I was driving numbly through the rain to go to the grocery store. As I glanced at the rear view mirror, I realized how empty my eyes were. So vacant of any emotion. So longing for him.
I pulled the car into the grocery store parking lot and got out. Slamming my door firmly, I flipped the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and trudged to the store. My legs felt stiff, seeing that I'd spent the past two months in my bed. My cat, Mixie, had tried to comfort me with her warmth, but nothing could replace him in my bed.
Swinging the glass door open, I stepped inside and grabbed a cart. The cashiers blinked at me, clearly wanting to ask questions but doing the right thing and staying silent. I didn't want to talk about what had kept me home the past two months. I didn't want to talk at all.
I went through the isles, grabbing a tub of chocolate ice cream that I would probably regret in a few weeks, and a carton of orange juice. Not enough to fill the cart--and definitely not enough to replace all the rotten food in my fridge--but enough to keep me sane. Chocolate and oranges. Has a nice ring to it.
As she rang the items up, Christine stole glances at me from under her penciled in eyebrow.
"Haven't seen you in a few days," Christine said cautiously, probably knowing how much his leaving had broken me and walking around the eggshells of it all. "You okay?"
"Fine," I whispered, feeling the tears welling up and the hole in my heart growing.
I paid for the groceries and left the store, the chiming of the door ruining me. The tears streamed silently down my face as I went to my car, yellow plastic bags swinging. The rain smacking on the pavement made me think that the mood was all right out here. There's nowhere to get away to in a small town, but there's too many hidey-holes to count.
Jerking the car into motion, I drove fast through the rain, the brick antique stores flashing past seeming to have grim faces painted on them. It wasn't like me to wallow in grief over someone I'd barely known, but in the few weeks I had, I fell in love with him. That was part of the reason I couldn't leave: because if I left and our paths just happened to cross, I don't think I would be able to let go of him again.
The wheels spit up the gray gravel in my driveway as I came home. Mixie was in the window, her orange fur a ball of color in the dark and dismal house. I lurched out of the car, and threw the groceries at the front steps. The carton of orange juice broke and orange liquid streamed out.
Not bothering to pick up the bags, I lumbered up the wooden steps to the front door, eyesight blurred by rage-filled and sorrowful tears. Had he known what would happen when he left? I wondered numbly. Had he known and left even then?
I unlocked the door, my hands trembling in a long-lost war. It was probably better for me not to see him after he'd left. But I yearned for his comfort. I knew the exact scene that would play out if he were here.
He would hold my shoulders, then press me into him. He would lead me to the living room and set me down on the couch so he could light a fire in the fireplace. Then he would sit down beside me, my foot in his lap, and give me a foot rub. We'd sit like that for hours, then fall asleep in warm bliss.
I scowled as I found myself standing in the entryway, my hand on my neck and my face tilted upward, my eyes closed. I opened them and went to the phone. Someone was bound to call me since I've been at home so long. Someone was bound to worry.
There were five messages on the answering machine. The first two were from my boss, the third from my sister, and the fourth from my mom. I listened mundanely to the first four messages, waiting for my life to end its own misery. But killing myself wouldn't be a good solution, nor would it make my friends and family happy. Misery shouldn't be passed along. It's a private matter that should be dealt with privately.
At the sound of the deep, gravelly voice on the fifth message, I straightened and my eyes widened. "I'm coming" was all he said. No name, no phone number that I could reach him with; but I knew that voice all too well to think it was anyone but him. Jacob.
Jacob, the man that had left me two months ago by the lake in the woods on a day much like this one. Jacob, the one I had mourned over losing and stayed in bed for, waiting for him to return and carry me away from my misery. Jacob was coming.
I was so lost in my thoughts, that I didn't hear the date of the call. I pressed the repeat button. The message was from a week ago, and I could swear that several people had come knocking at my door. Oh God. I had stayed in bed when Jacob could have been at my door, wanting to talk to me about something and I had left him standing there on my doorstep because I thought that he had abandoned me forever.
And then I realized that if that were true, there was no way that I would be able to contact him ever again. If he had come back to see me, I blew my chance on one of the days that someone had come by and rung the doorbell and I had been too engulfed in my lonesomeness to answer it. I royally screwed that one up.
I wandered listlessly to the living room and collapsed onto the couch, not caring that it was getting wet and dirty. Good job, Maggie. You screwed up everything and now it will never come again. Shut up, I told the evil little voice inside my head. Jacob might come back. But even as I thought the words, I knew it would never happen. Jacob didn't care. He had come, but he'd left all the same. And the second time he left without even a goodbye.
I fell asleep on the couch, dwelling in the sorrow that I would never see my beloved Jacob again.
I woke with a start, the cheerful dinging of the doorbell startling me. I lurched from the couch, body stiff, and dragged myself to the door. I knew that I looked horrible, having fallen asleep in my day clothes on the couch, but sadness couldn't have a better look than the one I sported now.
I opened the door slowly, thinking Who would want to see a woman drowning herself in misery?
My breath caught in my throat, nearly choking me in shock. The rugged silhouette looked tired, stringy brown hair dripping down his face. All six-foot-two of him was wet from being in the rain, and I thought I saw the slightest shiver rippling down his body. He was in jeans and a gray, soaked T-shirt. His hazel eyes were pleading and pained as he saw me seeing him with sorrow and shock. Jacob was here, but for how long would he stay?
"Can I talk to you, Maggie?" I nearly fainted at the sound of his warm, rugged, gravelly voice saying my name and talking to me. Of course you can talk to me! I wanted to scream, but all that came for an answer was a small nod. He reached out and curled his long fingers around my arm, half dragging me out the door.
His black Jeep was nowhere to be seen and I wondered if he had walked here from wherever he'd been. Either way, he was obviously used to the rain that was now drizzling down from the evening clouds, promising a halt in the wetness tonight. I took a deep breath and mentally pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Nope. This was the real Jacob, true and in-the-flesh. Thank you, Lord, for giving me my Jacob back, I prayed silently.
There was no delay with Jacob as he headed straight for the forest that lined the gray lake, both of which were on my property. His hand pressed firmly into mine as he towed me along behind him. I had the impulse to squeeze his hand to remind him how much I loved him...no, love him. Did he still love me, even the tiniest bit?
It was a long trek, and eventually Jacob had to let go of my hand so he could walk normally. He led me to the lake, the part that the forest looked out on instead of my house. It was so quiet, I almost believed that we were the only to people in the world and there was only this lake and the forest to keep us company. My heart pumped uncontrollably as I thought about the two of us growing old together and living out our years in my house, always looking out over this lake. We would be burried here, right on this very spot. Our children and their children could always come and visit. But what if Jacob wasn't staying that long? What if he was going to leave again and not even think about coming back this time?
Jacob stood next to me for the longest time, staring out at the lake with squinted eyes as his thoughts rolled around something I didn't know about. His hands hung loose at his sides, and the slight breeze shifted his wet hair. I watched him think, watched his brow crease as he seemed unaware that I was memorizing every contour of his face.
Finally, he said quietly, "I've missed you." That doesn't even cover how I felt. He turned to me, his wide shoulders blocking my view of anything in front of me besides him. He took a shaky breath. "I've missed you."
"Why did you leave?" I didn't even realize that I'd said it until the question hung on the silent air.
"Because of you." I looked down at the ground and my ugly tennis shoes, frowning at the green grass. "I didn't think that you could love me," he blurted.
I looked up from the ground to him, finding the pained expression on his face pause my outburst but not stop it all together. "How can you think that, Jacob?"
He winced. "I had to settle some business with an old acquaintance," he said softly.
I raised my eyebrows. "Was that all it was?"
Jacob took me by my shoulders and leaned down so that we were level. "You don't know the half of it, Maggie. I...I killed him." His hands fell and he looked at the grass. I was too frozen to even breathe, even as I was standing next to a killer. "He threatened...you," he admitted softly. "I couldn't let him kill you. It was the only way to stop him." The stranger part of me thought, How sweet. He really does love me.
"You killed him to save..." I swallowed, feeling a tear dribble down my cheek. "me?"
"Yes."
I collapsed onto the ground, the dampness of the grass soaking through my jeans. He had killed to save me. He hadn't given it a second thought, and he killed a man. A part of me wondered, How many has Jacob killed?
Jacob was on the ground in front of me, watching my reaction. He reached out, his fingers almost brushing my shoulder before I snapped out of my glazed stare and jerked away, scrambling backward. He had killed to save me. Was it the 'killed' part or the 'to save me' part I cared more about?
When I looked into his eyes, they were pained. He had told me the truth, probably knowing that this would be my reaction, but he had told me the truth so I could judge him fairly. What were all those weeks of moping around your house for? the voice inside me asked. Was it so you could find out that your boyfriend was a killer? No. You love Jacob, and he loves you.
I shook my head. Jacob took it the wrong way, thinking I was shaking it in denial. He tried to back away from me, probably so he could leave again, and this time for good. But I grabbed his arm and dragged him into me. Out lips touched, and I felt his relief flow into me like water on a hot day. I love him too much to let him leave twice, and he knew that.
Jacob clutched me to him joyously, deepening the kiss. We would never have to break apart. Yes, I accepted the whole 'murderer' thing easily, but that's what you do when you're in love.
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