CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JEANIE
TWO WEEKS EARLIER
“You sure you’re okay?” I ask, coming over to Jerry’s recliner and kissing him on the forehead. I wrap the soft fibers of the afghan around his bony frame.
The chemo didn’t make him nearly as sick as we expected. I should be happy about that, be grateful he wasn’t hunched over a bin heaving, or moaning in misery like some of the patients we had seen in the oncology ward. But instead it just makes me worry that maybe it didn’t work.
He might not be sick, but his body seems to be shrinking in front of me. So frail and precious, he’s all I’ve got left anymore.
“I’ll be fine. Go get some fresh air. I’ve got my shows on, and you know Betsey can’t keep her nose outta my business. Now go on, get out of here before I set Jinx on you,” he says, shooing me out the door.
I leave, walking down the cracked sidewalks of our small town, taking in the early morning sounds. The robins and the warblers chirping out their own cryptic melodies, sprinklers casting their spray on the tiny manicured lawns of Main Street, the bells of Silver Springs Episcopal chiming a good morning.
The chorus of daily life soothes my nerves, calming my concerns, but doing little to dislodge this sadness that’s settled inside me. I wonder if anything ever will.
I get into the diner and clock in, saying hello to my regulars. I paint on the cheerful, unaffected face they all expect to see. If I can’t fool myself, maybe I can at least trick them.
There are the usual jokes, gossip, the same good-natured arguments between old friends:
‘Guess who Martha Shelton got caught runnin’ around with?’
‘You hear ol’ Harvey Brooks showed up to Sunday services snot-slingin’ drunk? Pissed himself and started singin’ Merle Haggard songs right in the middle of the service! Tell you what he wasn’t born, that man was sneezed right on out of a barkeep’s rag!’
‘I’m tellin’ you, the only way to make yer crust right is to use a lil’ bit of duck fat! You can hang your hat on it!’
Life goes on, day by day. But it feels like it’s moving forward without me.
I know I shouldn’t feel this way. Mason certainly doesn’t. He’s busy getting his shop and affairs in order, moving on like I should.
I thought he might come into the diner this morning for breakfast, but every time the bell chimes at the door my stomach tightens as I look up. Every time it’s not him, my hopes crumble all over again.
I shouldn’t pine for a man who isn’t pining for me. My brain knows that, but my heart still hurts.
“Oh, honey, you’re lookin’ like you ate sorrow by the spoonful this mornin’,” Maggie says, passing me at the grill window as we grab plates.
“Just need some coffee, I guess,” I lie.
“Well, go grab some quick, ’cause it’s about to get busier than a funeral home fan in July,” she nods to the groups filing in, as she layers her arms with plates. “This ain’t supposed to have onions. Come on, y’all! Oh hey, Jeanie. While you’re at it, make sure to check out the schedule. I need you to take a few extra shifts this week. The Watson girl quit. Waitressin’ ain’t for the timid, tell you that.”
“No problem,” I nod, grabbing a mug to fill and walking to the board inside the kitchen door.
Is that really the date?
I rush back out to the catch Maggie still at the window.
“Maggie, I know it’s a bad time, but I need to take a break. I’ll only be a few minutes, I promise,” I plead with her.
She glances at me impatiently. “You better be jokin’, girl. I’ve already got seven tables and you just got two new ones.”
There is nothing left to do but beg. “Please, Maggie. Mason’s leaving today and I need to get there before he’s gone. I just… I need to see him one more time. Don’t you know how that feels?”
At this, she turns towards me with regretful eyes and says softly, “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry, didn’t you hear? Herb said he already left. I didn’t see him, but I guess he left somethin’ for ya yesterday after you’d gone. It’s under the register, a white envelope with your name on it.”
Gone.
Just like that. The reality slams into me.
I go to the register and grope around the clutter on the shelf below, finding an envelope and pulling it out.
White envelope, heavy in my hand, my name scrawled across it in small, severe cursive.
Slipping my thumb under the lip, I tear it open carefully. Two shop keys tumble into my hand, a small scrap of paper fluttering to the ground.
I reach down and pick it up, turning it over to read.
Stop by the shop when you can. I’ve cut you a paycheck and left it on the counter.
—Mason
That’s it?
After everything I wrote, everything that passed between us, that’s all he says? I knew it was over, and I wasn’t really expecting a goodbye, but his note is so blunt. If I didn’t know better it would almost feel spiteful after the note I left for him. But I do know better. He wants to keep things tidy, professional, as if nothing happened and neither of us is hurting.
I crumple the note, but I can’t bring myself to throw it in the trash. Slipping it into my apron, I go back to work. I could use the check, but it can wait ’til my shift is over. I’m in no hurry to see the shop empty, to relive the brief moments we shared there and feel the pain I’ve been trying to bury all over again.
*
The sky is darkening when I finally finish up my shift. Collecting my purse and the envelope with the keys Mason left for me, I head out towards the shop.
My feet are heavy as I approach the dark building. My heart is in my throat as I unlock the door, remembering the first day I came in.
It had been empty then too and I had to walk back to the garage. He was just the bulky figure of a man tapping his foot to some rock song, bent over the bench looking at catalogs.
That big, broad frame, something about him, just felt like it filled the space. When he turned to look at me, a shiver of danger and excitement had crept up along my body in line with his icy blue gaze, his dimpled smile casting warmth on his angular, strong features.
The bells on the door jingle, driving the memory out of my mind. I walk over to the counter and see another white envelope, no name this time.
I rip it open, expecting the check and nothing else, but finding another note, this one on neat, crisp stationary.
Jeanie,
I know there’s a lot I should have done better, and I’m sorry I can’t be the kind of man you need. You were right. What’s between us is real but, for better or worse, I can’t be something I’m not, and what I am falls short of what you deserve.
There are a few things I wanted to settle. You might not be a mechanic, but you’re an excellent manager. This place would have been a disaster if you hadn’t come in and set things in order. I know you said no one would hire you because of your lack of experience, so I have a proposition. Hire yourself.
Enclosed in this envelope is a packet of paperwork that will transfer The Crank & Wrench into your name, if you want it. Find a mechanic. Make this space your own.
There’s an address for you to send it to and I’ll handle everything, including transferring the business accounts into your name. I know it’s not much, but I trust you’ll make it amazing.
As for the GTO, I promised you I’d finish it and I keep my promises. We never got to take that test ride together, but she runs like brand new. I wasn’t sure what to do with it, so I left it in the garage. Whenever you’re ready to take her home, she’s waiting for you.
I know I’ve hurt you and I’d give just about anything to undo that. I promised I would protect you, though, and unfortunately, the only way I know how to do that now is to leave and hope you were wrong, that you can find a way to come back from this, because you deserve so much more.
—Mason
My eyes are stinging with unshed tears. Everything in me aches as I finish his note. A sharp pain cuts right to the core of me and I want so desperately to go back in time, to start over, without all the doubt, suspicion, and fear I clung to.
I drag my fingers along the counter as I look around the dark shop, wishing so badly they were touching him. If I could only see him one more time, feel his arms around me, hear his deep rumbling voice in my ear, on my skin…
If I close my eyes, it almost seems like he’s there. I can feel the heat of his body, the firm lines of his chest, touch his stubbled cheek, and in the daydream, I can tell him I was wrong, that he is different.
But it’s not real. I’ll never get to say that. He’s left me with the shop but, touching as it is, right now it feels more like a lifetime’s worth of regret.
I walk through the darkened store to the doorway into the shadowed, hollow garage. I pause to close my eyes, willing him to be there with every fiber in my body.
I open my eyes, almost believing it might work, but he’s not there. What is there, however, unleashes all the tears I’ve been holding back.