Written in the Sand by D.B. James (9)

As the Fourth of July approaches, Van suggests taking a road trip to Austin together.

She wants to meet Case. She claims she’s heard too much about him and now it’s time she’s met him. I call bullshit. She only wants to meddle because I’ve done the same to her in the past. Don’t get me wrong, I think the road trip is a great idea, but I’d like to go solo. Matters between Case and I are…strained. Bringing another friend into the mix at the moment doesn’t feel right to me.

It’s how I find myself packing an overnight bag for a weekend spur of the moment trip to see Case, who I’m not sure will welcome my visit. We haven’t talked in a few days. The last time we did, I was upset with him and stopped replying. He hasn’t tried to contact me since and vice versa. I’m all sorts of fucking confused when it comes to him. And it scares me because when I think about him, I’m not thinking about Michael. To make matters more complicated, the reason I’m upset with him is because he was going out on a date. I have no right to be jealous. None. He’s welcome to date because we’re only friends. Which is fine, great even. Fucking dandy. But I did sort of tell him I’m looking forward to there maybe someday being an “us”. It was just a few weeks ago, and it seems he’s moved on enough to go on dates.

Laughing to myself at the ridiculousness of it all, I toss in another pair of my new jeans, they happen to land on top of my new lace undies. The pair I’ve yet to wear. Ones I’ll only admit to myself, I intentionally bought with Case in mind. And now, I’m packing them in a bag accompanying me on a trip to see him.

“Tenley?” Mama calls from the hallway leading into my bedroom.

“Yes?”

“I was coming to check and see if you’re going to be around for dinner tonight.” She takes one glance at the bag on my bed and continues on. “But from the looks of it, I take it you’re not going to be?” she questions.

“Um. I’m going away for the holiday on a road trip. It’s Savannah’s idea actually, she planned a last-minute trip to Austin for the both of us. But now things have changed slightly and I’m going alone. I wasn’t sure you were home yet for me to let you know. I’ll be leaving in around an hour,” I inform her.

“Oh, it sounds like fun. How long do you plan on going away? Are you going to visit anyone?” she prods.

“Why do you ask?” She knows Case lives there, and he hasn’t yet been back here to pick up his bike. The very one still parked in the garage. She’s curious about him. Join the club.

“No reason other than I want to know about your plans, baby girl,” she snips a tad too harshly. It seems like my question has bothered her. Maybe I asked it a with a bite of my own I didn’t intend.

“I meant nothing by it, Mama. My thoughts were a bit jumbled when you came in, I’m sorry if I was rude to you. I didn’t mean to sound unkind.”

“And I didn’t mean to pry. I’m curious is all. I’m only watching out for you,” she replies.

“Okay. Yes, it’s only me going. And yes, I’m going to see Case. Although he doesn’t know about it. He didn’t invite me. Van was insisting on this road trip. I haven’t talked to him in a few days because I’m upset with him. Truthfully, I shouldn’t be,” pausing to take a deep breath, I sit down on my bed. “I’m conflicted, Mama. I still love Michael with all my heart. But when I think about Case, or talk to him, I’m not thinking about Michael. He doesn’t cross my mind. I’m scared shitless because what if I forget him completely?” I ask.

Before answering, she takes a seat next to me, pushing my bag aside. “Baby girl, I can see the distress written on your face. That is why I asked if you were going to see anyone in particular. I know how you feel inside, you wear your heart on your sleeve nowadays. And it’s okay. You deserve to be happy. Michael wouldn’t want you to live the rest of your life in mourning for him. He’d want you to move on and love again. Trust in those feelings.”

She places a finger under my chin and lifts my face up, making me meet her golden eyes. “You’ll always love Michael, but you can love Case, too.” Placing a kiss upon my cheek, she gets up and walks out of my bedroom without saying another word.

Tears I didn’t know I was crying streak down my cheeks and fall upon my chest, soaking my shirt. Shit, I’m such a mess. Mama is correct, I know she is. She’s only stating what Dr. Beesley has been telling me for weeks.

Loving again isn’t wrong.

Only having a friendship with Case may not be what I truly want, but is taking our relationship a step further what I desire? Or should I keep the details the way they are for now until I find who I used to be? It’s the same damn question I’ve been asking myself over and over.

It’s about time I find the answer.

As I’m tossing my bag into the backseat, I go over the conversation I only now finished having with Van. When she picked up the phone, she was in the middle of packing her overnight bag. The end result? It made me feel like an asshole for hijacking her idea and going solo. If issues work out in the end with Case, she’ll meet him soon enough. If not, it’ll save me a ton of stress and, Case, the added shock value of having to deal with not one, but two out of town uninvited guests.

“Lee, I had a show all geared up and ready for you to watch while I drove. My co-pilot left me without a valid enough reason. I’m upset but I understand. I guess.” I literally can’t even with her. She trips me out in the best possible way. I’ve never had such an oddball, quirky friend. I love that she called me her co-pilot.

“Okay. Thank you. I’m going to turn this road trip into more than a couple of days in Austin. I’m healing and I feel like I should see some of the wonders our country has to offer. Take some much needed me time. You know I didn’t uninvite you to be a bitch, right?” I ponder.

“Yeah,” she huffs.

One word. It’s all she gives me for an answer, as if it’s supposed to be enough to appease me.

“And?” I pry.

“From your reaction, I’m going to say you don’t care for my lack of reply, am I right?” Van guesses.

Shaking my head yes, but still answering, “You’d be one-hundred percent correct in your assumption, my friend.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. I’m only pulling your chain. Go forth and have fun. Live. Be happy. But please for the love of all things holy, keep in touch. I’m talking nightly check-ins in the early evening. Maybe another one before drifting off to sleep. It’d not only keep me at ease, but your parents as well.”

“Promise. Goodbye, Van.”

“Goodbye, hooker.”

As the line goes dead, I slide into the driver’s seat, I start the car and back out of the driveway.

Here goes nothing.

Five minutes in, I’m bored. The radio isn’t cooperating and it seems every song coming on reminds me of Michael. Instead of drowning in memories I’ve turned it off. If this an indicator of how my trip will go, I’m fucked. Instead of dwelling, I call Van. Maybe she can help me pass some time.

“Hello, little bird. Miss me already?” she answers.

“So…this television show? What’s it called? What’s it about? Tell me why I should watch it. Who’s in it? We have about ten hours to fill with conversation. In other words, you have time to clue me in because I’m bored as fuck. The radio is horrible company. If you can tell me about this show, I may make it to my first pit stop,” I admit.

Over the next hour—I’m not exaggerating—she attempts to fill me in on the show, Supernatural, which at this point has been running for over a decade. She only stops talking about the Winchester brothers once I promise to start watching the show. When the time comes for me to stop for gas, I’m not astounded when she texts me a new login and password to Netflix and tells me to get ready for bingeing. Eh, maybe I will once I stop for the evening.

Grabbing my Bluetooth, I call her back because I need her to entertain me some more.

“The way I see it, you’ll have enough time to be well acquainted with Sam, Dean, and John Winchester once you reach Austin. You could be five or six episodes in by the time you called it a night. If you promise to watch at least two, I’ll stop this nonsense and won’t be upset with you for leaving me behind,” she claims.

“Deal.” I take a moment to consider this quickly adding, “If it’s scary, like I’m predicting it may be, and I get the heebie jeebies, I’m wussing out and calling you from my bed tonight. You’ll have to soothe me to sleep. In other words, don’t count this as a win yet.”

Instead of answering, we sit in silence for a few miles until my stomach growls, letting me know I haven’t eaten a single thing all day, and it’s nearly dusk.

“Hey, do you feel like staying on with me while I stop for some food?” I ask.

She’s laughing, but I don’t hear her words in reply. She’s laughing too hard to give them voice.

“What?” I yell. “Sorry, Van. I didn’t mean to damage your eardrums. My stomach growled, letting me know it’s upset with me for not sustaining myself today. All I’ve had is coffee and I’ve been awake since dawn. Don’t get me wrong, I could survive on coffee alone, but I think my stomach would disagree. At this point I could probably devour a whole pizza. And an order of breadsticks,” I admit. Because pizza.

“I was laughing because I heard your stomach growl. And I must say, you’re sounding more and more like Morgan. She doesn’t hide the fact she loves to eat. Frankly, I don’t think women should subscribe to all the bullshit society pushes on us. We should do what makes us happy and only us. If eating a whole pizza makes you happy, then eating a whole pizza makes you happy. It’s nobody’s business but your own.”

Truer words have never been spoken.

She’s absolutely correct. Society is effed up. Women are judged more harshly than men when it comes to our bodies. Well, at least it feels like we are. Maybe it’s not, who am I to say for certain? I’m only going by what I’ve seen or heard. For instance, when I was a teenager and out to lunch with mama and some of her so-called friends, I’d ordered a cheeseburger instead of something healthier. It was the week before homecoming and, Meredith, the snob who at the time lived across the street, let an audible gasp slip past her lips.

Me, the gullible teen I was, asked her what her issue was with my order. Her reply still rings loud in my mind, “Dear girl, you don’t want to eat that at a time as important as this week is. Not when the whole town is observing you. You’re on the queen’s court for Pete’s sake. I’d cancel your order and go with the cobb salad if I were you.”

Mama, knowing I was a spitfire even way back then, tapped my knee under the table in warning. She wanted me to keep my mouth shut. There was absolutely no chance of my not saying anything.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not you then. Personally, I don’t give two shits if the ‘whole town’ is watching me. I’ll eat whatever. The. Hell. I. Want. Besides, Carson told me only last night how much he enjoys my hips, he says it gives him something to hold onto when he’s thrusting.”

The gasp she had let out that time, I swear was heard by the “whole town”. But you bet your ass not one of mama’s friends has said a word to me about what I eat since.

Taking a moment, I tell Van the story and she laughs like I thought she would.

“Sounds to me like you were as awesome in high school as you are now, Lee. By the way, was Carson your boyfriend? It’s too bad we met in our senior year, by the way.”

What comes out of my mouth next can only be described as a giggle-snort. It takes me a few minutes to compose myself before I can answer her.

“No, he was my best friend. My gay best friend. He’s since moved to San Francisco, and we rarely speak. Which is sad. He’s a remarkable person, really. What made the whole statement funny, besides my sticking it to her, was everyone at the table knew he was gay and I was lying. My boyfriend at the time had broken up with me the week before because his family had moved away,” I admit.

Thinking about Carson for once doesn’t bring a melancholy feeling over me, but one of happiness. I should reach out to him and see how life’s treating him. We haven’t spoken since right after Michael’s death.

“Fast food or sit-down restaurant?” Van asks, bringing me out of my thoughts.

“Something fast because I want to keep traveling and make it to Austin sooner.”

“Fast food it is!” she exclaims. “The only question now is…where?”

I love her for staying on the other end of my phone, it’s almost like she’s sitting next to me. After I eat, I’ll try to listen to music again. Glancing up and down the street I’ve exited on from the highway, I see there’s literally every fast food joint to choose from.

“Whataburger,” I say.

“Ooh, quit making me jealous. I could go for their buffalo chicken finger sandwich. Now I’m hungry and may have to drive into town,” she informs me.

Mauling down my food was probably a mistake I’ll regret later. But for the moment, I’m stuffed and ready to get back out on the road. Hopefully, the songs streaming through Sirius radio will be enough to keep me company. I’ve taken up enough of Van’s time for one day. My mind is starting to wander a bit, and I’d like to concentrate on something else for a time. Driving again will help push those thoughts aside.

Michael is consuming my thoughts again. It has to be my memories of Carson bringing them forward. I’m a literal mess. I’m going on a spur-of-the-moment trip to see one man, who probably is at this moment on a date with another woman while I’m thinking about my dead husband. See? A fucking mess. Get it together, Tenley.

A knock on the window causes me to jump and squeeze the drink I’m still holding. Thus, making its lid pop off, spilling the contents all over me and the driver’s seat.

Shit.

Seeing a police officer on the other side of the window, I quickly roll down the window while also scurrying to clean up the mess on myself.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. It wasn’t my intention to give you a fright.” His apology is unnecessary. “You seemed lost in thought and I shouldn’t have knocked, but I struggled between knocking and opening the door. I went with knocking, thinking it would scare you less. Shit, I’m sorry.” His swearing causes me to laugh inside.

“No, don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault, it’s purely mine. Because you’re correct, I was lost in thought. Anything I can do to help you?” I ponder.

Attempting to make him feel better—a complete stranger—I wink at him. Which in itself is awkward. Who winks? Well, who winks without it appearing awkward? Surely not me, that’s who. Case winked at me and it didn’t look awkward from him. Come to think of it, it was sexy as fuck. Ugh. See what I mean about me being a mess?

“Ma’am?” the officer asks, again breaking me from my internal thoughts.

“Yes?”

“I was merely letting you know this location closes in a few minutes due to a citywide curfew starting in an hour. Taking a gander at your plates, I found out you’re not from around these parts. I figured if I let you know quickly enough, you’d be out of here by the time curfew rolls around. Wouldn’t want you ending up stuck here and all,” he informs me.

“Okay, thanks.” The words roll off my tongue. Before I can give it a second thought, I’m asking the next question. “Um, why the citywide curfew? Is there a potential murderer on the loose?” Foot meet mouth. It’s not like I need to know the reasoning, I’m leaving. I’m too curious for my own good.

“Well, since you’re traveling alone, I’ll only say this…don’t pick-up any hitchhikers. Or other strange people you may see lurking about.”

“Oh, wow. It all sounds ominous. And slightly terrifying. To be honest, I’d never pick up a hitchhiker, or anyone else and give them a ride, unless I knew them. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to leave now.” In other words, move along now officer, you’ve scared me enough. Don’t pull me over for speeding out of town, thanks. Because I’m getting scared and have no reason to stay here beyond this food stop.

“Sure, I’ll let you get on by now. Travel safe, ma’am,” he says while tipping his hat and walking away.

“Thanks,” I say as I put the car in drive and quickly make my way back toward the highway.

Switching on the radio, I’m greeted by The Avett Brothers singing about it being winter in their heart. Yeah, join the club, boys. Taking a moment to myself, I take in a deep breath and glance up to see a green light waiting for me to proceed ahead.

I’m scared. The closer I get to Austin, the more I want to turn around. This trip to see Case scares the hell out of me. I like him more than I should. And I want more from him and I shouldn’t. He deserves to be all in with someone who can give him everything. He shouldn’t want to get involved with a depressed, washed-up, has-been writer, who’s also a widow. But dammit, I want him to want me.

Talk about depressing.

Words from Dr. Beesley come flying into my head.

“It’s not sad. It’s called life, Tenley. And it’s tragically beautiful. You’re talking to someone who was married out of high school and divorced in an instant. Believe me, I know all about living as a fuck-up or a has-been. What I’m saying is, I’ve been there, too. Bad things happen. Good things happen. But the stuff in between? It’s what makes it beautiful. We all have sad times; it’s finding the happiness again that makes us whole. You’re getting there and trust me when I say, watching you find it is magnificent. You don’t see it but trust me it is. When I glance over at you while you’re opening up, seeing you smile at a memory, is delightful. So, no, Tenley, it’s not sad. Not at all.”

While I’m digesting her answer again, my phone rings. The screen flashes the name Case across it. Before I overthink it, I answer.

“Hey, Tenley. I’ve missed you these last few days. Did I, uh, do something wrong?” he inquires.

Leave it to him to go straight for the jugular.

“No, not really. It was more of my overactive brain causing me to be a jealous twit than anything you did,” I admit.

“There was no need to be jealous. She was my business partner’s wife. I was merely doing him a favor while catching up with an old friend at the same time.”

Huh. The way he’s spinning it makes me think I misheard him the other night when he specifically used the word, “date”. Maybe it’s better for our “friendship” if I drop the subject and move forward.

“Get this, I just stopped in a town for some dinner. After I was done and getting ready to leave, I had a cop scare the shit of me by knocking on my window. Only to scare me more when he told me why he was doing so. There’s a town wide curfew, and I was warned off picking up hitchhikers or strange people. I think I broke some speed laws driving as fast as I did to get out of there,” I tell him.

“Holy shit. Sounds scary to me, too. I’m glad you’re okay. Where are you headed?” he asks.

Should I tell him?

“Maybe it’s a surprise and I shouldn’t say,” I tease.

“Tenley, babe, are you coming to visit me?”

Shit, a direct question. Choosing to let his “babe” comment slide, I decide to answer him truthfully.

“Hm…depends. Do you live in Austin? My car is currently on a route there,” I tease.

“I hope you didn’t book a hotel, I have plenty of space. When will you be here?” he asks, the excitement in his voice evident.

“About three hours, give or take a few minutes. I did book a hotel, but I could go there for tonight, cancel the hotel for the remainder of the stay, and stay with you starting tomorrow,” I offer.

He doesn’t answer for a few seconds, I glance down to make sure my phone is still connected for fear of him hanging up.

“Sounds perfect. Text me the info or call me with it. I’ll be by to pick you up in the morning, sweetness.”

After a mumbled goodbye on my end, we disconnect.

Perfect. Staying with Case. Yeah, because it’s exactly what I need.

Why did I think this trip was a great idea again?

It’s slightly before midnight when I roll into Austin.

After the mini freak-out—thanks to the police officer—in the Whataburger parking lot, I didn’t stop for the rest of the way. Not even for gas. My needle is this close to empty, but hey I’m safe. Instead of calling Van again, I sang along loudly and off key until I pulled up to the hotel valet parking.

I’m beyond exhausted and thankful I’ve opted to stay here tonight instead of dealing with Case.

After a quick check-in, I decide to take a relaxing bubble bath before slipping into bed. Walking into the bathroom, I start filling the tub. Before I forget, I walk back into the room to the main door, open it and place the do-not-disturb sign outside, click the deadbolt, and proceed over to the bed where I tossed my bag. A nice hot bubble bath sounds absolutely divine. I’m praying it’ll help me sleep. Grabbing my bag, I head back into the bathroom to enjoy a nice long soak.

Maybe I can sleep without taking a pill tonight. Highly unlikely, but perhaps I could take half a dose. If it doesn’t work, I can always take the other half.

Seeing an iPod dock on the counter near the sink, I connect my phone, making sure the volume is down low as to not disturb neighboring guests and press play. Quickly undressing, I’m in the deliciously warm water within seconds. This is exactly what I needed. The moment of bliss doesn’t last long. My phone starts pinging with incoming texts, interrupting the music. Normally I’d let it go and check them later, but it’s more than one message, it’s several. Ugh, it seems like my soothing bath is over before it’s truly begun.

It takes two seconds for me to regret not ignoring the messages.

One glance at the screen is all it takes.

It’s not five but eight messages from Case.

Eight.

Scratch that, make it nine, another comes in while I’m unlocking my phone.

Guess there’s no time like the present to tell him I’m finally in Austin. I was waiting until the morning to let him know.

Before I have a chance to respond, a tenth message comes in. Has he been drinking?

Hitting send, making sure he doesn’t call, I begin to type out my explanation. It takes me a few minutes.

I’m scared to tell him what hotel I’m staying at for the night. Lately I find I’m scared of basically everything. Especially when it comes to Case. My list of fears should all start with him.

Taking a few moments to gather my thoughts and calm myself down, I glance up at myself in the mirror and see I’m still naked. And full of soap suds. I need to rinse off before I start to itch from all the bubbles drying on my skin. Or rewarm the water and climb back in, the relaxing soak still sounds divine.

Setting my phone aside, I jump back into the bathtub and pull the plug, sighing as the bubbles go down the drain. My relaxation going with them. Pulling the shower curtain, I turn it on and quickly rinse off. This night is not going how I planned. Barely twenty minutes ago, I was dreaming about taking half a sleeping pill after a relaxing bubble bath. All of it was before all of his texts came through. Adding to my confusing thoughts. Case has consumed my brain again.

Grabbing a towel, I hear my phone ping again. Ignoring it for a moment isn’t going to make a difference, I need to be clothed to finish this conversation. May as well take my sleeping pill and finish this while I’m in bed. It’s nearly 1 a.m. after all.

Pulling the covers down, I crawl into bed and bring my phone back to life. Five missed messages. He truly must be drinking tonight. It’s the only explanation for his continuous messaging. Normally when we’re talking, we exchange maybe ten messages a day. Never this many in a single conversation. Then again, our messages do get wordy.

Be brave, tell him how you feel. See where it leads you. Follow your heart. Answer him truthfully because if you don’t now, there could be a blind date waiting to take him out tomorrow.

What the heck is mo ghaol? When did we get to the nickname level of our so-called relationship? Because let’s face it, we’re more than friends. It’s not as if I don’t like the ‘mo ghaol’ title, but it seems to have come out of left field. Shrugging it off, I place my phone on the nightstand and switch off the bedside light. Yawning as I pull the covers up around my shoulders and turn over onto my side.

I’m asleep within seconds.

She’s not ready to know the meaning of mo ghaol. Hell, I hardly know if I’m ready to be calling her it, but here I am doing it. My grandmother said when I found the one, I’d know. She also told me I wouldn’t struggle to call her mo ghaol, and I haven’t, it slips off my tongue as easily as speaking her name. Or in this case, my fingers.

What does it mean?

My love.

Hey, like I said, when you know, you know. Plain and simple. She’s who I’ve wished for. I know she is. No sooner did I write my wish in the sand, and she appeared to me again. She was an utter and complete mess. Who wouldn’t have been? But she was the most beautiful mess I’d ever seen. I vowed to be her friend from then on. Up until now, I have been.

I’m changing course tomorrow.

I meant it when I called her mo ghaol. Now, I only have to show her how much I truly mean it.