Acts of Desperation (9 page)

During my drive home, I called Sarah and told her Jax was taking over her case. I gave her a rundown of things and set up a time for her to come in on Monday morning. I felt her relief through the phone. When I finally got home, I was so drained that I went immediately up to my room. I stripped down, threw on an old t-shirt, and crashed—I didn’t pass go and didn’t collect two hundred dollars. I slept like a rock, but unfortunately, my growling stomach woke me up a bit earlier than I would have preferred for the start of the weekend. So, I rolled out of bed, pulled on a pair of loose fitting sweat pants and trudged groggily downstairs.

The house was silent, so I assumed Liz had quietly slipped out in the wee hours of the morning and was off tending to an event. In the kitchen, I ground some of my favorite Costa Rican Tarrazu coff
ee beans—something that I love to do but rarely have time for during weekday mornings—and dropped an English muffin into the toaster. 

I pleasantly wasted away my morning devouring my weekly dose of celebrity gossip
snuggled up on the couch wrapped in my red velvet throw. Around noon, I decided to hit the gym so I could continue the war of keeping my butt where it belongs; I was currently losing my battle and taking the week off hadn’t helped any. Somewhere during my thirty minute treadmill run and walking lunges, Jax had called and suggested a time for dinner. I confirmed the time via text and sent him my address. Now, I only had to count down the minutes.

When
I walked in the door at home, tired and hungry, I got a call from Sarah.

“You’re sooo going to love this,” she said, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

“What? Do I even want to know?” I asked, throwing my things on the back of the chair at the table. I went over to the fridge and grabbed the fixings to make a sandwich.

“Yes, just wait till you hear this. So, Anders came over late last night to pick up the kids, and he was super cheery.
”

“That’s new,” I said.

“I know. I thought it was because of the ruling, but he never mentioned anything about it. Instead, after the kids were loaded into the car, he pulled me into the garage. I expected him to launch into his same old yelling-in-my-face routine, but instead he told me he’s starting a running group.”

“A running group?” I said. “What because he finally realized he’s packed on a few pounds?”

“Nope.” She laughed. “Wait for it…a running
support
group—a divorcing-men-leaving-loveless-marriages support group.”

I
snorted at the absurdity. “You’re kidding me?” I said.

“I could
not
make this stuff up, I swear. Ridiculous, right?” she said.

“Completely. Boy, this whole divorce has really been tough on him, hasn’t it?”
I laughed.

“Yeah, right.” She huffed.

Anders was a whole new kind of crazy. I was amazed a bit more as each day passed by the things he did. And with each story I heard, I learned to expect the unexpected from Sarah. While we talked, I ate my sandwich, and when we finished chatting, I took my tired body to the couch. I put in my ear buds and turned on some music, and my eyes suddenly got very heavy. The last thing I remember was listening to a slow Eddie Vedder song then I woke up to my phone ringing in my ears. I shot up, and ripped the tiny speakers from my ears. I tried to look at the screen but ended up blindly swiping my finger when my eyes wouldn’t focus.

“Hello,
” I grumbled, rubbing my eyes.

“Sember?”

I perked up. “John.”

“Hey, were you sleeping?” he asked.

“Yes. What do you want?” I asked and my heart started to pound. Truly, after what he’d done, I could have gone the rest of my life without speaking to him again.

“To talk to you,” he said.

“What’s there to say?” I asked.

“I want to see you so we can work this out.”

“There’s nothing to work out,” I said.

“Come on,
haven’t you had enough time to cool off?”

“If you think I only need to
cool off
then you’re completely delusional.”

“I’m not delusional.” 

“It seems that way. We are finished, and you have my blessing to move on…because I have.” I hesitated on adding those last three words, but I couldn’t help myself.

“You better not be seeing someone else,” he said
, and I laughed at his aggressive tone.

“Um, it’s
none of your business, is it?” I said. “And, I really don’t understand where you’re coming from. You made your choice when you brought another woman into our home. Now live with it.”

Annoyed, h
e huffed through the line. “Give me five minutes to explain, it’s not that much to ask.”

“
It is actually, and nothing needs to be explained. I had a very clear picture,” I said.

“Seriously? There’s no part of you that still wants to see me?”

“Nope,” I said and hung up. With shaky hands, I went through the settings in my phone and blocked his calls permanently. Hopefully that would send the message loud and clear.

I took an extra-long shower, hoping to wash away
some of the conversation with John and to get ready for my date. After my shower, and appropriate grooming, I slipped into my perfectly faded boot cut jeans and a black cashmere sweater then went to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine to wash away the rest. It pissed me off that I even allowed John to get under my skin. I anxiously stood, sipping my wine.

At this point some m
ight start to pace, but I’m the type of person that feels nice and calm in a tidy space. So, I drank more wine to silence my brain, turned on the radio, and did what I normally do—clean. I straightened up the counters and started in on the dishwasher when Pink’s
“
You and Ur Hand”
came on. This evening, the lyrics were especially meaningful. I turned it up loud and danced around the kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers as the warm relaxation of my wine set in. 

“Screw him,” I said aloud and topped of
f my glass.

I opened the fridge to put some bananas away that looked to be getting overly ripe and made a mental note to bake some of my famous banana nut bread later in the week. Then, I did some quick rearranging of the shelves. With as organized as Liz was everywhere else in her life,
I would never understand how she could haphazardly throw things in the fridge with no rhyme or reason to any of it; it drove me mildly nuts. I put the milk in the door, threw the deli meats in the proper drawer, and moved some oranges into the crisper.

When I shut the fridge, I saw a dark figure out of the corner of my eye, staring
at me through one of the panes of glass in the kitchen door. I clutched my chest and screamed. I snatched my phone and shut off the music as I crept toward the door. I recognized his smile immediately and opened the door for Jax.

“Sorry.” He laughed. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I rang the bell and knocked
a couple of times, but you didn’t answer. I heard the music from outside so I took a chance and came around back. Glad I did though—I like watching you dance.”

“Do you now? Well, I didn’t know I had an audience
. You almost gave me a heart attack.” I patted my chest. “Do we have time for a glass of wine or should we head out?”

“We should probably get going,” he said.

“Ok, just let me just grab my stuff.” I took the last gulp of wine and put my glass in the sink. I locked up the back door and headed into the family room.

“This is a nice house,” he said
, following closely behind.

“Thanks. It’s
my friends Liz’s place, so I can’t take any credit for the decorating, but I love it.” I slipped into my black velvet blazer and grabbed my purse. “Do you have an apartment in the city?” I asked as we were walking out the front door. It’s worth mentioning that the weather had changed significantly from the day before. One thing about the weather in the Midwest is that it always keeps you on your toes. It could be bitterly cold one day, making you bundle up and the next it could be quite pleasant where you only need a light jacket. Such was the case this evening as we stepped out into the mild night.

“I just bought a brownstone in Mt. Adams,
and I hate unpacking. It needs some work too, so it’s a complete disaster.” He opened my car door, and I slid onto the preheated leather seat of his black Audi S4 that smelled pleasantly like him. A few minutes into our drive, he reached over and put his hand on mine. We briefly talked about Sarah and got the details for Monday squared away and short while later, we were pulling into a parking spot.

The
restaurant he brought me to is an old pottery house that has been converted into a restaurant, and the diners get to eat dinner inside the old retired kilns. It just happened to be located in the same area of town he’d just moved.

“How close is your place from here?” I asked.

“Just a couple of blocks,” he said with a grin.

I just smiled back. I’m not the kind of girl who’d go back to a guy’s place on the first date, but if he asked me, I was going to have to call upon a higher power to stop me from going.

As our hostess led us to our table, there was a pleasant clinking of silverware and constant low chatter from our fellow patrons. The warm glow of the candles lit throughout the room reflected off the orange clay of the kilns, and the air smelled pleasantly of grilled meats and coffee. She led us deeper into the restaurant into our own private kiln.

I took my seat and watched as Jax walked aroun
d the table. He slipped out of his black leather jacket and hung it on the back of his chair. His gray Henley outlined his muscular chest, triggering memories of his dressing room performance, and I felt my skin flush thinking about what happened after. His distressed jeans clung perfectly on his hips, slightly hugging his thighs. When he sat down, he gave me a sly grin, and I wondered if he was reading my mind.

We talked over the menu
, and when our server came up, Jax handled the rest. He ordered the spinach artichoke dip to start, and then a club sandwich for me and a gourmet burger for himself. The Oregon pinot noir he added at the end was the most expensive on the menu, and I couldn’t wait to try it.

When our server left, he was starting to tell me a story about a
baseball game Fritz took him to one summer, but his ringing phone interrupted his story. He pulled it out and looked briefly at the screen before silencing it.

“Everything ok?” I asked.
His expression told me he seemed bothered by the call.

“It’
s just work,” he said, avoiding eye contact and hiding his unease behind a smile.

“On a Saturday night?” I asked.

“For me, it never seems to stop.” He smirked. “I’ll just shut this off so it doesn’t distract me anymore and I can focus on you.” He scrolled through his phone. He read a text that chimed in then scowled and turned it off. Just as he was sliding it back into his pocket, our server returned with our bottle of wine and filled our glasses. 

“To new beginnings
,” he said, holding up his glass, “and to where the night takes us.”

I chuckled a little and tapped my glass against his. “To new beginnings.”

My first glass of wine went down easily while he finished telling me his story about Fritz and my phone call with John was now a faded memory. The conversation flowed so freely that before I even realized, I was well into my second glass—which was technically my third if you count what I had back at the house. I started to feel tipsy and thought about the conversation we had over lunch the previous day. It was at this point that my lips loosened up and my internal filter completely disappeared.

Without
so much of a thought, I said, “So, what did you leave in New York?”

“Excuse me?” he asked
, confused.

Realizing
my question probably came out of left field, I said, “You know? The skeleton you’d prefer not to talk about. You mentioned it at lunch yesterday.” As soon as his face fell, I regretted saying it. I cursed myself and resigned to drink some water to prevent further disasters.

He swirled his wine around in his glass,
pausing for a beat. “The past is the past, and I don’t want to relive it,” he said and threw back the wine in his glass.

“I’m s
orry. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s the wine.” Then there was an uncomfortable silence. I scooted my chair back and excused myself to the ladies room. He was about to say something, but I stopped him before he could start. “Be right back,” I said and smiled.

On my way to the restroom, I called myself various names but idiot seemed to be the one that popped up most
often. I washed my hands and fixed my hair and took a few extra minutes trying to sober up. When I started my walk back from the bathroom, I was so lost in my thoughts that I knocked elbows with a man walking in my direction. I excused myself, but he only glared at me over his shoulder. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but I quickly dismissed it, and reminded myself to watch where I was going. In my state, there was no telling what kind of damage I could do.