Written in the Sand

by D. B. James

  “Earth to Tenley,” Monica, my stylist, says, while snipping another long lock of my hair away.

  “Um. Sorry, what did you say?”

  “I was inquiring about your tattoo. It looks fresh, as in still new, it’s all irritated and red. When did you get it? And may I ask who did the work? It’s badass,” she says.

  “It’s new, yes, I got it done last night. The artist’s name is Case Ballantyne. He’s working over at a shop called Ink Monkee, as a guest artist. He’s here from Austin, I’m not entirely sure how long he’s in town for. If you’re interested in having him do some work for you, I could put you in contact with him. He came into the bookstore and we sort of became friends,” I say.

  Snip. Snip. Snip. Snipsnip. Snip. Snip.

  She keeps cutting away. I have to quit watching in the mirror. At this rate, I’m bound to cause myself to have a panic attack. Grabbing my phone off the counter in front of me, I choose to get lost in checking out what’s new on Facebook. I’m surprised to see a text alert from Case. Speak of the devil.

  Unlocking my phone, I quickly scan his text, debating on if I should reply or not. Dr. Beesley did instruct me to tackle my fears. Not like I’m not tackling them because I am, but it’s the whole Case making me feel feelings I haven’t felt since Michael died. To be frank, he scares the ever-loving fuck out of me.

  “You should reply,” Monica says while cutting away. God, will she stop cutting already? Besides, who asked her for her opinion?

  “It’s not nice to snoop over my shoulder,” I snap back at her. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out as harsh as it did. It’s just…complicated.”

  “No, it’s okay. You’re right, I shouldn’t have read the text. I’m sorry. On a brighter note, your hair is all cut and we’re ready to get it styled. You’re going to look absolutely stunning, not like you don’t already but…”

  Glancing back up into the mirror, I catch her gaze, giving her a small grin. Which looks more like a grimace. As she begins to blow-dry my hair, I peek back down at my phone and see another message sitting underneath his previous one.

  Case: How’s the tattoo feel today?

  Case: Did I do something last night to upset you? Was it the kiss comment? Shit, it was the kiss comment wasn’t it? I’d like for us to be friends, Tenley. There’s this extra something about you, I can’t seem to walk away from.

  While I’m reading and deciding what to reply, my phone pings with an incoming text.

  Case: Lonely recognizes lonely, remember? We need each other.

  He’s right of course.

  Me: I’m a chickenshit.

  Case: ???

  Me: Do I need to explain myself?

  Case: It would be nice if you did.

  Me: It may be easier said in person. Are you busy for lunch?

  Case: Hell, if I was, I could drop those plans and make myself available. Time with you is worth making sacrifices for. ;)

  Me: Um…

  Case: Sorry. Too forward. Message received loud and clear. No, I don’t have plans for lunch, but guessing I do now. Should I pick you up or meet you somewhere?

  Me: I’m out already. We can meet somewhere unless you’d like to pick me up from the salon?

  Case: Which salon?

  Me: Style on 5th. I should be done in about twenty minutes.

  Case: On my way.

  Tossing my phone down into my lap, it lands with a silent thud. Placing both hands over my face, I cover my eyes and attempt to block out the world. Not an easy thing to do in public. What in the hell did I do? Maybe the real question should be, what have I done over the last twenty-four hours?

  “Are you done having your breakdown, so I can finish drying your hair?” Monica asks.

  “Shit. Yes, I’m sorry,” I say while removing my hands and tilting my head back up.

  Laughing, she shakes her head and resumes drying my hair.

  Fifteen minutes later when I see the finished product, I can’t believe my eyes. I’m a completely different person. Seeing the colors in my hair when she was cutting it caused me to have a mini freak-out. Seeing it all cut and styled? Holy. Shit. I’ve definitely tackled my fear of having people talk about me in public. I’m going to turn heads now. There’s no escaping the turquoise shining from my hair, or the platinum—almost white—highlights.

  “I look fucking amazing. Wow, I can’t believe it. Monica, this looks great, more than great. I’m sorry for swearing, but holy shitballs. Like I said…fucking amazing. I was freaking out the whole time, but I don’t know what for. I love it. Thank you,” I exclaim.

  “You’re welcome. I’ve wanted to place highlights in your hair for years, Tenley. Years. But you’ve never asked for them. So, I’ve never offered. When you landed in my chair this morning and asked for turquoise, I wanted to dance around the salon. Not going to lie, I may have danced in the backroom while mixing up the color,” Monica admits.

  A huge laugh escapes me and before I know it, I’m grasping my belly from laughing hard. When’s the last time I laughed like this? “I can picture you dancing back there in the small mixing room. You were probably swearing in your head, too. Am I correct?”

  Shaking her head yes, she starts to giggle along with me. I pull her in for a tight hug. And that’s how Case finds me, hugging Monica near the front counter of the salon while laughing.

  “Case, talk about great timing. I’m all set. Well, after I pay of course. Monica, this is Case, the artist who designed and gave me my tattoo. Case, Monica,” I say.

  He nods a quick hello to Monica but doesn’t say a word to her. He pulls me from the half hug I’m still in with her and into one of his own teddy bear hugs. He leans in to whisper in my ear. “Holy. Fuck. You’re sexy. I had to tell you before I tell myself again we’re only friends.” After speaking the words, he quickly lets me go and takes a step backward. “Nice meeting you, Monica. Tenley, I’ll be outside waiting.”

  Before the door shuts, Monica is fanning herself. “Girl, you didn’t tell me he was a walking, talking, wet dream.”

  “Welcome to my hell. And my current dilemma. He’s only my friend. I’m still dealing with Michael’s death and struggling to find myself again. Mixing in a man like Case isn’t something I should be doing. No matter how hard I try though, I can’t seem to stay away from him,” I admit.

  Sighing, I quickly pay her and make my way out the door to a waiting Case. I was excited about lunch and getting issues out in the open with him, but after his comment I’m not entirely sure I should be spending any more time with him. Maybe I should make an emergency appointment with Dr. Beesley instead and skip out on our lunch date. Give him a raincheck I never plan on cashing. I’m such a mess.

  He’s leaning against what happens to be my car when I exit the salon. I wonder if he knows it’s mine? How can he make a plain white t-shirt appear this damn sexy? The jeans fit him nicely and Chuck Taylors only add to his appeal. Dammit, these are the type of thoughts I need to get out of my head. If he were ugly this would be much easier.

  “You should be ugly,” I blurt out.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You should be ugly,” I repeat while clicking my key fob, unlocking my car. “Get in, I’ll drive.”

  “Ah. If I was ugly this whole us only remaining just friends thing would be easier, huh? Nice car, by the way,” he says while climbing into the passenger side.

  “Yes, and thanks.” Turning off the radio, I decide to rip off the Band-Aid and say everything in the car on the way to lunch. Maybe afterward we can have a nice drama free lunch. Yeah, right.

  “I’ve already explained why we can’t go any further than friends. I like you, Case, probably more than I should. Last night, whenever you’d walk into the room, you made it hard for me to breathe. It was like you stole all the air. It was why I asked if it was hot in the shop. You make me extremely uncomfortable. You scare the fuck out of me. I haven’t been scared since I first met Michael. And I can’t deal with scared right no
w. Especially when I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m finding myself and I’m healing. During which time, we need to be friends. Only friends. If something more happens in the future, cool. If not? It’s cool, too. But at this moment, I can’t offer you more. I can barely be a friend to myself. I need to put myself first, instead of last.”

  Breathe.

  “Friends. Okay. Besides, with my leaving town shortly, us remaining only friends will work out best for me, too. It’s a win-win all around. No harm, no foul. Now, where are you taking me for lunch?” he says this easily. As if it’s an everyday occurrence for him to admit he likes me but can’t allow himself to.

  He makes it sound informal.

  If he can abide by my friends only rule and brush it off like it means nothing, then I can, too. Why am I upset by his response or lack thereof?

  It’s what I want, correct?

  “Do you like Mexican food? Wait, don’t answer my stupid question. You’re from Austin, of course you like it. I’m not going to take you there on principle alone, I’m sure anyplace here is a million times worse than anything you have back home. Authentic Mexican here probably means fifty-percent authentic. How do you feel about seafood gumbo?” I ask.

  Instead of eyeing me while he answers, he continues to stare out the passenger side window. “Sounds great.” He remains silent on the whole Mexican food comment as well. Hm. Maybe my mumbling freaked him out. Or he’s still weirded out about the whole friends thing and it’s not as easy for him as he makes me think. I’m a mess, he should be thanking me instead of stewing in what I can only assume is his own anger. Anger at himself or me I can’t be certain which one it is if he doesn’t open up and tell me.

  “Okay, seafood gumbo it shall be. It’s a bit of a drive, but the scenery is beautiful. When do you leave to go back to Austin?” I inquire, praying a change of subject will help lighten the mood.

  “Don’t feel like you need to make small talk for me, Tenley. I’m sure you’ve picked up on my sudden mood change and all I can say is I’m sorry. I’m not sure what brought it on this suddenly. To be honest, I’m not entirely positive if I’m mad at myself for agreeing to remaining only your friend, or at you for not wanting to explore this connection we have.” At my attempt to interrupt, he places a hand over my mouth, halting any words I was about to speak. “Before you object, let me explain. I’ve stated a few times about lonely recognizing lonely, and I firmly believe it. We’re made of the same fabric, you and I. But I also believe there’s something more between us. I felt it when I walked into the bookstore and heard you murdering the Adele song. Don’t deny you didn’t feel it, too. I know you did. Your reactions to me give you away. The day on the beach only proved to me yet again what I felt in the store. I felt it again last night in the shop. I doubt I need to state this, but I felt it again when I walked into the salon. It’s more than my wanting to be your friend. It’s my needing to be more. So. Much. More. I’m beating myself up inside now because I told you I didn’t want or need anything more from you but friendship. I’m beginning to see how hard it’s going to be. We can move past this…we will move past this,” he admits.

  Shit.

  Double shit.

  It’s the only thought running through my head at the moment…shit. If I admit it out loud and give it voice, it’s real. If I keep it inside and to myself, it’s not real. For Michael, I need to keep it inside, therefore I do the only thing I can do. I ignore every word he said and continue driving toward Pensacola Beach. In my head I know this is the last time I’ll ever spend alone with Case.

  It has to be.

  For Michael’s memory.

  The next few weeks fly by without seeing Case. Before I know it, another day I’ve been dreading is vastly approaching. Another milestone I should’ve been celebrating with Michael but will now instead be spent alone. A bottle of wine my only company. No matter what Dr. Beesley says, this day I will be spending alone.

  Well, maybe not entirely.

  Maybe I’ll receive another one of his posthumous gifts.

  The thought both fills me with dread and anticipation. I want to receive his gifts. Who knows, maybe I’m wrong and I won’t receive one for today. Especially since I’m only assuming about any of it actually happening. His marking the occasion is the only valid reasoning I have for my thoughts. Then again, last year’s wedding anniversary went by unmarked.

  As I’m contemplating getting out of bed, mama knocks on my bedroom door. “Baby girl, there’s a delivery for you. I’ve left it waiting for you in the kitchen. I’m off to have lunch with a few ladies, I wish you’d change your mind and come with me today. You’re still welcome to. I can make a call and merely tell them we’ll be a few moments late,” she offers.

  “No, Mama, thanks for the offer though. I’m okay, I swear, it’s not a ploy to get you to leave me alone. I swear it’s good for me to spend today doing nothing. I’m not taking any backward steps, but I don’t feel like spending today with anyone. It’s my anniversary and should have been spent with Michael. This is the last year I’ll spend it alone, I promise. It’s something I need to do for me. I’m going to go over to our house and finally get rid of the last of his boxes. It’ll be therapeutic. And it’ll still let me spend the day with his memory. I’m not going to spend it crying, if that’s what you think. I only want to be alone,” I inform her.

  She seems a bit taken aback by my words. I think she was expecting me to mope around and be sad all day, but I’m not truly sad. Depressed? Yes. Pissed off? I’m mad as hell. Lonely? Yes. Although the new friendships in my life have been helping with the loneliness. Morgan—who is Savannah’s niece—likes to drag me out at least once a week to go shopping. And Case? Well, Case sends texts whenever he has a free minute to spare. He never asks to spend any time in my company, he’s stopped coming by the bookstore, too. But sad isn’t something I’d consider myself anymore. Strangely and slowly, I’m…healing. The pieces of my icy shattered heart are starting to melt and shift back into place.

  Tossing the sheet aside, I climb from my bed and start to make my way toward the bathroom.

  Today is a new day. And yes, it’s one I’ll be spending with a ghost. But it’s a new day nonetheless.

  Placing a quick kiss upon mama’s cheek, I tell her to have a great lunch and I’ll see her later this evening. I may as well take a quick shower before dealing with this delivery awaiting me. I already know who it’s from, whatever awaits me. It has to be from Michael. It’s not like anyone else besides my parents know what today is. Savannah does, but she’s still in Paris.

  After a brisk refreshing shower, I walk into the kitchen and stop dead in my tracks. I’m grateful for the island nearby because if it wasn’t there, I would’ve fallen to the floor. There’s a huge new book floral arrangement laying on the counter, two bottles of my favorite French wine, a huge white box, and balloons. Yes, balloons. Dozens upon dozens of balloons fill my parents’ kitchen. Balloons of all colors, pink, purple, teal, white, even silver. Someone has to be in on these deliveries besides Lu. Balloons representing every color of our wedding. Pushing some balloons aside, I stop and admire the flowers and grin. This Gloria lady is super talented. This time instead of a few simple flowers, she’s included a wreath of interconnected flowers. One flower is devoted to the cover from my release Like Sands in the Hourglass, every other flower is made from its pages.

  Well, I may as well get the rest of this over with. It barely takes me two seconds to tear the ribbon away from the box and lift the cover. Placed inside is a small envelope with my name written in Michael’s neat script, along with a new shirt.

  Grabbing the note and a bottle of wine, I make my way into the living room and take a seat in my favorite armchair. I may as well be comfy while I read his words.

  My Dearest Tenley,

  Happy 14th Anniversary, or what would have been.

  I wanted you to have a gift from me this year. It’s the last to come. Treasure it always. Contact Gloria about the
flowers because I know you still haven’t. This shirt? Wear it for someone new. It’s made from your wedding dress, but it’s now a “date” shirt. For you to wear for someone as you fall in love. Take him there. Show him our place. Let him find love there like we did. Go find your happiness, Tenley.

  You deserve it all.

  Love you always and forever,

  Michael

  He’s letting me go from the afterlife and telling me to go find my happiness!

  Is he truly doing such a thing?

  And he’s sent me a shirt to do it in.

  Two years after he committed suicide to leave me.

  He wants me to spend what’s left of my life with someone else.

  Like I’ve now been granted his permission, accordingly it’s okay.

  My dead husband said it’s okay to date now. But hey, here’s some fantastic fucking flowers, your favorite wine, and half of your wedding dress to wear on a date.

  All of this time I’ve been feeling like a cheater—because let’s be honest, it’s how I felt whenever I was alone with Case—but now no matter how many times I read his note, I see it as a permission to date card.

  Hey, you passed two years.

  Go you.

  You may now proceed to dating level.

  And it also feels a bit like he’s making it okay for me to take someone with me today, to our place. I’m…slightly pissed off. I feel fucked over by my dead husband. Not to mention the teeny tiny fact, I’ve never taken anyone to our place. Honestly, I haven’t gone there since his death. It’s too hard. There’s too many memories. But sure, find someone new, show ‘em our place.