Isn't It Time (9 page)

“Yeah.”  I held up my bandaged finger for her inspection. 
“Just the most recent in the long line of disasters I’ve been enduring today.”

“Ouch.  I think you really need this coffee.”

“Definitely,” I sighed. “Just let me finish up these
potatoes first or I just know they’ll turn brown on me.”

I quickly put together the rest of the ingredients while my
mom washed my knife and retrieved two mugs from the cupboard.  By the time I
was putting the covered casserole dish in the refrigerator, the coffee was
poured and the mugs were in place at the table.

I gingerly settled into my chair and moaned at the relief of
being off of my feet. I picked up my coffee and took a sip, moaning again. 
“Oh, that’s so good.”

“You’re still moving kind of slow,” my mom observed.  “How
bad is your hip?”

“It still hurts, but I imagine it will be better by
tomorrow,” I replied optimistically.  I lifted the bottom of my shirt and
pulled my sweat pants down the side of my hip, revealing the bruise that seemed
to be spreading.  “It’s ugly, right?”

She leaned in for a closer look.  “Yeah, very. What the heck
did you fall on?”

I released the edge of my pants and let them slide back up
into place and we drank our coffee while I rehashed my morning from hell.

My phone beeped with an incoming text just as I got to the
part about spilling the bucket of water.  I picked up the phone and saw the
text was from Jack.

Jack:
I’ve got the steaks. What are you making for
me?

“Jack,” I informed my mom with a smile. “Already thinking
about his dinner.”

Me:
Scalloped potatoes and asparagus.

Jack:
 
Excellent. Will you get me some of that
bread I like?

Me:
  
Already bought it.

Jack:
Awesome, thanks. Love you.

I frowned a little at that.  Jack never said I love you in a
text.  In fact, we rarely said it at all.  It was more of an implied thing. 
Still, after the day I was having, I appreciated it.  With a small smile on my
face, I texted back.

Me:
Love you more. See you soon.

Setting the phone down back down on the table, I looked up
to find my mom studying me with slightly pursed lips and a furrowed brow.

“What?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing,” she said with a small shake of her head. 
“Just lost in thought.”  She got up and brought the coffee pot back to the
table, refilling both of our cups.

Remembering the mission Jack had asked me to complete, I
asked as casually as possible, “So, did you do anything interesting last
night?”

“Not really,” she shrugged. “Had dinner with a friend.”

“Oh? Anyone I know?”

“No. Just a woman I work with.”  She rolled her shoulders
and stretched her neck to the side. She probably wasn’t aware of her body
language, and I certainly wasn’t going to point it out, but this was something
she did every single time she lied.

I couldn’t believe she was lying right to my face.

“Mom, I can’t believe you’re lying right to my face.”

“What do you mean?” That angelic expression on her beautiful
face might have fooled people with less experience, but she was forgetting who
she was dealing with.

“Jack saw you and Peggy at the restaurant last night.”

“Well, for goodness sake, Angie.  If you knew what I was
doing last night, why didn’t you just say so? And if Jack saw us, why didn’t he
come over and say hello?”  Now she looked irritated.

I leaned back in my chair and smiled.  “Don’t try to
distract me, Mom. Just tell me what you and Peggy are up to.”

She sighed and took a drink of her coffee.  “I can’t tell
you. It’s personal to her and it doesn’t have anything to do with you. It’s not
a big deal - and I don’t want you to get the idea that it is just because I
promised to keep it secret.”

“Okay. Fair enough,” I replied. “Just tell me this – is
Peggy okay?”

She tilted her head and looked a little confused.  “Yes, of
course she is. She’s a wonderful person and she’s in perfect health.  Does that
answer your question?”

I studied her face and didn’t detect a lie.  “Yeah. I’m
good.”

“Okay, then.”  She stood up and declared, “I want to look at
your hole.”

I snorted out a laugh at that, slapping a hand across my
mouth to stop the coffee from spewing. She looked at me funny, then I saw the
realization of what she had said dawn on her and she started laughing, too.

“Hidey hole, Mom! Hidey hole!”

“Yeah, whatever,” she laughed as she started to walk out of
the kitchen.

“And not one word about the condition of my closet,” I
yelled at her retreating back.

“I’m already familiar with your closet habits,” she yelled
back.

I smiled and shook my head, then picked up my coffee cup and
sat back to wait for her to return.

***

Three hours later, my mom was gone and I had everything
packed up and ready to take to Jack’s. It wasn’t even 2:00, but between the
never-ending cramps and the effects of the allergy medication, I had been
fighting urges to cry and/or go back to bed ever since my mom had left.

Jack’s memo was written and emailed (after my computer had
re-booted itself halfway through and I had to start over) and the asparagus was
washed, trimmed and marinating in a light layer of garlic-infused olive oil
inside double zippered storage bags - because the first one had a leak. I was
dressed in whatever clean clothes I could scrounge (jeans and a plain, light
pink tee shirt), my makeup was on and my hair, which I left down, had passed my
critical inspection.

I had planned to take a little more care with my appearance
since I would be meeting Luke for the first time, but I just couldn’t muster up
enough energy to care what he thought of me.  Jack didn’t have a problem with
my appearance, no matter how bad I might look, so I wasn’t about to put myself
out worrying about the opinion of someone I didn’t even know.

I sent Jack a text letting him know I was on my way and, two
trips to load up my car later, I was finally pulling out of my driveway.

After seven minutes of driving directly into the sun, minus
my misplaced sunglasses, I made a left turn on to Jack’s shady, tree-lined
street and heard the “phalunk, phalunk” that told me a flat tire was going to
be the straw that finally broke this camel’s back.

Struggling to hold back the tears - and kind of wishing I
was dead - I pulled into Jack’s driveway and drove slowly and carefully toward
his garage.  The way things were going, I fully expected my brakes to go out,
sending me through his garage door.  I got out and walked across the deck to
the back door, deciding Jack could unload the damn car.

I had one hand on the doorknob and the other raised to knock
when the door was pulled open from the other side.  I gained my balance before
I fell through the doorway, and looked up at Jack’s smiling face.

“Hey.” His welcoming smile faded as he got a good look at
me. He put his hands on my shoulders and examined my face.  “Oh my God, what’s
wrong?”

“I’m having a really bad day,” I said in a small, pitiful
voice.  And then I burst into tears.

“Hey!”  He pulled me inside and shut the door in one move.
He put his arms around me and I fisted my hands into his shirt and continued to
sob against his chest.

He rubbed my back, which felt really good, and whispered
into my hair, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Everything!” I overdramatized, and related my tale of woe
through shuddering breaths. “I fell through the wall in my closet…I landed on a
rock… I spilled the water!  And the pollen…I cut my finger…” I continued
rambling, even though I knew I wasn’t making much sense. “The cramps are
awful…my tire is flat!  And…and…
a bird pooped on my head
!” I finished on
a wail, burying my face harder against his chest.

His hand stopped moving on my back and I felt his lips leave
my hair.  “Wow,” he said. “I have a lot of questions about all of that. But
first, tell me – did you wash the bird poop out of your hair?”

I started to laugh through my sobbing.  I pulled my face out
of his tee shirt and pushed him lightly on the shoulder.  “Yes, you ass.”

I returned my face to his chest, now giggling and crying at
the same time.  I felt his lips on my head again and he said, “Come on. Let’s
get you straightened out.”

“But all my stuff is still in the car,” I whined.

“I’ll take care of it.  But first, couch and some tea?”

“Okay,” I agreed with a sniffle.

“And maybe some tissues?” he asked with a smile in his
voice.

“Okay,” I said again - and took my nose out of direct
contact with his shirt.

He pulled away, took my hand and led me through the kitchen
to the living room. I toed off my shoes and sat down on the end of the couch
with my legs curled up under me. Jack pulled a blanket off the back of the
couch, shook it out and settled it over my legs.

“Do not move.  I’ll be right back.”  He left the room and
returned seconds later with a box of tissues, which he set on the table beside
me.  “Is it peppermint or chamomile for cramps?” he asked.

“Chamomile.  The peppermint is for when I overeat.” I pulled
a tissue out of the box and wiped my eyes, feeling like an ass.  “I feel like
an ass,” I told him.

“Don’t feel like an ass. Sit tight; I’ll start the tea and
get your stuff out of the car.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Anything for you.”  He leaned over to plant another kiss on
the top of my head. I grabbed his hand, gave it a grateful squeeze, and then he
was gone.

I used another tissue to blow my nose, then leaned my head
against the back of the couch and closed my eyes. I could hear Jack in the
kitchen, opening and closing a cupboard, running the water, starting the
microwave.

I had the random thought that if I was ever fortunate enough
to find another man like Jack, I would marry him in a heartbeat.  I felt more
tears well up at that but wasn’t sure why.  I helped myself to another tissue
and wiped my eyes, feeling more wretched by the minute.

I heard him leave the house and a minute later my car door
slammed and he came back in. By the time I heard the microwave ding, I was back
to unexplained, all-out sobbing.  I was feeling such an overwhelming sense of
despairing loss, and it all centered on Jack. I couldn’t get it under control
and it didn’t even make sense.  Stupid hormones.

Jack came back into the living room with a mug in his hand.
That concerned look returned to his face as he took in my renewed tears.  He
set the mug down on the table and sat down next to me.  I unfolded my legs to
make room for him and he put his arm around me, pulling me in close.  Burrowing
into his side, I wrapped one arm across his stomach and held on tightly. And
cried louder.

“Oh, baby, what’s wrong?”  He laid his cheek against my head
and wrapped his other arm around me.

“I don’t know,” I whispered, noting his use of “baby” which
he had never done before.  I was usually “honey” or sometimes “sweetheart” –
but never “baby”.  Maybe it was because I was crying like one.  “I just have
this really weird feeling going on. Like…like I’m losing you. And I just can’t
handle that.” I squeezed him again and cried harder.

He went still and briefly tightened his arms around me.  He
lifted me away from his side and looked into my eyes.  “Angie, listen to me.
You are
not
losing me. You will never lose me.  I will always, always be
here for you.”  He ran his thumbs under my eyes, catching the tears. “Okay?” he
asked.

“Okay,” I whispered.  “I’m sorry, Jack.  Ignore me; it’s
just the hormones talking.” I shuddered out another breath and felt a few more
tears escape.

“Don’t ever apologize for how you feel. It is what it is. Now,
sit up and drink your tea. I’m going to get you a pillow and some ibuprofen.  I
think you’re in need of a long nap.”

“I think you’re right.”  I sat up and gave him a weak smile,
tossing my tissue onto the growing pile on the table.

He got up and was again heading out of the room when I
stopped him. “Oh, I almost forgot.  My mom sent something over for you.  It’s
in the top container in my tote bag.”

He turned around and looked at me.  “Is it something with
sugar in it?”

I nodded and gave him a small smile.

“Is there any chance it’s something that’s made with
cereal?”

I nodded again and my smile turned into a grin.

“Yes!” he exclaimed with a fist pump. “God, I love your
mother!”

I laughed and settled back into the couch with my tea. When
he returned he was juggling a small pillow, the ibuprofen, a bottle of water
and his plastic container of treats. He tossed the pillow to me then set
everything else down on the table on the other end of the couch.  He opened the
water and handed it to me, along with two ibuprofen tablets, before sitting
back down.  I dutifully took the pills and returned the water to him.

“Are you done with the tea?” he asked.

“Just about.”  I finished the last few swallows and handed
him that, too.  Why I didn’t set it on my own table, I don’t know.  It just
seemed like he was the man in charge – and someone else in charge was exactly
what I needed at the moment.

“Okay,” he said, putting his feet up on the coffee table and
the pillow across his lap.  “Lay down.”

Unconsciousness sounded like a wonderful idea, so I got
myself settled in on my unbruised side while he picked up the remote and turned
on the television, adjusting the volume to a lower level.

“You don’t have to stay here with me, you know,” I told him.

“I know. But I want to.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.  Now go to sleep.”

“Okay.” I pulled the blanket all the way up to my neck. “Can
you make sure I’m awake by 5:00 so I can put the potatoes in the oven?”