Forty-Four Box Set, Books 1-10 (44) (94 page)

My heart knew now. It was time to move on. I had given Ty enough time. He either loved me or he didn’t. And if he did, that love was either strong enough to get us past this or it wasn’t.

Time doesn’t heal all wounds. Sometimes it doesn’t change anything. It just goes by, leaving you older. Leaving you behind.

I took the vases off the coffee table, put them in an empty bin, and stored them in the garage, pushing them far in the corner under the canoe that we hadn’t used in years.

In January I would move them again, out of the house.

CHAPTER 30

I sat on the sofa, taking in the Christmas tree fragrance that floated through the living room. Kate had gone back to
The Bugler
.

I closed my eyes, just for a moment. Just for a moment…

I was back in the alley.

But something was different. 

There was no blood up ahead to guide me. And there was no body.

I walked slowly, the familiar cold setting in. Looking for clues. Looking for answers.

The sky looked like snow, but nothing was coming down.

I moved past the coffee house and the art gallery, both closed. The bell was silent. It was all still and quiet, like death.

I walked past the chairs outside the theater to the spot where the body should have been.

I crouched down and touched the ground.

There was no blood. She wasn’t there.

It was too soon.

And then I heard her. Her screams piercing the night.

“Fire! Help! Fire!”

I didn’t understand. Had she been hurt in a fire? Had she jumped from a burning building? Is that how she cut her neck? I looked up. I didn’t see any flames, didn’t smell any smoke.

It started snowing.

Suddenly she was running toward me, coming down the alley. But she wasn’t alone.

“I only stopped by for a drink!” she shouted, her words bouncing off the bricks. “I told you that already. Get away from me!”

“Come on, April,” he said sweetly, grabbing her arm. “Come on back. I’m not going to hurt you.”

I could only make out his silhouette.

“Let go or I’ll call the cops!” she said, pushing him back.

He lost his balance and slipped, falling on the pavement.

She started walking away from him. Why wasn’t she running? He was getting up.

“Run!” I shouted.

He was right behind her now.

They were coming toward me. And for some reason, even though it didn’t make any sense, I ran and hid behind the chairs. I knew they couldn’t see me. I knew he couldn’t see me. Because I wasn’t really there. But the ice cold fear inside me pushed me over to those chairs.

He caught up to her under one of the streetlights. He had his back toward me, but I could see her face now.

It was her, the bleeding woman.

“Leave me alone!” she screamed. “I told you, I’m calling the cops.”

But in a flash he was on top of her, a black shadow dragging her into the darkness with him.

“You’re not calling anyone, bitch,” he muttered.

And then I saw the blade. Shiny, silver, and quick.

Across her throat.

CHAPTER 31

It was a bad day.

I was still shaken from the vision the night before when I walked into Back Street at 6:45. I had barely gotten any sleep. And seeing the mystery girl murdered in front of me, watching the knife slash her throat had left me jittery.

I had told Kate about it as we got ready for work. She tried to talk me into taking a day off. But I couldn’t. It was the busy season at Back Street, and I couldn’t let Mike down. Plus, I could use the money for Christmas.

But as I found out, I really should have called in sick. I was completely off my game.

I was in the middle of making a round of ginger spice coffees for a group of old ladies who looked like they had been out shopping all day when one of our regulars came up to me, an angry look on his face.

“What do you call this?” he asked, shoving his drink across the counter at me.

I stared at him for a moment, confused.

“That was supposed to be a soy milk cappuccino. But just taste it.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” I said, hesitantly. “What’s wrong with it?”

“That’s not soy milk in there.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, rubbing my head. “I must have spaced. I’ll make you another one. On the house.”

“No,” he said. “I’ll have the other girl make it. You’ve already done enough damage to my day.”

“But I—”

“Let me,” Mo said, frustration in her voice. “Just take care of those gingerbread ladies.”

She took over and the customer drummed noisily on the counter while I finished up the other drinks.

I tried not to let it get to me, but it did.

Sometimes when I had days like this, I wondered how I would cut it in the culinary world, if indeed I ever got there. Except for soccer, I hadn’t ever been too good under pressure. What if I ended up leaving out key ingredients? Or using the wrong ones?

I wasn’t like David. I couldn’t memorize lines, let alone recipes. Since the accident, my memory hadn’t been the same.

Maybe my career as a chef would be over before it had even started.

I tried to focus on steaming the milk and not take it all on at once.

“I’m going for my break,” Mo said, taking her apron off after the angry customer had left. “You think you can handle it out here?”

“Sure,” I said.

She stomped off into the back. 

I tried not to take it personally. In the last few weeks, Mo was even moodier than usual. I couldn’t remember the last time I had even made eye contact with her. She barely said anything to anyone. I knew she had her own life with her own troubles. I knew her band was close to breaking up, despite their relative success.

We all had our problems.

I kept flashing back on my vision.

The look on her face.

The knife.

***

The order was a simple one. I had made dozens that day already.

A pumpkin spice latte.

“So how’s it going?” he asked.

The college professor was one of our best customers. He came in often, usually wearing a wool blazer and always ordered the seasonal drinks. He liked to chat. Anytime when he came in, Ellen, if she was working, would get all flustered and frantic. She’d never say anything, but I had the impression she had a major crush on him. 

“Oh, my day’s been okay,” I said. “How about yours?”

“Great,” he said. “You can’t beat teaching when it comes to vacation time. Winter break’s the best. Well, if you don’t count summer.”

He smiled and leaned across the counter. 

“I’m jealous,” I said. “I wish I got as much time off.”

I finished frothing the milk and poured it into the cup. I slid it across the bar to him.

“Order up,” I said.

“Thanks, Abby,” he said, taking it and setting it down at a table not far from the counter.

“Enjoy,” I said.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the last I saw of him.

He came back up a couple of minutes later, still smiling, but I knew something was wrong.

“Sorry, but I think my pumpkin spice latte might be missing something,” he said.

Mo was back and she grabbed it from him, opened the lid and took a sip, spitting it back out.

“Jesus H. Macy, Craig. You forgot the pumpkin and the spice. Oh, yeah. And the coffee. It’s just milk. Look.”

I felt my cheeks grow red as I looked at it.

“You’re acting like a real spaz today, Craig,” she said.

“Sorry,” I said to the professor.

“Not a problem,” he said. “I’m Elliot by the way. Elliot Beverly.”

“Abby,” I said, feeling like a deflated punching bag and realizing he already knew my name.

But he didn’t seem the least bit upset, his light eyes sparkling, catching the rays of the sun streaming through the windows. Mo made him a fresh one and handed him a coupon for a freebie. He told me again not to worry about it and left. I watched his BMW pull out of the lot, feeling beyond stupid.

Suddenly I froze as my eyes fell on one of the cars parked outside.

Ty’s pickup was sitting there.

I looked over at the long line and found him standing just inside the door, looking down at the ground.

His energy was gray.

CHAPTER 32

I walked slowly in his direction. I wasn’t sure what he was doing here. More than enough time had gone by since he had come back to town and I hadn’t seen or heard from him. Maybe he was just here to make it official. That would be all right by me.

But as I got closer, I began losing my resolve. It took all my willpower to hold back and not run up to him and throw myself in his arms. I felt weak, the pounding in my chest and head growing stronger. But I held my ground.

“Hi, Abby,” he said, giving me a hug. “Long time no see.”

I kept my arms down at my sides.

“Hey,” I said when he let go.

I looked over and saw Lyle watching us between orders.

“So you think you’ll have time to talk?” he said.

“I don’t have a break for another half hour,” I said. “If even then. As you can probably see, we’re pretty swamped and I’m on the machines. Thanks for stop—”

“I’ll wait,” he said. “I’ll just be at the table in the back. Come over when you can.”

“Sure,” I said. “But like I said, it might be a while.”

I struggled letting go of his eyes but reminded myself about my decision. Reminded myself where I had put the vases that he had made. Reminded myself that it was actually me that had made a decision, that
I
was the one who needed to talk to him.

When I made my way back behind the counter, Mo almost blew a fuse.

“Not cool, Craig,” she said. “Not cool. We have 12 orders on deck. Get your sorry ass in gear.”

***

When things finally quieted down I walked over to him.

“Hey,” he said as I sat down.

I saw it now. The sadness in his eyes.

He reached over and touched my arm.

His touch felt electric, like fireworks on a summer night pulsating through my body. It made me flinch, the power too strong. I pulled my hand away. He looked down.

“I’ve missed you,” he said.

“Me too,” my voice breaking a little. “So what’s up?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I… I just wanted to, I just had to see you. I needed to know how you were doing, you know, face to face. It’s been too long.”

I nodded. It had been more than a month since we walked along the river and I told him how much I loved him and he had left my words hanging in the cool autumn air like old forgotten clothes drying on a laundry line.

“I’m fine,” I said, folding my arms across my chest. “You?”

He smiled, but then lost it and looked back out the window.

“Not so good,” he said.

“Sorry to hear that,” I said without any real feeling.

But I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to hold him, run my fingers through his hair like I used to. Like I did that night up in the mountains. But seeing him now, I could feel it. Things had changed between us. They had really changed. As I stared at him, a staggering sadness rushed through me like a winter wind, leaving me cold and empty.

And alone.

I held back the tears that were trying to break free from my eyes and looked away.

I didn’t need to tell him it was over. I didn’t have the heart. Or the strength.

“Well, if there’s nothing else,” I said. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

“I know this is weird,” he said. “But can we just talk for a few minutes, please?”

“Sure,” I said. “About what?”

“Well, tell me how your Thanksgiving was,” he said.

He was just making small talk now, because there was nothing else.

“I can barely remember,” I said.

How could it have gotten like this? How could there be this giant wall between us? Just a few short months ago, we were together. Hearts, souls, bodies. We were one. Now it felt like shattered glass in my heart when I looked at him.

This didn’t feel like love anymore. Something else, with a little love mixed in maybe. But something else.

He looked back over at me.

“Sorry, I’m just trying to make sense of it,” he said. “Still.”

“Time’s up,” I said. “I’ve got to get back.”

He took my hands in his and leaned over the table.

“But I still love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”

It wasn’t enough. It didn’t change anything. He hadn’t accepted who I was. We both knew that.

“Can’t we meet up later?” he said, almost begging. “Can you come over tonight?”

I looked at him. His eyes desperate and sad, his energy gray and troubled.

I ached for him too. Our bodies calling out to each other, breaking through the walls, finding the path of least resistance and screaming out for the other.

But it wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be right if he couldn’t handle the other parts of our relationship.

“I can’t,” I said, brushing a tear from my eye.

I got up and went in the back and cried for a long time.

CHAPTER 33

I had gotten into the rhythm of working at the Community Center. I didn’t feel as self-conscious or guilty and focused on doing the work. It wasn’t like I was really volunteering because Mike was still paying me, but at least I wasn’t selling cars. Or
Le Creuset
cookware. At the end of the day I was still helping people. And that felt good.

I was even getting to know some of the regulars. I got a few waves. A couple of kids came up and gave me hugs. And an old man started telling me about his cat.

Sutter let me in. He was the one who had stared at me strangely that first night. Maybe my first impression of him had been wrong. He didn’t seem that bad.

“Hi, Sutter,” I said.

“Ms. Craig,” he said, smiling and giving me a nod.

I walked through the doors and saw Ellen, another Back Street employee, already inside. She waved at me as I walked over to her.