I wasn't sure if she was kidding with me or striking out in defense. “I'm serious, Ashley. You always could get your pick of any guy. It's so easy for you. You don't even try and you pull off sexy with a chocolate craving in your eyes. You're the type that guys like Mark go for.”

  “Not this time, my friend. Mark Reilly couldn't have been more seated at your table with your hunk of a date even if he'd moved his chair four tables down and sat beside you.”

  “What?” This was a newsflash to me.

  “Amy, I felt like I was on Entertainment Tonight, giving an interview. But not about myself. It was all about you. 'Did Amy date a lot in college?', 'Does Amy ever go on vacation, and if so, where does she go?' It was a nightmare. Now do you want to divulge the reasons as to why your husband's doctor was so interested in his patient's wife?”

  I banged my head on the kitchen table. A good jolt to the brain might loosen up the right answer and send it down to my tongue. Instead of waiting for divine intervention, I sped up the process and lied.

  “He gave me a ride home and that was it, Ashley. No story, sorry. I have no idea what prompted his questions about me.”

  I could see she didn't believe me but was kind enough to let it go. “And tall, dark and handsome, number two? What was his name? Tom? How was he tonight? Just a ride-home kind-of-guy too?”

  I got up and pulled a water from the refrigerator. I tossed it back and thought of Tom's chocolate eyes, as the cold water flushed down my throat. Now there was a man. A real man, like the cowboys in the Old West. I wasn't sure if it was his age and maturity, or that he came from the stock I was used to meeting as my daddy's clients, but Tom McTavish was nearly perfect.

  “Yet another friend, my dear sister.” I put the water back and messed up Ashley's hair before heading out. “Now I have to get to bed. I have work in the morning.”

  I got to the edge of the kitchen and looked back. “Hey, Ashley. It's great having you home. I really missed you.” I never would have guessed that I would have told my sister that three years ago, but I did hope she'd stay this time.

  Ashley smiled and stared back at the cabinets. Probably guessing which ones were hiding the few contraband items of Wesley's junk food stash. I knew about his secret stashes. Every now and then, I'd notice an empty bag of hot fries or Twinkie wrappers in the trash. I never mentioned it. You see, it was those little battles I chose to surrender. But I wondered, were we plagued with the conclusion Tom had talked about tonight? Was my love and dedication going to be enough for the both of us? Or would we both live secretly resenting the other one? I dashed up the stairs, not wanting to think any more about it. Failure was not an option. I needed the man I said my vows to, to love and accept me, as I was trying to accept and love the things about him too.

  Chapter Eleven

  Monday, what a relief. Possibly with some normalcy back in my life, I could get my head straight and focus again on my real life. The one with my husband, my career, and plans for a future.

  I was jazzed from a dream I had about Mom and Dad. They weren't able to be at my wedding with Wesley. But somewhere, tucked in my subconscious, was an alternate ceremony. It probably came from all the talk about weddings wit
h Tom the night before. But we were all in a church, like I had always dreamed my wedding would be. Ashley was standing beside me, holding my flowers, white orchids with sprays of purple lupine worked in. Wesley was in a black tuxedo; his hair was short and looked amazing. There was a big smile on his lips and I could see that look in his eyes, the one Paige's husband had for her on their wedding day.

  The priest, in his large white hat and robe, asked if there was anyone who thought this union should not take place. Just then, Mark Reilly popped up from behind one of the groomsmen, who incidentally was Tom McTavish, and said, “I do. Amy should not marry Wesley.”

  I turned to him and felt my legs go weak. My dad got up from the front pew. He was wearing a pinstriped suit, the one he'd always wear on important court days. “I'll have you arrested for punitive damages, Mark Reilly,” he said, shaking a finger in his direction. Mom held her white handkerchief up to her gaping mouth. The hat she was wearing was from Easter, about ten years ago. It was light-rose colored, fitting perfectly on top her head like a half-moon halo. A single plume stuck out from the side. Everyone told her in church how pretty and chic it looked. She told me she wouldn't wear it again for another two years. That way, she wouldn't wear out the compliments.

  Anyway, my dad continued to berate Mark in front of the wedding guests. “You have pledged false information to my daughter. You don't belong here. She belongs with Wesley Whitfield.”

  That's the moment my alarm clock roared with Joan Jet and the Heartbreakers’ “I Hate Myself for Loving You.” I sat up in bed, trying to figure out the whole dream in my head. My father had come back to tell me Wesley was the one I needed. No matter what other theories were beginning to take up space in my head about slow leaky love, resentment, and divorce, I had to stay on track.

  Being at work was comforting. I could do my job with my eyes blindfolded and my hands tied behind my back. But after dodging a few sympathy head nods about Wesley, I hid in my office with the door shut. It was around lunch hour that the knock came. “Come in.”