by Anthology
A few hours after my shower, I laid down, fully dressed, in bed. I wasn’t really hungover, just tired. I hadn’t gotten that drunk last night. I’d been fully aware of what I was doing, and I’d finally accepted how glad I was for doing it. I wasn’t married anymore. I was single now and an adult. There was no reason why I couldn’t spend a night with a guy. A really great guy. Probably too great. But I’d never done anything like that before. I’d never slept with anyone else besides my husband … ex-husband. I would be leaving in a few days anyway. Soon enough, none of these issues would matter.
A knock came from my door. I looked over at the clock. It read 11:30. Brunch must have started. I flung my legs over the bed, padded across the hardwood in my bare feet, and pulled open the door. I looked up into the sad, guarded eyes hiding behind the horn-rimmed frames. I couldn’t help mirroring his sad face.
“I spooked you again, didn’t I?”
“I think I did that all on my own,” I said, composing myself. “You had nothing to do with it. Although, you might have had something to do with giving me one of the greatest nights of my life.”
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. I met him halfway, and he opened his arms to me. I inhaled his scent and my chest ached. I didn’t want to feel this ache, but I cherished it. I was nice to feel something again.
“Why did you run away?” he whispered into my hair.
I kept my eyes closed against his chest and answered as honestly as I could. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing when I’m around you.”
“Whatever you’re doing is good. Trust me. You’re not doing anything wrong.”
“But I—”
He pushed me away and forced me to look at him.
“Just shut your brain off, Quinn. Just be. Just enjoy life. That’s all you have to do. You’re only here for a few more days. Spend it with me.”
I couldn’t help but smile at his hopeful face. I had no idea what he saw in me or if this was just a way for him to get laid for another day or two, but I really didn’t care. This was for me.
“Is it really that easy?”
“Yep.” He kissed the side of my head and wrapped his arms around me.
I wasn’t sure if it was Walt, this city, or a combination of the two, but Portland had definitely grown on me.
Ten
The few days I had left with Walt had gone by so fast. I was sad to leave, but I bought my ticket to New Orleans, the next stop on the reinventing Quinn expedition. This notion of a nomadic life was enticing, but eventually I’d want to settle down. I shouldn’t choose a place based on a guy whose naked body had lain next to mine, but I had a feeling I would be back here. And after spending literally every waking moment of the last three days with Walt, I honestly believed he wasn’t in it just to get laid. There was something between us. We both needed more time to figure out what that something was, and I still needed time to figure out who I was. I had to admit, though, I liked who I was with Walt.
I left my packed bags at Zoe’s but I spent the night at Walt’s (in his bed this time). I had no idea sex could be so much more than I was used to. Maybe I should thank my ex for leaving, for saving me from a lifetime of whatever the hell that was, because being with Walt was pleasingly better.
Our legs were tangled in the sheets as his fingers slowly drew lines up and down my spine. I grazed my hand up his chest and felt his heart thump steadily under my fingertips.
“I may be just putting myself out there a little too much,” I whispered, breaking the silence, “But I kind of don’t want to leave.”
Silence returned. I knew I had said too much.
“As much as I want you to stay, Quinn, I want you to go more.”
Ice settled deep in my chest. I began to move my hand away from him, but he grabbed it and held it close. He moved his head slightly, and I peered up at him on the pillow.
“I want you to go and see as much of the world as you can handle. I want you to send me a postcard from every place you visit. The more postcards you send me, the more certain I am that you’ll come back. Even if it’s just to visit before you hop across the globe again.”
I met his smile in the shadow of the moonlight.
“There’s just something about you, Quinn.” He shook his head slightly. “Once you find out who you are, I want the time to get to know that person, because I already really like the person you are right now.”
“Can we at least stay in touch besides just postcards?”
He laughed at my shyness. Here I was beside him, completely naked, and I was acting as shy as a teenager getting a number from a guy they had a crush on. Because I did. I had a serious crush on Walt. We both knew I had to go. We both knew it was way too soon to start anything when I wasn’t ready for it.
I wanted to stay awake all night and absorb as much of him as I could, but I dozed off. I awoke to an orange glow beyond the window. For the first time, it wasn’t rainy or cloudy. The day of my leaving, it was a beautiful morning. All the more reason to come back.
I twisted slightly in his arms and tried to sit up, but I was pulled back down.
“Don’t you dare sneak out on me again.”
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
“I may never see you again and you’re worried about waking me?”
I peered up into his eyes, the sunrise making them appear hazel. “You will see me again. I don’t know if it will be in two months, or three, or seven, but I can promise you that you will see me again. I don’t think I could ever not come back to Portland. I don’t think I could ever not come back to you.”
“Promise?”
I leaned up and kissed him everything that I could promise. I didn’t know who I was yet, or where I was going, but I knew where I would end up. And that was back here in Portland with Walt.
Epilogue
Within a week of leaving Portland, I sent Walt a postcard from New Orleans. I’d always wanted to see this city by myself, as a single adult and not as a drunk Bachelorette. I experienced crawfish, festivals, gay bars on Bourbon Street, and really yummy knock-you-on-your-ass drinks called Hand Grenades. Our texts that night were interesting. From there I went to Boston. I loved the history, the Irish men (I might have kissed one or two), and fell in love with the Dropkick Murphys. Walt told me he tacked up my postcards behind the cash register at the pub. It had been two months since I left, and I loved that he was still with me on this. I went to Chicago to see a Cubs game (they lost), I went shopping way too much, and gained like five pounds from all the deep dish pizza. Not that I cared one bit. Feeling like I’d got the partying out of my system and wanting a soul-searching experience, I headed to Sedona, Arizona I saw a spiritual advisor, and she told me what I already knew: I was over my past and ready for the future. I knew what I wanted next in life.
What I wanted next was some ribs. I hopped a plane to Memphis, Tennessee and drank at BB King’s Blues Club. Afterwards, I sent Walt a postcard of Beal Street. I only stayed four days in Memphis; long enough to send a postcard, eat some ribs, and hear some blues before hitting the airport. This would be my last time on a plane for a while. He didn’t know I was coming. I’d told him I was going to Graceland to tour Elvis’s home. I even went as far as to text him a picture of the house before heading to the airport.
I stood in front of his pub just moments before happy hour. I didn’t need any sort of push to get me through the door, but just like the last time I arrived before happy hour, I found the bar empty. Walking around, I spotted all the postcards from my travels. I snuck behind the bar, pulled out a postcard of Portland from my bag, and stuck it right in the middle of all the postcards. I heard footsteps come around the corner. A mischievous grin rose up my face as I hid in one of the booths, trying to make myself as small as I could. He held my postcard from Memphis in his hands and he was smiling a secret smile to himself. If only he knew I could see that smile. He reached up to grab a tack, but his hand stopped
in mid-air. His head cocked to the side as he pulled the tack from the board. His eyes leapt up as he read the words I wrote:
I promised.
He ran out from behind the bar, heading toward the front door. He completely overlooked me sitting in the booth so I hopped up before he could run outside.
“Do you think I would have gone that far?”
He turned around. I wasn’t sure if it happened in slow motion or fast motion, but I found myself in his arms and his lips on mine before I could breathe.
“What are you doing here? You are supposed to be in Memphis.”
“No. I’m supposed to be here … with you.”
“For how long?”
“For as long as you want me to stay.”
“Really?”
“I finally found myself, Walt. I found myself the day I found you.”
The End.
About the Author
Bestselling author Jaycee Ford grew up chasing street cars around the city of New Orleans. After doing a four year stint at Louisiana State University, she earned a Bachelor of Arts degree in History and fled for the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. New Orleans beckoned her home again where she put her love of the foothills into a series of romance novels. In between writing, she’s found behind her desk at a top rated law firm … or still chasing street cars.
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The Soviet and the Scientist – Kimberly Kennedy
Portland, Oregon 1987
Hotel bars, Erik noted, looked the same no matter where in this wide world you were. Dark wood paneling, streaked mirrors behind the bars, small cocktail napkins, and the bartender who wanted to be anywhere but here. Everything exactly the same, a depressing scene, no matter if you stood behind the Iron Curtain or in front of it.
He let out a quiet sigh and took another drink from his American whiskey, the only nod to the western frontier he could find, and wondered what had brought on this maudlin mood. But if he was honest with himself, he knew what it was. Once again, despite being half the globe and a world away from Russia, she still haunted him. Her and that damn island, the very one he was here to make nice about with the Americans.
Erik clunked his glass back onto the wooden bar a bit harder than he had meant to.. No matter how long it had been, he was still faced with his demons. He could hear her voice in his head, as clearly as if she stood next to him. You can run a world away, but you cannot run from your problems. How right she was. Glancing towards the sky, Erik hefted the highball glass and muttered a quick, “Za vas.”
“Bless you!”
Erik startled, almost tipping the last of his glass all over his hand as he heard a booming, but decidedly feminine, voice offer him … a blessing? He looked down towards the direction of where the voice had come from and saw, a big black bush. A talking bush. Now that was something new in a bar!
“Excuse me?”
“You sneezed, I said bless you!” Definitely a talking bush, wearing, steel toe boots.
Erik’s mind whirled. Perhaps Doctor Ormolov had been right, he’d been working too many hours. And sneeze? He ran through the substantial English vocabulary in his head, trying to place the word, sneeze. Sneeze …
Ah! Chikhat! “Like, achoo?” He made the noise to determine if he had the word right, twisting in the bar stool toward the floor.
“Wow! Bless you again, you should really see about those allergies.” Up popped a large pair of owlish brown eyes, framed by tortoise shell glasses too large for the delicate bone structure hidden underneath … ah! Not a bush, just a whole big mass of curly, frizzled, dark brown hair.
“I say a cheers, and you think I have allergies. Humorous.” Erik bit his tongue to keep from laughing, not sure if he had an owl, a tortoise, a bush, or a woman next to him. He did laugh out loud as he noticed the frantic way his blesser was now waving her arms about wildly, fully engaged in trying to flag down the bartender.
The woman shot him a look that could melt the Siberian plains. He should have been afraid but he couldn't stop looking at her.
She was kitted out in a red rain slicker, some kind of khaki uniform that did nothing for her complexion, and those giant glasses that would look more at home on a grizzled army general, or perhaps a walrus, complete with giant mustache. Clearly, she was a scientist. He could tell, having been around them enough. As she continued to try and flag down the bartender, her hair flew about, thick curls bouncing, and Erik abruptly felt the strongest urge to tangle his fingers into it, smooth it, feel it slide under his hand. The profile, what he could see of it, seemed proud and independent with a fighter’s chin and prominent cheek bones below her glasses. Her nose was closer to the Eastern European look he grew up seeing, rather than the doctor perfected noses prominent in this capitalistic society. Perhaps other men would disagree, but the elements combined into a very, cute woman. Almost adorable, and she wasn’t helping with the dolphin patch on her uniform that indicated she was a member of the North Western Aquatic Ecological Center. She had to be here for the same conference he was here for. For some reason, the idea made Erik look forward to the week just a little bit more.
“Sheesh!” the woman slapped her thigh in frustration, dramatically rolling her eyes.
“Bar man troubles?” He smiled at his own comment, then chuckled as the woman blew out a frustrated puff of air.
“So you’re one of the leash holders, huh?” The woman faced him, temporarily giving up on her quest to “wet her whistle” as the bartender had magically disappeared from behind the bar. But what was this about dogs and walking them?
“Excuse me? Perhaps my English has failed but, uh, leash holder?”
“Yeah. One of those ‘diplomatic attendants’ for the Russian scientists. A military grunt assigned to make sure the intellectuals behave.”
“Grunt? Another word I am not familiar with.”
“A brainless soldier, who only takes orders and does what he is told.” She slapped him with another one of those killer stares then turned away again. Well, then. She was not a fan of the military. Perhaps she was one of those hippies?
Erik smiled at this, despite her obvious insult. “I don’t tend to think I am completely brainless, but I am very responsible for one of the scientist’s behavior.”
“Because God forbid they do something crazy, like say what they want to say instead of toe the party line.” She suddenly held a hand to her cheek in mock surprise. “Oh my, did I just mention, God? I'm so sorry. We can't have any mention of God. The only belief you have over there is one of Mother Russia, am I right?”
"I see no problem in being loyal to my country, no.” She must have really needed that drink because he could not understand why she was being hostile toward him. Still, as his group had walked around the city, he had noted more than a few nervous glances, women crossing to the other side of the street. He could imagine it would be the same if a group of American soldiers were walking down a street in Leningrad. Still, for some reason he desperately wanted to make this woman comfortable around him. Perhaps even make her smile. “Now for you, lady scientist. What do you believe in?”
“How did you know I was a scientist?”
“I follow scientists around all day, grunting, or some such.”
She made a thoughtful noise as her face cleared of its angry scowl. It was almost a smile. She was quite striking when she wasn't on the attack. “I believe in freedom. For every living thing. Human and animal.”
“Very admirable, lady scientist.” Most men would ask her something stupid, like what she looked like when she took off those glasses. He was curious about that himself. The bartender appear behind her. Perfect
timing.
“What’ll have there, pilgrim?” Her face suddenly flooded with light as she broke out into a full laugh. In that moment, as Erik listened he decided that he would do just about anything to hear it more often.
“John Wayne!” She glanced over as the bartender leaned in to get her order. “A grasshopper, please.” Turning her smiling eyes back to Erik, he felt his stomach pull in a not entirely uncomfortable way. “Now, where in the world did you hear John Wayne?”
“American buckaroo, uh,cowboy, very popular in Russia. We watch the movies to improve our English.”
“That's weird, they aren't banned?”
“Cowboy western is from a simpler time, da? No political issues, just a shootout at high noon before a whiskey in the saloon. Now you know I am a poet, as well as a grunt.” He gestured towards her drink that had just arrived. “Please, miss lady scientist, be my guest, have a seat, ease your weary dogs?” She laughed again, giving Erik a high better than the first sip of whiskey he'd had earlier that evening.
“My name is Sophie, not lady scientist.” She flopped onto the empty stool next to him and reached out a hand in front of her, expecting a shake. Not the usual custom at home, but when in Rome … Erik took her tiny hand into his, feeling a jolt of electricity along with his approval of her firm, confident handshake. She had rough hands, working hands, not the soft pampered hands of party wives. Erik approved. A salt of the earth type of girl, at least that is what they called it in the cowboy movies. A vague image of the woman he had been thinking about earlier that evening flashed into his brain, but he pushed it away. Time to be in the present with a lively woman.
"Sophie, a beautiful name. I am Erik.”