Chapter 11
THE DRIVE BACK TO MASON is quiet. Unlike the drive to Austin, this time I’m snug against Shane’s side. Our closeness is more of a necessity than a want. My head rests on his shoulder as silence surrounds us in the small cab. An older song by Uncle Kracker wafts through the speakers and a single tear falls from my eye. I’m unbelievably torn. When I first arrived in Mason, it was a roadblock, something in the way of my ultimate goal: Austin. Now, I ache at the idea of leaving my new friends. Of leaving Shane.
Shortly after I secure a job at the sports bar, we leave my unfinished beer on the table and walk back to the truck. Shane went back to the hotel and retrieved our bags and checked out while I was on one of my interviews, so we are able to hit the road shortly after exiting the sports bar. About ten minutes outside of Austin, my phone rings. Earl has finished my car early. He knows how important it is for me to have Gerty ready to leave, so he came in on his day off to work on her. Part of me is relieved to know she’s fixed, but the other part of me is devastated. That simple gesture of kindness completely alters my plans.
“You okay?” Shane asks as I wipe the tear from my cheek. I guess I’m not as covert as I’d hoped.
“Yeah, just tired.”
“Hey,” he says, nudging me with his shoulder. I look him in the eye. His beautiful chocolate brown eyes that make me believe in goodness stare back at me before turning back to the road. The same eyes that tell me he wants me. That, if I let him, he’d devour me and make all other men after him falter in comparison. “This is a good thing. You have your plan.”
“I’m beginning to think my plan is dumb. What if I don’t leave? What if . . .” I trail off, a sniffle escaping. There’s no use. I am sad. Shane pulls the truck to the side of the road and cuts the ignition, unbuckles his seat belt, and turns toward me.
“What do you mean?” he asks. His tone is hopeful, but his eyes are . . . searching. Wishful.
“I mean, I don’t know if this is still what I want. Being with you . . . and the diner. Vera,” I sniffle again, and Shane pulls me to him, enveloping me into the warmest hug. A hug that calms my racing heart. A hug that gives me hope where I shouldn’t have it.
“Baby, don’t cry. Look at me,” he says more forcefully than I’ve heard him speak. I look at him and don’t bother trying to hide my sadness. “It’s two hours away. We can still talk and see each other. This is your bucket list item. I don’t know what’s happening between us but if it’s real, and God, I hope it is, then it’ll be fine.”
“Long distance doesn’t work. I’m flighty and forgetful. What if I go days without calling you? What if you meet someone else? What if . . . I don’t want to go,” I cry as he pulls me to him again.
Consoling me with caresses to my back, he lets me cry. My words convey this breakdown is because I’m moving, but the reality is I’m tired. Tired of trying to find where I fit in. Trying to leave a past I’ve been ashamed of behind me. I spent years trying to be a version of me I created when the reality is, I’m just me. The same me I’ve always been. And this man, this amazingly understanding man, is encouraging me to pursue everything I thought I needed when the reality is, this may be all I ever really wanted.
“Are you better?” Shane asks after I’ve sufficiently sobbed every last tear out of my body. I nod in response, and he pulls me from his chest, wiping the last few tears from my cheeks before kissing them away. “Look, I don’t have the answer and neither do you. We’re young, and we are both trying to find our way. It’s two hours not two states. We’ll make a commitment to talk everyday if that works for you. We’ll Facetime or whatever, and on the days you don’t work, you can come to Mason, or I’ll come to you. We’ll take it slow and figure it out. Okay?”
“But—” I begin, but he stops me by placing his soft lips to mine. “Okay,” I concede.
After another peck to my lips, Shane starts the truck, refastens his seatbelt, and pulls back onto the road. We’re both quiet most of the way back home. I mean, to Mason. When he pulls up in front of Vera’s house, we both sit in the truck for a few minutes. The porch light is on, but the rest of the house is dark. I’m sure Vera knows my car is ready and doesn’t want to talk about it. Saying goodbye to her is going to hurt.
Shane opens his door and reminds me to wait for him to open my door before he gets out of the truck. When my door opens, I pause and look at him. His eyes reflect back what I’m feeling—sadness. No words are spoken as he helps me from the cab and grabs my suitcase from the back of his truck. As we walk to the front porch hand in hand, I’m nervous. This feels real. Not only the feelings but the goodbye.
“I think you’re right,” I begin. Shane looks at me, head cocked in question. “I need to do this. I’ll always wonder ‘what if’ if I don’t go. But, I don’t want to stop seeing you. I don’t want . . . I really like you, Shane. Please tell me you’ll call. That we’ll try. I can’t leave knowing this is just an empty promise.”
Shane sets my suitcase down and wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me to him. My hands instantly move to his shoulders, slowly running across his back. I feel the tension in his shoulders give a little, relaxing as he takes a deep breath. “Mercy, I promise. I have a feeling this thing between us is more than either of us are ready for. I’m not going to say something I can’t back up, but I promise I will do everything in my power to see you. To hold you. To,” he pauses to kiss me, “kiss you. To . . .”—for the briefest moment I think he’s going to say three words neither of us are ready to hear, but he doesn’t—“care for you.”
A few more kisses and I finally leave Shane on the porch and go inside. The light above the kitchen sink illuminates the house enough to make my way to my room unscathed. I open my bag and retrieve my toiletries before heading toward the bathroom for a shower. I’m within steps of the bathroom door when Vera’s bedroom door opens, and she appears in the doorway.
“Earl called.” It’s not a question but a statement. Her tone is sad, and it matches the hiccup in my heart. I nod in response, not trusting myself to speak. “I’m not ready for you to go.” I have no words and simply nod again before locking myself in the bathroom. I’m a zombie in my own skin as I wait for the stream of water to heat. The moment the room fills with hot steam, I step under the shower head and cry until there are no more tears to fall.