Mountains Wanted (25 page)

It sounds honest. But...that’s
not what I want to hear
,
she thought.
 I came here intending to break up with him. Instead we end
up making love and then I spill my guts about my failed marriage. What is wrong
with me? He fucked another woman and didn’t tell me? I don’t need to know
anything else. I just need to leave.

He watched her standing
there, shaking with anger. He kept his distance but looked her straight in
the eyes. “We broke up when I went off to Basic...then we lost touch when I got
married to Becca. This fall she found me on Facebook and we reconnected.”

Sarah’s brown eyes were
glaring. “So?”

“We hung out when I was
home. She came over to the house a few times. We reminisced. It was
fun.”  His voice seemed small. Too small for his body. And now the tone
was apologetic, not defensive.

He knew he was wrong not
to tell me
, she observed. “Still
talking to her?”

He nodded.

Then she remembered what
had initiated this conversation. He had revealed that he may have found a
potential mother for his children.
Something that I can’t give him.
All
the feelings she’d had before about being a toy for him,
someone to fuck and
spend time with till he found a woman his own age
came flooding back to
her.
 It explained everything
. Why he was so distant when they
weren’t together. Why everything had to be on his terms. Why she always felt
she was yielding to him. She was stuck inside his Sarah Box.  

I don’t want to be in a
box anymore.
“I’ve got to go, James,”
was the only thing she could articulate. She could feel the tears burning
the corners of her eyes like they were made of acid.

“What?” he seemed
confused. “Why?  I don’t understand why you’re so jealous.”
   
        
Sarah shook her head, breaking a tear loose and sending it streaming down her
cheek. “The fact that you don’t understand just further illustrates why I
need to leave.”
   
       
He
tried to take her hand, she squeezed it for a moment and then let it go,
watching it flaccidly flop back down to his waist. 
He looks like he’s
in shock
, she realized. “James, this kind of information is critical
to your relationship with me. It’s the type of thing we should have discussed
before two months elapsed. You compartmentalize me. You don’t want the
different facets of your life to touch. And I get it, I do.” She forced a tiny smile,
her convictions rising. “But I’m holistic. Everything is connected for me
and I can’t be boxed up like this.”
   
       
“I’ve
never promised you anything, Sarah. I thought I could do whatever I wanted.” The
defensiveness had re-emerged. There was no point in arguing, she could see he
was firm. He didn’t think he was wrong.

“I guess not,” Sarah
said coolly. “Good luck with everything, James, and I mean that.”

She picked up her purse
and dug out her keys, exiting the room all at once, multitasking so she could
distract her mind and carry her body away from that room, that house, that man.
She felt like she was getting in her car, starting it up, and driving in
reverse away from a giant cliff that she had nearly driven off.

Ten minutes later, James
remained in the same spot. Frozen.

***

It wasn’t just the plane
lifting at take-off, it was also her soul. The past week had forced her
into survival mode: no sleep, no food, harried packing for her trip, and
avoidance of all modes of communication. She had a singular focus: her
conference, with a secondary agenda of enjoying her homeland. Rachel had
wanted to accompany her at the last minute, thinking she could make a few
wedding arrangements with less hassle in person. Sarah had looked at her best
friend, silence and desperation gripping her dark eyes, hoping to send the
message that she needed alone time with every fiber of her being. She needed to
heal.

Settling into her seat,
her head back and ear buds cranking soothing tunes into her skull, she reviewed
the events of the past week. Three days after she left his house, James had
texted her:
 I’m sorry. Can we talk? 
She didn’t respond. She
knew she would only be reeled in again by his magnetic power over her, and
really, there was nothing more to add to what she had said before she left. Two
days after that, he tried calling, but didn’t leave a message. And that was it.
Two attempts at contact rejected and now she could move on.
Too little, too
late,
she surmised, trying to ignore the fact that her heart ached. She
switched The James Channel off for good.
My mountains will restore me. I’ll
feel like a brand new person after this week away.  

She sought solace and
strength, so she’d left Maryland two days before the conference was slated to
begin. She wanted a little extra time to enjoy her mountains and to put the
finishing touches on her presentation. The weather forecast looked phenomenal
for early March so her suitcase was burgeoning with both hiking gear and
professional attire.
Nothing like going from hiking boots and flannel to
three inch pumps and a suit
, she mused from their cruising altitude.

When she landed in
Denver there was a text waiting from Rachel:
James hunted me down. He really
wants to talk to you. I told him you’d already left and he seemed
devastated.

Sarah sighed and texted
back:
When was that?

Last night.

And then:
Are you
going to talk to him?

Sarah felt a little
stabbing pain as she considered the question. She didn’t want to decide now. She
didn’t even want to think of him at all, but she knew she should try to
understand what had caused her to fall so hard and so fast.
And closure, closure
would be good
, she thought.  She texted Rachel three indefinite, but
honest, letters:
IDK
.

She waited for her
suitcase at the carousel and helplessly endured a slew of thoughts tossing in
her head like laundry in a dryer.
Why am I so hurt?
was the question she
wanted an answer to, the one most difficult to unearth.
 If I knew that
our relationship was doomed to fail, why did I let it go this far? 
She
traced back over the six months since she’d first met James and one thing
resounded again and again:
he never felt for me the way I felt for him. 
There
were all sorts of reasons, all sorts of potential obstacles that may have
gotten in the way:
my age, my looks, my having kids, PTSD from the war, not
really knowing what he wants.

And I can’t change any
of those things.

***

The drive to the hotel
was jam-packed with snarled traffic. She was starting to regret renting a
car instead of relying on public transportation, but she wanted a chance to
drive over to her hometown of Breckenridge to see Aunt Sally, her mother’s
sister, and to drive down to Colorado Springs. She had promised Rachel that
she’d take some pictures of three possible reception venues since that was
where the wedding would take place. Finally, after hitting nearly every red
light in the entire city of Denver, she whipped the little black Nissan into
the circular drive in front of the hotel and gratefully handed over the keys to
the valet. She felt completely done:
I’m done with travel. Done with
people. Done with thoughts
. 
Wine and a bubble bath, that’s all I
want tonight.

She checked into her
room and lamented that it was only four o’clock Mountain Time. She was still on
Eastern Time and hungry for dinner.
Oooh, maybe I will order room service
,
she thought indulgently.
The less I have to move tonight
,
the better.
 She
hoped she’d remembered to pack the novel she’d recently started reading.
Wine.
Bath. Reading. Bed
, she itemized her agenda.
It sounds perfect
, she
sighed.

She noticed her phone
was flashing with a text when she removed it from her purse. Rachel again:
All
checked in? What room are you in?

Grrrr. Leave me alone!
Sarah thought but hastily punched in:
914.
Why? I’m going to bed.

Isn’t it like 4 pm
there? Sorry, just wanted to know in case of an emergency. Don’t worry,
the kids are fine.

She’d agreed to let Owen
stay at Rachel’s house with Thomas. It was the kids’ Spring Break, after all,
and she didn’t want them to sit around bored at Grandma’s the entire time. She
had also allowed Abby to stay at Chloe’s house, although she was skeptical
about trusting her to stay out of trouble. Rachel and Kathy were checking
in with her at regular intervals, plus Sarah felt that Abby had matured a lot
in the previous few months so she was optimistic that she wouldn’t want to lose
the trust she’d gained. She felt a little guilty about being away during their
time off school, but she didn’t have much control over when this annual
conference was held. And getting a presentation accepted was quite prestigious. It
would look wonderful on her CV.

Sarah popped two
ibuprofen and went to find the ice machine. She felt at least fifty percent
better having the wine on ice and starting a bath in the large oval garden tub.
She was also feeling extremely grateful that she’d upgraded to a suite.
How
often do I indulge myself? Oh, that’s right, never,
she thought, trying to
recall when she’d had a spa day or gone shopping for herself.
I’m not going
to feel guilty about this. I’m going to love every fucking minute of it!
 She
nearly giggled, she was so euphoric at the thought of her evening itinerary. She
was always taking care of someone: Owen, Abby, Rachel, students, or even Pawel and
James, to a certain extent.
 I only want to take care of myself tonight
,
she thought selfishly. She carried the bucket, wine icily ensconced within, to
the bathroom and set it on the tile next to the tub while she eased her clothes
off. She had the bottle opener and a glass ready to go as soon as she’d soaked
for a while and given the wine a chance to chill.  

She caught a flash of
her reflection in the mirror. She sucked in her stomach and struck a
provocative pose, puckering her lips and sassily placing her hand on her hip. 
I
think I may have shed that 10 pounds of holiday weight this week from not
eating
, she thought, studying her image.
I look pale though.
Her
skin looked nearly translucent and streaked with turquoise veins under the
garish lights. She scanned the wall for a dimmer switch and brought the
lighting level down to where she could see well enough to climb into the tub
and pour her wine but not much else.
Perfect,
she sighed, easing herself
down into the bubbling cauldron wafting with the scent of jasmine and gardenia.
 

She slipped down to her
shoulders, the heat penetrating her sore muscles like a magical balm. She
leaned back against the cold edge of the tub, the ends of her hair absorbing
the water and sticking to her neck and arms.
Ah, good, I left my phone in
the other room
, she thought.
I’m sure the world can do without the
ability to contact me for an hour or two. I forgot to text Pawel, but I’ll do
that later. He’ll get over it.
She decided to pour the wine even though
it was still rather warm.
Necessity is the mother of invention,
she
quipped, dropping a couple of ice cubes into the glass and swirling it around
before savoring the sweet, but potent juice on her tongue. She downed the first
glass in the next swallow and filled it again nearly to the brim.

She relaxed and closed
her eyes, her wine glass still in her hand. “James who?” she spoke aloud,
laughing into the half-lit emptiness, hearing a slight echo reverberate across
the tile. She set the glass down on the marble floor and slipped her entire
head under the bubbles. She felt baptized in the swirling waters, as if all of
her pain would be washed away when she emerged. She held her breath in the
watery silence, feeling the negative energy escaping her pores but suddenly she
thought she heard a faint pounding. At first, she assumed it was the sound
of blood rushing through her head. Then she heard the pounding become more
insistent and jerked up out of the water to listen more carefully.

Sure enough, there was a
persistent banging coming from the French doors at the front of the suite. 
Oh,
for fuck’s sake
, she thought.
They picked a fine time to bring me the
stupid extra towels I asked for
. She drained the rest of her wine down
her throat in one gulp and grabbed the nearest fluffy white towel to wrap
around herself. She didn’t even bother drying off; after all, she was getting
right back into the tub.
With more hot water
, she decided, trying not to
let the disturbance ruin her previous state of elation.

She left a trail of wet
footprints from the bathroom tile, through the thick plush carpeting, all the
way to the double doors. She didn’t even bother looking through the peephole,
throwing one of the doors open with her free hand, the other clutching her
towel securely around her breasts.

The first thing she saw
were his blue eyes.

***

Her head was pounding. 
Damn
ibuprofen did nothing
, was her first thought before opening her eyes.
Everything was fuzzy. 
Why am I so woozy?
she wondered.

She felt a hand on her
thigh and jerked herself awake. “Because you passed out,” came the answer to
the question she thought she’d asked in her head.

And there is James
McAllister, sitting on the edge of my bed. My bed in Denver, Colorado.
What the fuck is going on here? 
And then, with slightly more lucidity:
I hope I said that in my
head this time and not out loud.

“The room is spinning,”
she observed, closing her eyes and gently shaking her head to try to make it
stop.

“I bet it is,” came his
deep, soothing reply. “I’m sorry I couldn’t catch you, but you only had the
door half open and I would have knocked you down faster if I’d pushed it open.”
           
She
suddenly envisioned herself sprawled out on the carpet, still dripping from the
bath, almost completely naked, with those little cartoon birds and stars
circling over her head. He must have carried her to the bed. The
towel was long gone, her hair was still wet and she remained nude.  

“What are you doing
here?” she finally managed.

He smiled and unearthed
her hand from under the white down comforter, folding it into his. “You wouldn’t
talk to me,” he explained. “And, well, that just didn’t work for me. So I took
a few days’ leave and came out here. I want to talk.” He squeezed her
fingers between his, his eyes wide and clear, his voice soft and imploring. “Please?”

She was still
ridiculously dizzy. She didn’t know if she’d passed out from shock, the wine,
the heat of the bath water, the altitude change or the lack of food. But
she was starting to believe shock was the leading theory, especially
considering that having him that close to her was making her heart pound
harder. “I don’t know what to say,” was all she could muster.

“I don’t want you to say
anything now,” James replied. “Get some sleep and we will talk about it tomorrow.
Your conference doesn’t start till Wednesday, right?”

She nodded, still numb.

“What did you have
planned for tomorrow?”

“Driving down to the
Springs,” she said. “Then home to Breckenridge on Tuesday.” This was surreal,
him leaning over her, wanting her so badly that he flew over 1500 miles to see
her, just to talk to her.
He must not have thought I’d turn him away,
she reflected.

“Can I come with you?”
he asked softly, his eyes filled with sincerity and a touch of hope.

She nodded.
I’m too
weak to resist him right now anyway,
she consoled herself.

He got her a glass of
ice water and returned to her bedside.  “Here,” he offered, “I bet you’re
dehydrated from flying. Wine was probably not what you should have been
drinking.  And when was the last time you ate?”  he asked, sounding
like a mother hen.

She wanted to laugh; she
wanted to cry. She would have never imagined this turn of events in a
million years. Surreal was the only label she could articulate for it. “This
morning in Maryland,” she replied meekly.
 I can’t believe he is
actually here.