Steady as the Snow Falls (5 page)

Rainbows of black and gray fell over him. Pain slipped into his countenance; regret broke through his shield of light.

“It was wrong to come here.” Beth scooted off the barstool. “I need to—I should go.”

“Run away like you always do, Beth. That’ll make things better,” he quietly mocked from behind.

Beth marched toward the exit with a stiff spine and lifted chin, knowing most eyes were on her, knowing most ears picked up on their conversation. There would be talk, there was always talk, most of it making her the villain and Ozzy the victim. She was the heartless one who refused to give him another chance, even though she’d already given him too many.

Her jaw ached from clenching it as hard as she was and she relaxed her mouth as she stepped out the door. The arctic temperature stabbed through her coat and attacked her skin. She paused, allowing herself deep breaths of frigid air. It wasn’t about running away. It was about realizing some things would never change, never be the way she needed them to be, and choosing her dreams over someone else’s dreams that included her.

But Ozzy wouldn’t understand that.

She didn’t get one block before he was there, grabbing her arm and pulling her around to face him. When she looked pointedly at his hand on her arm, he dropped it. She’d known he would come after her. She’d wished he wouldn’t. He’d always fought the hardest for her when it was too late.

“You can’t walk home.” He bounced on the heels of his boots, either to stay warm or from restlessness. “It’s too cold out. I’ll give you a ride.”

“It’s not far.” Beth shivered, hugging herself.

White Christmas lights adorned the straggly tree behind Ozzy, forming shadows and tiny stars across his face, making it look like the lights shone from his skin. His smooth jaw tightened. “It’s twenty degrees out. You’re not walking.”

“I’ll walk if I want to walk. I’d rather walk in the cold than sit in your truck anyway.” She tried to sound firm, but the chattering of her teeth ruined it.

“Oh, really? Why is that?” He tilted his head and crossed his arms. “What’s made my truck so abhorrent since the drive here?”

“You.” Beth scowled, annoyed with Ozzy, but more so with herself. It was her fault for coming, for thinking for one ignorant instant that they could be friends. There was no friendship between them. There was old love and new bitterness. Shattered dreams and broken vows.

He laughed softly, dropping his arms to his sides. “I’m sorry for what happened at the bar, all right? I don’t want to fight with you, but it seems like it’s the only way we know how to talk anymore. I just wanted to hang out with you and act like everything was okay for a little while. I know it’s not,” he added, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

Beth exhaled. “I’m sorry too. I should have just…I don’t know.” She should have said no to the drink, to the idea of them hanging out as if they could forget everything. She shook her head, not wanting to say any more. She wasn’t able to pretend like Ozzy.

“You don’t have to like me right now, but at least let me give you a ride home. I don’t want you to get sick. We all know how miserable you make everyone else when that happens.” A teasing grin accompanied his words. Beth resented that he knew that tidbit about her behavior while ill, that he knew anything at all significant about her.

“All right, Ozzy. I’ll take that ride home.” She was tired, and cold, and hungry. And there was the call to find out about her employer—that one was the loudest. “Thank you.”

Sitting in his truck was the same as submerging herself in flashes of the past. The smell of cologne and leather, the feeling of love swirled with infatuation. Two bodies pressed side by side but not close enough. Promises. Lies. Anger and passion. Their first kiss as a couple. Prom. How he knew her body as well as she did. Laughter. Dreams that were theirs, dreams that didn’t happen. The disillusionment. The pain. Realizing some pieces of a person had to be let go, that even some people had to be.

And the final breakup over four months ago.

She fisted her gloves in her lap and stared straight ahead. The ride was quiet, Beth focusing on the sound of the classic rock song playing on the radio instead of attempting any conversation. Ozzy was the same, his eyes trained forward, his mouth closed. He absently drummed his fingertips on the steering wheel in time with the drums of the song.

She wanted to ask if he was as haunted by the two of them as she was.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he said when the truck rolled up to her house.

Her eyes flew to him, took in his blank expression. It was such a deficient goodbye. Short, dismissive. It minimized anything they’d ever been to one another, but Beth supposed it was necessary for them to move on from one another. She should be grateful.

She tried to smile. “Right. You…you either.” Beth’s tongue stumbled over the words. Was that the proper response? Was it misleading? She wasn’t sure what to say, how to act. She hesitated with her hand on the door handle. Should she say more?

“It’s okay.”

Beth twisted to face Ozzy, taking in his fractured smile. “What?”

He looked at his hand, opened and closed it. “It’s awkward…this…you and me…but it’s okay. I mean, I understand. Or I’m—I’m trying to. I’ll give you space. I just—I really do miss you. I meant that.”

She met his gaze, her throat tight with unsaid words. Beth wanted to tell him she didn’t want space—that she wanted an
end
, but that would hurt him. And she also wanted to tell him things would be okay, but she didn’t know that they would. Ozzy with his bright eyes, selfish heart, and too much charm.

She said nothing.

“I didn’t want to let you go,” he whispered.

Beth blinked, pressing her lips together hard to keep from saying something she shouldn’t. It would be so easy to tell him it was okay. It would be so easy to give in. Her teeth dug into the tissue, causing pain to ripple through her mouth.
Don’t forget. You can’t forget. Don’t forget, Beth.
A single sentence, a certain look, and all the bad could be forgotten. Some days she had to fight to remember.

Ozzy nodded at her silence, his eyes hidden from her. “Anyway, have a good night.”

She mimicked the farewell, her steps slow as she heard the engine roar and fade away. Her heart squeezed at the thought of him hooking up with someone, maybe even Kelly Burbach. It wasn’t painful, it wasn’t debilitating. But it stung, just a bit.
Not your business.
Beth took a deep breath, hurrying for the front door as the cold slithered up and down her body.

Once inside, she stood for a moment in the dark, collecting her courage as, not for the first time, she patched up the pieces of her frayed heart. Already she felt better, more confident of her choices. Just from removing herself from Ozzy’s presence.

Beth locked the door, reminding herself that however long she and Ozzy had been a couple, it didn’t mean they should have been. It wasn’t always an accomplishment to count the years spent with someone—it could be something to grieve as well. Lost opportunities and dragging something on that should have ended long ago.

She removed her coat, hat, and gloves, setting them on the small table located beneath the key hook. She turned on the lights and made her way through the living room with its cream walls and carpet, took a left down a short, dark hallway, and entered her bedroom.

When Beth had first come to look at the house with hopes of renting it some months ago, she’d been overjoyed to see that the bedroom walls were painted gray with hints of lavender. It was a pretty, soothing color. She’d kept the decorating minimal—pink mini-lights strewn along the top of the walls, an eight by ten canvas of her with her mom, dad, and two brothers above the dresser.

A chest painted black with white and teal stars rested at the foot of her bed, and situated near the door, there was a wooden desk and lime green chair meant to be used for her writing. Most days she was either on the comfortable plum-toned chair in the living room or propped up in bed with her laptop.

The bed beckoned her forth, and she turned her back on it. Feeling fidgety, she paced a small path before the desk, needing something to focus on so she didn’t focus on the past. Finding out more about her employer would fill the space from consciousness to slumber.

Clothes removed and tossed in the hamper inside her closet, Beth tugged on a pair of soft hot pink lounge pants and a yellow long-sleeved shirt. Hair in a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck, she made her way to the tiny kitchen with its sunshine yellow walls, smiling at the striking color. It was eye catching and demanded notice. She felt like that sometimes—insignificant but noteworthy, if anyone chose to really look at her and realize it. Overlooked, that was Beth.

Fighting to be seen without knowing how to shine.

Within minutes, she had a bowl of air-popped popcorn tucked in the crook of her arm and a large glass of chocolate milk in her other hand. Beth turned on the television, the low hum of it making her feel like she wasn’t alone. After living with Ozzy for two years, living on her own was strange. Not exactly lonely, but different. It took some getting used to, the sounds of another person living beside her taken for granted until it was gone. She didn’t miss him, but she missed the space he’d filled.

And more than that—more than that—Beth missed herself. That was something she hadn’t realized until recently, and she was stumbling in her trek, but she was getting there. Learning about who she was and who she wanted to be. Slowly. Painfully. Beautifully. Like a caterpillar finding it had wings, and could fly.

Beth smiled with self-derision, wondering if she should have designated herself a poet instead of a novelist.

She paused with the remote control in her hand, her thoughts turning to Harrison with his mysteries and black-fire eyes. Beth took in the solitude, the realization that she was a party of one, like him. What was it like for Harrison without a television, without anything but the sound of his voice to give him comfort? Maybe there was a radio. He hadn’t said there wasn’t that. She turned off the television, the silence instantly consuming her. So quiet it was loud. Beth closed her eyes and tipped back her head, trying to put herself in his place, trying to figure out his brain.

Beth shook her head and opened her eyes, her lips lifted in the merest of ways. Did she want to know how his brain worked? Yes, and no. It seemed to be a dark, endless corridor. Beth opened the laptop, braced it on her legs, and waited, her pulse jumping around inside her veins. Once the screen was up and she was on the internet, she froze with her fingers posed over the keys. Whatever she found, she couldn’t go back and unlearn it, she couldn’t unread the words.

He knew she was going to look him up. He’d told her whatever she learned, she was obligated to remain in his employ. That sounded ominous. What was left unsaid was what would happen if she tried to break the contract. She would be sued. It was plainly written on the paper she’d signed. Maybe she should have thought everything out in a more detailed manner before taking the job, but she didn’t want to be stuck bartending in Crystal Lake, Minnesota the rest of her life, and especially not with her ex-boyfriend. She wanted to use her passion for words in a creative way. She wanted to
write
.

Beth’s fingers shook and she swallowed, sweaty with indecision, her flesh clammy with foreboding. She chugged the chocolate milk like its cold goodness was going to give her a boost of fortitude, gnawing on a handful of popcorn when the glass was empty. She methodically chewed the buttered and salted popcorn, talking herself into Googling Harrison Caldwell as she did so. Wiping her greasy fingers on a napkin, Beth took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and typed his name in the search engine.

HUNGOVER WAS AN apt description of how Beth felt, never mind that she hadn’t had any alcohol the previous night. Her eyes felt heavy and gritty, and when she opened them, she quickly shut them, the sliver of light finding its way in around the window blind directed straight at her eyeballs. She’d spent hours late into the night reading articles, studying pictures, getting a fragmented tale of Harrison Caldwell.

She slapped her palms against her closed eyelids and groaned, her stomach churning in protestation of the information she now knew. Beth pressed hard against her face, a hitched breath all she could form as she tried to shove the knowledge she’d learned through the back of her head and out of her mind. She felt sick. And sad. Hopeless. All for a man she didn’t know, and after last night, wished she’d never met.

Beth turned to her side, one arm hugging her midsection, and pointlessly tried to erase him from her brain. She thought of flowers, their silky petals, their scent, and somehow, her brain tripped to an image of him, lying in a meadow of sunflowers. Eyes closed, skin reflecting the sunshine. Still and somber. Dead or alive, Beth didn’t know.

She counted instead, but only made it to thirty-one. Beth swallowed, her breath catching at the number. When her attempts to drive him from her thoughts did nothing but pull her further into despair, made him an even brighter beacon for her to dwell on, she went over facts in her head, something she did to calm herself. Some of them were already written down on paper, paper she’d stared at in disbelief as the night grew and turned into dawn.