Chapter 9
Fumbling with a keychain that grew lighter every day, I closed my apartment door for the very last time on the day before our Lufthansa flight to Frankfurt. A cold, ordinary Thursday to everyone else—extraordinary to me.
Closed and locked. I exhaled hard. That’d been my first time living by myself. Had it been the last?
Dad would be arriving any minute to take me to Pine Mountain for my last night in America, but I couldn’t bring myself to walk away from that closed door.
Resting my forehead against it, memories of two great years flashed before my eyes: parties, friends, and dinners, but quiet nights too—nights watching ballets with Barysh and dreaming of a future I didn’t yet have. Then I met Peter.
Peter had visited me in Columbus very little because of the ranch and the nature of his work, so I didn’t have very many memories of him at the apartment.
It was the quiet nights with Barysh that I was going to miss the most. Images of the moonlight painting the Chattahoochee River white and silver, and of the lights of Uptown Columbus, filled my mind. Uncontrollable sobs followed.
What if I hated living in Germany? What if nothing worked out? Was I making a terrible mistake? Argh. Last time closing the door… Last time in my own place… Last time in America… Too many lasts—it’s messing with my head.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” The voice came from a couple of doors down.
“I’m so sorry.” I wiped my cheeks with my fingers and looked in the direction of the male voice that’d startled me. A red-haired young man in an Army uniform stood outside a nearby door. I’d never seen him before. “I’m okay. Just being melodramatic—sorry—it runs in the family.”
“Happens to the best of us.” He looked at the two large suitcases next to me. “Traveling?”
“Moving.” I shouldn’t have lingered. The guy seemed alright, but I had no desire to make small talk.
“Where to?” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking like he planned to stay a while.
“Germany.”
“No way. I just came from there.” He took a few steps forward without coming all the way to my door and leaned against the wall. “I was stationed in Baumholder.”
I’d never heard of it. “I’m going to Wiesbaden.” Studying his uniform, I recognized the rank insignia—captain—and the combat infantryman badge. I’d dated an infantryman from neighboring Fort Benning in my early twenties. He’d had one too.
“Wiesbaden is nice and has a large U.S. Army presence. Are you in the army?”
“No.” I chuckled. “I’m a ballerina.”
“Oh, so you’ll be dancing there?”
“That’s the idea.”
“It can get lonely out there on the economy. I’m not sure you can get on post, but if you want to find the American community, look for a Baptist church outside the main gate. There’s always a Baptist church outside the main gate of overseas posts—at least everywhere I’ve been.”
Why would I go all the way to Germany to look for Americans? And what was the economy? Sounded like something I should know. “The economy?”
“Off post.”
“Oh…” He was probably picturing me all alone out there. “My boyfriend is German. That’s why I’m moving.”
“So, you’re getting married. Congratulations!”
Him and Mom—what’s with the getting married thing? I really had to get going. “My dad is picking me up. I’ve got to go. It was nice talking to you.”
“Do you need help with your bags?”
“Nope. I’m fine.” Attaching my carry-on to one of the large suitcases, I prepared to walk away.
“Well, best of luck to you … I didn’t catch your name.”
I looked back. “Ana.”
“I’m John.” He waved. “Good luck, Ana.”
“Thanks.”
Once in the lobby, I walked quickly to the desk. “I need to return my keys.”
“Very well, Ms. Ana.” The manager at the desk watched me remove the apartment and mailbox keys from the ring. “We have an envelope for you.”
“Oh, okay.” Probably more paperwork. I gave him the keys, and he gave me the envelope. But it wasn’t paperwork. What he’d handed me was a square pink envelope that looked more like a CD sleeve. It had my name handwritten on it—Peter’s handwriting. “Thanks.” My eyes burned, but no tears came. “Is that everything?” Had he noticed my voice was altered?
“Yes ma’am, that’s everything. Come see us if you’re ever in town again. Best of luck.”
“Thanks.” I walked over to my suitcases and opened the envelope with unsteady hands. The envelope smelled of Gucci Gorgeous Gardenia, the perfume he’d chosen for me when we started dating. Inside, a Kenny Rogers CD titled A Love Song Collection, and a note that read, “For the road.”
“Islands in the Stream” was track thirteen. It’d been our song since the first night we’d danced together. Peter … I touched his words.
Yes, I’d made a bad choice, but we could have moved beyond it. Too bad he didn’t see it that way.
In the two weeks since the breakup, I’d come to terms with his position, and in my heart our relationship was no longer defined by that final hour. Memories of lazy afternoons at Callaway Gardens and of planting—lots of planting—filled my head. I would miss him.
Placing the envelope and its contents in my biggest bag, I closed another door and rolled my suitcases outside to wait for Dad.
Bundled up by the cold river, I looked up at my balcony and windows one last time. The future I had dreamed of started now. Life in Germany was going to be good, and I couldn’t wait to see Claus at the airport in the morning.