By a Thread (6 page)

Patrick made his way down to her room, which was dark as usual. “El?” He turned on the light. “What are you doing?”

“Get your fucking eyes checked if you can’t see me still sleeping.” Stella yelled from under the pillow she had over her face. She was still in a heap. Cooper jumped up, tail wagging, and went over to Patrick. “Traitor,” she called after her dog.

“He just needs to pee and it looks like you aren’t getting up anytime soon.” Patrick walked back to the door and let Cooper out into the backyard. He lay down in the bed beside her.

“It’s been five months, Stella, you stink, and you can’t pay rent. Billy and I can’t keep covering you.”

“Well, nothing like honesty first thing in the morning, huh?” She didn’t move the pillow from her face.

“It’s afternoon.” Patrick pulled the pillow from her face. “You’ve got to start living again.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to.” Patrick looked over at what used to be Stella. “Jamie would hate this.”

“Well, he’s not here, is he?”

“No, I guess it’s up to me then. I hate this. Please tell me what to do, Stella.”

“You can’t fix this.” She rolled onto her side so that she was looking at him. “You can’t fix me.”

“I bet I can.” Patrick sat up and swung his legs off her platform bed. “Get dressed, I’m taking you to your new job.”

She stared at him dumbfounded, “New job?”

“Yep, it’s perfect, you’ll love it,” he said in a fake tone. She stood up reluctantly and stretched. Since Jamie died she had been sleeping in his college baseball jersey. Patrick reached over and swatted her butt. “Wear something cute.” He laughed and then walked upstairs.

After her meeting with the manager of Cosi restaurant in Old Town, who just happened to be a friend of Patrick’s, and getting all the details of her new job, Stella and Patrick walked to Finnegan’s. She sat on a bar stool and stared into her Black and Tan. Patrick was talking; what he was talking about she had no idea. What she did notice was the hottie bartender kept looking at her. She could feel his eyes on her. His eyes were greenish grey, reminding her of smoke. They were intense. His features were almost perfect, tainted only by a nose that looked like it might have been broken a time or two. Although it had been awhile, Stella recognized the look he was sending her. Stella didn’t know what she thought about that look.

Interrupting Patrick, she leaned into his ear. “Why is the bartender staring at me?”

Patrick tilted his face and looked at the bartender. “George always looks at you, El.”

“He does?” She looked back at her glass, now half-empty, unconsciously running her fingers up and down the glass.

“Yes, he does. So do lots of other guys in the bar, but this is the first time you’ve noticed.” Patrick sat up straight, stretching his back. “So, you want to grab dinner before we go home?”

“Sure,” she said, smiling and then draining her glass. She stood on the lower rung of the bar stool and leaned up over the bar. “Hey barkeep, can we get our check?”

He smiled and nodded at her as he set someone else’s drink down on the bar. It was like Stella was seeing George for the first time. He was probably around Patrick’s age, a few years older than her. He had tattoos on his forearms, numbers maybe. He wore a white long sleeve button-down with sleeves pushed up to elbows that had obviously seen better days, but the fabric stretched over his chest subtly gave away the muscles underneath. He was wearing a red Nationals baseball cap and gray New Balance tennis shoes; she noticed because Jamie had worn the same pair.

“You guys done?” he asked Patrick.

Stella redirected George’s attention to her. “Here,” she said as she slid her debit card across the bar to cover the bill. Stella put on her navy pea coat and pulled a wool cap down over her messy hair.

“El...” Patrick chastised.

“What? You always pay, I have a job now. I can contribute.” Stella sat back down and fussed with her bag on her lap.

“You working, Stella?” George inquired politely.

“Right down the road actually, I just got a job at Cosi.” She looked at Patrick, “I think I’ll weigh about 300 pounds after working there awhile.”

“Oh, that’s one of my favorite lunch spots.” George took her card and walked over to the computer. Stella watched his ass as he walked away. It was nice.

When George came back with her receipt Stella said, “Maybe I’ll see you there.” She signed her receipt, added a pretty hefty tip, and put her card back in her bag.

“Oh, you’ll definitely see me there.” George smiled a smile that was so big it took over half of his face, showcasing two delicious dimples.

She smiled at him, looking him in the eyes for the first time since she started going to Finnegan’s. George seemed a little taken aback, and looked to Patrick, who put his arm around her shoulders. “See you, George.”

“Yep,” George called over his shoulder, making his way down the bar.

Physically, Stella was still alive, but barely. She had finally looked through the documents Jamie had scattered all over their desk. Jamie had opened a bank account with the right of survivorship to her. To her surprise the account contained several thousand dollars. She’d been able to pay Billy and Patrick back and still had some left to cover rent for awhile. Stella felt like she could only deal with life right now by staying where she was. She still refused to listen to voicemails or read text messages. No one here knew her with Jamie, how she was before he died. Hell, she didn’t even remember who she was before he died.
Had she always cussed so much?
She was still staying in bed more than necessary, crying at least three times a day. But it
was
progress. She was moving forward, even if it was one tiny step at a time. Patrick was almost livid that she wasn’t making more progress, but he was trying to let her grieve in her own way.

Although she still suffered from insomnia, she started reading like crazy to fill the sleepless hours. Patrick had given her a Kindle. She read three or four books a week. When she read, she was able to shut off her brain and lose herself in the lives of the characters. Drifting through life with no real purpose or feeling was not ideal, but she was making it. She could not escape the memories of Jamie, their four years together. It was eating her alive. She knew she was getting off easy. She was in a city where they had not yet made any memories, and had no history. The pain could’ve been worse.

Stella had started eating and drinking again, and hadn’t stopped. She had gained about fifteen pounds in the last two months, which she’d anticipated when she started at Cosi. She had gained so much weight from eating smores everyday she was forced to join a gym. Patrick drove her to the gym every morning and they went their separate ways at the door for their workouts. He was the perfect person to make her do what she didn’t want to, like get up at 6:00 in the morning to do squats.

Stella was pushing through her workout, sweat dripping off her face. Jay-Z pounded through her ear buds; she let her mind wander. Wiping her face and chest with a gym towel, she remembered her graduation from college, and the trip with Jamie that followed. They hadn’t gone anywhere that special, but drove to Savannah for a few days before Jamie left her to go to DC that summer. Jamie had shown her where he grew up, his favorite restaurants, and the baseball field where he fell in love with the game.

She was so young then, so innocent, and totally in love. They had walked down River Street holding hands, kissing as much as possible, in public or not, and making love several times a day. It was her favorite time with Jamie.

On their last day in Savannah, he took her to The Old Pink House, a well known historic restaurant on a square just off River Street. They ate and drank wine. When dessert was served she noticed a grey velvet box in the center of the plate. She looked at Jamie and knew he was asking her to marry him before he could even speak with words.

He took her hand gently and kissed it. “Stella, I am so in love with you. I need you to know how much. You mean so much to me. I know moving to DC and starting our careers will be tough and we were planning on waiting, but I just can’t. I can’t wait for you to be mine officially.” He got down on one knee, still holding her hand and asked, “Stella Murphy, will you make me the happiest man on earth and agree to put up with me the rest of my life?”

She wiped a tear from her eye and answered, “Of course.” They left the dessert on the plate, got the check, and hurried back to the hotel.

Stella’s stomach clenched from the memory. She did lunges, which hurt so badly that she couldn’t think anything other than the physical pain while doing them.

It was her birthday. She didn’t care, but Billy and Patrick insisted on taking her out to dinner and to Finnegan’s. Stella put on jeans, t-shirt, and flip-flops. It was one month before the wedding that she never got to finish planning. Blowing her bangs out of her face, she looked into the mirror.
It’s fine, I can make it through today
. She walked upstairs and poured herself a tall vodka on the rocks and waited for Patrick to get home. Stella sat on the couch and twisted the engagement ring still on her finger.

Stella was already on glass number three when Patrick got home. “Happy Birthday,” he yelled.

“Fucking happy,” she responded.

“Come on let’s go. Billy’s already there and you’re already drunk.”

“I’m not drunk yet,” she said.

The night was blur, she drank so much that she really had no grasp of conversations or events. At one point she fell off the back of her bar stool. Patrick got frustrated and brought her home. Somehow she made it down the stairs to her room, pulled her clothes off, and passed out on the bathroom floor.

The night was clear and dark. Stars shone like diamonds in the sky. She and Jamie were walking on the beach, hand in hand. Stella was barefoot, wearing her wedding dress and Jamie was in a seersucker suit. She heard a loud crash and tried to find where it had come from. A car was barreling down the sand back from the street and onto the beach. She pulled on Jamie’s arm to get him out of the way, but the car hit them both. Jamie was unconscious, his body twisted and trapped under the car, and Stella was pinned, still holding his hand. The front left tire of the car rested on her chest, she couldn’t breathe.

She screamed and woke with a start. She hadn’t had a nightmare in awhile. Stella pushed herself off the chilly tile floor and walked upstairs. She opened Patrick’s door, crawled into his bed. His eyes still closed, he turned toward her back and wrapped his arms around her. Feeling her nightmare let go, she let go too, and fell into a restless sleep.

Stella bent over behind the glass case arranging in the best-looking cookies she had ever seen. It was after the lunch rush, and time to refill the dessert case, then she would go on break. “Hi, there,” she heard, and stood up quickly.

“Oh... hi.” It was George. He wasn’t lying when he said he came in to Cosi for lunch every day.

She’d started looking forward to his lunch break.

“I want one of those cookies,” he smiled, putting his plate down on the glass counter by the register.

“I know, they look delicious.” She grabbed one, bagged it, and pulled her gloves off as she moved to the register.

“You’re practically drooling.” George pulled out his wallet and gave her cash to cover his lunch and cookie.

“It’s hard not to. I’ve eaten at least one of everything.” She tucked a stray hair that came loose from her braid behind her ear. “Enjoy it,” she said and walked to the back to clock for her break.

She ordered a Turkey and Brie, her favorite sandwich, and sat at a table near George. She pulled out her Kindle and was ready to read about a girl escaping her past by going to college, who fell in love with a beautiful bad boy.

“Stella, come sit with me. Keep me company.” He nodded at the chair across the table.

“Okay.” Stella picked up her things, put her Kindle back in its case and made her way to George’s table. George pushed the chair out with his foot.

“Turkey and Brie,” he said, “that’s a good one.”

“My favorite, but so not good for me.” Stella pointed at the tattoos on his arms. “Do you mind me asking what the dates are?”

“People really shouldn’t have tattoos if they don’t want people asking what they mean, should they?” He smiled. “5/24/48 is my Dad’s birth date and 9/12/11 is the day he died.”

“I’m so sorry,” Stella said, looking down at her sandwich.

George pushed his cookie toward her. “I bought this for you.”

“What? Why?” She eyed the cookie.

“Because you really were drooling just looking at it.” George rubbed his hand over his shaved head.

“You have any more?” Stella picked a small piece of the cookie off the side and popped it in her mouth. It was the perfect mix of white chocolate and macadamia nut, drizzled with melted peanut butter.

“Any more what?” George stared at her dramatic reaction to the cookie. “Must be good.”

“Oh my shit, it’s so good.” She pushed it back toward his plate. “Try it.”

His shoulders were shaking with laughter. “Oh my shit?”

“Umm... taste it.” She pushed the cookie closer to his hand.

He broke off a piece of the cookie and popped it in his mouth. “That is good. I’m not sure what qualifies as ‘oh my shit,’ but I’ll take your word for it.”

They ate and carried on with small talk. George didn’t have any other tattoos. She told him she had one on her back. Stella looked at her cell phone. “My break’s up. I’ll see you later.”

“Yep.” George was still working on his lunch.

Stella walked over to the trashcan. “George.”

He looked up at her. “Yes?”

“Thanks for the drool-worthy cookie.”

She finished her shift at Cosi and was walking home when her mind drifted back to the cookie. She couldn’t remember the last time she had actually enjoyed a cookie that much. She could still taste it in her mouth.