Marty
WALKING OUT OF THE STATION, the last person I expected to find standing there was Chantel. I stopped and stared a moment to make sure it was Chantel. She shoved away from her red sporty BMW that she’d been leaning on and walked toward me. It was more of a saunter. Fiona did it too. The catwalk strut must be something that becomes a habit after time.
“Hello, Marty.” She lifted the sunglasses she had perched on her nose.
“Is Fiona okay?” I asked not able to think of any other reason she would be here.
She lifted a shoulder slightly. “She’s not headed to the hospital or anything like that, but she’s not okay either.”
Panic griped me and I turned to run toward my truck.
“Where are you going?” Chantel asked.
“To find Fiona,” I said stating the obvious.
“You should know what’s wrong before you run off to find her. Because God knows she won’t tell you.”
I paused and turned back to Chantel. “I’m listening.” I wanted her to hurry. The urgency to make sure Fiona was okay clawed at me.
“That little memory box in your closet,” she said slowly. Confused I waited for more. “The one you have hidden. Fiona accidentally kicked it over looking for a shirt of yours to put on.”
Box . . . ? Oh fuck. “And she told you?” I asked wondering if she was angry or hurt. What was I was facing?
“I forced it out of her. She’s insecure. You know that. The box didn’t help.”
Fuck me. I should have tossed it months ago. “Thanks,” I called out to Chantel. I jogged to my truck. Before I even pulled out of the parking lot I was calling Fiona.
It rang three times and she didn’t answer. Dammit. I tried again, and Fiona’s voicemail picked up again. This wasn’t that big of a deal. I could explain it if she’d answer the phone. Sure I had the box hidden and I knew it was there, but I hadn’t thought of it for a long time. Tossing it would have been smart. If I was willing to admit it to myself, deep down I wanted to keep the memories. I wanted to remember what that had felt like. I know it was never as big, or as powerful as what I had with Fiona now.
Speeding, I made it to the apartment in record time. Fiona’s car was gone. I parked my truck, frustrated. I called her again as I sat in the apartment parking lot, not sure if I should drive around Savannah looking for her or go inside and wait. It was very unlikely I’d find her if I went looking.
Fiona’s phone went to voicemail again. Belatedly, I wished I’d asked Chantel where Fiona was instead of rushing off. I also wished I had Chantel’s number. I bet Mack did.
He was off tonight. His black older model Hummer that was a gas guzzler was parked nearby. Whatever plans he had for this evening hadn’t begun. I headed inside to ask Mack for Chantel’s phone number. Why hadn’t Chantal told me where Fiona would be as I was leaving. She could have yelled it. “Hey! You can find Fiona here.” Or something like that.
I went into the apartment and found Mack on the sofa laughing loudly at something he was watching on the television. He cut his eyes at me and pointed at the screen. “This shit it great! Have you seen it?”
I didn’t ask what he was watching. I didn’t care.
“What’s Chantel’s number?” I asked.
He held up the remote pausing the show he was watching. “Chantel? Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Because she’s Fiona’s closest friend and roommate maybe! What’s her number?”
Mack scowled. “Jesus, you’re in a bad mood.” He picked up his phone that was on the couch beside him. Scrolling through the numbers, he touched the screen a few times then glanced at me. “Just texted it to you. What’s the serious expression about? Y’all fighting?”
“No,” I snapped.
I immediately called the number Mack had texted me while walking back toward my room, out of his hearing range.
“Hello,” Chantel said after the second ring.
“It’s Marty. Where is she?”
“Not sure. She said she’d be home later.”
“When did she say that?” I asked annoyed.
“At ten this morning.”
Shit! That was seven hours ago.
“And you weren’t concerned since then?” What kind of friend was she?
“No. Because Fiona is a big girl. She just needed space.”
“If you hear from her could, you call me or tell her to call me. Please?”
“Yes, I’ll make sure you know the moment I hear from her. But she’ll probably be home soon.”
Hanging up, I walked over to the closet and found the damn box that had caused so much trouble. Picking it up I took the lid off and looked inside. There were the photos, keepsakes from our first date, letters, God I hoped she hadn’t read the letters. I held the promise ring I’d bought for Mary Grace before she ended things. It seemed stupid now. What was a promise ring anyway? A promise of what? Rolling my eyes, I rolled the ring around my finger and shook my head. I was crazy then. Young.
I put the lid back on the box and took the ring with me. I would wait for Fiona at her door with this box. We’d look at it together. I’d explain why I still had it then I’d toss it in her garbage to show her I was done and this wasn’t important.
“Leaving with some shoes?” Mack asked as I passed by.
“Yeah,” I replied not about to explain this to him.
“I’ll be gone in a couple hours. Got a date,” he told me as I reached the door.
“Good luck with that.” I already knew it meant nothing. He was with a new girl every weekend.
Closing the door to our apartment, I only took three steps before the front door opened and Fiona walked in. She stopped short where she stood and her eyes met mine. Neither of us moved. her gaze dropped to the box under my arm.
“I want to explain everything in this box and then I want to toss it. I want us to toss it. This is the past. And I’m sorry you found it. But I’m sorrier that I even had it.”
She didn’t move. And for a moment I didn’t think she was going to say anything in return. Finally, her eyes met mine and I saw something there that gave me hope. “Aren’t you angry? I went through your things.” She said it like it made sense for me to be upset with her. Not the other way around.
“What?” I asked confused. Wasn’t she upset with me?
She sighed and ran her hand through her hair. “That is your stuff. I had no right to invade your privacy. And to get upset over it was even more unfair. I’m that one that should be sorry. Chantel was right. I was snooping and it was wrong.”
I closed the distance between us and held the box out to her for her to take it. “I’m not angry. And I don’t care about this box. You are what is important.”
She looked down at it for a few moments. Hesitantly, she reached out and took it from me. “Have I told you lately that I love you?” she asked lifting her gaze back to mine with the sweetest damn smile in the world.