Mesmerized (6 page)

I decide that I have enough time to whip up a new scone recipe while I wait for James. I have recently been working on a side project to create a recipe book featuring the breads and goodies I make at the café. I figure if I can get enough interest, I could start selling the books at the café and the local bookstore. Who knows, maybe it could even get bigger than that, and I could sell them online or something, the way Ashley sells her jewelry.

If nothing else, it is a fun process to experiment and create new things. And the customers seem to love the variety. That in itself is rare in a small town where most everything else stays the same.

I pull out the mixing bowl and all the ingredients and set to work, studying the recipe, and getting caught up in the process. Normally I can block things out and focus, but today there is a nagging question in the back of my mind that won’t go away.

Once I get the pan into the oven, I cross the kitchen and snatch up my phone.

My mother answers on the second ring. “Charity dear! What a lovely surprise!”

“Hello Mother,” I begin, carefully choosing my words. “I have a question for you, and I need you to tell me the truth, no matter what.
””
”

“What is it?” Her voice changes, the cheeriness gone.

“At one point in time did you put together a packet of information about schools and career paths for Brandon?”

“Charity, why would you ask me that? I mean really, that is the most out of the blue thing,” she sputters.

“Mother, please. I need to know.” I struggle to keep my voice even. I know I already have confirmation, but I wait, wanting to hear it out loud.

“Well, if you must know, yes. I gathered some information for him. I thought it would be helpful.”

I take a deep breath and unclench my balled-up fists. I’m angry, but the fight just isn’t in me. There are more questions bubbling up, yet I can’t make myself ask them. I tell her good-bye and get off the phone, ending the call before she can bombard me with questions of her own.

I think back to the morning of what was supposed to have been our wedding day. I was sitting in my room, staring at my wedding dress, and so desperately wondering what had happened to make Brandon walk away. Now, years later, I am beginning to see the full picture, and I realize that it could have all been avoided. All the pain. All the heartache. But, it happened, and now, knowing the reasons why doesn’t make me feel better after all.

I grab a bottle of wine and pour a large glassful for myself before returning to the oven to finish my baking project.

***

By the time James rings the doorbell, I feel the effects of the two—or was it three?— glasses of wine working their magic and erasing some of my anxiety.

“Sorry I’m late babe,” he says, as I swing the door open.

“As long as you remembered the food, I will forgive you.” I smile.

He laughs and holds up the bags of takeout. I usher him inside and follow him to the kitchen where he starts to unload the food onto the counters. We work silently as we each fill our plates, and it seems like no one wants to be the first to say anything.

I glance over at James and try to decipher my feelings. Do I love this man? I wonder to myself. Or, is he just the “safe” choice?

Choice? What am I thinking about. There isn’t a choice to be made here. Brandon is not an option.

Not anymore.

Must be the wine buzz.

I shake my head to try to clear the thoughts and struggle to think of something, anything, to say to start a conversation, because the silence is killing me.

“I made scones,” I say.

Really? That’s the best thing you could think of?
I mentally ask myself.

James nods. “That sounds great. I was wondering what you were baking in here. I could smell it from outside, actually.”

“They have walnuts and cranberries. Dried ones, not fresh.”

Can someone please hit me with a shovel and end my misery?

He nods again but doesn’t add anything. I mean really, what is there to add to that?

Yikes.

It’s possible I need therapy…or maybe just more wine.

“I don’t know if this is something you want to talk about, but I was at work and my buddy was asking if we were going to rent the beach house or not. Have you had a chance to give that any more thought?” James mercifully breaks the silence as we sit down at my small dining room table to eat dinner. My poor, neglected dining room table. It really only gets used when James is here. He insists that we eat at a table. He says it’s more civilized. I eat in the kitchen or on the couch when I’m alone. Looking at him now, I wonder if James ever eats sitting on the couch. I doubt it.

What was he asking me?
Charity, focus!

“I checked with my boss and since it’s kind of the slow season, he is fine with me cashing in all my vacation time, so I would have about three weeks off. I’d have to check in from time to time, maybe make a few trips into the city but other than that….” His voice trails off.

Beach house, right. I almost laugh at the idea of James being able to give up work for three weeks. The man works around the clock and never goes anywhere without his laptop and cell phone.

Then it hits me, the realization that if he is willing to take off that amount of time and do the bare minimum for work, this must be something that is really, really important to him. I feel guilty all over again.

“Yeah, I think it’s a great idea. I love the beach and it would be nice to spend some time without distractions and everything to…get back on track.”

His face lights up with a smile, and for the first time since all this started, I feel a flutter of happiness. The lightness of the moment fades all too quickly, swallowed up by the guilty feelings mixed up inside of me. I stare up at James and wonder if I should come clean, to see if he would make the same choice if he had all of the information.

“Are you all right? You seem…odd,” he asks.

I chicken out. “I’m good. Let’s eat.”

I wake up the next morning to the sound of running water. I look over and see the side of the bed where James slept is rumpled, but he is no longer there. I do a half sit-up and still see his suit and tie laid out across the chair in the corner and it registers that he’s in the shower. Monday is normally my day to sleep in because it’s my only day off, and normally James doesn’t sleep over when the next day is a work day, but last night he made an exception.

I know he is probably short on time, so I give up my lazy Monday morning routine and stumble out of bed. I slide into my slippers before heading downstairs to turn on the coffee and make some breakfast that he can take on his way back into the city for work.

“Good morning, gorgeous.”

I turn away from the stove and throw James a smile as he comes into the kitchen, surprised to see he is wearing a pair of basketball shorts he had in his gym bag. I flick my glance to the clock on the far wall of the kitchen. “Are you going to be late?”

“I thought I’d take the morning off.”

“Oh, well that is a nice surprise,” I say, totally taken back. This never happens.

“What’s a normal Monday look like?”

“Well I would still be in bed for starters.”

He laughs. “Okay, well you’re up now. So, then what?”

I’m totally thrown off by his question, and ramble through an answer. “Uh—well, the farmer’s market is opening today, so I was going to go wander around and see what inspires me.”

“Sounds good. Let’s go.”

“You want to go to a farmer’s market?”

“Sure, why not?” he asks. “If we are going to live together this is what we will be doing, right?”

I shrug. “I guess that’s true.”

Living together.

Hmm.

I guess it is the normal thing to do, but it sounds weird as I let it sink in.

The timer on the coffee pot chirps. It pulls me away from thoughts of constantly sharing a bathroom with a man…granted a very clean man…but still….

James pours us big cups of coffee, and I pile a plate full of scones, grab a little container of jam out of the fridge, and follow him to the dining room. He reads through news articles on his phone, sometimes reading portions to me. I listen along but sometimes wonder why he thinks I would be interested in any of it. There’s a reason I don’t read or watch the news.

Seventeen Car Pile-Up on I-5.

New Superbug Could Be the End of Life As We Know It.

Unemployment on the Rise.

I mean, really?

I should have more of an opinion, more to say, but I struggle to come up with something. It’s not that I don’t care. I just don’t feel like there is anything I can do about any of the world’s problems. Hell, I can barely make sense of my own life, let alone trying to tackle poverty, world hunger, or rid the world of bad drivers. Watching James pour over it like it’s life or death information mystifies me.

With a final gulp, I drain my coffee mug and excuse myself to go get ready for the day. After the farmer’s market, I plan to meet up with Ashley for lunch. I can’t wait to reassure her that James and I are going to be fine after all. Just like I said.

***

As we wander around the farmer’s market, James informs me that he will be busy the rest of the week at work but that he made reservations for the weekend to return to the scene of the crime for a re-do dinner. He suggests it as a chance to wipe the slate clean and start again. I agree, mostly because I want another piece of the chocolate cake, since I didn’t get to finish mine the first time.

He helps me home with the groceries and then changes back into his suit. He adds a new tie from his gym bag, and rushes off to work with a quick kiss and a promise to call when he is finished for the day.

I watch him drive off and then hurry to get ready to meet up with Ashley. We meet at our favorite lunch spot. We both order the soup and salad.

“How’s the order coming?” I ask as we find a clean table to sit at.

“Not as good as expected. I went to three stores yesterday and couldn’t get everything I needed. I actually have a favor to ask you. I know it’s your day off, but would you mind stopping and taking Maci out for a walk after this? I haven’t been home all day, and now I have to drive to Tacoma, so it will be awhile before I get back for the night. And you know how crazy she is with her routine.”

Maci is Ashley’s golden retriever. She is totally adorable but also totally neurotic. The dog has an internal clock set with all her daily activities and if she doesn’t get what she wants, she tends to get very destructive. It’s ironic because Ashley completely lacks a schedule or routine; it’s more of a crazy dance through life. Secretly, I think Maci has helped her get things a little more stable. Kind of like a life coach…except she’s a dog.

“Sure, not a problem. I was going to try to get out and walk anyways, since I had company this morning and didn’t get to my workout,” I agree, laughing.

She shoots me a quizzical glance as our food is set before us. We both dive into our meals, but I catch her up on current events in between bites.

“You know the weirdest thing?” I say. “I could have sworn I saw Brandon at the farmer’s market. But when I did a double take he was gone. It’s like he’s haunting me or something.” I make dramatic spooky noises accompanied by ghost-like hand gestures. Or at least what I imagine ghost hands would look like. I’ve never seen one.

Ashley laughs but then cuts off. “Wait! I think I see him right now.”

“Ghost Brandon?” I ask.

“No! Real Brandon!”

“That’s not funny. Be serious, Ash.” I roll my eyes.

“No, I am being serious! Look,” she hisses, nodding towards the front windows of the restaurant. Sure enough, there he is, walking across the street.

And heading in our direction!

I panic, slurp down the rest of my soup, and proceed to stuff my whole roll into my mouth. I have no idea why.

Ashley looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

Maybe I have…

The door opens and he strides in. For a split second I consider diving under the table. Ashley, however, has other plans.

“Hey! Brandon!” Ashley yells across the room, leaning out of her seat and waving to get his attention.

He looks over just in time to watch me start to choke on my roll. I try to stop gagging and coughing, but the more I try to stifle it, the worse it gets.

I’m going to kill Ashley.

I start eying my fork, wondering if that would do the trick.

“Hi Ashley, Charity,” he says, approaching our table with caution. “You okay?”

His eyes pierce mine with concern. I sputter and take a large sip of water.

It takes me a minute to speak and my voice sounds scratchy. “Yep, I’m great.”

Ashley looks back at me and her eyes say it all. She’s pissed.

I try to silently will her to keep it together, but it’s pointless. Ashley can be a bit of a bulldog when she gets fired up.

“Having a nice visit?” she asks, her voice dripping with acidic sarcasm.

Brandon looks like he’s trying to calculate how to step around an angry rattlesnake.

Smart man.

“Um, it’s been all right,” he answers.

“It’s nice to see you, because I actually have a few things I would like to say,” she begins. “I would have said them in context of when things happened, but you ran away, as most cowards tend to do, and you never gave me the chance.” Her nostrils are practically flaring with each breath.

Ouch.

Is hiding under the table still an option?

“I know that Charity has forgiven you for what you did, but I want you to know that what you did to her is unforgivable!”

“I know it is,” Brandon says. He doesn’t look at Ashley when he says it. His eyes are still on me and my heart feels a sharp twist.

Ashley stalls, her glance flicking between the two of us, and it seems like her anger gets swallowed up in the thickness of emotion of the room.

I set my hand on her arm. “Ash, come on, it’s over.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll find another place to go,” he says. His eyes finally leave mine. “Ashley, I am sorry for what happened, and I want to thank you for being there for Charity during the fallout. Knowing you were there for her was a comfort to me.”

Ashley still looks angry but also completely dumbfounded. Under any other circumstances, the look on her face would make me laugh out loud. But right now, it feels like nothing will ever be funny again. How could it bounce back after a moment like this?

Brandon turns to leave without waiting for a reply, and we both sit there, watching the door swing shut in silence.

After a few minutes, Ashley looks up at me expectantly.

I stop her before she can even ask. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

She nods and we go back to eating our lunch, although I mostly just find myself pushing the food around on my plate and stirring the lukewarm soup.