Back to Life (2 page)

After
formally accepting the position and leaving the interview, I walked out of the Miller Security Tower and let out a gasp of air. Miller Security Tower is no tower by New York City standards but in Richland, it was an architectural dream.  Being the biggest building in the area and taking up the entire block, Miller Security Tower housed a number of lucrative businesses and banking institutions.  Miller Security inhabited the top 5 floors of the beautifully designed glass and steel building.  And one of those offices now belonged to me. I shook my head at the thought and glanced back at the building.

The Miller Security Tower was similar in design to a number of other buildings in the modern downtown neighborhood.  The mix of newer, sleeker glass structures mixed with older, refurbished brick landmarks created a beautiful world of old and new, modern and timeless beauty.  Downtown Richland encompassed the best food, entertainment, and real estate
in Maryland.  One could argue that Richland is a prime place to live. It will certainly be a prime place to escape. 

Chapter 1
 

Taking a deep breath, I walked
out of the cold, sterile office.  I needed to feel the sun on my skin to fight the chill that was starting to take over my body.

“
Sahara! Ms. Lee!” a voice from behind me yelled as my favorite work shoes, a pair of Diane von Furstenberg platforms, made contact with the stone walkway.

“Yes?”
I questioned to the petite receptionist with wide set blue eyes and mousy brown hair pulled.
I can’t remember her name—why am I so bad with names?
I chastised myself as I waited for her to dig through a thick folder with various papers.

“I forgot to give you this. We look forward to you joining the
executive team! See you Monday,” she smiled brightly as she handed me some instructions and a temporary parking pass.

“Thank you. I appreciate it!” I smiled politely, taking the items from her with my left hand and reaching out to shake her free hand with my right.

After she turned on her heel to scurry away, my smile faltered.  I turned my face up to the sun and let the heat seep in. Working my ass off for almost 6 years at Miller Security has resulted in an upper management position—Human Resources Director. At 28 years old, I managed to become the youngest director at Miller Security.  But as usual, this newest accomplishment wasn’t enough. “Nothing will ever be enough,” I muttered to myself as I opened my eyes and pulled my iPod from my handbag.  After another deep breath, I let my eyes flit around my surroundings. Taking in the beauty of Downtown Richland, I slipped on my sunglasses. 

Putting my
earbuds in place, I selected the soundtrack to begin my walk.  Music had always been a love of mine, but over the last few years, it became essential.  Whenever I needed to reset my mood or if my emotions were getting to be too much, I put on music.  The poetic melody of “Street Lights” coursed through me as the 5pm crowd hustled around the streets of downtown, fleeing the 8 hour work day. And as usual, I took my time. I didn’t have friends or family waiting for me so I walked slowly, but with purpose as I let the beat of the music carry me to my destination.  Music made me feel free and listening to music on the 15 minute walk to my building was always the highlight of my day.

I ca
me to a complete stop at the front door of Libby Lofts, my home of almost 6 years.  Two burly middle aged men rolled their empty dolly through the double doors and onto the moving truck that was parked directly in front of the building. James, the doorman, smiled at me as I walked through the doors of the opulent building. At first glance, one would assume Libby Lofts was a hotel building and not high end loft spaces. 

I glance
d around the spacious lobby before heading to the mail room.  I walked toward the back of the wall passing streak free gold boxes with loft numbers in Libby Lofts’ signature calligraphy.  I put my key into my lock, careful not to leave prints everywhere, and pulled out a few days’ worth of mail.  I flipped through the mail quickly as I walked to the elevator only looking up when the couple exiting the elevator said excuse me.  Once inside the large metallic freight elevator, I pulled my earbuds out of my ears and put my iPod back in my handbag. The elevator doors rolled open as it stopped on the 9
th
floor of the complex.

Walking quickly to Loft
9B, I pulled out my keys and dropped the mail. Groaning, I picked up the mail that littered across the heather gray carpet.  One handwritten envelope stood out from the rest. Unintentionally, I gasped and with a trembling hand, I picked up the envelope, bringing it closer to my face. I recognized the handwriting. Quickly, I scooped the rest of the mail and pushed it inside of my handbag and ran to 9B.

Dropping everything on the hall console by the door, I ran straight to the
hall bathroom.  The calming sky blue colored walls could do nothing to stop the panic that coursed through me.  I splashed water on my face and looked in the mirror.  My almond shaped brown eyes that used to sparkle with flecks of gold looked dull. My long kinky curls that used to be wild and free were regularly pulled into a tight, professional bun.  My full lips looked perpetually sad.  The glow of my smooth, brown skin was gone.  Although still attractive, I was a shell of the woman I used to be.  A shell of the woman I thought I’d become.  I took one more look at the woman I didn’t truly recognize and I walked out of the blue bathroom.

Grabbing my
handbag, I walked across the square loft space to the living room.  The open floor plan made a relatively cozy living space look spacious. The walls were all pale bluish grey except one. The white accent wall with the flat screen mounted against it faced a large white leather couch on the opposite wall. An oversized white leather chair was positioned to the left of the couch, next to the window.  The wall to wall black leather tile flooring gave the room a clean palate against the white leather furniture and glass tables. The artwork hanging above the couch was all done in black and white.  One large portrait was of the Sahara Desert and a lone set of footprints.  The other was of a breathtaking waterfall set against jagged rocks.  Side by side, the two pictures were a beautiful contradiction.  The kitchen was full of black stainless steel appliances against the white diamond marble countertops and backsplashes.  The loft was everything I could’ve dreamed of in a home—a place of beauty and solace.

I
gently placed my handbag on the coffee table that sat in front of the couch.  I pulled out the mail and I laid the handwritten envelope on top. “Yeah I need a drink first,” I said aloud before I sat down. Going to the opposite wall, closest to the front door, I found myself in the kitchen getting a glass of my favorite moscato d’asti and a slice of chocolate cake.  Leaning against the stainless steel oven, I sipped my wine and rubbed my temples.
I can’t do this right now,
I thought apprehensively
.

Putting the glass on the island
and putting a paper towel over my slice of cake, I walked over to the black steel staircase that leads to my bedroom. I took the stairs two at a time. Pulling my pink cardigan off and stripping out of my black slacks, I threw on a pair of red yoga pants and a plain white T-shirt.  Deciding that I’d procrastinated enough, I made my way back down the steps.  Grabbing my dessert and my wine, I walked to the living room and delicately placed my “dinner” on the coffee table beside my handbag.

D
owning the last of my wine, I pulled the letter into my lap.
Here goes nothing,
I thought as I carefully took the letter out and unfolded the single page.

Sahara

Cole’s up for parole.

EM

A newspaper clipping fell out of the folds of the single sheet of paper.  The headline for the article screamed at me: ‘
Cole Parole Hearing Moved Up.”
I read the words three times before my eyes blurred with tears.
No no no,
I thought as I let the paper fall to the floor. Everything I felt from my past came rushing back. It hurt too much to relive that night…and the aftermath.

I bit
the tip of my tongue to keep the tears from falling. I squeezed my eyes tightly together until the tears receded. I don’t know how long I sat there motionless, but once my tight muscles started to loosen up, I decided to go to bed. Glancing at the clock, it was only 7pm, but it felt much later. I was exhausted—mind, body and soul. I dumped the cake into the trash can and put the dishes in the dishwasher. I climbed up the stairs to my bedroom and got in the king sized bed.

I did
n’t remember falling asleep, but I woke up gasping for air with tears streaming down my face.  I could still see the headlights and hear the screams when I sat up. Shaking, I sat on the edge of the bed. Fearing a panic attack, I tried to focus on my breathing. Once my heart rate slowed to a normal speed, I laid back down. But too unsettled by the nightmare, I didn’t even try to close my eyes. The clock read 3:41am. I knew falling asleep was going to be impossible.

I allowed myself all o
f two seconds to consider how being close to someone in Richland would help because I’d have someone to talk to about it.  But creating and maintaining relationships require a certain type of openness and vulnerability that I knew I wasn’t capable of anymore. Missing my family, I accepted my reality and did what I always did in order to take my mind off of the past.  Pulling my phone off of the charger, I put my “Goodnight” playlist on shuffle and waited for the first song to play.
How appropriate
, I thought to myself when I heard the first chords of “Dreaming With A Broken Heart.”

Chapter 2
 

The week flew by. Between
training for the new position and the lack of sleep courtesy of the memories the newspaper article incited, getting in the bed Friday after work was top priority. 
Tonight I’ll sleep; tomorrow I’ll get out and clear my mind,
I thought to myself as I climbed into bed.  Taking a sleeping pill, I settled into bed in hopes of finding the rest that had been eluding me for a week.  Unfortunately, even the sleeping pill couldn’t combat the strength of the sobs that racked my body as I woke up before the sun.

Operating on a few hours of sleep, I decided to just go to the gym on the first floor of Libby Lof
ts.  With music playing, I started the treadmill. Singing softly and teetering between walking and jogging, I focused on the songs and not my breathing.
If I can control my breathing, I can control how far I run…and I can control impending panic attacks
, I thought irritably as I picked up the pace. Before long, I felt sweaty, clear headed, and ready to try sleep again. I removed my earbuds and hopped off of the machine to stretch. And that’s when I noticed I wasn’t alone in the gym anymore.

I’d never s
een him before.  His caramel colored skin was slick with sweat. His low cut haircut was lined with extreme precision.  His muscles were thick, taut and well defined as he ran on the treadmill at the end of the row of cardio equipment.  From what I could tell from his profile, he was definitely good looking. I didn’t realize I was staring until he glanced at me. Flustered, I averted my eyes quickly and began my stretch.  Since sleep eluded me and tension coursed through my neck and back, completing my stretch routine took longer than usual.  I was thinking of all the things I wanted and needed to do for the day; I didn’t hear him stop his machine.

“Nice voice
,” his deep voice interrupted my inner monologue.  Startled, I whipped my head up from my lower back stretch.

“Excuse me?” I questioned slowly, not sure if I heard him correctly.

His eyes sparkled as he smiled, “I said nice voice.”

“You could hear me? I didn’t think I was singing that loudly,” I replied, feeling a little exposed.

“Yes, I could hear you when I was warming up over there,” he pointed toward the bikes…which were right behind the treadmill I was on. “It was a much better soundtrack than the news. You perform often?” His long lashes and big, chestnut brown eyes looked warm as they crinkled in amusement.  The features of his face were sculpted from stone with his chiseled jaw and high cheekbones.  The dark brown hair of his 5 o’clock shadow looked ultra-sexy against his caramel colored skin.  He was the most breathtaking man I’d ever seen in my life. 
He must be a model
, I thought as I struggled to stop assessing his modelesque looks and to fight the unmistakable fluttering in my belly.

“I don’t ever sing in front of anyone. But thanks
,” I murmured. Collecting myself, I squared my shoulders and gave him my signature detached stare.  I perfected polite detachment, especially with coworkers and neighbors.  One must be polite enough to be neighborly, but distant enough to not encourage relationships of any kind.

“No problem. I’m Tyree
. Up on the 9
th
floor,” he extended his hand my way. 

“I’m Sahara,” I said politely, shaking his hand
.
He has to be new to the building
, I thought to myself.
I’ve never seen him before and I would’ve remembered seeing him. And wait…he lives on the 9
th
floor?!

“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman,” Tyree
responded with a smile.  His light brown skin contrasted nicely with his perfectly straight white teeth.  His muscular body and handsome face rendered me momentarily speechless. And I’m never speechless. Voluntarily mute, sure. But never speechless! I wanted to roll my eyes and call him out on using a line. But something in the way he said it and the way he looked at me when he said it kept me from saying anything at all. He seemed genuine and that caught me by surprise.

“Thanks
,” I said, finally finding my voice and looking him square in his eyes, trying to read him.  Something passed between us—an indescribable energy.  His sparkling brown eyes held a fierce intensity and I was captivated.  The way my heart was pounding in my chest completely disarmed me.

Clearing his throat,
I saw his eyes cloud over and the moment was gone as he scanned his eyes around the room.  Although his voice was still warm, his demeanor changed slightly.  “So Sahara, how long have you lived here?”

“
Years. And you?  I’ve never seen you before.”

“I’m new. Today is my first official day here.”

“Well, welcome to the neighborhood.”  I said politely. Cocking my head to the side, examining him, I continued with my thought, “Libby Lofts is a beautiful place to live—very safe and secure. The people are lovely. And there are a lot of cool things to do around town.”

“
Good looking out. I knew this place was everything I was looking for but hearing it from a resident is a mark in the win column.” His smile lit up his entire face.

I felt compelled to smile back and that confused me. I am great at reading people.  That’s what made me good at my job. And
I don’t think I’d ever met anyone who seemed so genuine.  It had to be that smile.  “Glad I could help,” I said slowly, biting the inside of my cheek to combat the smile that played at my lips.

“You work out every morning at this time?” Tyree asked.

“No, I couldn’t sleep,” I admitted unexpectedly. 
Why am I telling this man my business? I never tell anyone my business,
I thought to myself after revealing in four little words more than I ever wanted anyone to know about my past.

“I have nights like that
… more often than I’d like to admit. Exercise works for me. It’s going to be a long day and night so I wanted work out a bit to drain some of the excess energy. Now maybe I can at least get a few hours of rest before my day begins,” he offered as if he sensed I was uncomfortably with my reveal. This gesture made me more intrigued by him. Unfortunately, I couldn’t run the risk of making friends.
Or anything more than friends
, I thought as my eyes traveled quickly to his lips and then immediately back to his beautiful eyes.

Distracted by him
and speechless by my attraction to him, I could only nod in response.

We were both quiet before he said,
“Sleepless nights combined with the song you were singing during my warm up…Whatever is on your mind must be pretty heavy.” He said quietly, looking at me with the same intensity, gauging my response.

Caught off guard by his observation,
my mind went blank.  For at least a minute, we stood there looking at each other not saying a word. I never had a physical reaction like this to anyone.  I’ve been attracted to plenty of men over the years and I’ve given in to those feelings a couple of times. Those instances were clean cut, serving a primal purpose. But this felt different.  I couldn’t put my finger on it, but he looked at me like he got me.  And we’d only talked for a few minutes! 

When my mind caught up to speed, I recognized I was in unfamiliar territory and
that I needed to end the conversation/staring match. I thought of ways to end the conversation politely so I could remove myself from whatever was happening.
Yeah, whatever this is needs to stop. It’s freaking me out!
I decided as I finally broke our eye contact and looked down at my phone.

Before I could say anything, Tyree put his hand on my shoulder and said, “If you ever need
to talk… or even just a workout buddy, I got you.” He dropped his hand, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I need to take this. I’ll catch you later, Sahara. Nice meeting you.” And then, answering his phone, he just walked away.

I released the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
I looked toward the men’s locker room and shook my head. I jogged out of the gym across the lobby and to the elevator. I pressed the up button and I waited for my heart rate to return to a normal steady pace.  Once I felt as though I could conduct myself like a normal human being, I quickly ran my eyes over the entire lobby as I waited for the elevator.  He wasn’t anywhere in sight. Once I was safely inside the confines of the elevator, I allowed my mind to ponder the exchange. 
What was that?
I thought to myself as I leaned against the chrome wall.  My body tingled at the thought of him.

After a long hot shower, I felt pretty
out of it. I climbed into my king sized bed with the remote control and my cell phone.  I looked at the time on my cell phone and it was only 8:04 a.m.
Today is going to be a long day
, I thought as I cut on the T.V. and flipped through the channels aimlessly. Settling for the Saturday morning news, I put the remote back on the nightstand and unlocked my phone.

Two missed calls from
last night with a Thomasville area code.  The only person who had my phone number from Thomasville was Emily. And I hadn’t spoken to Emily in years. The only way we communicated was via email and those were always very brief. Although it hurt too much to talk to her, Emily had always been like a sister to me so I wanted her to still be able to contact me in case of emergency.  But I couldn’t maintain a true friendship with her because she (and my former life) became a living, breathing reminder of the accident.  Our friendship was one of the many casualties of that night.

Between the article that I still hadn’
t read and the missed calls, I knew I needed to suck it up and call her back.  Pulling the comforter to my chin, I let my body relax into the pillows and I closed my eyes.  When I finally felt ready, I grabbed the remote to mute the television and positioned some pillows behind my back so I could sit up in bed comfortably. With an unsteady finger, I double tapped Emily’s name. I had to calm myself when the phone started ringing.

“Hello?” Emily answered sleepily.

Grimacing, I realized that I called entirely too early for a Saturday morning. “Hi Emily. I’m sorry for calling so early. I just wanted to return your call,” I apologized. 

There was a pause before Emily
responded. “Sahara,” she uttered, “I didn’t expect you to actually call back.” Unexpectedly, that statement was like a punch in my gut.  There were so many things I wanted to say, but I didn’t want to rehash the incident more than we already will have to in regards to the hearing. 

I cleared my throat softly, “Yeah, it’s been a while. I hope all has been well.”

Emily scoffed, “You hope all has been well? Are you kidding? I haven’t had a phone conversation with you in years Sahara. Years! And if our weekly emails even mention that night, you delete them without finishing them. You want to know what’s going on with me but never tell me a lot about what’s going on with you. You don’t let me visit.  You just abandoned—”

“Look, I’m sorry. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea,” I interrupted. The cold, detached tone
that I’m accustomed to using with people slipped into place.  My heart hurt. I know I abandoned the Mills family and especially Emily. But everything that happened was too much to handle. So, I could understand if Emily hated me.  And I wouldn’t, I couldn’t, blame her for hating me.  I just couldn’t ever take hearing her say it. So instead, I never gave her the opportunity to tell me. We’ve never talked about all the reasons she should hate me because I left as soon as I possibly could.  I communicated with her very little and I’m sure she thinks the worst of me.  Things got tough and instead of sticking by my loved ones, who have always had my back, I took off and tried to forget.

“
Okay Sahara,” Emily snapped with frustration and hurt lacing her voice.

We sat silently for a
minute, breathing into the phone. 

“Emily, what does the
hearing mean for us?” I asked, hoping to move us from the emotionally charged exchange we just had.

Sighing, Emily replied, “It means that the asshole who hit us
has been granted an earlier parole hearing because his mother married some hotshot lawyer.”

Switching the phone to the other ear, I let this new bit of information sink in.  “So what, he has a new lawyer and the lawyer is going to ge
t him out? There’s no way in hell! He was drunk. He hit us. The intersection! He…people died! A new lawyer can’t fix that!” I stammered with my voice breaking.  I tried but failed to stop the tear from running down my cheek.

Emily’s hushed whisper barely came through the phone, “
The trial begins soon. That’s why I’ve been trying to get in touch with you. It starts June 17th.”

“
In five weeks?!” I gasped. I felt a panic attack coming on. 

“According to the paper,
new evidence is supposed to convince the parole board that he has paid his debt to society for his role or some bullshit like that. It’s a reach to say the least, but…” Emily said quietly. After a beat, she continued pleadingly, “It’s been ten years Sahara. If there’s ever a time for you to come back to Thomasville, it’s for this hearing.”

Guilt
rained down on me and I knew if I didn’t go, I’d just be adding another layer of remorse laden nightmares. I didn’t want to, but I knew I had to. “I’ll be there,” I responded almost inaudibly.