One Day Soon (10 page)

Green eyes hard and unyielding. Mouth firm and unforgiving.

What had I ever done to him to deserve this kind of reception? When had his love transformed into
this?

“I’ll let you rest.” I started to head towards the door but stopped, glancing back. It was a compulsion that I couldn’t resist. I hadn’t seen him in so long that my eyes craved the sight of him.

I had so many questions that needed answered, but right then I just wanted to look at him.

I should have been surprised to find him watching me. But I wasn’t. We had always been like magnets drawn together. His eyes burned with an intensity that I recognized.

I shivered. He had always left me trembling.

His eyes were less guarded. In that split second that I caught him staring, I saw the pain. The anguish.

It was all mixed up with something I had hoped to see.

Joy.

“I’m so glad to see you,” I told him quietly.

The emotions I had seen plainly on his face were quickly replaced with a chill I didn’t understand.

“I wish I could say the same thing,” he remarked, his voice hard and broken.

I felt each word like a knife to the gut.

Without saying anything else, I left his room. I didn’t look back again.

The tears wouldn’t fall. Not with eyes full of condemnation watching my retreat.

My house was dark by the time I got home that evening. I unlocked the door of my modest three-bedroom ranch style house and let myself inside. I added the day’s mail to the teetering pile on the table in the hallway and made my way to the living room, turning on every light as I passed.

It was uncomfortably quiet. Too quiet.

I had always hated silence.

Usually when I was home I turned on the television to give the illusion of other people in the room with me.

It used to drive Chris nuts. We lived in a constant state of war where I’d turn up the volume and he’d immediately turn it down.

“You’re not even watching it, Imogen!”
he’d complain. Our marriage had been full of nitpicking and disagreements. We had never really worked. We had nothing in common. Hell, I didn’t even really like him most of the time.

But I hadn’t wanted to be alone. To me, that was a fate worse than death.

I had grown up in a house where I may as well have been invisible. I was desperate to create a different kind of family. One where I was loved and appreciated.

I had known Chris for years. We had met at college two years after I had lost Yoss. I hadn’t realized then that I was still rebounding from the boy I had only loved for a brief time.

With Chris things were…
bland.

I had made myself believe that passion didn’t matter. That it only led to heartache and empty promises, which I had no time or energy for.

Chris wasn’t particularly attractive, but he was considerate. He could be kind. He had made me smile when I didn’t have a whole lot to smile about. Things had been
okay
and that was good for me.

But
okay
quickly became
not enough
.

Chris never understood my strange idiosyncrasies. He had no patience for my hoarding tendencies or my need to settle and not move. He knew some of the parts of my history. I had explained my strained relationship with my mother. How I never felt wanted or important. I had even told him about my time as a homeless teenager, sleeping at The Pit and digging in the trash for food.

But I never told him about Yoss.

Why had I felt the need to hide such an important person from my husband?

Was it guilt? Was it regret? Was it the fact that I had never quite gotten over my first love?

Chris never knew that every few months I would walk down by the river at sunset. I’d follow the railroad tracks to the Seventh Street Bridge. I’d hang back by the trees and wait for the fires to be lit. I’d watch and I’d look.

I never stayed there long. Just a few minutes. An hour at most. I hadn’t wanted to linger in case someone recognized me.

Sometimes I’d see Karla and Shane. The years hadn’t been kind to either of them.

But I wasn’t there for them.

Years had passed; I should have long since let go. But how did you let go of something that never really felt over? How did you let go of someone that had changed you from the inside out?

I turned on the television, feeling myself relax as I raised the volume to fill the silence. I took off my coat and threw it over the back of the couch. I kicked off my shoes and slid my feet into the waiting pair of slippers shaped like cartoon elephants that I bought on a whim during one of my many random shopping sprees.

There was a knock on my door. I didn’t bother going to open it, knowing that the person on the other side would walk in anyway.

“Hey! I saw your car out front!”

Out of control blond curls, too much facial hair, and a bright orange T-Shirt came in like a whirlwind.

“Close the door! The heat’s on!” I called out.

“Okay,
Mom
,” Lee chuckled, quickly shutting the door behind him. “Nice footwear. I see someone has decided to embrace their inner six-year-old.” He pointed at my slippers and I gave one a little shake.

“I can get you a pair,” I offered with a toothy grin.

“I’ll pass,” Lee remarked mildly.

Lee Cutler, my neighbor and friend, handed me an envelope with a sour look on his face.

“What’s this?” I asked, noticing my name in big block letters on the front, but no mailing address. Whatever it was, it had been hand delivered.

“Chris dropped it by earlier. Said he wanted to make sure you got it so it wasn’t lost ‘in the pile of junk you keep on the table.’” He used quotey fingers and an overly dramatic masculine voice.

“Must be the final divorce papers,” I said, tossing it on the pile that Chris was so worried it would get lost in.

Lee peered at me speculatively. “No signs of meltdown. No justifiable curse words. You’re handling all of this remarkably well.”

“What’s there to be upset about?” I sidestepped the overly ornate footstool I found at the flea market two weekends ago as I made my way to the kitchen. Most of my house was decorated from the flea market. I could afford better, but call it sentimental attachment. Chris had hated every single piece I’d brought home. He had no way of understanding the reasons I kept going back to buy useless junk.

Wine. That’s what I needed. After the day I had, alcohol was definitely in order.

I pulled down two glasses and filled both before handing one to Lee who was looking at me as though I had sprouted a second head. “Oh, I don’t know, you’re getting divorced. That’s something that would make most normal people at least a little upset.” Lee had spent the better part of our friendship trying to analyze me. He was one of the most sensitive and empathetic people I had ever met.

Which made sense considering he made his living as a counselor. We had met when I had referred a client to him for support services. He specialized in end of life grief management and was the perfect combination of compassionate and no nonsense.

We were only a week into our acquaintance when we had discovered that we lived down the street from one another. He had been a constant in my life ever since.

Lee had latched on to my lack of emotional unavailability like a leech and hadn’t let go. He was tenacious in his love for people. Unwavering in his desire to make everyone feel better. It’s why he made such a wonderful therapist.

“Don’t start psychoanalyzing me, Lee, I can do that myself,” I warned, downing half of my wine.

“I don’t know how you ever married him. Was it a bad acid trip? Maybe beer goggles that never went away? I don’t get it. You’re a good-looking woman. You’ve got legs for miles and boobs that won’t quit. Please explain how a sexy, smart lady such as yourself ends up married to Mr. Pencil Pusher.” Lee made a face and polished off his wine, holding out the glass for me to refill it. I didn’t feel uncomfortable with Lee noticing my boobs and legs. I knew that I was no threat to his three-year relationship with his boyfriend Kevin.

But he asked a good question.

How had I ended up married to Chris O’Neil?

I hadn’t even taken his last name. That should have told me something.

The answer was simple.

Because I hadn’t ended up with Yossarian Frazier.

“Life is funny like that,” I muttered, grabbing a frozen dinner from the freezer and popping it in the microwave.

“Well, that was deep,” Lee snarked better I ever could. “You really are the worst at talking about things. As a social worker, you should know the importance of unloading. Bottling things up leads to deep seeded rage and possible homicidal explosions.”

I rolled my eyes. “If I need to unload, I’ll find myself a therapist.”

“Ouch. I feel like you’re stomping all over our nicely functional friendship here, Im,” Lee laughed and I knew he wasn’t serious. He respected my boundaries. And I had lots of them.

I polished off the rest of my wine and leaned back against the counter. My head felt a little fuzzy from drinking the alcohol so fast.

“Do you believe in fate?” I asked suddenly.

Lee gave me the bitch-you-be-crazy look. “No. I don’t think anything in life is pre-destined. It’s all coincidental or the consequence of choices.”

“What about second chances? Do you think they’re possible?”

My good buddy put his empty wine glass down and gave me a hard stare. “What’s this about, Imogen? Did something happen today? You’re being especially vague this evening.”

Yoss was the secret of my heart I had always refused to tell.

And now I had found him again.

But it wasn’t some sort of fairytale ending.

He was lying in a hospital room, badly beaten. Angry. Alone.

He had said words that hurt.

He acted as though he wanted nothing to do with me.

But he was here.

I had waited years to find out what had happened.

Years.

I smiled at Lee. “It was an
unusual
day.”

“Well that’s cryptic. You know I hate that shit. It’s up there those overly cute engagement photos and birth announcements people plaster all over social media. I mean who has time for all that crap?” Lee grabbed a fork and took a bite of my nuked pasta. “Damn, that’s hot! I think I lost a layer of skin from my tongue!”

“Let that teach you to not eat my food,” I remarked primly, picking up my plate and carrying it into the living room.

“So tell me how your day was so unusual,” Lee prompted, sitting on my settee and propping his feet up on my coffee table, just because he knew it would annoy me.

“I was given a new case,” I said, shoving food in my mouth. I hated cooking. So my diet typically consisted of pre-prepared meals and boxes of cookies. I liked cooking, but could never summon the energy required to actually bother.

“Oh yeah? Do tell.” Lee sat up, looking interested.

“This homeless guy was brought in. No one knew who he was,” I began.

“Oh, a mystery. Well that makes things interesting at least. Any luck?”

I wrapped pasta around my fork but didn’t eat it. I had suddenly lost my appetite.

“Im, did you find out who he was?” Lee prompted when I didn’t answer.

I dropped my fork on the plate and gave my friend a strained smile.

“Not yet.”

And it was true. I didn’t know who he was now.

But I’d learn.

I wasn’t going to lose the chance to find out exactly who Yoss Frazier had become.