I knew it hadn't come on overnight. His ‘illness’ had come on about 4:30 yesterday afternoon when he stormed out of the store. I spent most of the night feeling guilty over what happened between us. I felt absolutely terrible about the way I behaved. I was immature, I was mean...truth be told, I could sum up my behavior with one word:
Bitch.
However, my conduct wasn't all bad. I thought of that kiss. Repeatedly. The boy had some skills. Thank God that I had stopped things before they went too far.
Okay, so I hadn't handled that well either. I panicked and lost control. No one could blame me. But I did the right thing. Landon was young and gorgeous and eventually he would have realized how wrong we were for each other. I would be left behind to pick up the pieces of my life and my heart and go forward, even lonelier than before.
Landon was too young to understand the ramifications of our actions. His generation thought of sex as some kind of sport. It didn't matter whom you did it with, just as long as you did it.
For me, having been with only a handful of people in my life, I always thought sex and love should go hand in hand. At the very least, you should have a commitment before you jumped into bed.
Landon didn't say anything about commitment yesterday, or the day before, when he proclaimed his feelings for me. He never said he wanted to stick around on a permanent basis. How could he say that? He was talking to a married woman! My commitment was made.
It always came back to me — my fault. I let yesterday happen and it had been my responsibility to stop things before they went too far. The way I’d thrown myself at him made me cringe.
I’d pushed him away, tried to talk some sense into us both, which was the right thing to do. When that hadn't worked, I got scared and lashed out at him. I probably scared the crap out of him too, with my ‘Hannah’ swagger and dirty mouth.
What the hell had I been thinking? I wasn’t being fair and Landon deserved to know that.
I thought about sending him a text message, but with only 140 characters, I wasn't sure how to word it. Besides, it seemed so impersonal to try to talk to him in that way. After what had transpired, I didn't want things to be more awkward between us.
He was, after all, my only friend.
So, I came to work this morning completely prepared to apologize to him first thing, before any other words passed between us. Of course, I hadn't imagined he wouldn't even be here. It was his first absence from work, and I felt the emptiness of the store exponentially.
It was unnerving it had only taken Landon two short weeks to make himself a necessity in my life. In that brief amount of time, the store, where I’d been most happy and at peace was proving to be surprisingly hollow without his presence.
As the morning wore on, I vacillated between apologizing to him and leaving things just as they were. Maybe he would come back to work on Tuesday and pretend nothing happened.
Then the idea struck me: what if he didn't come back...ever. Fear gripped my heart at the notion that I might never see him again.
He deserved an apology. It might be the only way to get him back. I resolved to fix it, sat down, and typed an email.
Landon,
I'm sorry about the things I said yesterday. Sometimes life overwhelms me. I took it out on you and that was wrong. I hope you feel better soon.
I miss you.
B
I stared at the words for ten long minutes; my hand on the mouse, the cursor hovering over the send button, as though one click was going to make or break our relationship.
It was a possibility.
I waited. Stared at the computer. Changed a word or two and rearranged a few things, but in the end, it didn't matter. I couldn't send it. I couldn't give him hope. I decided it was probably for the best if he remained upset with me and kept his distance.
I deleted the email and started fresh.
Landon,
The rain is keeping away all the customers so don't feel bad about staying home.
Feel better,
Belle
I hit send before I could over-think the message or change anything I’d written. This was for the best, not necessarily what was best for me, but certainly what was best for Landon.
The day dragged on and the store sat vacant. It mocked my loneliness and me. With the cold rain outside, the only noise inside was the old heater crackling and popping, and I yearned for the real summer — the one that came in late July and lasted about a month or so — when the rain stopped, the winds were warmer. I longed to throw open the windows that let the outside world in. Maybe then, I wouldn’t feel so lonely. I missed Landon and his meaningless yet memorable conversations about football or surfing or anything else superfluous.
The minutes ticked by like hours as I stared out the window, willing someone, anyone to come through the door.
But no one came. I went in the back room, snagged the portable CD player I stored for playing holiday music, and brought it out to the front. I found some old CD's in the bottom drawer of the credenza and put on Def Leppard, Hysteria at full volume. Every song brought vivid memories back of my senior year of high school when I used to drive around Cannon Beach in my baby blue Mazda, blasting "Love Bites," as loud as possible.
My mom used to complain and ask me to find something new to listen to. She warned me that I was going to wear out the cassette tape, but when it did, I simply went out and bought another one.
I turned the music up so loud that I could no longer hear the rain or traffic outside or, as it turned out, the voice in my own head — which was a perfect scenario. I danced around the room to the beat of the music, remembering what I had been like back then. The music transported me back to a time when life was simple, when I had my entire life ahead of me, and all my decisions and mistakes were left for me to make. I had so many dreams and had so much hope.
Would I ever feel like that again?
I didn't have the answer but for just a few minutes, I felt better and that was all that mattered.
Just after noon, I realized that I was too exhausted from dancing to relive any more high school memories. I had made it through three of my favorite CD's from my senior year before I tuned the stereo to a local radio station, turned the volume down to a dull roar, and pulled out my notebook. In the absence of anyone watching, I began writing. I was about ten pages in when I heard the bell and I looked up to find Hannah just inside the store, shaking off her umbrella.
"Whew!" she exclaimed. "It's wet out there! I hope this doesn't last through next weekend. The Memorial Day holiday is so busy."
She had this knack for stating the obvious. She came out with the most predictable and common-knowledge statements, proclaiming them as if she had just discovered the cure for cancer or something.
"It’ll really keep the tourists away." I agreed.
She looked up at me then and smiled. "Oh, yeah, that too. I have a big barbeque planned. Don't want the rain to spoil it. You know I can't barbeque in the rain."
"No, I don't suppose you can," I said and shook my head.
Same old Hannah.
In science class, the teacher taught us that the earth revolved around the sun, but in Hannah's mind, everything — sun, moon, and earth — all revolved around her. Any other reality was simply unacceptable. The possibility of rain over the holiday weekend was the perfect example. Rain would keep the tourists away and be bad for business. Bad for her tarot business, for my book business, for our family business, but that thought didn't even cross her mind. All she could think about was her party and how the rain might ruin it.
"So, Derek's been out of town for almost 48 hours and you haven't called me at all. Whatever have you been doing?" Hannah smiled like the quintessential cat that swallowed the canary. "Or...who have you been doing?"
"Whatever. You're sick in the head." I rolled my eyes.
Hannah looked around the store. "Speaking of the boy toy, where is he today?” She fluffed her hair and smacked her lips together, antic
ipating the sight of him.
"He called in sick."
"You didn't break him, did you?"
"Shut up, Hannah.” I laughed in spite of it all. "He said he's sick."
"You did break him!"
"Only in here," I said, tapping the side of my head. "I’ve done unspeakable things to Landon… in my imagination. What I wouldn't do to that boy if I were only younger...and single.” I had a hard time believing I’d admitted it aloud. Maybe it was the rain or the nostalgia hanging in the air or Derek's absence, but right now, I didn't really care.
"Me too, darlin'. Me too," she said, breathlessly.
Hannah and I both took a moment of silence, lost in our own imaginations, but then my eyes met hers and we burst out laughing simultaneously.
Even though Hannah drove me crazy sometimes, she was still my sister and one of the only people I knew who could make me laugh in spite of myself. One time, back in high school, I was really depressed because I didn't get the lead in the school play. I couldn't even remember the name of the play anymore, or the role I wanted, but at the time, I thought my life was over.
Hannah didn't see it that way.
She couldn't stand my moping around the house, so she drove me up to Seaside and took me out for pizza. We started laughing and joking over a jumbo pepperoni pie, and once the laughing started, we couldn't stop. Things only escalated from there. We got so loud that the manager came out from the back of the restaurant and told us that if we didn't quiet down, we’d have to leave. That night was one of my most cherished memories...so much more important to me than getting the lead in the school play.
With Hannah around, it was impossible to mope. She was the funniest person I knew.
"Well," she said, glancing around the store again and then out at the rain. "Neither one of us is going to have any customers today."
"Truer words have not been spoken."
She looked at me and rolled her eyes.
"What?" I asked her.
"Truer words have not been spoken? You’re such a writer!"
"Whatever, Hannah."
She laughed and then, got incredibly excited and started jumping up and down and clapping her hands.
"I have a brilliant idea! It's beyond brilliant...it's inspired!"
"What's your idea?"
"Why don't we close up shop early, go over to your house, and have a movie marathon? We could have popcorn and root beer floats. You know, like when we were kids. We’d be stuck inside and mom used to make a day of it? What do you say?"
"Sure. Why not?"
Four hours, two bags of popcorn, and three root beer floats later, we were still curled up on my sofa under a blanket, finishing Pretty in Pink, the second in our Molly Ringwald movie trilogy. The first one we watched was, of course, Sixteen Candles. Next up was The Breakfast Club.
As the movie credits rolled, Hannah and I began to reminisce.
"It's been ages since I stuffed myself on junk food. I feel like I'm going to throw up." She leaned back and moaned, rubbing her stomach. Yet even while in pain there was a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. "Hey, remember the time we went to the circus and I ate too much cotton candy?" she asked me.
"Don't remind me," I groaned.
"I threw up all over you in the bed!" She shrieked with laughter and covered her mouth. I started giggling right along with her. It was infectious.
"And... then...after you barfed all over me and my teddy bear," I said, barely able to breathe from laughing so hard. "You woke up, looked over at me, covered in puke, and announced, 'I think I have to throw up!'"
With that, we both dissolved into another fit of hysterical laughter.
"Serves you right for climbing into my bed," she said, patting my leg as I adjusted myself back under the blanket.
"I know." I nodded and wiped tears from my eyes. "I hated it when mom got us separate beds. I never liked sleeping away from you."
She reached out and grabbed my hand. "I remember."
"What about the time when the neighbor called mom at work because she looked out the window and saw you chasing me around the house with a metal rake?" Hannah asked.
"Oh, my God! I totally remember that! I was so pissed off at you, but for the life of me, I can't remember why."
Hannah smiled. "It didn't really matter because no matter how mad you were at me, it was nothing compared to how mad mom was...at both of us. You for chasing me with a rake and me for doing whatever it was I did to make you so upset."
"Oh, I know!" I added, "I remember Mom grounded us to our beds for the entire day and our feet were not to touch the floor! She was downstairs and would hear any little creak of the floorboards."
"So you climbed on top of the dresser, jumped to your toy box, and leapt at least four feet over to my bed," Hannah finished for me.
"I made such a loud crash onto the bed that Mom came running up the stairs, just knowing one of us had killed ourselves!"
"As if she wasn't pissed off enough!"
"Hey, my feet hadn’t touched the floor!" I offered in my own defense.
"We were grounded for an extra day for that. I couldn't believe she grounded me too. I didn't do anything!"
"But you were the big sister and should have stopped me."
"I could never keep you from doing anything, Belle. Once you set your mind to something that was the end of it. Case closed."
"Mom always knew that the best punishment back then was to keep me away from my big sister. That was the worst."
Hannah squeezed my hand. "I felt the same way."
I smiled at her. This felt good, felt right. This was how it should always be between us.
I opened my mouth to tell her just that when I heard the familiar sound of Derek’s truck in the driveway. The picture perfect moment with my sister dissipated as Derek came through the back door.
Not yet.
Not yet...I just needed a few more minutes with her.
"That's my cue," she said and stood to gather her things. She handed me the blanket and I began folding it quickly. The house was a mess.
"Fanny?" Derek called out.
Hannah groaned. She turned around and rolled her eyes at me. "Why do you put up with him?"
"Not today, Hannah," I murmured, picking up the empty mugs. "In here, Derek!"
He came around the corner, scrutinized the room and the two of us harshly. Obviously, it was not what he expected to find.
"Did I miss a party?" he asked.
Hannah gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for the trip down memory lane."
"Anytime, sis," I responded.
"Derek," Hannah acknowledged my husband with one condescending word as she passed by him and breezed out the door.
I self-consciously continued to clean up the room. Derek watched me.
"I hope you didn't eat all that. Your butt is big enough. You don’t want to become a ‘three-tripper’ do you?"
I just shook my head, but I wanted to tell him to shut the hell up. I wanted to point to his big, nasty beer gut hanging over his belt, and tell him it made him look as though he was expecting twins any day now. I wanted to tell him that a 25-year-old thought I was beautiful and desirable.
"How did it go?" I asked instead, as I made my way into the kitchen.
From behind me, I heard him open the fridge and pop the top on a beer bottle. Here we go.
"We got the job," he announced proudly.
"Derek, that's great. Congratulations."
"Thanks." He smiled — Derek really smiled. For just a moment, I caught a glimpse of the young man I knew back in high school. For the first time in years, he had something to be proud of. "Well, I'll be in Astoria for three weeks. We leave in a couple of days. My dad actually told me that he was proud of me."
"That’s amazing news. I'm really happy for you."
I was genuinely happy for him. I knew that he needed something in his life to encourage him and his father being proud of him was certai
nly a step in the right direction.
Derek left the room and I heard the television click on and the familiar sounds of a sports game in the background. I cleaned up the dirty dishes from my afternoon with Hannah while I started to make dinner for Derek.
Just like that, we fell back into our old routine: me making dinner and cleaning up while he sat in the living room watching television. As I cooked, he came back into the kitchen at least six times to get a new beer, sometimes taking two with him. The last time he came in, he forgot to shut the refrigerator door and I heard him crash into the end table on his way back to the couch.
When dinner was ready, I made Derek a plate, took it to him in the living room, and made sure to leave the room as quickly as possible. He didn't say a word to me and I was grateful.
After several minutes, I heard him put his plate down on the coffee table.
"Belle?" Derek called out
Belle? He never called me Belle. I dried my hands and peeked my head around the corner of the room.
"Yes?" I asked, curiously.
"Will you come and sit by me?" He patted the seat next to him on the sofa.
This couldn't be good. I took a couple cautious steps toward him and lowered myself onto the farthest edge of the couch. I was still within smacking distance, but my position allowed for a quick escape if it became necessary.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked. "I won't bite."
He pulled me by the upper arm and dragged me across the cushions. I could smell the alcohol, on not only his breath, but also seeping from every pore on his body. It burned my nose and made my eyes water. His eyes, on the other hand, were bloodshot and droopy. Derek was wasted and I could only imagine what he wanted from me.
A wave of unrecognizable emotion passed across his face. "I missed you, Belle...while I was away. Did you miss me?"
"Of course I did, Derek," I lied half-heartedly. My hands clasped in my lap, I sat with my back straight and didn't make eye contact with him.
"You're afraid of me, aren't you?" he asked.
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