Lost Along the Way (17 page)

I swallowed hard, both stunned and amazed. While I’d been dreaming of what was to come, Granny’s meatloaf had spoken for me. Just as it had shown me the truth of his infidelity two weeks before, it was now showing him the extent of the damage he’d done.

Yes, we were truly over, and I felt nothing but relief, but it still hurt to see him in so much pain. I went to him and pulled him into my arms. We sat there on our dining room floor, me leaning against the wall, him halfway in my lap, his face buried in my chest while he cried in a way I’d never imagined he could, his entire body shaking with the weight of his grief. As if he couldn’t imagine going on. As if his soul had been torn in two.

I pitied him. Granny B’s meatloaf had no mercy. I knew that.

I rocked him and soothed him, stroking his hair and making hushing noises until his sobs subsided. Until he lay shuddering and hiccupping in my arms. I waited for him to gather his thoughts.

“What happens now?” he asked finally, his voice hoarse.

“I’ll give my notice at the station.”

“You’ll move to Laramie?”

“Yes.”

“And what about this house?”

“I’m going to sell it.”

His head moved against my chest as he nodded. “I really do need to move out this time.”

“Yes.” I put my face into his hair, finding a gentle comfort in the familiarity of the gesture. “Where will you go?”

“I don’t know.”

“What about…,” I didn’t have a gentle way to say, “the other man?”

“Roger?”

“Was that his name?”

He shuddered again and wiped furiously at his face. “I can’t go to him. I never loved him. I can’t imagine….” He began to cry again, but not as hard as before. The front had passed. We’d weathered the storm. Now we had only to pick our way out of the debris and move on. “I think maybe I’ll call my sister.”

“In Oregon?”

“Yes. Maybe a change of scenery would do me good.”

“Maybe.”

“She’s always understood me, but she won’t coddle me. I think that’s important.”

I nodded. Strange how Granny made everything so clear. She’d granted him an insight I knew he’d never have had otherwise.

“I know it sounds strange,” he whispered, “but I really miss my music. I miss it so much. I can feel the place it used to be, like this big empty hole in my heart. This horrible, vacant spot that used to bring me so much joy, and now there’s just pain. And grief. I can’t believe I ever stopped playing. I can’t believe….” He laughed dryly. “God, I’m talking like a crazy person.”

“It doesn’t sound crazy at all.” After all, his music was one of the greatest things he’d lost in our years together. “You’ll get it back.” I rubbed his back some more, feeling strangely detached and at peace, until he spoke again.

“You met someone in Laramie.”

My hand ceased its slow progress across his back as I froze in alarm.

“It’s okay,” he went on. “I know you never cheated on me. I know you didn’t mean for it to happen. I know it’s new and fragile and seems wrong because it’s too soon, and yet feels completely right. And you’re scared and trying to be cautious, but you’re so full of hope you can barely hold it all in.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. It’s scary. I don’t know how I can be sure of it all, but I am.”

“It’s that damn meatloaf.”

“Is this what happened to you that night? When you made it for me?”

“Yes. I saw everything. Every tiny thing that was out of place. My mug, and my towels, and the sheets. It was…,” I floundered.

“Heartbreaking,” he finished for me.

“Yes.”

“But….” He sounded confused. “That’s not possible. It’s only meatloaf.”

I chuckled. “I know. I have no explanation.”

He settled against me again with a sigh. We were quiet for a moment, both lost in our own thoughts, but eventually he spoke again. “I’m so sorry, Daniel. For everything.”

“So am I.”

He made a sound that might have been another sob but might have been laughter too. “If I ever meet Granny B, I may rip out her hair.”

I laughed. “Or maybe you’ll thank her.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Not yet, at any rate.”

I
KNEW
Chase well. I was pretty sure he’d lay awake until the wee hours of the morning, and would sleep late as a result. I remembered how it had felt to wake up on that first morning after Granny’s meatloaf. And I had a lot to do.

By the time Chase dragged himself into the living room around noon, I’d been to the station and the grocery store and had the banana bread and the chicken soup ready. True, I’d had to use canned chicken stock, but I hoped it’d be good enough.

“What’s this?” he asked, staring at it blankly with red, swollen eyes.

“Trust me,” I said. “It’ll help.”

He covered his eyes with his hand and took a deep, shaky breath. “Nothing will help.”

“It will. Granny B knows what she’s doing.”

He didn’t answer. Just continued to stare at the banana bread and the steaming bowl of soup. “Why are you doing this for me?”

“Because you deserve it. Because I still hate to see you in pain.”

“But you’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Going to Laramie?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose you want me gone by the time you get home tomorrow night?”

“No.” I sensed his surprise, even if he was still too stunned by last night’s events to show it. I put my hand on his shoulder and immediately wondered if it was a mistake, because he suddenly seemed unable to hold his tears at bay. He put his head in his hands and cried as I continued. “I gave my notice today, but I have two weeks left before my last day. By the time I get home tomorrow night, you’ll feel a lot better—”

“No, I won’t.”

“You will. And we’ll take the next couple of weeks to sort things out here.” I rubbed his back gently, thinking of my mother. And my father. And of Landon. “It’s all going to be fine. This too shall pass. I promise.”

As I turned out of the kitchen, I spotted Granny B’s cookbook, still sitting on the counter where I’d left it after making the bread. “Here,” I said, sliding it toward him. “I think you need this more than I do right now.”

I didn’t bother to pack a bag. After all, I’d only be gone one night. I called Landon from my car, my heart pounding uncontrollably. I was at least thirty-six hours early. I halfway expected him not to answer, but he did.

“You aren’t very good at following rules, are you?”

I laughed. “God, it’s good to hear your voice.”

“You already heard it once.”

Which meant he
had
received my message. “Not the same thing.”

He paused, and I could picture him chewing thoughtfully on his lip, trying to decide how direct to be. Trying to choose the most tactful way to approach our outrageous situation. I opted to take him out of his misery and speak first.

“Chase and I are over. I’ve given my notice at the station, and I’ve already sent an e-mail to my real estate agent about selling my house in Westminster.”

“Oh my God.”

“I’m on I-25 right now. Assuming traffic isn’t too bad, I’ll be there in time for dinner.”

“
Oh my God
,” he said again. He was quiet for a moment, although I thought I could discern the shakiness of his breath as he steadied himself. “Danny… are you sure?”

“I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life. Are
you
sure? Because I know I’m springing this on you fast. I know maybe I’m freaking you out, rushing into th—”

“No! I mean, yes! I mean—” He laughed suddenly, sounding rather giddy. “I don’t know what to say!”

“Tell me you want this too.”

“You know I do. More than anything.”

“Good.”

“See you soon?”

“Yes. And Landon? I—”
I love you.
The words almost escaped my lips, but this wasn’t the right time. Not over the phone. Not when I couldn’t see his eyes. Not when things between us were still so new. But I had to say something. The connection between us suddenly seemed heavy with words we needed to say.

And then he spoke, his voice soft and reverent. “I know, Danny. I feel exactly the same way. Just… hurry home.”

Home.
The word warmed me all the way to the tips of my toes.

“I will.”

December

“D
ANNY
? Y
OU
won’t believe what I just found.”

I glanced up from the radar images on my laptop, past the Christmas tree sitting in its usual place of honor in front of the big living room window. Christmas or not, I resented it for blocking my view of the birds, now still and frozen, little icicles hanging from their outstretched wings.

“What is it?”

Landon came in from the hallway carrying a milk-crate sized box.

“Oh my God. Not another one! I thought we were done.”

In fact it’d been November when we’d finally rid our house of the last of the boxes of clutter—or so I’d thought.

“It was in the back of the closet in your father’s office. I don’t know how we missed it.” He dropped the box onto the coffee table, pulled it open, and started extracting items. “Dish towels.”

“I guess we can never have too many.”

“Yarn.”

“More chances to practice your knitting.”

He laughed. “A couple more decks of cards.”

Probably the thirtieth deck we’d found in the course of clearing out boxes. “Oh good. I was afraid we’d run out.”

“And whatever this is.”

He pulled out a large manila envelope. Nothing more than an envelope, but goose bumps tingled up my spine as he undid the little metal clasp and upended it onto the table. Out slid a composition notebook—the kind I’d used in college, with the black-and-white marbled cover. I picked it up and opened it to read the first page, and gasped in surprise.

“
Recipes for the Heart: Mystical Meals and Dangerous Desserts
.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No.” This one wasn’t a copy. The handwritten sheets had been glued to the pages of the notebook, causing them to buckle a bit, but these were definitely the originals, the notes in the margins made in purple ink, written in the same jagged handwriting that had been in our copy. “How is this possible?”

“It isn’t,” Landon said, his voice shaking. “It can’t be.”

“It is.” I flipped to the meatloaf. There it was, with “for finding what was lost along the way” crossed out. “For cutting through the bullshit” had been written underneath, underlined so emphatically, the purple-inked pen had bit through the page. “It’s the original. But then how did she—”

“Who?”

“Whoever sent it! How did they send us a copy if the original was here in the house all this time?”

Landon’s hands shook as he lifted the envelope and peeked inside. “There’s a note.”

He pulled out a plain white sheet of paper. The same jagged handwriting, the same purple ink. It said, “Bob and Rose: This is for your son. Please make sure he gets it.” There was no signature, although there was a date at the top of the page. It had been written approximately five years earlier.

“That’s the same month I moved in across the street,” Landon said, his voice still shaky. “But I swear to you, Danny, I didn’t know—”

“I know.” One of the things I’d learned in our time together was that he couldn’t lie to save his life. I studied the date as if it might reveal some clue as to the identity of the sender. “I think it’s also about the same time Chase first cheated on me.”

Landon sank into the chair opposite me, his dark eyes wide. “But… does that mean, if your mother had delivered it to you… we might have been together all this time?”

“I don’t know.”

And in truth I didn’t care to think about it. We were together now. That was all that mattered. Chase and I had parted amicably. I’d sold my house in Westminster, and we’d rented Landon’s house out to tenants, although he still used the detached garage as his studio. I’d found a part-time job teaching broadcast journalism courses at the university, as well as a side job doing weather forecasts for the local radio station. I didn’t make as much as I had in Denver, but with no mortgage to pay, it was enough.

In the intervening months, Landon had sold several sculptures. We’d sorted our way through all the clutter in the house, redecorated our bedroom, and even replaced the pink countertop and the wretched gold curtains. We hadn’t disposed of every trace of my parents, though. There were still plenty of reminders of my mom and dad around the house, including most of the pictures on the mantel. But we’d made the house ours. And we were wonderfully, blissfully happy. We were good together. We understood each other. And more importantly, we had fun together. We’d already enjoyed one week-long trip to Grand Teton National Park where he’d spent his days taking photos and we’d spent our evenings rocking the hell out of his tiny RV.

All in all everything was perfect. I didn’t need the stars or Lulu’s palmistry or Granny B to tell me Landon and I were meant to be. It was something I knew, deep down in my heart, as strong and sure as the sun in the wide Wyoming sky. Would a few extra years with him have been better? Maybe. But when I thought about the last few months, I knew I wouldn’t have traded them for anything.

Choosing happiness is rarely wrong.

I stood up and pulled him into my arms. “What do you suppose happens if we make this zucchini bread of yours
together
?”

His responding grin was sexy enough to send blood rushing south. “Only one way to find out.”

“Will you wear the green apron?”

He laughed. “If you ask nice, I won’t even wear any pants under it.”

As it turned out, we didn’t bake any bread that night. We only got about as far as mixing the ingredients. But as I told him afterward, as we lay tangled together in bed, still smiling in the wake of our passion, we’d have plenty of next times.

Lots and lots of next times.

M
ARIE
S
EXTON
lives in Colorado. She’s a fan of just about anything
that involves muscular young men piling on top of each other. In
particular, she loves the Denver Broncos and enjoys going to the games with her husband. Her imaginary friends often tag along. Marie has one daughter, two cats, and one dog, all of whom seem bent on destroying what remains of her sanity. She loves them anyway.