Plain Jayne (38 page)

“She approves,” I told my mom after Miss Lynnie was out of earshot.

“Of course she does,” Mom answered, smiling at Levi. “Shall we all find something for lunch? Emilee's hungry.”

We ended up voting for lunch locations, and Hawk Creek Café won unanimously. We started with a large Thai chicken pizza and ended with the crusts drizzled with honey. Near the fireplace in the back, I almost fell asleep.

Levi and I packed up after lunch, despite my yen for a nap. We gave final hugs to Mom, and began the drive back to Portland.

For the duration of the drive, we listened to Levi's Trace Bundy CD. Levi wasn't feeling talkative, clearly, and I certainly wasn't either. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to drift off.

I awoke to the feel of turning into a driveway. I opened my eyes. It was the driveway to the parking lot at my building. We were home. My home, anyway.

“Sorry,” I said, trying to sit up. “I didn't mean to sleep the whole way.”

“That's all right.” The tone of his voice told me it probably wasn't. “Need help with your bags?”

“I…sure.” I'd assumed he'd come in and we'd spend a little time together. Apparently I was wrong.

Levi carried my duffel bag. I carried my purse, windbreaker, and tennis shoes. I opened the door; he walked through it, took my bag down the hall, and deposited it in my bedroom doorway.

“Thanks,” I said, dumping my things in the chair by the door and kicking off my shoes.

“You're welcome. I should get back.”

“Oh—okay.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.” I watched in confusion as he started to walk out the door. “So that's it?”

He stalled in the doorway but wouldn't look at me. “I don't know.”

I crossed my arms. “You have to talk to me.”

“What's there to talk about?” He closed the door, so at least my neighbors weren't getting their live
As the World Turns
installment from me. “I told you I loved you. You didn't say anything.”

“I seem to remember kissing you. If I didn't like you at all, I probably wouldn't have engaged in any sort of physical contact with you.”

“I don't know that.”

“Levi!” I laid a hand on his shoulder. “You know I care about you. A lot. I just…didn't know what to say.”

“Because you don't love me.”

“You don't know that!”

“Don't I?”

I retracted my hand. “I told you, I care about you.”

“But you don't love me.”

“I want to be with you!”

“You don't love me.”

For Pete's sake, he was slow. “We've been together such a short while. Love takes time.”

“You're saying I don't love you?”

“No. I believe you. I just need more time.”

“How much time?”

“I don't know.”

“What about if I sold my carpentry business? Would you still love me? If I decided to think practically instead of allowing my life decisions to be made on the basis of wishful thinking and sentimentality, would you still be there?”

I hesitated, just the tiniest second.

“Thanks. That's all I need to know.”

“Levi—”

He reached again for the doorknob. “Jayne, I love you. No matter what you do.”

I pulled myself up. “Obviously not, if you're leaving like this.”

“I love you.” He shrugged. “I can't help but love you. I've loved you since you scheduled an interview with me on a day when you didn't have anything going but pretended you did and then rode away on your motorcycle. That was the first day I met you. You're not being honest with me, and you're not honest with yourself. You like the idea of me. If the idea shifts…” his voice broke. “It makes me sad. I wish you felt the same way about me that I do about you.”

“You don't know I don't.”

“Do you love me, Jayne?”

“Yes!”

The look in his eyes wrenched at my heart. “I wish you were telling the truth.”

“It's not that easy—”

“Sometimes it is. Goodbye, Jayne.”

He left, closing the door behind him.

I jumped to my feet and threw the door back open. “Levi! Wait!”

He kept walking down the stairs. I followed him, the damp soaking into my socks. “Levi!” I could hear my voice shake, but I didn't care what anyone thought. “Please!”

His steps didn't slow. He didn't turn around, didn't do anything to acknowledge that he'd even heard my voice. Levi, the man I couldn't stop thinking about, climbed into his truck and drove away.

Just like that.

I spent the night in the living room next to my phone, in case he came back or called.

I left the door unlocked, so that if I fell asleep he'd still be able to come in, wrap his arms around me, and tell me everything was all right. I cried myself to sleep sometime around three.

Because I'm a creature of habit, I woke ninety minutes before I needed to leave for work. As usual.

I stumbled down the hall, but I locked the door before I did so. I didn't need a weirdo entering my apartment while I was in the shower. I peered at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

I looked like a typhoid patient.

Thoughts of calling in sick shot through my mind. The idea of not dealing with people appealed, but staying at home and continuing to cry my eyes out appealed less. I went through the motions of washing my hair, drying my hair, dressing in my most comfortable, work-appropriate clothes, and finding my keys. I couldn't eat breakfast—the thought of food turned my stomach.

I managed to arrive at work without getting into an accident. Brian leaned over the joining cubicle wall after I sat down. “What happened to you?”

I didn't feel the need to look up. “Bad weekend.”

“I've got a couple aspirin if you're hungover.”

“I'm not hungover.”

“Sick?”

“No.”

“Woman's issues?”

I slammed my pencil down. “Since when is that any of your business?”

“Sorry. My eyes have been opened to the difficulties of being female ever since I got married.”

Somehow, I doubted his increased sensitivity, and I guessed his wife would agree with me.

“I'm not sick, hungover, or experiencing untoward hormonal fluctuations.”

“Are you sure? Because ovulation can cause mood swings too—”

“Brian!”

“Sorry.”

But he wasn't sorry enough. When I got up to use the restroom, I came back to find Kim and Gemma at my desk, textbook concerned looks on their faces.

“Brian, you just couldn't help yourself.” I looked to Kim. “Do I get my chair back?”

“What happened?”

“Bad weekend. I was out drinking.”

“No, she wasn't!” Brian said from behind the cubicle wall.

“Your pupils aren't dilated. We don't believe you.” Kim tossed her head.

Gemma lifted an eyebrow. “I'm impressed.”

“Come on. Am I the only one who listens to Joely's cop talk?”

“She lost me at Miranda rights.”

Seriously. “If I were hungover, you two would be giving me a headache. But I'm not. I'm just sad. Not hungover or hormonal or sick. Just sad.”

Gemma reached for my arm. “What happened?”

“We broke up, okay? Levi and I broke up. And I'm sad. But I'm moving through it.”

They went through the motions of trying to comfort me. It felt like rubbing a wool blanket over soft skin. “Don't worry about it, okay? I mean, I'm a breakup pro. Me and Shane, me and Levi. I'm old hat.”

Gemma frowned. “I've never understood that phrase.”

“It means I am weathered or experienced. I think. If I'm using it wrong, you certainly wouldn't know. Don't you both have jobs? Food to taste, politicians to expose?” My phone rang. “I've got a job to do. You guys can drown me in ice cream and
Love Story
later.”

“Bleh,” Kim said, sticking out her tongue. “I hate that movie.”

Second ring. “Fine.
The Way We Were
. Bye!” I lifted the receiver and swiped at the dampness near my eye. “Tate.”

“Tate? Sol. Come in for a visit, why don't you.”

I stood and leaned to the right so I could see through his office window. “Can't we just chat about this over the phone?”

“Not while you've got a three-ring circus at your desk. Move.”

So I moved.

“If you'd managed to check your email,” Sol began as soon as I closed the door, “you would have seen that we've had a huge reader response from that Amish piece you wrote.”

“Really?” My outlook on life almost brightened. Almost, because it reminded me of the family of the man who never wanted to see me again.

“What's going on? You look like—well, it would be ungentlemanly for me to say what you look like.”

“Flatterer.”

“Waiting.”

“Boyfriend. Broke up.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I thought you broke up with that architect boy last week. What's new?”

“Different boy. The family I stayed with?”

“You dated an Amish boy?”

“No, and he's hardly a boy. He's thirty-two. And he left the Amish, but they're still his family. And…he left.”

“That's no good. I called you in here to ask you to do another installment on the Amish series.”

“It's a series?”

“It is now. Are you up for it?”

“Yes.” The word came out in a whoosh. “When?”

“Soon as you can. Might want to clean yourself up a bit. You'll frighten the Burkholders.”

Knowing Martha, she'd probably feed me and wrap me in a warm blanket. The thought of being back at the farmhouse made me ache for the warmth of the kitchen and Elizabeth's gapped grin.

We went over the word count and angle he wanted. I jotted a few notes and stood to leave.

“And Tate—”

I stopped, my hand on the doorknob. “Sir?”

“Take better care of yourself. Can't afford to lose you.”

“Thanks.”

“New reporters annoy me.”

“I'm sure they do.”

I packed up later that morning, my emotions impossibly mixed. I longed to see Martha; I dreaded seeing Martha. In fact, I felt that way about the entire family. The last thing I wanted was to see Levi's resemblance to his brothers, his sense of humor in Sara…

I was pathetic.

If only I had been able to tell Levi I loved him.

If only I knew I was telling the truth.

If only my intense attraction and affection for him had been enough. I knew I'd screwed up that night at my mom's when I'd practically attacked him in front of the family. Not one of my prouder moments.

He didn't want any less than all of me. Less than that was unacceptable. So unacceptable that he walked out as if I'd never meant anything to him.

Rethinking that night and that week and every other encounter made me cringe, but my mind wouldn't stop the instant replays.

Was this part of God's plan? Now that I was going back to the faith of my childhood, was this His way of making sure He had my full attention?

“That's not playing fair, God,” I said out loud to make sure He was listening.

I ripped apart the Velcro holding my wrist brace together and then wiggled it off.

My wrist felt naked and unprotected without it. I flexed my fingers and rotated my hand. So far, so good. Maybe it was…

I winced and replaced the brace. Okay, not yet. But soon. I missed my motorcycle, and this would have been a nice trip to take on it.

I stretched my back and neck and tried to recenter myself. I had to be stronger than this. I couldn't be the girl who fell apart when a guy left. I had to hold strong to what I believed.

So what did I believe?

O
n the way back to the farm I took a detour and drove out to Silver Creek Falls. There were a few other cars in the parking area, but I couldn't see any people. With my hands shoved into my pockets, I hiked the short way down to the North Falls. The question I'd considered at the apartment had haunted me during the drive and stayed with me as I walked down the concrete path.