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Our drinks arrive. Jack sips his while watching me, a thoughtful frown on his face. On the small stage, a scruffy looking guy appears with a sheaf of papers in his hand. Someone brings him a chair and a mic, and he sits, then introduces himself, before starting to read a poem.
A few people are listening, but most carry on with their conversations and their drinking. The poem is really lengthy and seems to be about someone being torn away from his dreams. The tone reminds me too much of how I feel, how torn up I am inside. So I try not to listen.
“Oh well,” Jack says when the guy finishes, leaving the stage to half-hearted applause. “That was sad.”
“Yes, it was.” I take a small sip of my drink. “So, when and what is your next assignment.”
He shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m liking just being in the city right now.”
I raise a brow. “That is so unlike you. What happened to your wanderlust, your adventurous spirit?”
His only reply is another shrug. I frown, puzzled. “How long are you going to stay this time?”
He looks at me, his gray eyes suddenly sober and intense. “How long do you want me to?”
I sigh. “It’s never depended on me before.”
He takes another sip from his glass, then lets his eyes wander around the bar before dragging them back to me. “Maybe now it does.”
Three months ago, I would have been overjoyed to hear words like that coming from him, but now…
Now…
My brain rebels against the thought, trying to suppress it, but I can’t. It bursts, uncontrollably, to the surface.
Now, I’m in love with Landon.
I draw in a breath, and concentrate on Jack’s face, doing my best to purge every thought of Landon from my mind. Someday, I tell myself. I’ll look at his face and feel as little as I feel right now with Jack. I’ll look at him and be unable to remember the intensity of the emotions now raging inside me.
It’s very unlikely, and there is a sense of loss at the thought of letting go of my feelings for Landon, but what choice do I have?
Jack is looking at me, waiting for a response.
I sigh. “Jack.” My voice is gentle. “You have to let it go.”
“Because ofhim?”
“Yes, and also because ofyou. I got over you Jack, let it go.”
He draws in a sharp breath. “I’m trying to.”
We’re both silent. It starts to feel uncomfortable, and I begin to think that maybe I should leave.
“My mother’s back in town,” Jack says.
“Really?” I give him a concerned glance. I’ve never met his mother, but I know who she is. Gertrude Weyland wrote a novel in her early twenties, which, more than thirty years later, had never gone out of print. After that one book, she stopped writing and went to work in publishing. She’s been living in London working as an editor with one of the big publishing companies. All through my years of knowing Jack, he hardly ever mentioned her. From the few times he did, I got the feeling that they didn’t have a good relationship, but I never pressed for the details.
“Is she staying?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he frowns. “I haven’t seen her.”
He doesn’t look like he wants to either. “Will you?” I ask, wondering how bad their relationship must be for him to be so hesitant. I’ve always been able to take my relationship with my parents for granted. I’ve never had cause to doubt their love and unwavering support. It’s hard for me to understand anyone not being able to enjoy the same kind of relationship with their parents.
Jack shrugs. “I have to.” He downs his drink and signals for a waiter. “Will you come with?”
“Me?” I shake my head in surprise. “Why?”
He sighs. “She and I…” he shakes his head, and there’s no sign of the easy charm that’s usually a part of his every word and expression. “It would be great to have someone else there.”
