Anywhere With You (3 page)

Amelie

On the run.

Why did he have to get off of that damned plane? Why, oh why, oh why? The last thing I needed on what was already a shitty day was another complication. Yet, sure enough, the complication I hadn’t needed showed up in the form of Jack Harrison.

I knew he wouldn’t get on that plane. But then he surprised me. And once he did, I’d thought maybe, just maybe, he’d stay. Only, I knew him too well to not stick around and watch it all play out. I needed to see him fly away. I needed to know that my heart was safe again. I needed to be able to breathe with ease. I needed the queasiness to subside.

And then I saw him rush back out. I watched his face search the crowd and his eyes scan the terminal. Seeing him there, knowing he was looking for me, watching his reserved desperation, did nothing to cure my symptoms. So for a little while, I hid.

I didn’t want to be found, and yet, at the same time, a part of me did. Ironically, this had always been the premise of our relationship to one another. We’d always played a great game of hide and seek. Catch and release. Eventually, though, after watching his expression change from annoyed to worried to somewhat forlorn, my resolve wore thin, and I let him find me. Which is exactly how and why we wound up there in that airport bar.

For approximately two rounds of drinks—for me anyway—we stuck to safe topics. Work and the weather.

By round three, I’d made my second mistake. Turns out the liquor only further wore down any resolve I might have had left.

It started out innocently enough. “So what are your plans for Thanksgiving?” I casually asked. Mere seconds later, just as it escaped my lips, I realized what a dangerous question it actually was. It was the kind where the rubber sort of meets the road—where I’d find out what was really going on, or more importantly, who was going on in Jack’s life these days. It was one of the myriads of methods of finding out if there was someone special in one’s life, packaged neatly around the safe topic of holiday plans.

He paused and considered me for a moment before answering. “Maybe you should slow down,” he finally remarked as he eyed my half-empty glass.

Little did he know. “I’m good,” I said shifting in my seat.

He looked away then. “I’m not sure. I haven’t really given it much thought.”

He was lying. “Thanksgiving is tomorrow, Jack.”

His eyes met mine. “Yeah…”

I searched his face for clues. “That’s not like you,” I finally said.

“I’ve never much cared for Thanksgiving.” He shrugged. “It’s just another day to me.”

I picked up my tumbler, took a sip, and sat it back down. “Have we ever spent Thanksgiving together?”

He shook his head. “No,” he replied. Then all of a sudden, he grinned. “But we should change that.”

“You should come with me,” I blurted out without giving the idea much thought. Then I raised my glass once again and gulped down the rest of the vodka tonic.

He tilted his head. “To Boston?”

“Why not?” I shrugged. “It doesn’t sound like you have big plans or anything. Plus, there’s someone I’d really like you to meet.”

I watched as his jaw tightened. It felt like forever before he spoke again. “It sounds serious.”

“Oh, I don’t know… I just—”

He placed his glass of water down on the table. Hard. “Well, in that case, how could I possibly say no?”

I clapped. “So you’ll come?”

Jack’s mouth twisted. “I’ll fly to Boston with you. Let’s start there.”

“It’s as good as place as any, I guess.”

He raised his brow. “I figure someone has to watch your liquor consumption.”

I laughed. “Oh, come on. So you’re telling me it wasn’t your plan all along to get me drunk?”

“Are you drunk, Amelie?” His tone had suddenly turned more serious—if such a thing were even possible.

“Well, no, but—”

His eyes were cold, far off. “Then I guess you have your answer.”

As we made our way through the hustle and bustle of the airport from one terminal to the next, Jack rattled on incessantly. In my attempt at sobering up, I mostly let him rant on and on until I finally realized that, true to form, Jack didn’t just want to be heard
—
he wanted to be engaged. Jack needed an opponent in order to play his game. And, eventually, the harder my head pounded, the more each syllable he uttered became like a grinder inside my skull, the more I realized I was no longer in the mood to sit on the bench. I wanted to play.

By the time we’d finally boarded the plane and taken our seats, my patience had reached an all-time low.

“I still don’t understand why we couldn’t get seats in first class.” He huffed.

“Because, for the tenth time, Jack, they’re full!”

“Yeah, well, for the eleventh time, I don’t like sitting this close to strangers for extended periods of time.”

“One, I’m not a stranger. And two, you know what I don’t like? Complainers. Three, I’ll give you my window seat, just for being such a big baby. Move,” I barked as I stood and ushered him to do the same. He shot me a look but stood nonetheless and moved outward into the aisle. As I briskly scooted past him, being in such a confined space, I couldn’t help but brush against his body. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was just the sturdiness of him that caught me off guard, but I tripped forward just a little and he caught me by my forearm. For the briefest of moments, I let myself fully lean into him, and I paused inhaling the familiar scent of a man I’d loved and lost and everything in between. But just as soon as I’d leaned in, I pulled away.

“Go!” I demanded. “I hope my seat makes you happy.”

“Thank God for small favors.” He scoffed, eyeing me sideways.

“I thought you being here was sort of a favor.”

He looked taken aback, and if I wasn’t mistaken, a tad bit hurt. “Is that what you think? That you’re doing me a favor?”

“No. Not really,” I relented. “I didn’t mean that.” I sighed. “Why are we fighting anyway?”

“Funny. You call this fighting?”

“Ok, Mr. Semantics. Why are we arguing?”

“This isn’t arguing. This is communicating.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “Then maybe we should stop.”

“We tried that once. And look how well it turned out.”

I titled my head. “No, you tried that once.”

“You see, Amelie. Now, this is communicating.”

“Well, it’s so nice to see you’ve learned a thing or two.”

“Oh, I’ve learned more than that. You just wait.”

I rolled my eyes. “My God, Jack.”

“That’s exactly what you’ll say when I show you.”

I shifted away from him. “You’re delusional.”

“Time will tell.” He grinned.

“I’m with someone, Jack.”

An older gentleman took the aisle seat and looked from Jack to me, and then back. He nodded at each of us, uttering a word or two of salutation, and then looked away and pulled out a tattered paperback.

“That’s never stopped you before,” Jack finally said.

“You’re an asshole.”

“And a delusional one at that.”

I shifted my body to further face the old man. “Stop communicating with me. I’m taking a nap.” I huffed over my shoulder.

“You two sound like my wife and I.” The man smirked. “It’ll be thirty-four years next month.”

I opened one eye and peeked out. “Oh, we’re actually not together.”

The man laughed, looking at Jack and then back at me. “Sure you are.”

My mouth formed a hard line, but nothing came to mind that seemed appropriate to say, so I left it at that. I was tired of talking, and I even more so, I was tired of men. Mostly, I was tired of having to fight to prove my point. I sat there and attempted to doze off. However, sleep proved elusive, despite the four drinks I’d consumed. All I could think about was how this ‘situation’ was going to end. I knew I shouldn’t have asked Jack to tag along and had I not been a bit inebriated, I probably wouldn’t have. But, at the same time, I also knew I couldn’t tell him the truth.

I couldn’t give Jack Harrison a way in. I couldn’t let him think he had a shot at anything more than platonic friendship. Because he didn’t have shot. Not again. I had decided then and there, as I watched him get off that plane
—
even looking as smooth and as handsome as he was
—all business—
that I wouldn’t let myself go down that road this time. After all, I’d been down it one too many times before and I knew full well exactly where it led. And it wasn’t anywhere I wanted to go.

Furthermore, the truth was complicated enough—even without speaking it aloud. In part, I’d asked Jack along to shield me from what I knew lay ahead in Boston. But I couldn’t tell him that. I couldn’t tell him I was afraid of what was to come. And I certainly couldn’t tell Jack, without giving him the notion that he had a way in, that I figured having him there would make it all better. So I didn’t.

If only, though—I hadn’t figured wrong.

Jack

Reminders come in many forms.

I switched back and forth between staring out the window and watching her sleep. From where I sat, it didn’t look like a peaceful sleep although, given the amount of vodka she’d consumed, and what her blood alcohol level likely was, I didn’t figure it could be. At one point, her head lulled to the side and landed on the gentleman seated next to her. This is why I hate coach. I reached over and repositioned her head, offering a silent apology to the man by way of a glance.

“Where are you headed?” He spoke up minutes later after I’d turned my attention out the airplane window and onto the clouds below.

“Boston.” I replied, but I didn’t turn to face him when I answered. I wasn’t in the mood for conversation.

“I gathered that much.”

Amelie stirred.

“You two have family there?” he pried, clearly unable to take a hint.

Intending to get my point across, I shifted in his direction but somehow, when I saw the look on his face, I just couldn’t do it. His eyes were tired. Maybe even sad. He had a certain look about him, his expression one of weariness. But I saw something else, too. Hope, perhaps. I shook my head. “No. A friend.”

He nodded and I watched him visibly relax.

I motioned toward Amelie. “Or rather she has a friend.”

He seemed to ponder what to say next—if anything at all. Finally, he spoke but kept it short and sweet. Which was exactly the way I like it.

“I see,” he murmured and I thought we were done. I shifted once again and resumed staring out the window into the expanse.

However, to my dismay, he didn’t stop there. How could I forget? They never do. “So, where is it you’re staying in Boston?”

“I’m not sure,” I replied meeting his eye once more. This time, I studied him more intently. His face seemed somehow softer and older than when I’d first glanced over. His hair was mostly gray, but if I looked hard enough, I could still make out a few strands of black. He had large brown eyes, the kind that seemed to see right through you. If you let them. “This one’s trouble, no?” he remarked motioning toward a now drooling Amelie.

I nodded slightly. “Always has been. Probably always will be.”

He smiled widely. “Those are the best kind, you know.”

“Oh yeah? How’s that?” I asked, cocking my head to one side.

“They’re fighters. They know how to hang in there when the going gets tough.”

“Yeah—well, neither one of us has ever been very good at the hanging around part.”

He pursed his lips. “You’ve got time. You’re still young…”

I chuckled. “That, I guess, is assuming either of us wants to hang around.”

He coughed a bit and leaned forward. “You’ll change your mind.” He tried to assure me once he’d regained composure.

“Interestingly enough, it’s never been my mind I was worried about changing.” I paused and exhaled before continuing. “And quite honestly, I think the fighting part is sort of overrated.”

“Not if you’re dying, it isn’t.”

I swallowed. Hard. What the hell? That was it. I officially was done with the conversation.

“My wife is dying.”

Or so I thought. What in the hell was I supposed to say to that? Nothing certainly didn’t seem like an appropriate response. “Yeah, well, we all are,” I quickly replied.

The man smiled, but it didn’t touch his eyes. “Our son and his wife are having their first baby… the day after tomorrow. Apparently, these days, you kids schedule these things… it’ll be our first grandchild. But—my wife, she’s too sick to make the trip—and with airplanes being full of germs and all…well, she just couldn’t be here. But that sure didn’t stop her from demanding I come.” I watched his mouth form a hard line. He laid his hands in his lap and shrugged. “So here I am,” he said raising his hands in the air, and then folding them to rest in his lap once again. “But you know what? The only place I really want to be right now is by her side.”

I looked over at Amelie briefly and then down at my shoes. “I can understand that.”

Neither of us spoke again for some time afterward. The silence between us hung in the air like the last leaf hanging on in the fall. It was inevitable that with the right gust of wind, it would come down. It was just a matter of time.

Amelie stirred, smacking her lips together. She woke slowly, rubbing at her eyes, and then all at once, she bolted upright and placed her hand on the man’s forearm. “I’m sorry your wife couldn’t be here, she offered hoarsely. I was taken aback. How did she fake sleep so well? And more importantly, how did she always know the simplest most right thing to say?

The man smiled. “Me too.”

Amelie’s gaze drifted over to me. I studied her expression. Her face now completely refreshed as though she’d just slept it all away, her demeanor youthful again, and she appeared lighter than she had been before her pretend nap. I watched as she picked up my bottle of water and took a sip.

She gulped half of the bottle down before turning her attention back to the man. “And I heard you say you were going to be a Grandpa.”

The man beamed. “I am. They tell us it’s a little boy...” He frowned slightly and looked at Amelie over to me and then back at her. “Everything’s so different these days, though. We never knew half of the things you kids know today. It’s almost as though nothing can be a surprise anymore.”

“Isn’t it amazing?” Amelie exclaimed. One small, at least half-fake nap and suddenly, she was a different person. This version of Amelie was on top of the world—full of energy and happy. So happy. The old man was wrong. Lots of things could surprise you. He just needed to hang around Amelie a little more.

“You should tell your wife to write the baby letters,” she remarked, looking over at me. “That’s what Jack’s mom did when she got sick…”

I looked away and refocused my attention out the small window. I watched the clouds gather and form and then drift away. At that moment, I wanted to be one of them. Why was she bringing this up now? I hadn’t thought about those letters in years.

“Hmmm. That sounds like a really good idea...” the man murmured.

“Oh, it is! Jack let me read a few of them and I tell you what—” she lowered her voice a few dozen octaves. “They really made an impact on me.”

“I’m not sure though…her hands shake a lot these days.” The man conceded. “I think it’s the medication.”

Amelie exhaled loudly. “Just give her a pen and see what happens. You might be surprised by the outcome if you hand her a renewed sense of purpose.”

“You’re a very wise young lady.”

“My dad was a poet,” Amelie mentioned cheerfully, and I could feel her eyes on me.

“That makes sense,” the man replied.

I looked over at her then. She caught my gaze and didn’t take her eyes off mine.

“I’ve actually started writing a bit here and there, too. But mostly—I take pictures.”

“What do you photograph?”

Amelie’s eyes bore into mine, and suddenly, I felt at ease. “All the beautiful things,” she said.

“Of which there is no shortage,” I added seconds later.

The man looked away. So did Amelie, focusing her attention ahead.

“Hey!” she eventually piped up, startling us both. The man looked over at her furtively. “I could take a photo or two of you and the baby—for your wife. You know, to make the trip a little more worth your while…”

The man considered her proposition before tearing up just slightly. Eventually, a small smile played across his lips. “You already have, my dear. You already have.”

I drummed my fingers on my leg. Amelie had run off to the lavatory eighteen minutes ago and hadn’t returned. I could hear her somewhere near the rear of the plane talking animatedly although I couldn’t quite make out what she was saying.

The man looked my way and smiled. “Seems like she made another friend…”

I raised my brow. “That’s Amelie for you.”

He chuckled. “I gathered that.”

“Well, it’s a part of her anyway,” I told him as I willed Amelie to get her ass back to her seat.

“I don’t like to pry, son—but may I ask you a question?”

“Shoot,” I said, although I didn’t look directly at him.

“The letters your mother wrote…did they help?”

I sighed as I considered his question. “Not really,” I told him as I shifted to fully face him. “Well, maybe,” I relented, changing my mind. “I don’t know. I haven’t read them all...”

He nodded slowly and stretched his neck from side to side. “It’s just that—I was thinking about my own son, that’s all. He would never admit it, he’s like his mother in that sense—but I can tell, apart from everything going on in his life, with his mother being sick and all—I can tell it’s really tearing him up. That’s hard for a father, you know.”

I didn’t know. But I improvised. “If you want the truth—I haven’t read or thought about those letters in a very long time.”

He appeared confused. “Why not?”

I answered without thinking too much about it. “My mother wasn’t a fighter like your wife.”

“Sure she was. She left you those letters, didn’t she? In my opinion, there’s a lot of defiance in that.”

I picked at an invisible piece of lint on my pants. “I guess I never really looked at it that way.”

“You know, son, none of us really knows what it’s like to be sick
—
until we are. I watch my wife suffer, and I want her to fight this—I really do. But in turn, it’s hard to say what I would do if it were me laying there in that bed day in and day out. It’s not easy watching her live out the remainder of her life—however long that may be in such a rotten way. So I can’t imagine that it’s any less hard being the one going through it all. She’s either sick—or hurting—or missing something. Sometimes, even I—as much as I want her here, wonder if that’s really living.”

“I hear you.” I agreed with a nod. “It’s tough.”

“Some fights take multiple rounds to win, you know. You don’t always get it right straight out of the gate. “

I gathered that we were no longer just talking about my mother or his wife. “No, I guess you don’t,” I said, even though I didn’t really believe what he was saying.

But the old man didn’t stop there. It seemed he had something to say and he was determined to say it. “Look, all I know is this—if you love someone
—
you tell them. Work out the details later. The details… they’re always variable anyhow. Take the weather, for example. We’re really shitty at predicting it. That’s what love is like…this is what I tell my kids—I tell them life and love are like a hurricane. You may think you have it all figured out. And then it washes ashore and you never know how terrible it’s going to be—or not—until you’re in the eye of the storm. But you can’t stop a hurricane. You can only ride it out and then try to make sense of it all, once things are calm again. And they will be beautiful again as soon as the storm has passed. They’ll likely be even better. Stronger. You’ll be more prepared the next go ‘round. And make no mistake there’ll be another. There always is.”

“Or—you can flee.” I smirked. “I would argue that’s the smartest plan.”

The man shrugged. “Yes, but the storm comes all the same. The question is where you wanna be and with whom you want to spend your time with when it hits.”