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He belonged to Sam.
My new best friend.
The girl I met at work only weeks earlier and hit it off with. The girl who was coming over to help me unpack that night after her shift.
I didn’t know he washerJay at the time. I didn’t even know his name until two days later. Which is why it’s one of my favorite memories. The feelings I felt were still pure. They weren’t laced with jealousy as they would be in the following months and years.
In the sixty seconds we spent together, his arms wrapped around me, gently cradling my body against his, the world around us disappeared. The butterflies in my stomach were flapping their wings. My heart was pounding against my chest, begging to be freed. To be given to a man I didn’t know. A man who wasn’t even asking for it.
So I did.
Metaphorically. I pulled my beating heart from my body, placed it in his hands, and smiled. I’d never been in love before, didn’t realize what I was doing. It was reckless, but between the way he was looking at me and the way my body was starting to shake in his arms, it was the only thing that felt right.
I should have been more guarded. Or at least asked him his name. That would have been a better start. Instead, I thanked him and quickly picked up all my panties, rushing into my apartment.
Pushing the memory away, it having soured in my mouth, I turn around in the parking lot, avoiding looking directly at either of our apartments, and head back toward town. I follow Main Street, my eyes focused straight ahead so I don’t accidentally glance in the direction of the park. When I turn on 2nd Street, my focus is on Riley’s Pub. My old stomping grounds. The only place I spent more time at other than the Java Bean or my apartment.
The place I met Sam. Where our friendship was formed.
The last place she was seen alive.
Averting my eyes, I keep them focused on the road ahead. With the park on one side and Riley’s on the other, I can feel the walls around my heart starting to crack. I haven’t even been back for twenty minutes and I’m already close to breaking.
It’s not until I’m safely behind closed doors in my room at the Hideaway that I let the first and only tear fall. I promised myself I wasn’t going to be an emotional wreck this weekend and I plan to try my best to keep that promise. Crying won’t bring her back. It won’t bring me any peace. All it does is make me appear weak … not that I’ve done anything to prove how strong I am since my conversation with Spencer.
Hell, I was on the verge of breaking down that night. Instead, I drank an entire bottle of vintage red wine and passed out on my couch. The next morning was a flurry of activity as I arrived late to my first appointment and set myself behind for the rest of the day. By the time I was crawling into bed that night, thoughts of Sam and my impending trip had been long forgotten. Until I spotted my open suitcase sitting partially packed in the corner.
The floodgates opened, and I fell asleep with fresh tears still staining my cheeks. And there she was, in my dream, smiling at me.
Tuesday wasn’t much better, and today has been a nightmare. It feels like an elephant has been sitting on my chest since I woke up.
Yet here I am. Riding the emotional rollercoaster that I’ve been avoiding for the last five years.
The phone in the room rings, and I stare at it for a long moment before quickly crossing the room and answering it. Who has a landline anymore? It’s not a hotel. There isn’t a need for each room to have a phone. They could easily walk up the single flight of stairs and knock on my door. The entire place only has six room.
“Yes?”
“Andrea? It’s Ruth from the kitchen. Since you’ll be here for a few days, I was wondering if there was anything special you’d like me to prepare for you. We serve breakfast and lunch but you’ll be on your own for dinner.”
The sincerity in her voice reminds me of small-town life. A place where you’re treated with respect until you do something to lose it. Where everyone knows your name and it feels like you’re part of one large family.
“No, thank you. Whatever you have planned will be delicious I’m sure.”
In all honestly, I have no appetite right now. All I want are a pair of yoga pants, an over-sized sweatshirt, and a good book. Two of those things can happen but the book will have to wait. I have notes and reports to sort through before I can read for pleasure. I need to try and make sense of today’s interview or I’ll start forgetting details.
After quickly changing, I head down to the main living area. It doesn’t offer much—a couch, two chairs, and a self-service coffee station—but it’s quiet and cozy. That’s more than I’d get from a fancy hotel.
This place has an antique feel to it. It’s been remodeled over the years but it still holds the classic charm you find in historic homes, from the archways and crown molding to the rich colors of the wood. There’s a stone fireplace in the corner of the living room that is burning, the wood crackling softly. The mantel above it is straight out of a home magazine and would be perfect for hanging stocking at Christmas.
My room holds the same charm. A four-poster bed sits in the middle of the room, flanked on either side by a dark wood matching table, topped with gorgeous lamps with cream-colored shades that match the curtains. There’s a roll-top desk along one wall and a dresser along the other. What I’m assuming used to be a closet has been converted into a small, private bathroom.
The walls are adorned in bright artwork, bringing out the colors of the knit blanket on the bed. They’re more modern than the rest of the room but the tarnished gold frames tie it all together.
Setting my bag on the couch, I walk over to the coffee station. With trembling hands, I pop a pod into the machine, my finger lingering over the brew button for a moment. The little green light blinks at me, taunting me.
I should have stocked up on iced coffee.
I can handle this. It’s just one cup. Plus, I need it or I’ll fall asleep and be even further behind on work.
