Crossing Paths

by Melanie Stinnett

  “No.”

  Her dad tilts his head to the side and gives us both a confused look. “I think there might be a story they need to tell us, Vivian.”

  Caroline sighs again and begins to explain how Cohen and June met. She mentions how we both think they would be wonderful together, but then June found out about Julie before Cohen could tell her.

  “I don’t know how much she knows about the situation. Cohen said he didn’t even see her outside of Julie’s room. Something must have happened to make her leave so quickly, but I’m hoping once she has some time to think about it, she’ll give him a chance to explain everything.”

  “Oh my. Well, that is quite the dilemma. Caroline, I think we need to come up with a plan,” Vivian says, tapping her finger against her chin.

  “A plan?” Caroline asks.

  “Yes. June is such a sweet girl. She would be wonderful for Cohen. We’ll have to find a way.”

  “I don’t know if that’s the best idea,” I state.

  “Why not?” Vivian asks.

  “Well, June doesn’t respond well to being pushed in one direction or the other.”

  “Oh, we won’t be pushing,” she says, smiling at Caroline.

  Caroline gives me a sheepish grin.

  We finish up our dinner and head back to Vivian’s house. Cohen is doing really well and should be getting out of the hospital tomorrow, so no one stays with him tonight. Caroline spends the rest of the evening upstairs with her mom, devising a plan to get June back to Washington. If nothing else, this will at least be interesting.

  Monday

  I get back to work and sit at my desk. I’m going through the motions, but I know my attitude could use a major adjustment.

  “June, glad to have you back. Hope everything is okay with your family.”

  “Yes, Mr. Hargrove. Thanks for asking.”

  “Sure. Now, I have a few new projects for you. Since you’ve been doing so well with your work with The Bushing Company, I thought I would float a few more of their projects your way. You and Cohen seem to work well together,” he says, giving me a knowing smile.

  Any other time, I would see this as a big pat on the back, but today, it feels like a cinder block being thrown against my chest. I do my best to hide my discomfort, but the confused look that falls on his face tells me I’m unsuccessful.

  “Are you okay today, June? You look a little pale.”

  “I’m fine. I’m just tired from traveling.”

  “Okay. Well, let me know if you have any questions.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Hargrove.”

  After he leaves my office, I hurry to shut the door. I throw myself into one of the large cushioned chairs in front of my desk, and I start crying. After the embarrassing amount of tears I shed on the plane ride back to Texas and the car ride home, I would think there wouldn’t be any tears left. Yet, here they are again, soaking my cheeks as they fall into my hands covering my face.

  How did I get involved with a married man? Am I that pathetic? I mean, it’s not like I ask those kinds of questions on a first date. I guess it’s another thing to add to the list of failures I’ve achieved. My mother would be so proud.

  When I hear a soft knock on my door, I dry my tears with a tissue, check myself in the mirror to make sure I’m presentable, and then open the door. Two deliverymen are standing on the other side with large vases of peonies. You have got to be kidding me.

  “Those can’t all be for me.”

  “Are you June?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well then, they are all for you.”

  I direct them to set one on my desk and the other on a small table against the wall. Before they leave, one of the deliverymen hands me a small envelope with my name written across the front. Sitting back into the chair, I debate on whether or not I want to open the card. It has to be from him. What could he possibly have to say? Sorry, I didn’t tell you I’m a married man. I’m sure sorry things didn’t work out. Anger builds up inside me, and I crumble the envelope in my hand. He couldn’t possibly think this would make anything better.

  Slouched in the chair, I sit and stare at the flowers, thinking about Cohen and what I saw. Is it possible that I’m wrong? I can’t believe Caroline would hide all this from me, and Liam knew, too. He could have told me. Holding the crumbled envelope and card in my hand, I need to know what it says. I decide to open the card.

  June,

  We appreciate you coming to Washington with Caroline. You are such a good friend. I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you before you left. I hope these flowers remind you of our sincere love for you.

  Vivian

  She couldn’t possibly know that these were the exact flowers in the exact colors that Cohen sent to me after our first meeting in New York…or maybe she could. Someone must have put her up to this.

  Tuesday

  I’m going through a file drawer and organizing paperwork just to pass the time. My office phone rings, and I see my mom’s number flash across the screen.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “June, I only have a minute. I was wondering if you were busy tonight.”

  “Not really. Caroline’s still out of town, and it’s a weeknight.”

  “Oh, good. Addison and I are hoping you might join us for dinner.”

  “I guess so. Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, everything is fine. We just thought it would be fun to have a girls’ night. We’ll pick you up at six.”

  “Okay. See you then.”

  My day is filled with nothing worth mentioning. Around four thirty, I tell Mr. Hargrove that I’m headed home for the day, and he is packing up to head out the door as well.

  Mom and Addison are right on time, which is unusual, and they decide they want to eat at my favorite Mexican place.

  “So, have you heard from Caroline?” my mom asks.

  “No. Can we talk about something else?”

  “Um, sure,” my mom says.

  We sit in silence for a few minutes. Glancing around the restaurant, my eyes stop at the booth where Cohen and I sat on the first day he was in Houston. Now, a couple is sitting in the same booth, having dinner, as they laugh and hold hands across the table.

  “How is the baby doing?” I ask Addison, trying to make small talk to get my mind off Cohen.

  “Really good. We heard the heartbeat at the last appointment. It was amazing.”

  “I bet it was.”

  “You know, we’re going to be done here pretty early. There are a couple of museums with new exhibits. How about we go check one out?”

  Did my mom just change the subject from baby to museum? “I don’t know, Mom. I’m pretty tired.”

  “Come on, June. You’re young. It’ll be fun.”

  I reluctantly agree. She pays the cashier, and we head out.

  When we pull into the parking lot, I realize we are at the Museum of Fine Arts. Tears prick my eyes, but I close them quickly. Why, after only knowing Cohen for two weeks, does everything remind me of him?

  We walk through the museum slowly, and each corner we turn brings back another memory. Even the silence of the museum reminds me of our laughter when we were here.

  When I finally get home after spending the evening with my mom and sister, I am exhausted. My legs feel tired from walking, and my mind feels tired from feeling. As I lie in bed, I try to shut it all down. My legs already feel better, but my mind continues to race through all my moments with Cohen. I can tell it’s going to be a long night.

  Wednesday

  Two meetings take up the whole day. Mr. Hargrove sends me home with several loose ends to tie up on a big project due on Friday. I stay up most of the night before finally getting some sleep.

  Thursday

  I walk into my office without luster. This week feels as if it’s passing by with the speed of a slug making his way through molasses. If the boredom sets in early today, I might run screaming through the hallways for some excitement. With several meetings to prepare f
or, I’m feeling like today should be better. As I sit down at my desk, my office phone begins to ring, and I see that it’s my boss.

  “Good morning,” I say, trying to sound like my usual self.

  “Good morning, June. Listen, I need you to send a potted plant for me right away. I just got a call that Cohen’s wife has died. I had no idea he was even married, but apparently, she was sick for a while. They’re having the funeral Saturday, but I would like to send a plant to their house.”

  Blinking my eyes, I try to focus on what he just said. Was he talking about Julie? She can’t be dead.

  “June, are you there?”

  “Yes, sir. Uh, where did you need me to send that plant to?”

  He gives me the address, and I scribble it down on a bright yellow sticky note. Just as I hang up the phone, it rings again.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “June?”

  I haven’t been answering my cell phone since I left Washington. I turned it off on the ride to the airport, and I didn’t turn it back on until I got home later that night. I have kept it on silent, and except for calling my parents, I have avoided even looking at my phone. I have fifteen voice mails and I don’t how many text messages, but I can’t bring myself to listen or open any of them. It’s not that I am angry necessarily. I mean, a part of me wishes that Caroline would have come clean earlier, but I can understand not wanting to throw your brother under the bus. The main reason I haven’t answered the phone is because I have no clue what to say.

  “June?” Caroline says again.

  “Yes.”

  “Hey.”

  “Hi. How are you?” I ask, trying to sound more confident than I feel.

  “If you want the truth, I’ve been better.”

  We sit in silence for a moment before I hear Caroline sigh loudly.

  “June, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “I know,” I say, wanting this conversation to end already. “I’m okay. Really, I am. I just needed some time to think.”

  “How is the thinking going?”

  “Not good, but I’ll be alright. When are you coming home?” I ask, knowing she will have to stay for a funeral.

  “Actually, that’s why I called. I didn’t mean to be pushy with all the phone calls and text messages, but I need to talk with you. We won’t be coming home until Sunday at the earliest.” She pauses and then takes a breath. “Julie passed away yesterday, and the funeral is on Saturday.”

  “I heard.”

  “Cohen’s been a mess, June.”

  “Well, I am sure he has. His wife died.”

  “No, June. That’s not what I mean. You really should talk to him.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. He needs time to grieve.”

  “Just come be here with me and with Liam this weekend, and maybe you’ll understand a little better.”

  “Caroline, it’s not going to happen. I have too much work to do, and Liam can use his work perks for flights only so many times during the year. I don’t want to use them all up for a pointless trip where I will just end up with my heart broken again.” There. I said it.

  “But—”

  “Just drop it! My office is sending a potted plant to Cohen’s house, and that is as close as I’m getting to the situation.”

  “Okay,” Caroline says, sounding defeated. “I guess I’ll see you late Sunday.”

  “Alright. Give Liam a hug for me. I’m glad he’s there for you.”

  “Okay.”

  I hang up the phone and plow through my day. As expected, meetings and conference calls fill my schedule and help the afternoon pass quickly. It’s after six in the evening when I finally wind things down for the day.

  When I get to the apartment, I go through the motions of getting ready for bed, and then I throw myself onto the couch. I turn on some music and allow the melody to pass through my body as I close my eyes. The lyrics pierce my mind as a husky male voice sings to me about giving things another chance. I quickly hit the shuffle button, hoping for something more upbeat. I am successful with the upbeat sound, but I still find the lyrics pressuring me to think about my decisions. I turn off the music and decide to go to bed. Surely, my dreams will leave me alone.

  I wake up in the middle of the night, sweating and tightly wound up in my sheets. After untangling my limbs, I walk to the bathroom and splash some cold water on my face.

  My dream was vivid and impulsive. I was running and running, quickly coming to the edge of water. It was either a large lake or maybe the ocean. The sun was setting on the horizon. It was beautiful…until I saw a wooden box floating in the distance. The box was long and deep. It floated effortlessly toward the horizon.

  As I looked around, several people stood at the edge of the water. They looked like they had been standing for some time as their feet were buried in the sand while the water washed in and out around their calves. They were all waving. Their faces showed varying emotions—some sadness, some happiness, and some even indifference.

  As the box reached the horizon and appeared to drop over the edge, everyone began to smile and turn away. I stood there, staring at the thin line drawn between the water and the sky. The box was gone, but I was still there.

  In an instant, I realized the sun was no longer present, and I was standing alone in the dark. I slowly turned away from the water only to find the sun rising directly behind me. A figure was standing before me, shadowed by the striking light. He walked, placing one foot carefully in front of the other, as did I. As we inched closer to one another, I could make out his face. I blinked my eyes, attempting to focus, and then he was gone. The rest of my dream was spent in a feverish search, running through the sand, as the sun blinded me.

  Dreams. Who knows what they mean?

  I change my soaked T-shirt and go back to bed, trying in vain to achieve more sleep.

  When my alarm clock goes off, I’m still awake, and I don’t feel like going to work.

  Saturday

  This has been the saddest week of my life. After Julie passed away, Cohen spent most of his time planning the funeral with her parents. Yesterday, I went with him to help finalize a few last details. I wanted to be there in case he broke down and needed someone. I still can’t believe that she’s gone.

  I sit on the bed in my childhood room with clothes splayed out in front of me. It was hard enough figuring out what to wear to my grandma’s funeral. She was ninety-four years old, and she lived a good life. She had children and grandchildren. Heck, she had great-grandchildren. Absolutely nothing was missing from her life.

  This funeral is a stark contrast. How do I figure out what’s appropriate to wear to the funeral of a twenty-eight-year-old woman? Since Wednesday, I’ve been wondering what people will say about her today. She was a beautiful person. She made really good cupcakes and cookies. She knew everyone because she cared about everyone. But she had no children. She was still missing pieces of her life—important pieces that weren’t guaranteed.

  Standing from my bed, I choose a long black dress with beautiful black lace and a gray sweater to wear in the cold church. Julie would want me to look pretty.

  I hear a soft knock on my door. “Come in.”

  “Are you decent?”

  “Yes, Liam.” I smile.

  He has been here with me all week. Even when I begged for him to go home so he wouldn’t have to miss work, he just pulled out his laptop and claimed he could work from anywhere. When my parents found out everything Liam had done to get me to Washington safely and quickly, they fell in love with him instantly. We’ve had several talks about our relationship now, and I feel good about where we are. Although we’re not in the best of circumstances, I’ve been able to see a wonderful side of Liam through it all.

  “Need any help getting indecent?” He grabs me around the waist and pulls me into his chest.

  “No, I don’t think that would be appropriate with my parents down the hall.”

  “Damn. I always
forget about the parents.” Leaning down, he kisses me softly on the lips. “I just came up to tell you that your brother is here.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, I should be ready in a few minutes. Just tell them that I’ll be right down.”

  “Alright.”

  After he walks out of the room, I sit back on the bed. My thoughts linger on my brother’s comments about missing someone I love. Do I really miss Liam the moment he walks out the door? My smile spreads across my face.

  Once I’m dressed, I walk down the stairs and head into the living room where everyone is gathered.

  My dad immediately embraces me in a hug. “You look wonderful, Care.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  Glancing around the room, I see my brother sitting on the loveseat in the corner. I walk over and take a seat next to him. For a moment, we just sit. The silence is good. His fingers are intertwined as he repeatedly rubs one thumb roughly against his palm. I rest my hand on top of his and give him a small smile. I know his nerves have to be on edge. His shoulders visibly relax, and although he doesn’t smile back, at least his frown is a little less depressing.

  After June left, we talked about everything that went on between the two of them in Texas. I found it hard to believe that he didn’t think about the possibility of her being my roommate and best friend. Come on, how many Junes are there? He said he just didn’t think about it. Such a man excuse. His story of their first meeting in the airport and then again in New York was adorable. Knowing how June felt during that time, hearing his version made it that much better.

  I did confront him for not being honest about Julie. His reasoning made sense, but it wouldn’t make it any easier for June to understand. He kept saying that it was difficult to bring up the topic. First, he struggled with whether to tell her his feelings because they work together. Then, he thought if he started off with, “Hey, I’m actually married, but my wife can’t communicate with anyone or eat on her own,” things probably wouldn’t go too far. Add those two issues to the fact that my brother still blames himself for Julie’s accident, so he doesn’t feel worthy of finding love again, and I can see why it might have been difficult.