Chasing the Tide

by A. Meredith Walters

  “About Flynn. About what happened between the two of you before.”

  “Well duh. But that’s stuff Flynn and I have already dealt with.” I was starting to get loud. I couldn’t help it. Mr. Shrink was hitting a little too close to home.

  I tried to calm down but there was some major button pushing going on. There was a reason I hated therapy. I didn’t like looking at myself. Self-reflection was most definitely not my thing.

  “Flynn says you’ve just graduated from college with a Bachelors of Arts. Congratulations by the way,” Leonard smiled.

  “Thanks,” I muttered, not fooled by his efforts to placate me.

  “So what are your plans?” he asked, changing the subject, throwing me.

  “What?” I demanded.

  “Your plans. Now that you’ve graduated and you’ve moved back to Wellston, what do you want to do?”

  I looked at Flynn, wishing he’d jump in and help me but it felt like he had checked out of the conversation. He seemed to not be listening to the conversation happening right in front of him.

  “Do you feel like moving back here is a bit of a failure?” Leonard posed.

  “Do you?” I countered.

  “It’s not my life, Ellie.”

  I sighed angrily. “Yeah, it wasn’t my first choice for a place to live.”

  “But you’re here anyway. Because of Flynn right?”

  I wished Flynn would show some acknowledgment. But he stared at his lap; the only sign that he hadn’t turned to a statue was the rise and fall of his chest.

  “Yeah, because of Flynn,” I agreed, wishing I could leave. My time was way past up.

  “Because you feel guilty about what happened with Flynn before,” Leonard said and I frowned. Where the hell did he get that from?

  “No, because I love him,” I contradicted.

  “Of course you do. But you feel guilty too right? Flynn has told me things were really bad between the two of you before. When you were younger. You must feel horrible about that, particularly now that you’re together. That kind of guilt can make you do things you don’t want to do. But guilt isn’t a reason to do something. I hope you know that.”

  What in the flying fuck was this guy’s problem? Is that what he thought? That I was with Flynn, living here, because I felt guilty?

  “I want to plan the trip to New York, Leonard. I only have eighteen minutes left and we haven’t done that yet,” Flynn said, interrupting the stand off happening between Leonard and me.

  Leonard regarded me a few seconds longer and then turned to Flynn. “Absolutely. Let’s do that.”

  I barely heard them as they started talking about coping skills and breathing techniques. I was thinking hard about what Leonard had said.

  The therapist seemed to believe that I was motivated more by my guilt than by love. That couldn’t possibly be true.

  Could it?

  I was having a really hard time understanding my motivations anymore. As much as I wanted to deny that us being together had only to do with my love for him, I suddenly started to doubt.

  My penchant for second-guessing started to overshadow everything.

  Did I feel guilty?

  Of course I did.

  What I had done to Flynn wasn’t something you could just get over because he had chosen to forgive me.

  Forgiving myself was proving to be the greatest challenge I had ever faced.

  Our history was horrible and beautiful and complicated. It was brutal and life changing.

  We shared a love that had blossomed under the most impossible of circumstances. It was rough. It was imperfect.

  It was ours.

  How could I question my salvation? How could I deny what held me together?

  Goddamn Leonard for making me wonder. To question whether the absence of guilt would mean the destruction of us.

  I got up out of my seat and left Leonard’s office without a word. The therapist looked up as I made my hasty exit but he didn’t stop me. Neither did Flynn, who watched me with a blank expression.

  I pulled on my coat and left the building, the cold air cutting my skin with icy fingers.

  I stood there, on the sidewalk choking on twisted thoughts.

  I found myself thinking about our time at the beach, all those years ago. On our broken journey to each other, it had been one of the few moments of total connectedness. Absolute simplicity.

  I remembered sitting close to the ocean, watching the machines out in the water hauling up sand and dumping it on the shore. Flynn and I had wondered about their purpose, only to realize they were reclaiming the beach. Putting it back the way it was before time and erosion had obliterated it.

  Back then, I had been that beach. I was lost.

  And Flynn had scooped up the tiny, damaged pieces of myself and gave them back to me.

  Here I was, years later, still not whole. I was healing. I could feel it but I couldn’t help but wonder whether I would have to live the rest of my life with parts of me missing.

  I felt as though Flynn and I were forever chasing the tide. Hoping that just this once, we’d finally be able to catch it. That we could hold it in our hands and breathe a sigh of relief because all the battles, all the wars, were over.

  That we could finally be content in this…our happily ever after.

  Because if we couldn’t catch it, what would that mean? For Flynn? For me? For the life we were trying to build?

  What would I be left with?

  Giant holes and forgotten pieces where a girl used to be.

  “Why did you leave?” Flynn asked suddenly, interrupting my thoughts.

  I shrugged. “I needed some fresh air,” I dismissed, not wanting to admit out loud the horrible insecurities that wouldn’t go away.

  You don’t deserve him. My inner voice said nastily. And maybe that voice was right. Because who would purposefully sabotage what this amazing man was trying so hard to give me?

  Ellie McCallum would.

  Because she had never learned to do anything different.

  Flynn pulled out his keys and we started walking towards his car.

  “We can do this,” he said and I looked over at him questioningly.

  “We can do what?”

  “Go to New York. Be together. Get married and have kids. We can have everything.”

  I stopped walking and turned to face him. His uncanny ability to read my unspoken doubts, shaking me.

  “Do you really think that?” I asked, my voice small.

  Flynn rubbed his forehead with his hand and looked tired. “I want to be with you forever, Ellie. I only ever feel good when I’m with you. When you left to go to college, I hated it. I was lonely. I wanted you to do go but I didn’t like it.”

  “I know,” I said quietly.

  “I thought that when you graduated, you’d come back here. I never thought you wouldn’t,” he continued, glaring at the passing cars. He seemed angry.

  “But since you’ve come back, things have felt strange. I don’t understand why. You make it so hard to be happy with you when you seem so sad.”

  His words echoed those he had spoken to me once years before when I had cut him out of my life for stupid reasons.

  You make it so hard to love you!

  He had yelled those words and I had hated how true they were. I made it difficult for anyone to care for me. To be close to me.

  He was right. Loving me was hard.

  “I’m sorry, Flynn,” was all I could say.

  Because I was sorry.

  For so many things.

  Flynn bit down on his bottom lip, looking oddly conflicted. Then he reached out and took my hand. We walked the rest of the way to his car without saying anything else.

  That was the way of Ellie and Flynn.

  We spoke more in silence.

  It’s where we communicated best.

  Chapter Nineteen

  -Ellie-

  I missed Flynn.

  I hated that I missed Flynn.
>
  I shouldn’t miss Flynn.

  Not considering that right now I was sitting in my cell in juvenile detention because of him.

  It was all his fault.

  If he hadn’t made me care about him, I wouldn’t have needed to prove to myself that he didn’t matter.

  Sure, I had lit the fire but Flynn had been the match.

  I hated him.

  I had to. It’s the only way I could survive life without him.

  But I missed him too.

  I wasn’t strong enough to push him away completely. He had burrowed deep and I wasn’t sure I could ever get him out.

  I pulled out the well-worn piece of paper I kept hidden beneath my mattress where no one could find it.

  I unfolded it and looked at the drawing of my face, touching it ever so gently with the tip of my finger.

  The Ellie that looked back at me from the paper was a girl I barely knew.

  This Ellie, the one who stared at the simple drawing from her perch on a thin mattress in a cement block cell, had nothing left but grim acceptance that this was her fate.

  She was ruined.

  The paper was snatched out of my hand.

  “What the fuck are you looking at?” a hard voice asked.

  “Give it back!” I snarled, trying to snatch the drawing back from the fat bitch that held it.

  My cellmate, a dyke named Jinx, held it just out of reach, sneering at me the whole time.

  “Is this you? It fucking sucks.” She spat on the paper and then tore it into tiny pieces before flushing it down the toilet.

  I stared as the tiny shreds of Flynn’s drawing disappeared and I felt inexplicably like I was losing him all over again.

  Then I was lunging for Jinx. I grabbed a hunk of her hair and pulled with all my might.

  “You stupid whore!” she shrieked, lifting me up and smashing my back against the hard wall. My head snapped back, colliding with the cement and I saw stars.

  The cellblock started yelling, hearing our altercation. But I didn’t care. I was going to kill the bitch.

  Jinx punched me in the nose and I could taste blood dripping into my mouth.

  I reached up and dug my fingers into her eye sockets, sinking deep.

  My cellmate screamed and dropped me. I grabbed a pencil from the small desk against the wall and held it in front of me, waiting for her retaliation.

  It never came. The guards showed up and sent us both to isolation for a week. Then I didn’t have to share a cell with Jinx anymore and everyone stayed out of my way.

  Which was fine by me.

  I was better off alone.

  **

  I was nervous as hell. I had changed my outfit three times before finally settling on what I hoped was a professional pantsuit with a white blouse. I put my hair up in a smart, no nonsense bun and then immediately took it down again.

  I was a fucking wreck.

  “Why are you brushing your hair so much?” Flynn asked, coming out of the bathroom. He sat on the bed and slowly put on his socks, readjusting them three times before he was happy with them.

  “I have the second interview today at that accounting firm. I just don’t want to look like I rolled in from the farm,” I replied wryly, putting my hair back up in a bun. I turned my head from side to side, not at all pleased with my appearance.

  Would they be able to smell my desperation? Did I wear it like a neon sign? Because I was pretty sure I reeked of it.

  I startled at the feel of Flynn’s hands in my hair. He gently unwrapped my hair from its confines and let it fall around my shoulders. I needed a haircut. My hair was longer than I had ever worn it before.

  I shivered as Flynn raked his fingers through the strands, smoothing them over and over again.

  “Leave it down. You look pretty with it like this,” he said flatly. He continued to stroke my hair and I closed my eyes, feeling the tension bleed out of me.

  “I like the feel of your hair. It’s soft and warm,” Flynn said, his voice loud. I smiled and looked over my shoulder at where he stood just behind me.

  “Thanks,” I murmured. Flynn’s hands dropped from my hair and fell on my shoulders, his fingers pressing into my skin.

  He leaned down ever so slowly and kissed the side of my neck. Goose flesh spread at the innocent touch. “They’re stupid if they don’t hire you. You’re pretty and smart and the best person I know,” he said, his breath hot on my skin.

  “You’re a bit biased,” I chuckled.

  Flynn kissed my neck again before stepping backwards, putting space between us. I felt cold and alone again. “It’s the truth,” he replied emphatically, clearly ready to argue if need be.

  I ran the brush through my hair one last time before dropping it on the dresser. I couldn’t obsess any more about my appearance otherwise I was going to be late. Flynn had a late class and wouldn’t be heading to work for another hour.

  He handed me my coffee mug, which I accepted with a thanks. “You’re nervous,” Flynn commented.

  “What gave me away?” I quipped, arching my eyebrow.

  “Your armpits are wet,” he said, indicating the patch of sweat that was already noticeable on my shirt.

  “Wow, thanks for pointing that out,” I laughed, shaking my head. I hurried into the bathroom to put on more deodorant.

  “I shouldn’t have said that. That was rude right?” he asked, following me.

  I straightened my shirt and glanced at his reflection in the mirror, our eyes meeting. “Well, yeah, it was blunt, but I’d prefer you to be honest with me than just tell me what I want to hear.”

  “And what would you want to hear?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

  “That I look calm and collected. That I’ll get this job with no problems. That I have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

  Flynn frowned. “But you should be worried. I’d be nervous. I can’t tell you not to be. And I don’t know if you’ll get the job. I’m not the one doing the hiring.”

  I leaned up on my tiptoes and pressed a kiss on his downturned mouth. “You don’t ever need to tell me anything but the truth,” I assured him.

  Flynn wrapped his arms around me, crushing me against his chest and kissed me roughly. I loved it when he took charge like this. And as much as I wanted to fall into him, I had to leave for my interview.

  I reluctantly extracted myself from his grasp and squeezed his hands. “I’ll come by the college afterwards. Maybe we can have lunch together,” I suggested.

  Flynn started chewing on his lip, a new tell that he was anxious about something. “I only made one chicken salad sandwich. Do you want me to make one for you? If I do, then I won’t be able to take Murphy on his twenty-minute walk. I’ll have to cut it short and then he won’t get his proper exercise.”

  “I’ll pick something up for myself. You don’t need to make me anything,” I declared.

  He visibly relaxed. “Okay. That’s good. I don’t want Murphy to not get his exercise. He gets hyper if he doesn’t.”

  I walked out of the bathroom, Flynn right behind me. “We definitely don’t want Murphy to get any more hyper,” I said, rubbing the dog’s head on my way out of the room.

  I grabbed my purse and car keys and turned to give Flynn one more kiss.

  “Leonard always tells me to take deep breaths and go to a happy place when I’m nervous or worried,” Flynn suggested.

  “Okay. Deep breaths and a happy place,” I nodded my head, slinging my purse on my shoulder.

  “What’s your happy place?” I asked before leaving, genuinely curious.

  Flynn smiled. His lips curving upward, soft and sweet. He looked at me through his lashes and my heart melted into a puddle at my feet.

  “With you,” he answered.

  **

  “Miss McCallum, it’s nice to see you again,” Wilma the gloomy receptionist said after I arrived at Lambert and Associates. Her words were at odds with her droopy mouth and pissed off expression.

&
nbsp; “Thank you, it’s nice to see you again as well,” I replied, giving myself an inner fist pump for remembering basic social skills.

  “Have a seat and Mr. Lambert and Mr. Weaver will be with you shortly.” Wilma had already turned back to her computer screen and I took that as a cue to leave her alone.

  I sat down and looked at my watch. I was a little early but I figured that it was better to be early than late.

  I wasn’t sitting long, thank god, when a familiar looking man with a rather large potbelly and bad comb over walked out into the reception area and approached me, holding out his hand.

  “Ellie McCallum?”

  I nodded, getting to my feet. “That’s me,” I said, forcing myself to smile.

  “I’m Will Lambert. Thank you for coming in.” He shook my hand. It was a weak wristed handshake that reminded me of a fish. I followed him behind Wilma’s desk down a small, narrow hallway. He opened the door to a cramped conference room where a younger man with thick blond hair and black-framed glasses sat at a circular table.

  The new man got to his feet and held out his hand. “Hello, I’m Vince Weaver. You must be Ellie McCallum.”

  “So I’ve been told,” I responded and grimaced. Now was not the time for my witty sarcasm. Bad, Ellie!

  I cleared my throat and tried for the smiling thing again. “Nice to meet you.”

  Smooth, Ellie! Way to win points right off the bat.

  “Have a seat. Would you like some coffee? Water?” Mr. Lambert asked, waving me to a seat across from Mr. Weaver.

  “Water would be great,” I said, figuring I’d end up with dry mouth in about ten seconds.

  Mr. Lambert put a glass of water in front of me and joined his partner on the other side of the table. They looked down at a paper in front of them, which was most likely my less than impressive resume.

  Mr. Lambert looked up with a sincere smile. “So Ellie, first I have to say, I know you may not recognize me, but I used to work at the clerk’s office at Wellston General District Court. I’m glad to see that you’ve done so well.”

  I flushed bright, cherry tomato red. My jaw instantly tightened. Mr. Weaver looked at me with wide eyes.

  I couldn’t believe Mr. Lambert was bringing this up…in my freaking interview. Weren’t there privacy laws against that or something?