Cuts Like Glass

by Dana Feldman

  “Yeah, I’m sure it’s a very difficult adjustment. So today was the first time that he’s not felt well and gone home early?”

  “Yep,” he answers, looking at me, watching me carefully. I try to act nonchalant, but I know that he sees right through the act. He doesn’t push me though. This is why we’ve remained friends for so long. He knows when to back off.

  “Ok, thank you, Chris. I’ll call you tomorrow,” I say as I hug him before leaving.

  “Ok, let me know if you need anything,” he says, holding me close to him.

  “I will, promise,” I reply into his chest. As he releases me, I put my hand on his arm. “Thank you,” I add before heading quickly to my car.

  As I drive the short distance back to my place, I think about how much better off I was the way I lived my life prior to meeting Gabe. I never made attachments to anyone, to any place, to anything. I was completely unattached and free.

  It was a lonely life, of course. But it was a safe one. Things were uncomplicated, easy. No one got hurt.

  Nothing good has ever come from me allowing myself to love or try for normalcy. Nothing whatsoever. I’m not, nor have I ever been, a loner by default, as Peter once said.

  I’ve simply surrendered myself to the idea that I’m best navigating this world solo. Anytime I care about anyone, nothing but chaos and heartache follow.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  TRUST NO ONE

  As I pull into my parking spot I can see the bicycle that I’ve lent Peter locked to the bike rack beside my car. It had belonged to Gabe. Peter is here. I take a deep breath and ready myself.

  I’m not sure why I feel so nervous as I head up the elevator. Maybe he’s just under the weather. I unlock the main door to my floor and head down the quiet hallway. I chose this building in part because of the locked garage and locked floors. Each level has a different key so if you don’t live on that floor the only way in is if you buzz the intercom and someone lets you in. I’ve felt as safe as possible here.

  It’s quiet, too quiet. I can usually hear the sounds of someone’s television or chatter amongst neighbors through the walls as I pass through the hallway to my place. Nothing. I have to remind myself that it’s the middle of the day. People are out. That’s all, nothing to worry about.

  I’ve often found weekdays in general to be quite lonely now that I’m no longer working full-time. It’s especially so around here with everyone at work or at school. I tend to long for the sounds of kids running down the hallways, people coming and going, chatting on their cell phones cradled between their shoulder and ear as they carry up groceries. Life and all of its many sounds is replaced with a heavy silence. I can hear myself breathing. The only other sound is the heels of my boots as they hit the carpeting that lines the hallway.

  As I get to my front door I stop for a moment and listen. I don’t hear anything. I put the key in the lock and jiggle the handle for a moment, alerting Peter to the fact that I’m home earlier than I said I’d be. I don’t want to startle him or invade his privacy.

  Just as I open the door I catch him walking out of my bedroom. The way my apartment is set up the master and secondary bedrooms are on opposite sides of the main living room area. He looks at me like a deer in headlights.

  Please say something, Peter, I think, wanting this awkward moment to pass quickly. I try to think of a reason why he’d be in my bedroom. There must be some legitimate reason that he’d need to go in there. It’s not like I’ve ever told him that he isn’t allowed in there. I leave my door unlocked and open. It’s just that the look on his face tells me that he’s nervous. This makes me nervous and curious.

  “Oh, hey,” he says. “I thought you were out for the day?”

  “Yes,” I say. I had told him that I’d be gone until early evening. I’d planned to do a little shopping after my meeting with Evelyn. For obvious reasons, I hadn’t been much in the mood for any of that after our conversation. “I was with a friend for brunch. I wanted to introduce you to her so we decided to stop at the boat shop. Chris said that you weren’t feeling well?”

  “Yeah, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just felt like I had a fever. I hope it’s ok, I needed some Tylenol, and I found some in your bathroom.”

  Relief washes over me. I knew there had to be a good reason for him to go in my room.

  “Yes, of course,” I say. “Can I make you some tea? Or maybe some soup?”

  “No, that’s ok. I think I’m just going to sit out on the patio for a bit.”

  “Ok, here,” I say, handing him a blanket. “It’s a bit chilly out.”

  “Thank you,” he says, staring at me for just a second too long as he takes it from me.

  “You know, it’s really no trouble. Tea, I mean. I wouldn’t mind a cup myself.”

  “Ok, as long as it’s not any trouble.”

  “Not at all,” I say and head into the kitchen. I fill the kettle with water and turn the stove on high. As I wait for the water to boil, I watch as he gets comfortable on one of two lounge chairs outside. I wish that I could read his mind.

  “Chamomile or green jasmine?” I yell through the open sliding glass door.

  “Chamomile, please,” he answers. I find myself wishing that he was my boyfriend and that I am simply taking care of him because he isn’t feeling well. A void has been left in my life, one that is not allowing me to ignore it.

  Before Gabe, I was never in a real relationship. I’d had a series of noncommittal one-night stands or short-term relationships. Uncomplicated and easy, my want for more from anyone was non-existent. I was complacent, used to my way of living.

  Then with Gabe I was forced to look deep within. I was in love and the need for more was stronger than anything that I’d ever experienced before. Now that this longing for love had been exposed and even at one point filled, albeit temporarily, its absence is now noticeable and very painful. When you don’t know what you’re missing, life is so much easier.

  I throw a thick wool blanket over my arm and walk outside to the patio with our teas in hand. I hand him his steaming mug and join him, sitting on the lounge chair beside his. I wrap myself in the blanket and sip my tea.

  “Thank you,” he says, sipping slowly.

  “You’re welcome,” I say, looking at him as he watches the boats. “Peaceful, isn’t it?”

  A cool breeze passes through us cooling the air as it does so. I pull the blanket tightly around my neck holding it just under my chin with one hand, my tea in the other.

  “It’s really amazing here,” he says.

  “Yes, it is. As I said, it’s a good place to heal.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, why did you really leave work today?”

  “I really didn’t feel well,” he says, looking at me, a surprised look on his face. “What, you don’t believe me?”

  “No, it’s not that. I believe that you’re not feeling well. I’m just wondering if it’s physical or something else?”

  “Like a nervous breakdown or something?” he asks, a light chuckle.

  “Well, maybe not that dramatic,” I reply, laughing.

  “Ok, so maybe I don’t have a fever, but I just didn’t feel like myself.”

  “Perhaps you’re just tired and need to get some rest. It might not have been the best idea to have you jump right into working full-time. I mean you’ve been through a lot. It’s understandable if you just want to relax for a bit. Chris will understand.”

  “I like to work, to keep busy. I think you’re right though, about me being tired.”

  “Well, take a few days then.”

  “I’ll call Chris, see if that’s ok,” he says. “I really appreciate you letting me stay here with you. I know I’ve said it before but I’m very grateful.”

  “It’s nice having you,” I say, bothered by just how much I like having him here with me. “Stay as long as you like.”

  I’m trying to think of a way to tell him about his father. Every time that I plan to,
the timing just isn’t right. But I know that I can’t keep lying to him, it’s eating me up inside. Just as I’m trying to figure out the best way to bring the subject up, my phone pings. It’s a text from Evelyn asking if I’m all right.

  Yes, he’s here with me. Sick. All is good. I hit send and hope this will suffice.

  “I definitely want to contribute. I stopped at the store on my way home, picked up a few things. I was thinking that I could cook us some dinner tonight,” he says.

  “That’d be nice. But only if you’re feeling ok.”

  “Yeah, like I said, I think I was just tired, maybe a bit overwhelmed. But I’m feeling much better now. The Tylenol must’ve helped.”

  “Good. Ok then. Dinner sounds great. What will you make?”

  “It’s a surprise. Wait, you don’t have any food allergies or anything do you? Or any foods that you don’t like?”

  “Nope and no. I eat everything, well, except for liver and sardines. But I have a feeling that you weren’t planning to make either?”

  “Damn, well there goes my liver salad and sardine penne pasta idea!”

  We both laugh for what seems an eternity. Why does this have to feel so natural with him? Why can’t I feel this way for someone else, like Chris, for instance?

  We sit in silence for a bit, watching the boats and listening to the sea lions. I even start to doze off, my eyelids heavy. When I look up, he’s standing by the railing of the balcony, deep in thought, staring out over the water.

  The sun is setting for the evening and the sky is painted with splashes of orange and pink. Lights in various apartments and on the boats are starting to flicker on.

  “It’s so beautiful here at this time of night,” I say, his back still to me.

  “Yeah, I can see why you like living here.”

  I stand up and join him.

  “I didn’t feel physically sick today,” he says, finally opening up.

  “Why did you want to leave the shop then?”

  “I just started to feel overwhelmed, like it was all just too much. I just had to leave, I needed to be by myself for a little while.”

  “And then I came home early.”

  “It was a good thing you did. I didn’t really want to talk about it. I just needed to be in a quiet place. Just to think, you know?”

  “Yes, I understand that,” I say.

  “Chris is great and the job is really good for me. I just think I needed to be here. I hope that’s ok with you.”

  “Of course it is. You’ve been through so much. It’s perfectly normal for you to want to just be alone, to want to relax.”

  “I felt like, I don’t know how to explain it, but like I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to run away from everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes,” he says after a beat. “I wasn’t going to come back here.”

  “Where were you going to go?”

  “I wasn’t sure. A hotel, maybe. I just, sometimes I don’t trust myself. I get so angry, and I don’t know where to put it all, what to do with my feelings. I was afraid to come back here.”

  “Afraid?” I ask. “Of what?”

  “I don’t always trust myself to control how I’m feeling. I get so mad sometimes, and I wouldn’t ever want you to see me like that.”

  I know what he’s trying to tell me but still I’m not afraid of him. Regardless of what he’s telling me, he’s nothing like Gabe. He knows enough to stay away when he feels that way. He cares enough to be honest with me.

  “I don’t want to scare you,” he says after a few minutes. I realize that I didn’t respond to what he said.

  “You’re not scaring me. I’m happy that you told me how you’re feeling.”

  Realizing that tonight isn’t the best time to tell him about his father, I decide to bring up a different subject.

  “Have you ever considered therapy? I mean therapy outside of the hospital. Outpatient.”

  “I’m so sick of sitting in a room and talking about myself to a person who is writing everything down, recording me, analyzing everything I do and say.”

  “I understand,” I tell him. “I really do. But I think that you need some help with these feelings that you’re having. You can’t just keep it all buried inside of you. You have to figure out a way to manage this.”

  “I like talking to you,” he says, and my heart melts. “I don’t know what it is about you, Ella, but I feel like I can tell you anything. No matter what I say you’re still standing there next to me. I kept expecting you to stop visiting me at the hospital, but you kept coming back. Or now, to tell me to leave here, but you don’t. I’ve never felt so comfortable with anyone. I’ve never felt like I could trust anyone the way I trust you.”

  I’ve never felt so happy and guilty all at the same time. The things is, I feel the same way about him. But the fact of the matter is that I’ve also withheld the truth from him. Once he finds out, he’ll never say these things to me again.

  “I’m sorry. Was that too much?” he asks. Again, I’ve failed to respond to him.

  “No, no! Not at all! I feel the same way. I really like that we can talk about anything and everything. I feel very comfortable with you, too. I like that you’re here. It was very lonely before.”

  I’m trying to come up with something to say.

  “What about Chris?” he asks.

  “What about him?”

  “Is there something going on between you?”

  “No, why do you ask?”

  “I don’t know, it just seems like, well at least on his end, that there is something there…”

  “No, we’re just friends. Good friends.”

  “Was there ever anything between you?”

  “No. I met him when I was married. My husband and I, as you know, had a boat and Chris took care of things for us.”

  “And you became friends?”

  “To the chagrin of my husband, yes. He’s a good guy. He’s really been there for me.”

  “Yeah, he’s a good one. Thank you again for your help with the job. I think it’s really helping me to get back into a normal routine, you know?”

  “Yes, I suspected that it would be good for you. I need to get back into a normal work routine myself.”

  “So, any more thoughts about the shelter?”

  “Yes, I’ve been writing up a business plan. I feel really good about it. I just need to sort a few things out,” I add, thinking about Gabe.

  “Good,” he says. He’s looking back out at the boats with a wide grin on his face. He looks back at me; and there’s a moment where I think that he might kiss me. I feel excitement all over my body. At the same time, I feel dread. I cannot go there. I smile and look away.

  “About that dinner?” I ask, breaking the intense mood.

  “Yeah, I think I’ll go and get started,” he says. “And you have to stay out of the kitchen when I cook! I also clean up after myself,” he says, laughing. The mood is now light and happy, other than the guilt that I’m feeling.

  There’s no telling him tonight, but I realize that I’ll have to very soon. I listen as he opens and slams shut cabinets and drawers. I find comfort in the hum of pots and pans clattering as he starts to cook. He comes out to the living room where I’m now sitting by the crackling fireplace.

  “Here you go,” he says, handing me a glass of wine. He clicks his glass to mine, “Cheers.”

  “Cheers,” I say in return. Like so many times in life, everything looks shiny and perfect on the surface. Underneath, it’s anything but. I need to not be feeling what I’m feeling. This is not right.

  “I’m heading back in,” he says over his shoulder as he walks back into the kitchen.

  “How long until dinner?” I shout into the other room at him.

  “About forty-five minutes,” he tells me. I can hear him open and close the refrigerator. The smell of various vegetables being sautéed wafts through the apartment. I add more wood to the fireplace. Home, the word keeps ru
nning through my head.

  “Great, then I’m going to go and take a shower,” I tell him and head into my bedroom. I close the door behind me and take a look around. Everything seems to be in perfect order just the way I left it this morning before I left to meet Evelyn.

  As I undress I chase away these feelings that keep crossing my mind. This cannot go anywhere. Not now, not ever.

  I catch a glimpse of myself naked in the mirror as I enter the bathroom. I stop and take a good look. I haven’t been with a man since Gabe. I haven’t wanted to be, until now, that is. I ignore my hardened nipples. It’s just cold. No, it isn’t. I want him. But I cannot have him so I look away from the mirror.

  I can hear him opening and closing cabinets, whistling to Lady Antebellum as he cooks. “And I wonder do I ever cross your mind?” he sings loudly and in perfect tune. Yes Peter, all day, every day.

  I open my medicine cabinet to get a razor. I pick up the bottle of Tylenol. I realize that this bottle has never been opened before. The seal is perfectly intact. And I know that it’s the only bottle I have.

  “So, if you weren’t in here getting Tylenol then what were you doing?” I ask my reflection in the mirror. I’m speaking so quietly that it’s almost a whisper under my breath, so only I can hear. He’s still happily singing and cooking in the other room.

  A chill runs the length of my spine. Instinct tells me to check the safe in my closet. I walk towards the large walk-in just off the master bathroom. It’s a large closet with clothes lining all three walls. Towards the back left corner, the area where I keep all my long winter coats and dresses, underneath a bundle of them, sits my safe. I have it set in a way that you’d have to know that it’s there to even look for it. You cannot immediately see it unless I move the clothing out of the way.

  No one knows that I have it here. Gabe had an underground floor safe in our wine cellar in the house we lived in together. This one I purchased after he disappeared. My heart rate quickens as I walk towards it. I can hear it beating loudly in my ears.

  I swallow hard. My throat is suddenly so dry. I move the bottom of the coats and dresses out of the way. The door to the safe is closed. I breathe in a sigh of relief. As my hand reaches up just to pull on the handle to confirm that all is well, the door easily swings open. I never leave the safe unlocked. Never. And I double and triple check that it’s locked multiple times a day.