Abstract Love

by Samantha Christy

  Jace: This is anything but cheesy. I think it’s the most thoughtful thing anyone has done for me in a very long time. I can’t even remember the last time I was here . . . college maybe. Thank you.

  He grabs my hand and pulls me along the sidewalk. The way he is holding my hand is not very intimate, our fingers are not entwined, but that doesn’t keep electricity from shooting up my arm, straight into my chest. At the ticket booth, he releases my hand to reach for his wallet. I shake my head at him and say, “No. This is my treat. You have to let me pay.” It’s only a ten dollar entrance fee. Five if I show them my student ID. It’s not like I bought him a spa day or a gigantic arrangement of flowers or anything.

  He looks at me like I’m crazy that I would even think of paying.

  “Please?” I ask. “Let me do this. I got unbelievable tips this weekend. I’ll let you pay next week.”

  He smiles over at me and simply nods his head in agreement.

  We spend about an hour perusing the sculptures, paintings, pottery and photographs. I guess I thought an art museum would simply have a bunch of pictures on the walls. Jace gets so excited texting me about ancient pottery. Apparently he took a course on that very thing in college. I never knew there were so many classes of artisan pots, here organized by styles of design and purpose. We see many abstract paintings and I’m just as confused as I thought I would be. How is it that I only get his art?

  Suddenly and without warning, an alarm sounds overhead. It pierces my ears and drives a knife straight into my heart. It is so loud that it overtakes even the sound of the blood pumping through my ears. A fire alarm. Then, through my sheer panic, I hear bits and pieces of a woman speaking over a loudspeaker. “Ladies and Gentlemen, please follow the signs to the nearest exit and promptly leave the building. Be assured there is no immediate danger, but there is a small fire in our main control room in the basement. Again, please follow the signs to the nearest exit and depart the building immediately. If you need assistance, please find a Docent in a red jacket, and they will help.”

  I’m completely unaware of my surroundings. My instincts tell me to run, get out as quickly as possible, but my legs are not taking directions from my brain and I find myself cowering in a corner, shaking uncontrollably and on the verge of passing out because I am hyperventilating. Strong arms come around me and lift me up, carrying me through a dimly-lit stairwell and out into the bright sunlight.

  Sometime later—I can’t tell if it’s been only minutes or hours, I’m still in Jace’s arms and we are sitting on a park bench across from the museum. People are staring. I wonder if they saw my panic attack. I look up at Jace and expect him to be disappointed in me for such childish behavior, but all I see when I look into his alluring green eyes is a caring, compassionate man.

  He leans over close and whispers in my ear, “Keri, are you okay?”

  I’m sure I must look a sight. I can feel the wetness on my cheeks and my mascara must be terribly streaked. Then I see that I must have wiped my face on Jace’s shirt and I’m absolutely horrified at the black marks staining his nice polo.

  “Jace, I’m so sorry. I ruined your shirt.” I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. Then I reluctantly move myself off his lap and into a position sitting next to him on the bench so that he can remove his phone from his jeans.

  Jace: I guess now we’re even, since I ruined your jeans.

  I’m so embarrassed. I can’t understand why this seemingly perfect man is wasting his time on someone like me. “Why do you even bother with me, Jace? I mean you and I have nothing in common, no connection other than cancer. Why are you always so nice to me?”

  He looks at me like he is angry as he types into his phone.

  Jace: Why do I bother with you? Keri, I think you underestimate yourself. You are a kind and caring person. And we are friends. Friends are nice to each other. And I can’t explain it, but I really feel like our connection goes deeper than just cancer. It’s okay, whatever it is that caused you to panic, it’s okay. I’m here for you. I’m not going to think any less of you no matter what you tell me.

  I haven’t told anyone since Tanner. I didn’t even tell any of my foster parents or the counselors at Freeway. Social Services explained it all to them. I’ve only ever told Tanner, just the one time, and we never talk about it . . . ever. I’m not sure why after knowing Jace only a short time, I feel compelled to tell him my secrets.

  I take a deep breath and brace myself to say the words I haven’t spoken in so many years. “My parents were killed in a fire.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jace: Oh, Keri. That’s terrible. The alarm going off . . .

  He stops texting and grabs my hand. He doesn’t waste time telling me how sorry he is and that everything will be okay. How does he know that hearing those words does nothing for me? I understand that people say them because they don’t know what else to say, but what he’s doing right now, holding my hand in silence, comforts me more than a thousand words ever could. The world goes on around us, people walk by, cars drive down the street, street vendors peddle their food, but I’m wrapped up in a protective bubble with Jace right now and I feel like nothing can hurt me. Not even telling him my story.

  “It was awful. The night of the fire. We weren’t even supposed to be at home. But I had gotten into trouble the night before. I had snuck out of the house to meet up with some friends. So I was grounded and my parents had to cancel their plans.”

  Jace squeezes my hand, urging me to continue. “It was really cold that winter, even for Tampa it was cold and we lived in an old house where the heat sometimes didn’t work properly. So they turned on the small space heater down in the living room.” Jace closes his eyes briefly and then pulls his hand away and wraps his arm around me. I feel the tears well up in my eyes and I struggle to get the words out. “I don’t remember anything about being inside the house. Except the smell. I remember the awful electrical burning smell. And the horrible taste of soot in my mouth. And the sound of the sirens, I remember those. They said a firefighter found me crouched in the corner of my bedroom. They said I was lucky that my room was farthest away from the fire. My parents’ room, however, was right next to the living room.”

  I stop to take a few deep breaths and then I realize that Jace has pulled my head over to rest on his shoulder. My tears are running down onto his shirt, the shirt that is already ruined with my mascara so I don’t bother moving my head. It feels so right to be here. I fit up against his body like I belong there, like we are two pieces of a puzzle. “When I came to in the hospital, they said they had found my parents passed out and badly burned in the hallway. They had been trying to get to me. I was allowed to see them briefly, to say goodbye as they were both dying from burns and smoke inhalation. All I could do was tell them how sorry I was for causing us to all be at home. If it weren’t for me, maybe that space heater wouldn’t have caught the couch on fire. Maybe we would have all just come home later and gone to bed to get warm under the covers.”

  Jace puts his hand under my chin and lifts it up to look at him. He simply shakes his head. I know he is telling me that it’s not my fault. That it could have happened even if I hadn’t snuck out and gotten in trouble. Logic tells me this, but it doesn’t help assuage the guilt I have over it. I lay my head back onto his shoulder and feel his lips gently press against the top of my head. I close my eyes at the incredible feeling.

  “The worst part was the media. They jumped all over the story of the poor little girl that was orphaned in the fire. Some photographer took a picture when I was being rescued. It was a picture of the firefighter carrying me out of the house, with the house in flames behind us. I think he won some award for it. But it made me the talk of the town. They didn’t use my name, because I was a minor, but everyone knew who I was. Everyone wanted to talk about it, to ask me about it. That’s when I pretty much stopped feeling. I became numb and shut down. Until I met Tanner.”

  My head is still on his shoulder and
I don’t remember moving my hand, but somehow it ended up right over Jace’s heart. The heart that is beating wildly right now. I think it is beating as fast as my own. I look up at him to see his face pale. His eyes are wide and he looks utterly shocked. He leans into me and whispers, “Keri, when was this?”

  “Eight years ago. I was sixteen.” I can feel his entire body stiffen.

  He has to move me slightly to get to the phone in his pocket.

  Jace: I need to show you something. Will you come with me to my loft?

  He texts me his address and I drive us to his loft that is in an up-and-coming urban area of the city. I’m not surprised at all by the feel of his place. It screams stereotypical artist to me. It’s basically one very large open area that is organized chaos with all of the paint, canvases and easels. There is a partition at one end of the room that must lead to his bedroom. The first thing that hits me when I step into his apartment is the smell. Mixed with the smell of paint is the overwhelming spicy, rugged smell that I crave. I’m tempted to leave my jacket here, just so that when he returns it, I can have something with his scent.

  Before we get too far into the loft, he sits me down at his entry table and holds up his finger at me to wait a minute. Then he pulls out his phone and starts typing.

  Jace: I’m not sure if you remember a while back when you asked me about how I started painting. I told you about a class I was taking when I was nineteen. The teacher had told us to find something that inspired us and just let our creativity run wild. Well, I found something. Something that touched me deeply. Something that still inspires me to this very day.

  He looks at me while I read his text. Then he nods his head at me and holds his hand out for me to take as he helps me up from the chair. He leads me over to the living area of the loft where there is a huge fireplace and exposed brick wall. He motions towards the painting over the fireplace and I turn to look at it.

  It is a large abstract painting, probably four feet wide and at least as tall. The colors he used were incredibly bright. The yellows, oranges and reds in the background look like a glorious sunset, and in the foreground, a silhouette of a man carrying a woman.

  As it hits me, I stumble back, thankful there is a couch directly behind me to break my fall. Jace painted a picture of me. Eight years before we even met, he painted a picture of me. A picture that has a prominent position in his home. A picture of me, at age sixteen, being carried by a fireman out of my burning house.

  I stare at the now-blurry painting through my tears. Breath tickles my neck as I hear Jace’s whispered words, “Deeper than cancer, Keri.”

  I turn to look at him in utter disbelief, but he is typing away on his phone.

  Jace: Keri, I’ve thought about the girl in this painting every day for eight years. I’ve felt a connection with her. With you. Somehow, it doesn’t even shock me that she is you. I knew we shared something more. You were my inspiration. You got me into painting. When I’m feeling sorry for myself, I look at it and think of what the girl in the painting had to endure and it makes my problems pale in comparison. It was you, this picture, your story that got me to go ahead with the surgery and chemo, even when I didn’t want to. So, you see, you saved me Keri.

  I look up at him as a tear slips from his eye. I lean over to catch it and he grabs my hands and pulls me to him. He looks into my own teary eyes with passion and purpose as he draws me in closer. Then his gaze travels to my lips, which I absentmindedly wet with my tongue. He is going to kiss me. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more in my life than to feel his lips on mine.

  When our lips touch, the world stops. Everything inside me is focused on the way his lips feel, the way they fit perfectly up against mine, the way his hands cup my face and take charge of our kiss—take charge of me. As my lips part for him, everything is perfect. My life is perfect. Except for the little voice screaming at me in my head.

  I abruptly pull away, leaving him confused. “Jace, I have to tell you something. I should have told you before now, but I can’t keep quiet any longer. Morgan contacted me last week. She wanted to see how you were doing. She says she still loves you but that she can’t be with you because she isn’t strong enough.”

  He shakes his head and blows out a heavy breath. I have to ask him. I have to find out the answer to the question racing through my head. “If Morgan asked you to go back with her right now, would you do it?” I hold my breath as I look at him. He closes his eyes and runs a hand over his head still devoid of hair. He looks pained, frustrated, torn. He doesn’t whisper or text anything, yet his hesitation is all the answer I need.

  I sit back on the couch, painfully breaking our contact and say to him, “It’s okay, Jace. I know you love Morgan. I know that you and I have these feelings, but we don’t have to act on them. I won’t act on them. I won’t be second best. But I want to be your friend. If you still want that, too.”

  He stares at me for a second, then he pulls me into a hug, wrapping both his arms around me, enveloping me in his body, in his scent. “Yes, more than anything,” he whispers in my ear.

  He goes into the kitchen and puts on a pot of coffee for me and comes back with some sandwiches for us to eat while we talk. I tell him about the outpouring of sympathy that came my way after my parents died. About the survivor’s fund that the local paper set up that collected almost a hundred thousand dollars for me to have access to when I turned eighteen. Then I told him about how I used almost all of it to help Tanner out of a situation, leaving both of us penniless. The whole time, Jace listened patiently, never asking me about details, occasionally reaching over to squeeze my hand when he thought I needed encouragement.

  “Don’t you want to know why Tanner needed such a large sum of money?” I ask.

  Jace: No. It’s not your story to tell. It’s his.

  I wonder who else knows the extent of this man’s compassion and understanding of others.

  It’s been hours since we left the clinic and I know that I’d better head home before Monday Madness rears its ugly head once more. Jace tells me that his sister dropped him off at chemo this morning so there is no need to go get his car. As I drive home, among my dreading the hours to come this evening, I hold on to the silver lining of being able to go through it with Jace, together. I re-read the last text he sent me when I get home.

  Jace: I’ll talk to you in a few hours. We can do this. You are my inspiration, Keri. Let me be yours.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I’m feeling particularly good for a Wednesday. Maybe it comes from knowing that I only have one more cycle of chemo. Maybe I’m still reeling from Jace’s shocking revelation. I know I’m excited about being able to spend time with him even though we can only be friends.

  As I’m walking into The Freeway Station, I get a text from Jace. We’re not at chemo. We’re not going through Monday Madness. I haven’t just left him a message threatening bodily harm if he doesn’t get in touch with me. No, this text is simply because he wants to talk. And knowing this makes my heart race uncontrollably.

  Jace: So, I’ll bet Tanner really wants to meet me now, huh? I’m assuming he read all of my texts already.

  Me: You know he did. And yes, he wants to meet you. If that’s still okay with you.

  Jace: That’s actually why I’m texting you. I wanted to see if it was okay if I swing by the club on Sunday.

  I smile at the prospect of two of the most important men in my life meeting each other. I hope they will become friends. Maybe we can even all go to Scrabble night together. I wonder how silly Jace will think we are when he hears about Scrabble Night. I’ve missed those intense Monday night games since I got sick. Monday is the only night the bar is closed so most of the staff get together to let off steam. It’s kind of like Poker Night, but with little wooden pieces instead of cards. I can’t wait to go back.

  Me: Sunday is a great time to come. Not so busy and my boss won’t be hanging around.

  Jace: Sounds like a plan.

/>   We continue to text like old friends for a few minutes until I have to go inside for my shift.

  Today is an important day. Today is the day I’ve been training for. The day I will have Tyler all to myself in hopes that he will open up to me about his sexual abuse. Chaz has tried for a few weeks now to get through to him but has been unsuccessful. As promised, he’s giving me a shot. He has told me not to expect much as Tyler vehemently denies everything.

  I decide to take him to the beach. We spend the afternoon boogie-boarding and pigging out on ice cream. I think he knows why I’ve brought him here, just the two of us, but he hasn’t let on.

  When we are both exhausted and lying on our beach towels on the soft sand, I take a deep breath and tell him, “Tyler, you can talk to me or not talk to me, it’s okay. But you need to know that whatever you tell me is not going to change the way I feel about you.” I remember Jace saying those exact words to me just days ago, so I decide to share my experience that afternoon with Tyler. Sometimes kids will open up if they know you have a painful memory as well. I tell him all about the fire alarm and how I panicked. And that I didn’t know how badly I needed to share my story with someone to realize that the world wouldn’t end if I did. My world didn’t end, in fact, quite the opposite. I tell him about the painting Jace had done of me all those years ago and how that made us connected somehow. Just as Tyler and I have a connection because we both ended up at Freeway.