Heart and Home (24 page)

“And then there’s you,” I
cleared my throat of the ache that always signaled that I could very well cry
if things didn’t tone down a notch. “I haven’t had a friend who’s been as good
to me as you have in a long time, and I’m really gonna miss being able to just
come and see you.”

“Stop it,” she waved her
hand in front of her face. “You’re making me cry.” Within seconds we were both
laughing, which was the perfect way to hide that we were really crying.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna
do,” I finally admitted, dabbing the tears away from my face. “I stopped
fighting with myself and just let it go, but I am falling too hard and too
fast.”

“As much as I hate to see
you go, maybe going home right now is the best way to put all of that into
perspective, or at least slow it down just a bit.”

“You’re probably right.”

“So, you know I’m going to
have to ask now that you brought it up,” she started. “Was he perfect in bed?”

“This does not leave this
room,” I warned with a stern glare, already knowing that such a warning wasn’t
really needed with her.

“Of course not! I’ll be sure
to bring Marty in here to tell him.”

I reached across the table
to swat at her. “When I say everything about him is amazing,” I paused for
dramatic effect. “Well, everything about him really is amazing.”

A romantic sigh escaped her,
“I knew it. What a lucky girl.”

“Now, that I won’t deny.”

As we finished our coffee,
it was with reluctance and playful threats that we finally said goodbye.

“You better call me and
email me like every day!” I said, as we stood in the car door hugging goodbye.

“And you better come home to
visit, or I’ll drive out there and drag you home.”

“Keep an eye on things
around here for me,” I stepped back and slipped into the driver’s seat. “Let me
know if my dad starts acting weird.”

“I will,” she promised,
laying her hand over mine on the windowsill. “Drive safe, and call me when you
get in, or I’ll worry like crazy.”

I noticed that like my dad,
Becky stood on the curb hugging herself inside her sweater, watching as I
disappeared down the street. The image of her started to blur the last time I
looked up into the rearview mirror, and I reached up to blot at my tears with a
tissue.

Nostalgic appreciation
tingled in my chest as I passed by the
Sonesville
Standard
building. Part of me wanted to get out and arrange the letters to
read, “I’ll Be Back!” But would the town even miss me? As much as I hated to
admit it, I wouldn’t be able to get the houses or the people’s faces out of my
mind for weeks.

The stretch of road to
Troy’s house seemed to take an eternity to drive, and I wondered if that had
anything to do with the leaden dread that replaced the weightless butterflies
I’d associated with seeing him all week. I climbed the long driveway and parked
beside his truck, trying to calm myself with several deep breaths before I got
out of the car.

Troy stepped out of the
opened garage door wearing a pair of well-worn jeans and a white long sleeved
shirt, and though he’d been adorable in his Sunday best, there was something
even sexier about him in plainclothes. He had a baseball cap on backwards, tufts
of blond curls sticking out on the sides.

“I thought I heard you pull
in.”

“What are you doing?”

He half-shrugged and shook
his head, “Messing around in the garage.” He hung his thumb on the belt-loop on
his jeans. “Working on a hutch I’m building for my mom.”

“Can I see?”

He gestured with a slight
nod for me to follow him, and I slipped past his truck into the garage. He drew
a dust cover off of the unfinished project, but even unfinished the attention
to detail took my breath away.

“It’ll look like an antique
when I’m done with it,” he said. “Her mother had one similar when she was a
girl, and it would have gone to her when Gram passed, but there was a fire and
it was lost. She’s always wanted one like it.”

“Troy, this is amazing,” I
reached out and ran my fingers along the smooth surface of the wood. “You have
an incredible talent.”

Almost as if he didn’t know
how to respond to my compliment, he moved forward to recover it with the dust
cloth. “Do you have time to come upstairs for a bit before you go?”

“Of course.”

He grasped my hand when he
turned back around and led me out of the garage and up the staircase. We were
barely in the kitchen with the door shut behind us when he drew my body close
and claimed my lips in an almost desperate kiss. From there it was a flourish
of movement while we worked at each other’s clothes in a strange, but
passionate course to his bedroom.

I was actually surprised
that we made it into the bedroom, much less to the actual bed.

His strategy to burn the
memories of our final moments together into me was well executed, completely
selfless and left me dreading the notion that I had no idea when next we’d see
each other. When at last I lay spent on his chest, catching my breath and
listening to his rapidly pounding heart, I closed my eyes to keep from crying
right there in front of him. Crying with Becky was one thing, but the last
thing I needed was to show him just how deeply he had gotten under my skin over
the last week.

I don’t know how long we lay
there in silence, his fingers tracing loose patterns across the base of my
spine, but I never wanted it to end. Finally, he kissed the top of my head and
got up in silence, disappearing across the hall into the bathroom. I gathered
my clothes and dressed before he came out and found his jeans. I sat on the
edge of his bed and watched as he slid them on and buttoned them, and then I
reached out and gripped the two front loops and drew him close to me. Face
pressed against his stomach, I kissed him gently there as he ran his fingers
into my hair.

“I wish I had more time,” I
muttered, not even sure I’d spoken loud enough for him to hear me. I lifted my
face away to look at him. “You will come and see me, right?”

He nodded and cupped my face
in his hands. The soft white flecks that made his eyes such an intense blue
seemed more brilliant than they had even moments earlier. “One more week and
we’ll be done with the harvest. If you want me to, I can come next Sunday and
stay for a day or two.”

“I want you to.”

“Then I will.”

I took his hands and kissed
them and wished that I could just pull him back into his own bed with me and
never let him go. And though I knew it would be a fool’s confession to even
utter such words so soon, a part of my heart wanted me to confess that I loved
him, but I said nothing of the kind.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The drive back to Pittsburgh
felt like it took an eternity. Every time I saw an exit to turn around and go
back toward Harrisburg, it took every ounce of strength in me not to steer onto
that ramp. I soldiered on, however, arriving just after seven that night and
begrudgingly dragging my luggage down the hallway to my apartment.
 

It felt strange to me after
having been away so long. All the food in the refrigerator turned, and the mail
was stuffed so thickly into my box that it would take days just to sort through
it. For the first time since college I actually felt homesick as I padded
around the empty space that felt like home just two weeks earlier. I ignored
the full answering machine and called Dad and then Becky to let them know I was
home. I slipped into my pajamas and climbed into bed with the phone before
placing my goodnight call to Troy.

For three hours after we
hung up, I lay in bed staring into the darkness, tossing and turning, but it
was no use. He’d been hesitant on the phone, almost aloof as I tried to make
conversation and I’d hung up the phone feeling completely alienated from the
man who made me feel like I was falling in love just a few hours earlier.

Confusion clouded my mind as
I flipped my pillow onto the cool side and buried my cheek into the softness. I
stretched out my legs and my arms, but couldn’t reach the edge on either side
of my bed. This revelation only heightened my solitude, a loneliness I hadn’t
even realized consumed my life until I’d actually stopped and taken a moment to
surround myself with people.

Sure, there were people in
my life before my mother died. I interviewed politicians and business owners,
musicians and authors all the time. I had contacts I phoned when I needed a tip
or some information. My co-workers at the Tribune got together once a week for
a beer or two, but we weren’t friends. We were colleagues.

We didn’t ask what was going
on in each other’s lives, and when we did it was superficial courtesy more than
actual curiosity. My personal drive attracted Cal Rodgers to me in the first
place, and he appreciated the fact that I was like him. Dedicated to nothing
but the work, I had no strings to tug me away, and that dedication always made
me feel holier-than-though.

I succeeded because there
was nothing holding me down, but what had I sacrificed along the way? Suddenly
that personal drive that made Cal Rogers adore me made me feel a little sick to
my stomach.

Was the Janice that lived,
ate, breathed and slept for the
Tribune-Review
even worthy of someone like Troy, someone with so much heart and soul?
Someone so willing to give up his own dreams to care for his mother and his
family’s farm? I wanted to believe I deserved him, but how could I ever balance
the life I’d had before and still be the kind of woman Troy needed? Maybe it
was a mistake. Maybe I should have never given in when he’d asked me to dinner,
or fallen so easily into his waiting kiss.

It was one-thirty when I
finally threw the blankets aside and decided if I wasn’t going to sleep, I
might as well do something useful. That turned out to be reorganizing my
desktop, and when I finished with that I wandered into the bathroom and started
to clean out the tub, then the toilet, and by three a.m. my entire apartment
was in tip-top shape.

Still wide awake, I dropped
into the seat behind the computer. At some point an email came from the address
Troy gave me before I left. Titled, “Can’t Sleep,” the time stamp revealed it
had only been sent about forty minutes earlier. I double-clicked the envelope
and waited for the text to load.

When I hung up the phone tonight I felt like I had left a bad
impression. You sounded so enthusiastic and happy to talk, but I’ve never been
very good with the phone. It always feels impersonal and weird because you hear
the person, but they’re not really there, and hearing your voice just made me
want to reach for you. Guess I should work on that because I really do want to
talk as often as we can while you’re far away from home.
 
Went to bed hours ago. Have to get up
at four-thirty, but every time I close my eyes I see your face, and the pillow
you slept on still smells like your hair. It’s like you’re still here, and I
don’t think it’s really hit me yet that when I wake up tomorrow, I won’t have
you to look forward to later in the day.

Damn, I miss you. I didn’t think it would come up on me so
quick. There, I said it. Whether it makes any kind of sense, I have no idea. My
mind is cluttered, and even though I can’t sleep, I’m so tired. I promise to
work harder on my phone etiquette and become some kind of email Romeo so you
don’t forget that I’m still here waiting.

Yours

Yours… that one word gripped
me more than all the others.

Was he mine? Could I really
have him?

I wanted him to be mine more
than I ever wanted anything else, but every time I thought about what it would
take to actualize that want, to take him as my own, it meant sacrifice and
moving back to the one place I told myself I would never go again. I already
knew he’d never leave again. The town sunk into him and claimed him as its own,
and as much as I once hated the place, it fit Troy, and that was one of the
things I was growing to love about him.

Then I remembered the
conversation we had about making a rash decision to move home so soon after my
mother’s death, and I knew he was right. If I moved too quickly, if I made my
decisions based on the impulse of that want, I might one day wind up resenting
him. The truth of it was just as real as my want for him, and they battled
viciously inside of me until my stomach hurt.

I lifted my fingers to the
keyboard and began to type.

Dear Troy,

Or, maybe I should say, where forth art thou, Romeo? But
seriously, everything you say makes sense, and it makes me want to get back
into my car and drive a hundred miles an hour until I’m there with you again.

As you can see, I can’t sleep either. I spent three hours in
bed trying to figure out which of the voices in my head was right, which part
of me was crazier. Finally I got up and started cleaning. I could entertain the
Queen of England right now, my apartment is that clean.

I should have snuck off with one of your T-shirts or
something. This’ll probably sounds incredibly freakish, but I miss the way you
smell, and maybe if I had something of yours to curl up to in bed, I might feel
less alone. Even more, I miss the way you kiss me, and though we only spent one
night together, I miss lying in the dark and watching you sleep.

God, I wonder if it’s too soon to feel the way I do, but on
the other hand, I feel like I’ve never wanted anything more.

Crazy, maybe?

Yours

After I hit send, I stared
at the screen forever. I wanted him to still be there, to write back instantly,
but after twenty minutes and no reply, I shut everything down and climbed back
into bed. Not even the ghost of my mother could comfort me then, as I closed my
eyes against tears of confusion. It was hard enough losing her, now I felt like
I was losing myself and my ideals as well. I was losing the drive that brought
me to that great, lonely place.

“I’m so confused,” I
whispered.

I didn’t know if she could
even hear me, if she came along or if she stayed at the house with my father. I
imagined her at that moment hovering over him as he slept just watching. The
thought brought comfort to me, and as I finally slipped away into that strange
place between sleep and dream, I felt myself floating. I looked down and there
I was in bed asleep. Beside me in that ethereal glow stood my mother, her hand
reached out to brush the hair away from my forehead. Head tilted, she was
thoughtful as she watched me sleep.

“It isn’t going to be easy, you know that,” she whispered,
leaning closer. “You have always let your head rule over your heart. Listen to
your heart, baby. It’ll show you the way home.”

Why couldn’t she see me? I
didn’t even know where I was, but I was there and I could see her. I opened my
mouth to speak to her, but no sound followed. I wanted to panic, but there was
no body to experience the sensation in, just a soul floating somewhere
overhead, a soul watching over its sleeping body, and then the alarm started to
buzz. It drew me back into myself in sharp tugs until I sat up and turned it
off. It was time to slip back into my routine, and as I climbed out of bed and
headed toward the shower the fragments of that strange dream slipped further
and further away.