Unsevered (5 page)

He turns my face back toward his. “I love it. I love everything about you. I’ve missed you so much.”

I kiss him again with a stronger passion than before, and we make love for the first time in a more than a month. It’s even better than I remember,
almost magical
. There’s something different about him. We reach climax together and fall onto our backs, exhausted. Peaceful sleep embraces us both.

Morning comes too soon. I allow my love to sleep in while I make breakfast. I’m standing in the kitchen sipping my coffee when he comes into my peripheral view.

“Good morning, sweetheart. Hungry?”

“Starved. I’m sick of MREs.” He comes toward me and plants a soft kiss on my forehead.

“Why don’t you go sit on the patio and relax? It’ll be ready soon.”

I whip up homemade biscuits with gravy, smoked sausage, and fresh cantaloupe then carry the plate to him. He devours it within minutes. I relax in the chair beside him and take in every detail of his face to imprint it into my memory. He catches my stare.

“What?” he asks with a mouth full of biscuit.

“Nothing.” I sigh and beam at him.

“Do I have gravy on my chin?” He dabs his fingers over his chin.

“No, I just missed you, that’s all.”

He bestows another sweet kiss on the top of my head as he stands and sets his plate down on the glass table.

“I’m going to go grab a quick shower,” he says and heads upstairs.

I return the dish to the kitchen and tidy up the downstairs area, then I rush up the stairs to surprise him before he finishes.

* * *       * * *      * * *

S
team engulfs the bathroom and he belts out “
When A Man Loves A Woman
.” I slide the glass doors open with barely a sound and wrap my arms around his chest. He meets my hands with his and turns to greet me. His strong palms rest on my hips as he pushes me up against the shower wall, kissing me like it would be our last to share. I press my head against the wall and close my eyes as his lips leave mine for a moment and travel down my body.

It begins with soft kisses upon my nipples then his tongue trails down my stomach and lingers on my belly button for a moment. His breath is fiery, his lips velvet. It only takes seconds for him to overwhelm my sweet spot. He stands back up with half-bent knees and enters me, slamming my backside against the shower wall each time. Everything disappears around me and I transcend to another dimension. We climax in sync, with not a moment to spare, as the water turns cold and we exit the shower dripping wet.

We dry off each other and continue to share soft, sensual kisses. Our affectionate gestures extend to the bedroom where I search for something to wear for the day. I’m unable to get dressed because he keeps trying to pull off my panties and t-shirt as I put them on. At last, I escape his hold and head downstairs with my hair wrapped in a towel.

I sit in my favorite chair staring at the restless ocean. He walks toward me wearing nothing but a pair of jeans. I lick my lips as his broad shoulders and sculpted stomach entice me with every step.

He closes in behind me and caresses my shoulders with the tips of his strong fingers.

“I’ve missed these magic hands,” I say.

He places his soft, wet lips on the back of my neck and trails up and down a few times. His hot breath sends chills down my spine as I reach behind me and wrap my arms around his waist.

I look upward then lower him to my lips and I feel his strong biceps brush against my breasts.

My breath leaves my body and my pulse begins to race when I hear these words:

“You know I’m not really here, right?”

CHAPTER FIVE

I
blink my eyes hard. I open them and Harley is nowhere to be found. I get up and look around, everywhere. It’s as if he has disappeared into thin air.
But he was here. I felt him. I spoke to him.
None of it makes sense.

I’m standing in the living room when he reappears in the doorway. His blue eyes sparkle as always, but something looks different about him.

“I know this must be confusing for you. I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I wish I could take this pain from you.”

“There you are.” My voice is light, playful, relieved. “What are you talking about? You’re here. You’re home. Everything’s great.”

“No, I’m not.” His voice is soft and laced with sadness.

“Then what the hell is going on? I felt you. We just made love.”

“Not really. You
thought
we made love. But that’s not possible.”

“What is that supposed to mean? I’m not crazy!”

“Let me explain this as best I can.” His words are hesitant and almost apologetic. “I died in combat. But we had such a powerful connection, it hasn’t …
you
haven’t allowed me to move on to the next phase in my life … or ‘afterlife’ I should say.”

“What? No, that was just a bad dream I was having. That whole conversation was part of the dream.”

“I’m afraid you’ve got it all mixed up, sweetheart. See, you’re an incredible writer. When you can’t deal with your emotions, you pour yourself into your writing. I’ve always loved that about you, because you’ve never needed alcohol, or drugs, or any other vice to deal with life. But, you’ve gone to such a dark place, that you can no longer distinguish between reality and fantasy. It’s like you’ve created a whole other existence for yourself to cope with losing me, a whole new world to live in. That’s what I meant by you being stuck … and me
as well.”

“This is crazy! I can see you. I can touch you. I can touch this sofa, this door, this lamp. All of this is real!” I walk around the room like a crazy person touching each piece of furniture.

“
Real
is a term relative to your perception. Whatever you write, you believe. Whatever you write happens in
your
world.”

I lower my body to the sofa with my face buried in my hands, as I try to make sense of everything, or make it go away.

Finally, I sit up and say, “You said that before, but if this is the only way I can have you, then
this
is the world I want to stay in.”

“I wish it were that simple, love. But it’s not. Either you will continue slipping further and further into this dark world, which eventually ends in … death…” He swallows hard, barely able to make out the word, then continues. “Or, you will snap out of it, find a way to let me go, and move on without me.”

“Like I told you, if you die of your own demise, we can never be together again. You will be sent somewhere else, somewhere you don’t want to go. I’m here to warn you because I love you and I don’t want you to make the wrong choice. I have to go now. I don’t know how many more times we will see each other, so please, do as I say and let me go.”

“Wait! You said I have a destiny to fulfill. And what about the gift you left behind for me? When do I get the gift? When do I learn what my destiny is?” I am sobbing and rambling now, desperate to keep him with me.

“I’m sorry; I can’t give you the answers. You must figure it out for yourself. I have to go. I love you, Jewel.”

The silence in the room is deafening now. He is gone … maybe for the last time.

* * *       * * *      * * *

I
awaken to something hard pressed against my cheek. In fact, it’s several
somethings—
keys on my keyboard. I rise with reservation and survey the room. The blinking cursor on the screen mocks me, and reminds me that I am still on chapter eight.
How can that be? I finished the book already. I’m having a launch party for it in three weeks.

I bolt toward the wall to look at the calendar and confirm the launch date I’m certain I circled days ago. But it’s not there. No circle, no notes about it. Nothing.

I walk over to the computer again and read the last line that was typed, the words Harley spoke to me before he left, “Remember the sign, sweetheart. I’ll always be with you.”

It’s crazy! I know the book is done. But the proof is right before my eyes. Had it all been a dream? And if so, what part is the dream and what is reality?

Salty streams flood my face once more and I shake my head in disbelief. There has to be an explanation. Surely someone can help me make sense of it.
I call my publisher, Betty.  She’s chipper as usual.

“Purple Rose Publishing, Betty speaking.”

“Thank God, Betty. It’s me, Jewel.” I’m out of breath and speak at a rapid pace.

“Oh hey, Jules! Long time, no speak, huh?”

“What the heck are you talking about? We just spoke a few days ago, remember? You told me that my novel was ready for launch.”

“Jules, hon. I’m not sure what planet you’re living on, but you and I haven’t spoken in quite some time. You kind of disappeared for a while after you got married. Speaking of, I’m so sorry for your loss. I wish I’d had the pleasure of meeting Harley. If there is anything…”

I drop the phone in utter disbelief. Harley was right. I am going crazy! I don’t know what’s real or make believe anymore. After a few moments, I hang up the phone without saying goodbye to Betty. My thoughts scatter in multiple directions as my writer brain takes over. I sit on the bed and try to explain it all to myself.

So Harley is dead. But I can see him and speak to him, and even touch him. Or can I? I’m not dead. I just spoke to a real-live person to confirm that. Or did I make that conversation up in my head too? Is my house haunted by ghosts or some enigmatic force? I wonder what gift he left for me and where I would even begin to look for it. 

I take a couple of sinus pills in hopes of getting some rest. My head is pounding and I feel like I’m coming down with something. Perhaps that explains the hallucinations and strange noises I’ve been hearing. Maybe it will all make sense after a good night’s sleep, if that’s possible.

* * *       * * *      * * *

M
y cell phone blares and Chelsea’s name comes across the screen. She says she’s in the area and invites me to lunch to celebrate the Nordstrom account she just landed.

I’m more than happy to get out of this house, into the real world where things are
normal
, or so I hope. I agree to meet her at the bistro at 1 p.m.

Chelsea greets me with an overwhelming hug. “Hey, girl. I have been so worried about you. How are you doing?”

I step back a bit and reply in a slow voice, “I don’t know really. I thought I was doing fine, but some strange things have been happening.”

“What do you mean,
strange
?”

The hostess leads us to a table and I begin to tell Chelsea about everything that’s been happening to me. At first I’m hesitant about sharing my crazy story, but I remember that she has shared the most horrible moments of her own life with me. I know she will understand and be able to help. I begin with, “Harley visited me.”

Chelsea nearly chokes on her wine at hearing these words. “He …
visited
… you? Honey, I don’t mean to sound cruel, but, you know he’s dead, right?”

“But I’ve seen him, talked to him … made love to him.” I lower my voice on the last part.

“Wow, Jules. You are just having a hard time letting go. It’s normal. You guys had such an amazing love. It’s understandable that you still feel connected to him.”

“No, you don’t understand. I know we are connected in a spiritual sense, but one minute we are making love and the next minute he vanishes.”

“You’re just exhausted sweetie. You need to get some rest, and you need to find something to keep your mind busy for a while. How about you come and stay with me for a few weeks?”

“No, you’d just be working all day and I’d be sitting in your apartment, alone. You’re probably right. I just need to get some rest and get back to my writing. I’ll be fine.” She doesn’t understand.

“Well, the offer stands if you change your mind.”

“Congrats on the Nordstrom account, by the way. I know you worked hard to get it,” I say. We finish our lunch, talk about her work success, and then go our separate ways again.

* * *       * * *      * * *

I
stop by the grocery store and pick up a New York Strip steak, salad fixings, and bread on the way home. My appetite is returning and I’m in the mood for a real dinner.

The radio plays soft melodies while I sear the steak and toast the bread. The announcer comes over the airwaves and says, “Now we’re going to take you back a few decades with a special song request from Harley to Jewel. Here’s “
I’ve Got You Babe’’
by Sonny and Cher.”

I jump what feels like three feet off the floor, slicing my finger with the knife I’m using to cut vegetables. In my frantic search for the first-aid kit, I trip over something. It’s the box of Harley’s things!
This can’t be. I know I put that in the closet.

I tear a fast path upstairs to check in the closet, my heart pounding with each step. Then, it almost stops beating altogether. The box isn’t there! Blood soaks through the paper towel I have wrapped around my finger, so I finally find a Band-Aid to cover it.

On shaky legs that feel as if they don’t belong to me, I hurry back downstairs. The box is still in the middle of the living room. I approach it at a turtle’s pace, as if something might jump up and bite me. There is a note on top that reads, “Your destiny is waiting.”

I throw the paper down and fall onto the floor behind me, landing on my bottom. “What the hell is going on here?” I question the empty room.

The glass patio doors fly open and I rush over to lock them.

“How much longer are you going to haunt me?” This time, Harley doesn’t appear.

After several minutes of being crumpled up like a ball on the sofa, I walk over to pick up the paper again and my eyes scan the room.
Okay, Harley. You are obviously trying to tell me something, so I’m ready to listen
.

I remember how he told me that everything I write comes true, in my world, but that it isn’t reality.

I turn off the radio with shaking hands and sit down to finish my dinner, looking around me all the while. Once done, I walk upstairs to grab my laptop and return to the sofa to begin typing. Words are spinning around in my head like a merry-go-round.

Five hours later, my book is finished, or so I hope this time. I lean back in my chair and look up toward the ceiling. I wipe my face with both hands, and get up to stretch my muscles. Then I hit
send
to email it to my editor. I close my laptop, and walk upstairs with Harley’s box in hand, hopefully for the last time. I place it in the closet once again, and crawl into bed.

* * *       * * *      * * *

I
’m always a nervous wreck for days after submitting a manuscript. I stay on pins and needles the entire time it takes to hear back about it, agonizing over the smallest details I could have or should have changed, worrying about the comments my editor might have for me.

I realize that I’m going to drive myself crazy if I don’t keep busy so I decide to start walking a mile on the beach each night. It’s such a lovely, serene place. I think about how much Harley would have loved to share it with me. I also begin a couple more books. Usually I focus on one project at a time, but sometimes a new story invades my mind while I’m working on another one.

It’s time to start facing my emotions head on. I have to find a way to let him go, so when I return home, I sit on the floor and sift through Harley’s box again. The first thing I touch is Harley’s dog tags. They read:

DECKER HARLEY W

256-76-7971 AF

O NEG

CHRISTIAN

These words are so cold, so statistical. It’s like everything he stood for has been summed up in four little lines on a piece of metal. I wrap my fingers around them and press them to my heart. I close up the box and walk downstairs, outside to hang them on the rear view mirror of the car. He loved that car and would be happy that I’m driving it and taking care of it.

When I walk back inside, I notice the sign lying on the floor at the glass doors. I walk over, pick it up, and hang it back above the door. Baby steps.

* * *       * * *      * * *

M
y cell phone rings and startles me. It’s Betty. It’s been three weeks since I submitted my manuscript to the editor. She doesn’t wait for me to say hello, as usual.

“Jules, darling. I was so excited to hear that you’ve finished another book. I can’t wait to get it out there. You were holding out on me. I’m surprised you decided to go with a different theme this time, but I think this one may be your best yet.”