Destiny Ever-Changing (2 page)

Since the sky was clear, the warm, spring evening was ideal for a walk. I leisurely strolled along, doing a little window shopping since I had plenty of time to spare before the movie began, and I eventually came to the quaint Italian restaurant that Alex and I frequented, thinking that I would stop by later and grab some pasta to take home. I would be eating alone again, and there was no sense in cooking just for myself.

Bernard, our favorite waiter, noticed me as I passed, waved awkwardly, and quickly darted back toward the kitchen. Confused, I turned toward him, smiled, and returned the gesture, which he seemed in too much of a hurry to notice.

And just as the cliché gods would have it, as I turned to resume my walk, something oddly familiar caught my eye, and I stopped. I walked closer to the window and looked toward the back of the restaurant where I saw Alex—and Jessica, who, I later found out, lived in the apartment right above the restaurant. No wonder Alex went there so much. They were looking pretty cozy as they cuddled at the back table, drinking wine, and whispering into each other's ears.  Then, I saw him lean toward her, put his hand on her blushed cheek, and kiss her deeply.

She's the infatuated one, huh?
I thought as I stood there with my mouth gaping. 

Just as I finally began to walk away, Alex saw me. We looked at each other for what felt like an eternity, and I suddenly felt claustrophobic, a whirlpool of panic and pain sucking me in deeper and deeper. Everything started spinning, and I couldn't catch my breath. Just as tears started stinging my eyes, I fled the scene of the crime, and, of course, he followed me.

The entire way home, he attempted to explain himself in a way that made his infidelity sound like no big deal—and he failed. I didn't say a single word. I just concentrated on each feeble step I took, willing myself to think of anything other than the monogamously-challenged tool behind me. When we reached our apartment, I walked straight into the bedroom and sat at the foot of the bed, trying to regain my composure, where he joined me in silence.

"I'm moving back home tomorrow," I said indifferently after several minutes.

"I thought you might. I'm sorry for everything, baby, but I just"

"Just nothing!" I interrupted, jumping up off the bed and pacing the floor as a sudden surge of adrenaline and fury took over my body, recoiling from his failed, pathetic apology. "There's absolutely nothing you can say to justify what you did, and I refuse to sit here and listen to your lies and excuses again! You are a self-centered, pompous jerk, and I'm finished trying to convince myself otherwise!"

"Come on, honey. Are you sure that's how you feel?" He walked up behind me and started caressing my shoulder.

Without saying a word, I spun around, slapped his hand off me, and glared at him. 

And that was it. He grabbed some clothes and said he would go to a hotel for the nightHotel a la Jessica, I'm sure. Then, he walked out without saying another word. I thought for a minute that I would really lose it, but no tears ever came. What came was
relief
, oddly enough. 

Now, after looking back on last night's drama, I can't wait to get out of here. I take one last look around at this elaborate apartment. The sun is coming up now, and it's casting a warm orange glow throughout the room, but no amount of sun in this place can make it feel warm. It is so full of material things, but so devoid of life or emotion.

This has been my home for a short six months, and I couldn't be happier to leave it, as it has never
felt
like a home. With everything packed into my car, I look over my shoulder, say goodbye to Armeus, and walk out of that apartment for the last time.

Chapter One — Finding Solace

Laura:

I'm relieved that I have such a long drive home, because I'm in dire need of some time to think. I am dealing with all of this a bit better than I expected, but I can't help but wonder what I am going to do with my life now. I don't have a job. I don't have a place to live. I will have to start my life all over again. 

I'm already twenty-seven, for crying out loud!

Isn't it too late in my life to be starting over like this? What is my family going to say? I completely deserve for them to say "I told you so." They did try desperately to warn me that Alex may not be the best choice for me and that I really didn't know him all that well. I deserve everything they can throw at me for not listening to them.

I feel so incredibly stupid for falling for him, but that's what I do; I always fall for the wrong guys. From the time I started dating as a teenager until now, my relationships have always been disastrous, to say the least.

My very first boyfriend in eighth grade told me that he did not want to be my boyfriend anymore because I wouldn't make out with him. A boyfriend in high school "forgot" to tell me that he already had a girlfriend. My boyfriend during my first year of college felt the need to control every move that I made, including everything I ate; he said I was "filling out a little too much." During my senior year of college, I started dating a guy that seemed kind and genuine until we had our first argument. He started screaming at me and grabbed my arms so hard that I had bruises. And, of course, there was Alex and countless other losers just like him. I have always been a jerk magnet.

After all the years of tumultuous relationships, my family probably won't be
too
shocked, after all. In fact, I know my family will be supportive and welcome me home with open arms, just as they did the day that I came to live with them. My great aunt and uncle have been my guardians since I was in first grade. They took me in after my mom and dad were tragically killed in a car accident just a few weeks after my sixth birthday. Losing my parents was hard, but, luckily, I had a supportive family to pick me up and carry me through it.

The open road is not helping at all to clear my tempestuous mind. This long stretch of monotonous highway is doing nothing more than lulling me into a sleepy daze, considering the fact that I packed all night long. I have been on the road for a few hours, and I have yet to resolve anything. I even called Fawn along the way and explained everything that happened last night. She felt responsible for my heartache, which made
me
feel worse. I can't hold her liable for the fact that I drive many of the men I date into another woman's arms. 

With that thought, all of the years of heartbreak and fears of my unknown future come flooding into me like a tidal wave, drowning me in despair and uncertainty. I am suddenly an emotional wreck, and I start sobbing uncontrollably. I jerk the car off the road haphazardly and skid to a stop, causing a plume of rust-colored dust to consume my car. 

I can't go home like this. I am honestly not ready to face my family and tell them that I have failed again. I know my aunt and uncle will gladly allow me to move back in until I find another job and get on my feet, but that thought just humiliates me even more. I would feel like a teenager again. I need more time, a few more days to think this through before I deal with everyone back home. I just don't know
where
to go.

And, after a brief brainstorming session, I have the answer . . . my Nana's house.

My "Nana" is my Grandma Thelma, my mom's mom. My Grandpa Sam passed away a few years ago, so she has been alone all this time. She lives in Rock Cove, Virginia, which is a tiny, little town along the coast, and to top it off, you can see the beach from her back porch. That kind of serene escape is precisely what I need right now, and, and most importantly, Nana's house has always been a "judgment-free zone." Perfect.

I call her to make sure the sudden visit won't be a problem, and I pull the crumpled map out to see if I correctly remember how to get there. After a quick stop for some gas and an unhealthy amount of caffeine, I am well on my way.

For some reason, just the thought of going to Nana's makes me feel a little more at ease. I would spend a few weeks a year with her while I was growing up, and we developed quite a bond over the years. I love spending time with her. After just a few days there, I should have my head clear enough to go home and figure out how to start over again.

After a while, my surroundings begin to look familiar, and I know I am headed in the right direction. Soon, I will be standing in my Nana's doorway, and that thought makes my whole body buzz with nervous exhilaration. I'm so ready to be there to talk to her about everything going on in my life, and I know she'll help me figure it all out. She's never critical. She simply listens to everything you have to say, lets you know that she's there for you, and offers some kind words of advice. And she's not only like that with me, either. She's like that with everyone she meets, and everyone adores her.

"Rock Cove, five miles!" I squeal out loud to myself as I pass the faded metal sign. I'm beginning to get a little too excited, it seems.

Within minutes, I am sitting at the only stoplight in Rock Cove, which is situated in the town's center. I can see the bakery with fresh bread in the windows. I see a small café, which seems to be the only restaurant around. There's also the post office, a produce market, a general store, a hardware store, and several more buildings that I can't distinguish. It has quite the
Mayberry
feel to it, with its aged brick buildings and pedestrians chatting at every storefront. Once the light turns green, I ease my foot onto the gas pedal and roll my windows down, immediately smelling the salt in the air.

I am almost there.

I make a left turn onto the beachfront highway, knowing I only have two miles to go. To my right, I can finally see the ocean. Gorgeous beach homes—many, of which, are vacation rentals or summer homes— overlook the infinite expanse of blue water. Not many people live in these houses year-round, but Nana is one of the rare exceptions.

POP! THUMP-THUMP! THUMP-THUMP!

What was that?

I struggle to get the car pulled over and jump out to inspect, and, to my horror, I realize that my front tire is flat. Not only is it flat, I can actually
see
the hole in it. 

"Are you kidding me?" I yell aloud at the rapidly deflating tire after kicking it a few times.

"It doesn't really look like it's kidding," says an unfamiliar voice behind me.

Startled, I spin around a little too fast, nearly losing my balance. I look all around me, but I don't see anyone. I see an extravagant beach housewhich is probably worth more than all the houses on this highway collectivelywith a long driveway, some well-kept landscaping, and a gardener . . .

Oh, it was the gardener!

"Umm, he-hello," I stammer. "Sorry, it's been a bad day."

"Yeah, I can see that," he replies as he steps out from behind the shrubbery and dusts his hands off on the front of his formerly white t-shirt.

He looks a little discontented that I am interrupting his tedious work, but, even with the unpleasant look on his face, the sight of him is making my heart flutter. Only a rare, special kind of man can look attractive in filthy, tattered clothes with dirt smudges all over his face, and he is apparently one of them. Of course, leave it to me to find the grimy landscaper attractive. It just further proves that I consistently fall for the wrong men.

"Do you have a spare in your trunk?" he asks impatiently.

"Oh, umm, yes I do, but . . ."

His eyebrows furrow deeply. "But?"

"There's a slight problem," I explain, completely embarrassed. "My trunk is a little . . . full. I'm in the middle of moving, so everything I own is stuffed in that trunk."

After a few seconds of contemplating, he huffs. "Well, it looks like we have some unpacking to do. Unless, of course, you don't want me rifling through your things. In that case, you'd better just call"

"Oh no," I quickly interrupt. "I'd appreciate your help. My grandmother lives just up the road, but she's in no shape to help me change a tire."

We immediately get to work on emptying the random possessions from my trunk. Without either of us saying a word, we take out the bags and boxes, one by one, and put them in a disheveled pile on the side of the road. I almost feel violated as this strange man digs through all of my personal belongings, but I keep telling myself that he is just helping, and I'll soon be gone.

Finally, he reaches way into the back to retrieve the last box, and, of course, it would be an open box full of panties. Not the kind of undergarments men want to imagine you having, eithernude-colored, high-waisted, and far too big.

My seventy-year-old aunt bought them for me because she thought they were more "sensible" than those that she found in my laundry. They have been in there for about six months, so I completely forgot about them. I remember opening her gift and quickly shoving the box deep into my trunk the day I left for Baltimore, hoping that they would never surface again.

Seemingly, yet another one of my plans have failed.

He quickly turns and sets the box down over by the others, trying to hide his amusement, I can imagine. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks, knowing that they are turning a vibrant shade of red. As he turns back around, I think I see a hint of a smile, but the scowl that was there before returns as soon as he notices me looking at him.

He finally frees the spare and frowns, suddenly jogging toward the garage adjoining the house. "I'll be right back," he yells over his shoulder.

Within seconds, he returns with a heavy-duty jack and a few more tools and quickly gets to work removing the damaged tire.

"I'm not going to get you into any trouble, am I?" I ask after a few minutes pass, making a futile attempt at small talk.

"What do you mean? Why would I be in trouble?"

"Well, I
am
keeping you from your work. I hope that the people you work for won't be upset that you stopped to help me out."

He chuckles. "No, my boss won't mind at all."