Hell in a Handbasket - The Journey (12 page)

“Thanks, he did seem nice at first. We hit it off really
well, and—well, I thought things between us might become—well—more.”

“So what happened?”

I looked at her as if she suddenly sprouted horns and a
tail.

“Come on, you can tell Ole Gertie. Your secret is safe with
me.” The pleading look in her eyes convinced me to at least talk to
her,
I really could use a friendly ear. Maybe she could help
me figure a few things out. I began regaling her with the story of Ryder and
Maeve, having the decency or discretion to only hint at the sex in very public
places. She listened intently as if this was the best story she had ever heard,
intrigued when she heard how well we had initially connected, and disappointed
when she realized he had lied to me. I watched her face fall as I told her of
the box he had stashed in with my belongings, and how after several attempts at
returning it, the box kept arriving back at my house, through different
carriers, and with different return names, and addresses. She suddenly got a
look of a shrewd business person, and I was a little taken aback by her
expression as I explained that now after everything, I felt that the only way
he was going to get my message was if I returned the box personally.

“You don’t sound as if you’ve opened the box yet?”
Gertrude’s expression was warm and open and a little bit disconcerting.

“I haven’t opened it, and I don’t intend to.” With a steely
resolve, shaking my head trying to convey that my choice was the best answer.

“Can I see the box?” Her face showed a mild excitement, and
she reminded me so much of my Gram, I couldn’t tell her
no
.
Reaching inside my purse, I pulled out the fragile looking box and set it in
Gertrude’s outstretched palm. She turned the box over and over, looking at it
intently as if it held the secrets of the universe.

After peering at the box from every possible angle, she
gingerly handed it back to me, almost as if she didn’t want to part with it.

“Don’t you even want to know what’s in that pretty box?”
Gertie tilted her head and her soft eyes tried to tell me something that my
angry brain just couldn’t seem to grasp.

“Why would I want to know what’s in it?”
Anger and humiliation coupled together to make my voice
barely a squeaky shake.

“Maybe he’s sincerely sorry and he just doesn’t know how to
make it up to you.”

“Make it up to me? He lied to me. He knew who I was and
pretended he didn’t. In a lot of places, that’s called stalking, and I don‘t
think you can make up for that.”

“Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, there’s a very
real possibility, women throw themselves at him because of his money and he was
trying to gauge what type of person you are before getting involved?”

“Oh please, please tell me you’re not on his side? I really
like you Gertie, you remind me so much of my late grandma and she would have
kittens if, A…she knew what he and I have done together and B…she thought for
one second that I was going to be okay with someone not only for lying to me,
but stalking me.
Stalking me
.
Gertie, he was
stalking me. I just…I don’t…I just don’t…I…Gertie, I just don’t know.”
My words deflating towards the end.

“It’s okay to be confused, dear, he may have had valid
reasons for why he did what he did, but that doesn’t mean that what he did was
right. Why don’t you just talk to him, hear his side of the story. There are
three sides to every story. Your side, my side, and somewhere in the middle is
the truth. You need to hear his side of the
story,
even if its sole purpose is to help you clear your head and get to the truth.”

“I guess. It’s just…Gertie, when I get near him, I can’t
think. All rational thought goes right out of my head. Don’t laugh, it’s true—I
even forget to breathe sometimes—and that’s supposed to be involuntary—and yet,
I just stop breathing. How am I supposed to—to get to the truth if I can’t even
remember to breathe?”

“I’m not laughing at you, dear. You remind me of myself
when I was your age and I first met my late husband, Harold. I was like you—I
couldn’t think, and I kept forgetting to breathe.”

“Husband?”

“Yes, dear, husband.”

“Did he stalk you too?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.
But times were different then, society was different. A
shy boy might follow a girl around until he got up the courage to speak to her.
It wasn’t the negative thing it is today.”

“So, what happened?”

“Oh, he was so cute. He thought he was clever, trying to
hide behind trees and such. I never let on that I knew he was there, It would
have embarrassed him, and then he never would have approached me, and we never
would have gotten married, or had four children, ten grandchildren, and to date
two great-grandchildren.”

I didn’t know what to think anymore. Here Gertrude sat,
explaining in a very convincing way that Ryder may have had a valid reason for
being stupid and acting like a real royal jackass. Yet, I could hear my Gram’s
voice in my head,
Liar, Stalker!
and
yet there sat Gertrude smiling sweetly, trying to
convince me that maybe I was wrong and he had something worthwhile to say in
his defense.

“Just talk to him, dear, talking won’t hurt you. Men can be
difficult and sometimes I wonder what God put in their head for thinking. But
truly, if after you’ve talked to him, you still can’t get past his stupidity,
then by all means walk away.” She took my hand that was still holding the box
into both of hers and she held my hand and the box tight as if her words held
more meaning than I could hear.

The rest of the flight was relatively uneventful as I sat
holding the little box, replaying Gertrude’s words in my head and wondering if
there was any way she could be right.

* * * *

I caught a cab to the Towers. Still sitting in the back
seat, I glanced out the window and up toward Ryder’s office floor. It felt like
deja vu. I could have sworn I saw Ryder looking out of his window, looking
right at me.

“Miss?”
The Cabbie looked at me through his rearview mirror.
“That’ll be $17.50.”

“Oh, yes. Sorry.” Pulling myself out from the car window
and back into my seat, I took a twenty from out of my purse, handing it to the
cab driver through an open section of the clear safety glass that separated us.

“Keep the change.” I clutched my purse to me tightly,
grabbed my overnight bag, as a sudden feeling of uncertainty washed over me.
Easing out of the car, softly closing the door behind me.
I
glanced back up at the window, and Ryder wasn’t there. Maybe it had been an
illusion, or a figment of my imagination.

* * * *

I made my way through the front doors that led into the
main lobby of the building. Glancing around, I didn’t want to take the stairs
and get sweaty with the exertion, but at the same time, I wasn’t sure I could
handle an elevator ride. Trying to weigh the pros and cons, I decided that
maybe I could handle a ride in a different elevator, especially if there were
people riding with me.

Walking around, I came to the elevators. Pushed the button
and impatiently waited.
Anxious to get this over with.
Yet scared that Ryder’s story might, just might make sense, and then I’d be
right back where I was before, forgetting to breathe, and unable to think.

I heard the ding that told me an elevator car was arriving
on my floor. Crap on a cracker, it was the one Ryder had taken my first time
here. Well, I could wait for the next car, right?

The doors opened, and that same elderly man was in there.

“Going up?” His smile was warm, and seemed to hold a
secret.

“No, I think I’ll wait for a different car. Thank you.” I
nodded politely.

“Don’t be silly. This car’s here, and I can keep you
company.” His smile broadened, and if he hadn’t seemed like a million years
old, I would have been worried. I thought long and hard about what he said. Ok,
I thought about it for just a few seconds. I did want to get this over with,
and if I could ride in that elevator, I could handle anything.

“Sure, thank you.”

* * * *

The elevator ride was uneventful, and it gave me hope that
I could actually talk to Ryder without losing any more self-control, or
self-respect.

I stepped up to the receptionist desk. The elderly woman
sitting behind it was such a stark change from Taryn. Where Taryn had been
young, perky, and only truly interested in herself, this lady was the epitome
of professionalism. I liked her.

I read her name plate. Cynthia Bonner.

“Hello, my name is Maeve
Bendis,
I’m here to see Ryder Madsen.”

“Yes. I’ll see if he will see you. Please have seat over by
the book shelf. I‘ll let you know what he says.”

Huh. I never thought that he might not see me. Wow, I am
really stupid.

I walked over to the book shelf, and found myself staring
at rows and rows of beautiful books. I never did find out if these were books
that Ryder’s company published or not.

“Miss Bendis? Mr. Madsen says to wait right there. He’ll
come out to see you in a few minutes. You can have a seat, you don’t have to
stand.”

I looked at the furniture that seemed so familiar. The
mahogany wood chairs with burgundy leather seating. I was lost, unable to place
the furniture, where had I seen it before?

I was still standing there trying to figure it out, when I
heard that deep rumbling voice that shook me to my core.

“Maeve?”

I spun around trying to look calm, cool, and collected. I
don’t think I pulled it off. My eyes started at my eye level which was at his
chest, and my breath caught as I took in his barrel chest filling out his
sapphire blue silk shirt, under his gray suit jacket. I had to force my eyes to
travel up his neck, his face, that mouth, and it was a real struggle to reach
his eyes, but when I did, I honestly thought the world had stopped spinning.

It took everything I had to remember why I was there. I
grabbed my purse, and pulled it around to my chest. I fumbled inside for the
little box. Finding it, I grasped it as gently as I could, removed the box from
my purse, and handed it to him.

He looked down at the box in my hand. His face showed a
deep sadness.

“You didn’t open it. I had hoped that your visit here was
because you had opened the box, and understood the contents.”

“Ryder, please, you can’t buy my understanding, or
forgiveness. You lied to me, and stalked me. That’s creepy, and it’s wrong. I
can’t accept this gift.”

“Maeve, I know you don’t have any reason to trust me, and I
understand. Just open the box.”

“Ryder, you can’t buy my forgiveness. Take the box.”

“Not until you’ve opened it. Once you’ve opened it, and you
see what’s inside, if you still want me to take it back, I will. Just open it,
please.”

Shaking my head, I glared at the little box. What could
possibly be in the box that would be
that
 
important
? It must be awfully
expensive. I reached over with my left hand, and slowly raised the lid,
releasing the lower half of the box. And there, resting inside was a very old
and worn, folded piece of paper. I glanced back up at Ryder, confusion written
on my face.

“Take it out.” He nodded at the piece of paper in the box.

Gingerly, I pulled the piece of paper out of the box. It
was so old and
worn,
I had to be extra careful when I
unfolded it.

I looked at the paper. It was a note.
A
very old note.
It looked as if it had been read several times, over
several years. Looking closer, I recognized my handwriting from when I was
younger, before my parents had died, and I had to move in with Gram.

As I started to read the note, that day came flooding back.

I was at summer camp, I was twelve years old, and the whole
world was ahead of me. It was my first year at camp, and I didn’t really know
what to expect. Although my parents had raised me to be outgoing, I felt a
strange peace here, and wanted to be alone to let it soak in before I had to
mingle with everyone else.

I had walked down to the lake, and sat down on a log. I
didn’t know if the log had fallen there or had been placed there. Either way,
it was the perfect spot to sit and watch the sun play off the water of the lake,
to just listen to the birds and insects singing about their lives.

I don’t know how long I had been sitting there when I heard
a rustling behind me. I was so at peace, I didn’t even turn around to see who
or what was behind me.

I glanced over as someone sat down on the log beside me. A
cute boy was looking at me as if he had found a rare treasure. His dark hair
blew in the wind, and I had an odd and almost uncontrollable urge to brush his
hair out of his eyes. I had to practically sit on my hands to keep from
reaching over and touching him.