Bess
Two weeks later
It had been two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred thirty-six hours since I last saw Lane. Over twenty thousand minutes since any notion of ever having true love was shattered into dust. Like the hail now falling on the porch, that was the way my tears fell for the first three days after I fled from Pittsburgh.
Camper had driven me back, and I’d wanted her to leave. I’d been in no shape for any kind of reunion with my only friend from college. Not her, the one I had to shut out when I went to rehab at Rambling Brook. She was the one I was with when I used to pop Molly and smoke Mary and down Jack—all my oldest, closest friends. In the old days, we’d giggle and gossip and party some more, and that bad influence was the last thing I’d needed as I dried out in rehab.
Which made me think she was once again the last thing I needed as I fought my demons along with my pain. But Camper had stayed in the mountains with me for three days, lying in bed with me, wiping my tears, and making me tea. She’d been a huge help, and I wished she was still with me now as I sat on my couch over a week later, not knowing what to do with myself.
My hands shook, chills running up and down my spine as the memory of Lane standing in the coffee shop played on a continuous loop in my mind. I’d had the same conversation with Camper over and over those three days she was here. The words still reverberated in my head.
She and I had been cuddled on my bed. My head was tucked in her arm and she was stroking my back just like we did sometimes while watching a movie back in college. At twenty years old, I had no idea how much my body and heart craved that kind of touchy-feely attention. Now I knew why I’d loved Camper back then. Not because we partied together, but because she was the only person who’d ever given me any affection.
This most recent bout had been all her giving and me taking. Actually, it had always been that way.I’d always been a taker.
Anyway, we’d been snuggling and I’d repeat the same word I’d spoken for two days straight. “Whydidn’t he just tell me? Why the secret? Why? I told him I was an addict, and he could have said it then. I told him I went to Pitt, and he could have mentioned it then. Why didn’t he? Why?”
My throat was raw from the word that seemed to be stuck on repeat, falling from my lips over and over again.
“I don’t know the answer to that, Bess,” she said as she stroked my hair. “He didn’t. I’m not an innocent bystander either. I ran off that night, leaving him to deal with you when he started asking questions. I was afraid I’d get busted too.”
Waving my hand in front of my face, I said, “Forget that. We were stupid, young, naive, and dumb, especially me. I’m glad you didn’t get busted for anything. You seem to be fine, and in a good place now. Me, I was an addict through and through. I needed a clean break.”
More tears came, flowing freely down my face as I returned to the subject of Lane. “But why didn’t he tell me? I mean, I don’t know what I would’ve done. I’ve been so dead set on leaving that time in my past, but he didn’t know that. There’s something else, some other reason why.” I paused for a moment, thinking back to all the times he became different, moody somehow in a way I didn’t understand. “The cloudiness in his eyes, the hard clamp I’ve seen him hold on his jaw, other little things I’ve noticed. That’s why, Camper.”
“I don’t know, sweetie,” she said with more back rubbing.
“I guess I didn’t matter enough for him to tell me. Maybe that’s why,” I’d said, settling on it as an answer before falling asleep in my old friend’s arms.
Now I sat alone on my couch, except for my dog who had jumped up and plopped his big head in my lap. Staring out the window, I still thought,Why?
But I knew I would never get an answer.
These days, I was back to night meetings. AJ was in rehab. I’d learned this from Shirley, who insisted he was sorry and also kept telling me that I should give Lane a chance. I was sick of listening to it, so I took advantage of AJ being gone and went to my old meetings.
Working my regular shift plus overtime, I still found myself with too many idle hours that I despised. I would watch the clock during those minutes, counting off the seconds like a kid waiting for her mom to get home from work. At least, that was what I imagined it felt like as I didn’t have the first clue.
Dwelling on the past, present, and lack of a future became my only pastime.
Even Brooks was sick of sitting. He’d jumped off the couch and was circling the door, when I decided to take him for a walk. Slipping on a lightweight sweatshirt and heading out the door, I was surprised when an enormous black Hummer came up my driveway.
“Brooks, stay,” I told my dog. He dutifully sat down next to my feet, waiting for further instructions.
I stood still, awaiting what latest drama had found my doorstep when Jake stepped out of the enormous vehicle. When he walked toward the porch, I didn’t move.
“Bess,” he said simply.
“Jake.”
He breathed out my name again as he came close, and I could smell his cologne. It was so different from his brother’s smell. Lane was drenched in cool confidence and sand and sun. Jake was cloaked in sheer masculinity and sweat mixed with Calvin Klein.
Lane was a refined Jake.
Jake was a raw Lane.
My head hurt from the comparisons, but I realized that Lane’s scent was only a cover-up for his real stench, much like the department store cologne was masking Jake’s latest workout.
But what was Lane’s regular scent? Was he normally cloaked in a mixture of expensive perfume from Miami babes or the cheap Walmart eau de toilette of hotel staff? Or was it that of a liar, a man who took pleasure in duping young women? Preying on their weaknesses? He certainly knew mine beforehand.
