He didn’t let me focus on him leaving the next morning. It was only a few short hours before his plane departed and he told me to pretend like I would see him again in a day.
“How am I supposed to pretend that?”
“I know it’s hard, but I can’t stand thinking of you being so sad.”
“Are you sad?”
He gave me a look—a narrowing of his eyebrows, a pursing of his lips. Why would you even ask? it said. “Of course I am, but I don’t want you to be.”
“Easier said than done.”
“You’ll call me and tell me how work is going?” he asked. I nodded. “You’ll tell me if you need anything?” I nodded. “Every day I’ll miss you. Every night I’ll think of you as I’m trying to sleep. Before we know it, I’ll be back.”
I had a feeling Paul’s insistence that I try not to be sad was based on his guilt. My blame was done, but it still bothered him that he’d put us in this predicament.
“I’ll try to be positive,” I said.
Our goodbye was delivered on my parents’ porch. He kissed me soft and slow before leaving. “It’s killing me, too,” he whispered. “I want you with me.”
I nearly said take me with you, but stopped myself. Though, if the next two weeks would be as hard as these, I didn’t know if I’d have the strength next time.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
PROMISES ARE EASY TO make. They roll off the tongue like a sweet kiss. You mean it. You believe it. But keeping promises is harder. It’s not your fault. You intend to keep them, but things happen. Life happens. And your promises drift away.
Paul had been gone for two weeks, but showed no sign of returning soon. His new accounting firm had him flying all over the country to handle crises. I tried to be optimistic, but it felt like someone pulled the rug out from under me.
To make matters worse, my recruiting job at Savage Noble began, and I’d been running all over town listening to bands, contacting managers, and doing my best to convince people to play at the new bar.
In the past, playing at Cowboy’s hadn’t been a reputable gig. Bands were rarely ever paid, and the crowd was rambunctious and rude. People needed convincing.
My nightly phone calls to Paul were teetering off, and we were lucky if we had time to send a few text messages through the day. I missed him, but I was also busy and it helped keep my mind off the constant ache in my heart.
It was our Grand Opening and I hired a local folk band to play. Most of the customers were friends or family, but it was still busy. When the first strums of the banjo started, I sighed with relief and walked into the main bar area, needing some water. I waved towards the bartender and froze.
In all his tatted glory, Fontenot was behind the counter, casually mixing drinks and filling pints. Our eyes connected and he didn’t even seem surprised to see me.
“Mamma Mia,” he said, walking over. “It’s been a while.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I work here.”
“You already have a job. And it’s not as a bartender.”
“Chill out,” he said, filling a glass with ice. I hadn’t even told him what I wanted. He brought the water dispenser to it and slid it to me. “Tanya needs the help.”
“Are you sure you didn’t get laid off or something?”
He leaned on the counter and grinned at me. “That’s a little personal, babe. But if you must know, the company I work for went under. Tanya’s helping me out until I can find another gig.”
Great. Just freaking great.
“Fine. Just–just—”
“Stay the fuck away from you. Got it.” Fontenot grinned and I narrowed my eyes. “Where’s Paul, by the way. I figured he’d be attached to your hip.”
“He’s not here.”
His smile was sly. “I know.”
“You know he’s not here or you know something else?”
He shrugged.
I grabbed my water and took a giant sip. “Try to keep the Jerry Springer crap to a minimum,” I said, seething, and stood from the bar.
“Yes, ma’am,” he winked.
The band played well and if no one else liked them, I did. They sounded old, like they belonged in a different era. The singer’s voice was deep and thick, his long beard making him look as though he just walked out of the woods and onto the stage. He was mesmerizing.
I made a mental note to book him again.
“Watch it now,” someone said at my side and I turned to see Fontenot. “Paul wouldn’t like that look in your eyes now would he?”
I rolled said eyes. “Appreciating the way a man sings and wanting to sleep with him are two different things. Go away.”
Fontenot chuckled and walked into the stage area, passing tables to clear them. I propped against the back wall, and pulled out my phone. One new message from Paul.
My plane is landing late. I’ll be in Chicago tonight. Call me when you get in. No matter how late it is ;)
I smiled. You bet! It’s our opening night so it might be later than usual, but can’t wait to hear your voice. <3
Chicago.
Last weekend it had been Atlanta. Next week he’d be there again. He couldn’t even guess at the next weekend he’d have free. I sighed, but knew it was out of his control and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried. He’d offered to fly me there to be with him, but I couldn’t. With my new job it was impossible. I imagined it’d be months before I could take off a weekend.
Tanya was sitting at one of the tables cackling loudly, not even paying attention the music. Her wine glass had been full every time I saw her and it wasn’t because she wasn’t drinking. Her laugh never ceased and I wondered how invested she was in this bar, really?
After the band finished playing, I stayed only long enough to ensure they received everything that was promised them, and offered to book them again if they were willing. To my delight, they agreed.
“Great!” I said. “I’ll contact your manager when I have some date options. Though, we’ve only booked out for the first month, so really, anything after that is open.”
“No need to call my manager,” he grinned. “Here.” He handed me a card listing his phone number under the band’s name.
“Oh. Okay. Thanks.” I smiled and told him goodbye. Hank was his name. He looked exactly like a Hank.
Not needed anymore, I left the bar and headed to my parents’. I’d found an apartment within my price range, but it wasn’t up for lease until next week.
Just one more week.
It was a small place, only one bedroom, but I didn’t need much. What I really liked about it was the large balcony. It was perfect for painting, overlooking a small patch of trees that separated the complex from the adjacent neighborhood.
On a yawn, I pulled into the driveway and glanced at the clock. 1 a.m.
Quietly, I entered my parents’ home and crept to my bedroom. I kicked off my shoes and sat on the bed, dialing Paul’s number.
He answered on the fourth ring, his voice thick with sleep. “Hello.”
“Hey,” I said. “Did I wake you?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Paul yawned and then cleared his throat. “How was the first night?”
I smiled. “Good. The band was great. We might book them again.”
“Was it busy?”
“Yeah. What about you? Another long weekend?”
He groaned. “Yes. I’ll be lucky if I get out of here Sunday afternoon.”
My father had never been a work-a-holic. He’d put in his forty hours and been home every night. I was used to that. Family dinners. Weekend getaways. Would that be a possibility with Paul?
“Will it always be this way?” I asked.
“It doesn’t have to be. Right now, I figure I don’t have a family. I might as well take advantage. When the time comes, I could switch jobs, find something less demanding.”
Silence followed his words. I was being selfish, difficult. He was right of course. I’d want the same op
portunity—to progress my career, to have the freedom to choose what I felt was best.
“Mia…I…”
“Don’t. I’m being foolish.”
Paul didn’t believe me. I could hear it in his sigh.
“Really,” I continued. I was letting Marjorie’s words influence me. Not all the Macione brothers were the same. Paul was nothing like Rick. “I miss you and I’m letting that get to me. I understand, Paul. I do. We’ll see each other soon?”
“Yes, Pretty. Soon.”
I knew that if I’d been with him, I would have seen the doubt in his eyes.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
AFTER I MOVED INTO my new apartment, my life became even more hectic. The need to assure all my bills were paid had me working as often and as long as I could. I even started waitressing at Savage Noble. Not much. Only when they were short staffed, but it put a strain on Paul and my relationship.
There were mornings when I woke and rushed out of the door, not even thinking about sending him a text message. There were nights when he was so exhausted he didn’t call.
One day without speaking to him turned in to two. And then three. Before long, it had been over a month since I’d even seen his face.
I’d put fliers up all over the bar for Faeries and Moonbeams and it had paid off. Gladys was getting regular customers and it was actually feasible for her to keep me on now. But because of all this extra work, I hadn’t painted in weeks.
The balcony I had loved so much was empty—not even a chair on it. My paint supplies were still boxed and one night when I was off work, I pulled them down then searched through more boxes until I found an unused canvas.
Before going outside, I held my phone in my hand. The last text message I’d received from Paul had been 9 hours ago.
I’ll be in a meeting for a few hours. Will try to call you afterwards.
I hadn’t responded because I was working, but he hadn’t called either. My heart ached. Despite how busy I’d been, something was still missing. Something I couldn’t fill up with long work hours and attempts at fulfillment. That something was him. I wanted to share things with him. I wanted to watch TV at night while I filled him in on my day and he did the same.
Busy? I sent, hoping to catch him with some free time.
I sat my phone down and waited. When was the last time we’d had a conversation that lasted more than five minutes?
It had been over a week ago.
“It’s lonely traveling this much,” he’d said. “Are you sure you can’t get a weekend away?”
I’d wanted to say yes. I’d wanted to tell Tanya to find someone else to cover the bands for a weekend. Just ONE weekend, but I knew that was impossible. Only a week before, I’d seen her getting cozy with a customer. She’d been young, maybe even younger than me, and assured Tanya that she knew of some great bands. Tanya’s eyes had lit up. If I hadn’t been standing so close she might have offered her a job right then. Instead, she politely took her card and said she’d consider it.
It was becoming obvious that my idea of class was vastly different from Tanya’s. She was hard to please and I was beginning to wonder if I was up to this.
I told Paul all of that and he’d sighed. “From what you’ve told me, Tanya doesn’t know shit. She’s lucky she has you. If you weren’t there, her precious bar would be just another Cowboy’s.”
Paul was protective of me and my skills. Even though he was miles away, I knew I had someone in my corner. And he was keeping his promise, even if he didn’t know it. I’d been feeling self-conscious and within twenty minutes he had me believing I could take on the world.
I glanced at my phone. Still no response from him.
My eyes watered, but I took my canvas and went to the balcony. So I didn’t disturb the neighbors, I put in some earbuds and painted.
My brush strokes soothed me. My mind shut down. My fingers moved and I felt the pain in my heart ebb. For a few blessed hours I didn’t feel overwhelmed, or tired, or lonely. I only felt peace.
The sun had set and the bright porch light illuminated my balcony. Without looking at the finished painting, I stepped away and leaned on the railing. My music continued to play and I sighed.
The trees stared back at me and if I focused, I could see the lights of the neighboring houses peeking through the branches. I ignored it, pretending I was alone in a forest.
The music helped, blocking out all the sound of people and life around me. I had a baseless fantasy of feeling a hand at my shoulder and looking over to see Paul standing behind me. He’d smile that sweet, lop-sided grin and even though tears would come, they’d be happy. I’d fall into his arms and he’d kiss me and tell me how much he loved and missed me.
Rivers and roads. Rivers ‘til I reach you, the woman’s voice sang. I glanced down to see who was singing. The Head and the Heart. I made a mental note to find more of their music and realized I was crying. My sob was silenced by the beautiful voices and I wiped away the tears.
Once I felt somewhat composed, I removed my earbuds and looked at my painting—only to cry again.
It was awful.
The colors didn’t blend together as beautifully as I’d envisioned and the hands, Paul’s and mine, were separated.
I left it out on the balcony and ran inside. Even though my apartment was small, it had a large walk-in closet and I raced to it, pushing all the clothes and boxes away until I found what I was looking for.
The original. The one I’d painted before Paul had even kissed me. Our fingers were laced. Just as they ought to be. Still slightly crying, I brought it to my living room and took another painting down, hanging it in its place.
My phone was sitting on the couch and I picked it up. One missed call from Paul—over an hour ago.
Needing to hear his voice, I called him back. He answered on the second ring. “Hey,” he said. “I’m about to head into a restaurant. Can I call you back?”
“Sure,” I said, my voice straining through residual tears.
He was silent a moment before saying, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I sniffled. “It’s nothing.”
Paul huffed. “It’s not nothing. Tell me what has you so sad.”
“It’s just…” I began, not really knowing what to say. All that was really wrong was that I missed him. “I just miss—”
“Our table’s ready,” a woman said in the background.
“—you…Who was that?” I asked, coming to attention.
“Liza,” he said. “And I miss you, too. Do you want to talk? I can go sit in the car.”
Why was Liza with him at a restaurant? “She’s with you?
“Yeah,” he said. “We had a long day at the office and are going for a bite to eat. But listen, I’m not really hungry anyway. I can wait in the car for them to finish.”
They rode together? Paul was having dinner…with Liza?
“No,” I said. “I’m just tired. I’m going to bed. Enjoy your dinner.”
As I was hanging up he started to protest, but I ended the call.
Immediately, he called me back, but I sent it to voicemail and left my phone in the living room.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
THE NEXT MORNING, I had several missed calls and one voicemail. While I put on my shoes, I listened to it.
“It’s a work dinner, Mia,” he said. “I’m here with five other people. You don’t have anything to worry about.” His voice sounded sincere and guilt coursed through me. I was being childish. It was just after 9 a.m. He’d likely be in a meeting or on a conference call, but I needed to amend my unfounded jealousy.
To my surprise, Paul answered right away.
“Mia, thank God you called. I tried to reach you all night.”
“I know,” I said, stopping him from further explanation or apology. “I’m sorry. I was overemotional. You don’t have any reason to apologize. It’s…stupid.”
“Why were you overemotional?”
“I don’t kno
w. It was just a bad night. I missed you.”
Paul sighed. I heard movement and the clear sound of a door being closed. “I miss you, too. None of this easy for me. I hope you know that.”
“I do.”
And I did. When he’d first left we’d spent nights telling each other how lonely we felt and how much we’d wanted the other. I knew that he kept a bottle of my lotion in his room and a playlist of all my favorite songs, even the ones he hated so he could hear them and think of me. The necklace he’d given me dangled from my neck and I toyed with it. I wore it everywhere. It didn’t even leave me when I showered.
This is what our relationship consisted of. Memories. Things. Items that bound us to each other. I was okay with that, but I knew a reckoning was coming. Soon, one of us was going to break. It would likely be me.
We spoke for a few more minutes and I hung up feeling better. I put in my hours at Faeries and Moonbeams and then went to Savage Noble. My work there mostly consisted of paperwork and no customers would be there at this time of day. I spotted Fontenot’s car in the parking lot and groaned. Since I’d been working there, we’d hardly spoken, but it was necessary some times.
My feet faltered when I realized I’d never even told Paul he was working with me. Each time I’d had Paul on the phone, Fontenot was the furthest thing from my mind. But as I thought about my reaction to Liza, I knew Paul would have a similar one.
What was wrong with me?
With a sigh, I walked in the door and spotted Fontenot behind the counter cleaning glasses and prepping. I didn’t even look at him, but I heard voices from the stage area and recognized one as Tanya’s.
“What kind of bands have you worked with before?” she asked.
“Oh loads,” the girl said. “My brother plays bass for Flaming Monkey. And my boyfriend is the lead singer for Yellow Stick. I go to all his shows and meet tons of other bands. All the time.” She giggled and my stomach dropped.
Quietly, I approached the bar and beckoned Fontenot over.
“How long has she been in there with her?”
Mia Found (Starting Fires Book 3) Page 20