Taking Heart (4 page)

“What?” she
asked,
slightly alarmed.

“You weren’t hiding emotional baggage with your baggy clothes. You were
just trying to hide just how hot you are.”

Her eyebrows furrowed and her lips parted as if to say something, but
nothing came out.

“I mean… well… you remember what I said on the plane? About your baggy
clothes?”

She took a step backward but remained facing him. “You should have stuck
with your original theory,” she said with a quirk of the mouth.

He followed her and leaned against the car. “Well, I’m still right. You
are hot and you were hiding it under a frumpy exterior.”

Her eyebrow rose. “You thought I was frumpy?”

He shrugged apologetically. “Maybe a little?” he said, holding his
fingers up a few inches apart. “You’re not frumpy now, though. Are you going to
yoga or something?”

She threw an unopened box of garbage sacks in the trunk beside a stack of
flattened packing boxes. “No, I have to go do that thing, with the apartment,”
she said, her voice thinning out.

“Oh.”
Crap.
In the excitement of discovering her in Winter Park,
he had all but forgotten about her reason for the visit. “Do you need help?”

Her eyes appraised him quietly. Finally, she said, “Thanks, but I think
this is something I need to do on my own, you know?” She closed the trunk, her
face turned away.

“What room are you staying in?” he said as she climbed into the driver’s
seat. “Maybe we can get together later for a drink? Around 8?”

“Sounds good. I’m in 234,” she said as she started the car. She looked up
at him with a rueful smile. “I might need a drink after today.”

As she drove off, he walked back into the hotel, wondering once again
just what it was about Ren that made him feel so comfortable.
For the first time in a long time he felt a spark, something
closely resembling excitement.
He wondered if maybe he’d found a little
piece of that elusive something that he’d been searching for.

“What up, man?” Carson Kingsley had a habit of answering the phone with a
booming voice, as if whoever was calling was his long lost best friend.
Which, in this case, it definitely was.
“Where in the world
is Carmen Sandiego?”

“Carmen is up in the mountains of Colorado, breathing in the fresh air of
sobriety,” Eric said, leaning on the balcony railing with his elbows. “And it
smells fan-damn-tastic!”

“I should try it sometime. The breathing part, not the sobriety part,”
Carson said. “You need to get your ass back down to Los Angeles, man! We have
seats to the CMTs.”

Eric chuckled and shook his head. “How in the hell did you manage to get
invited to the Country Music Awards?”

“I’m coming as the plus one of Casey Aldriedge.”

“You’re dating her?”

“Sort of,” Carson said with a laugh. “We’re together for the publicity
since she’s dropping an album. But I’m still getting some on the side.”

Eric sighed. “I haven’t had sex in so long, I think I might be growing my
hymen back.” They chuckled.

“So you haven’t met any women in the, what, four months you’ve been MIA?”

“I was incapacitated for one of those months, which makes it a little
hard to hit on anybody.”

Carson snorted. “It’s never stopped you before.”

“Well, the fact that my chest cavity was wide open stopped me this time.
Anyway, it’s not like I haven’t met any women. I just haven’t had sex. What
with my heart and all.”

“Don’t you know it’s actually bad for your heart if you don’t have sex?”

Eric laughed. God, he’d missed his friend. “I have met one person.”

“Who is she?” Carson asked suspiciously. He had always had a knack for
knowing when Eric wanted to talk seriously about a woman. “And is she hot?”

“She’s not Hollywood hot, if that’s what you’re asking,” Eric said and
realized too late how defensive he sounded.

“So she’s au natural. Not your usual style, but go on.”

Eric opened his mouth to protest, but a parade of the women he’d dated
danced across his vision, and he realized that they more or less resembled one
another. All
big-chested
, all surgically enhanced in
some way, all with long hair that came down to their backs in perfectly-shaped
tendrils. At the time he’d known he was dating certain types, but he never
realized until now that his types were so... similar.

“Damn, you’ve got it bad,”
Carson
said. “You’re
never usually this hush-hush about a girl.”

“That’s the thing, though. Around her, I can’t help but spill my freaking
guts.”

“About what?”

“About everything!” Eric said in exasperation. “I even told her she was
dressed frumpy.”

Carson tsk-tsked. “Dude, you are losing the touch. The wildly famous
Sorenson Tongue has gotten rusty with disuse.”

“She called me a douche.”

“Well, the woman is nothing if not honest.” After chuckling, Carson said
apprehensively, “It’s not, you know,
love
, is it?”

Eric snorted, pushing his earlier thoughts of a soul mate to the back of
his mind. Talking with his friend seemed to have grounded him, making him
remember his past stance that love didn’t actually exist. Thank goodness he had
a touchstone like Carson.

“Fuck love,” Eric said, suddenly making the snap decision to quell
whatever curiosity he had about Ren. “She’s just a girl who has some emotional
issues.
It’s
just good chemistry, that’s all. There’s
nothing more.”

“I think the lady doth protesteth too much.”

“Shut up,” Eric said with a laugh. “But seriously, I think I probably
should stay away from this one. Too much baggage.”

“Well, whatever man. Just get your ass back to L.A. We’ve got some
partying to do.”

“Hold onto your panties, I’ll be back in a week.”

chapter
three

Ren drew a large gulp from a can of energy drink as she surveyed the
room. She had tried to steel herself the night before for the task ahead,
knowing that tears would be shed and that that was okay.

“This is just a process of closure,” she told the kitchen with a nod.
She’d decided to start with the fridge first, thinking that maybe spoiled,
hairy food would not incite any emotional memories. When she opened the fridge,
she found it nearly empty save for two bottles of Fat Tire beer, three molding
hot dog buns, and a rank bottle of mustard.

Next she went to empty the pantry, dragging the plastic trashcan across
the kitchen floor. When she lifted the lid, she was surprised to see nothing
but dozens of empty beer bottles inside.

“What the hell, Ben?” she hissed, hoping he hadn't been drinking
alone.
 
She would have left it at
that except something white inside one of the bottles caught her eye.

Her eyes bugged out of her head as she repeated her previous sentiment.
She tipped the bottle, the white roll falling onto her palm, and brought it up
to her nose for a sniff.
Yep, definitely marijuana.

Oh Ben,
she thought with
growing dread.
What else have you been keeping from me?

The fairly sparse kitchen did not reveal much else, apart from an open
bag of stale potato chips, something else to support the idea that her
once-perfect boyfriend was actually a pothead. She threw all of his dishes,
silverware and pots—the few he had—into a small box labeled DONATE
and moved to his bedroom with trepidation.

The last time she’d entered this room had been four months prior to his
death. Their long distance relationship had worked because they’d tried to see
each other every month or so, but the bakery had been overwhelmed in the winter
months, and he’d been busy trying to make the Olympic ski team once again after
his unsuccessful first try.

Ren took one step into the room and tried desperately to block the
memories as she picked up various pieces of clothing strewn haphazardly on the
queen-sized bed. She wouldn’t think about the times they spent on that bed; she
just couldn’t. Despite herself, she picked up a shirt and held it up to her
nose, but to her disappointment (and, a bigger part, relief) Ben's scent was no
longer there. The long-sleeved Under Armor shirt was just an ownerless article
once again.

With renewed determination, she began to stuff every article of clothing
into a trash bag, intent on just donating everything. She couldn’t bear to look
at his belongings any longer because she was on the thin edge of just giving up
and keeping everything. As anti-recovery as it seemed, the idea of living in
Ben's apartment, surrounded by his stuff, no longer sounded so ludicrous.

And then, inside a dresser drawer, she saw it: Ben’s old blue wrestling
shirt that she had claimed as her own. She had often worn the shirt around
Ben's apartment during their Lazy Jammy Days when they spent the entire day in
bed, and it struck her that they would never have one of those wonderfully idle
days again.

She was beginning to come undone, to truly sink into the dark despair
that usually left her incapacitated for hours, when a knock on the door
intervened. Quickly wiping the fat tears away, she opened the door to find
Todd, Ben’s friend and neighbor, standing awkwardly at the stoop.

“Hi, Ren,” he said, scratching the back of his blond head. His hair was
much longer since she last saw him, and he’d grown a goatee to complete the
look. “I saw that you were here, so I wanted to come by and say hi.”

“Come in,” Ren said, glad for the interruption. “Haven’t seen you in a
while.”

Todd walked straight to the living room and sat down on the couch, like
he’d obviously done many times in the past. He took a deep breath as he looked
around the room. “It still doesn’t seem real.”

Ren sat on the loveseat. “How have you been?” she asked. “What are you
doing here? Don’t you usually go somewhere for the warmer months?”

Todd shrugged. “I decided to stick around this year, do a little
construction work.” He studied the boxes and bags scattered around the room.
“You here to clean out his stuff?”

Ren nodded. “Do you want any of the furniture? I will just have to donate
it otherwise.”

He patted the back of the couch, sending up dust that danced in the sunlight.
“Sure. A friend of mine is getting ready to move to Winter Park, actually.” He
grinned sheepishly. “That’s actually kind of why I stopped by. I wanted to see
if I could buy the furniture from you and then set up my friend in this
apartment.”

Ren managed a smile, feeling a little of the pressure lift off her
shoulders. “You can have it all. That actually helps me out a lot. Do you want
all of the kitchen stuff too?”

As the lanky guy nodded, she realized he might be the perfect person to
ask about Ben’s habits. “Hey, Todd, if I ask you something about Ben, could you
please answer me honestly?”

“Sure. Why would I lie?”

“Because it’s about drug use.” She held his eyes, waiting for any
flickers of recognition.

“You mean pot?”

“I found a joint in his trash can, and a bunch of empty beer bottles.”
She twisted her fingers together. “The Ben I knew didn't drink that much. And
he never,
never
smoked pot.”

Todd sighed. “He didn’t want you to know because he was afraid of what
you’d think.”

She winced. “What would I think? That he’s an alcoholic and a pothead?”
No wonder Ben hadn’t wanted her to know. He had always been her moral compass,
her hero on a pedestal. Did he crumble under the weight of her expectations or
did her absence just make him lax?

“No,” Todd said, shaking his head emphatically. “He only drank when he
had people over. And as for the pot, well, he only tried it a few times. I
don’t think he even liked it. Said he didn't like feeling out of control.”

A horrible thought suddenly occurred to her. “Was he high when he was
skiing? Was that why he couldn’t navigate down the course that he’d skied on a
thousand times before?”

“I honestly don’t know, Ren.” Todd pushed up from his knees and stood.
“If you ask me, I don’t think so. It doesn’t sound like something Ben would do,
you know? He was hell bent on making that team.”

“Smoking pot also doesn’t sound like something Ben would do,” Ren said
through her teeth. “So I’m not the best at judging Ben's actions. At least, not
anymore.”

Before he dodged past the front door, Todd turned around and said, “You
know him, Ren. Don’t let a few empty bottles of beer and a roll of dried leaves
make you think that he was anything but a great guy.” He took a step, then
turned back on his heel. “And, just so you know, he was crazy about you.”

She could only nod through the tears.

Back at the hotel, Ren took an extra long shower, closing her eyes and
allowing the hot water to pelt her face for several long minutes. Ben’s love
for her might not have changed, but she still couldn’t answer the nagging
question: was he happy? She didn’t know why it was so important to know, but
she felt restless somehow, feeling that if he had been happy when he died then
maybe his life would not have been for nothing. And, maybe, her acute grief
might be validated.