Lost Along the Way (16 page)

Chase watched me in silence, waiting for my answer.

“Not this weekend,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. “Maybe next.”

He nodded, gazing down into his untouched coffee. “I could come with you.”

“Don’t you have to work?” In fact, now that I thought of it, he hadn’t been to work since I’d been home.

He hung his head. “I quit. I know I probably shouldn’t have, but I wanted to be here if you came home. Or if you called. I… I’ll find something with better hours. Hours that match yours, so we can be together more.” He reached for my hand, but I instinctively pulled away, and he winced as if I’d slapped him. He tucked his hands back under the table, blinking away tears. “Will you let me come to Laramie with you?”

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

He nodded stiffly, staring down at his lap.

I sighed. I couldn’t deny the gentle ache in my heart, but I also couldn’t bring myself to comfort him. “Chase,” I said, but then stopped because I had no idea what came next.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. I knew he was crying, although he kept his gaze averted. “I’m truly sorry. I don’t know what happened. I felt so alone. You have your job, and you have such purpose—you’ve always had that—and I feel like such a failure. I know how disappointed you’ve been—”

“That’s not true.”

“And suddenly you were spending weekends in Laramie, and—”

“But it started before the trips to Laramie.”

He hesitated, wiping the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand. “Yes.” His voice was even quieter now.

“When?” Although I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. “How many times did you betray me?”

He shook his head, finally looking up at me again. “Please, Daniel. Nothing can be gained by making me answer that. It’ll only hurt you more.”

“So you’re saying I should just forget it? Pretend our entire life together wasn’t built on your lies?”

“No,” he gasped, and his eyes filled with tears again. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. That was never a lie.”

“And yet it wasn’t enough either, was it?”

He reached slowly across the table to take my hand. I let him this time, although I didn’t return his caress. “I’ve behaved terribly, I know. I don’t deny it. I’ve done unforgivable things. But I love you, Daniel. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

I closed my eyes, wanting the conversation to be over. But the memory of fifteen mostly happy years was hard to shake. “I love you, too. But I don’t think this can be fixed.”

“It can. I promise, it can.”

“And the cheating?”

“It’ll never happen again. I realize now how much I need you, and how foolish I’ve been. If you’ll only stay here with me—and give it time—I’ll prove it to you. I’ll do whatever it takes. I just need you to say you’ll give us a chance.”

For the first time, my heart wavered. I could take Chase in my arms. I could let him cry and apologize. I could take him in the bedroom and we could make love with a passion we hadn’t shared in years. But this would never be fixed. He’d still feel inadequate, and I’d always have doubts about his fidelity. Eventually, he’d come to resent me again. It was only a matter of time before he turned to another man, this time maybe for good.

I longed to leave it all behind. To jump into my car and run back to Laramie and Landon, but I had one more week to go.

“I’m going to bed,” I said to Chase.

It was harder to focus on my endgame when Chase was sitting across from me, crying and begging forgiveness. But once I was nestled between the soft sheets of our guest bed, Landon came back to me like a vision. His shy smile and the crinkles around his eyes and the way he brushed his fingers up the inside of my arm as we walked side by side.

I’d promised not to call him, but I hadn’t promised not to call my own parents’ house.

I worried he hadn’t plugged the phone or the answering machine back in, but the call went through and was picked up on the third ring. It was Landon’s voice, and it was like a balm on my heart.

“You’ve reached the Whitaker residence. Rose and Bob are no longer with us, but if you leave a message, somebody will return your call.”

Beep.

“Landon, it’s me. I know you said no calls, but I’m considering this a loophole. I just have to hope you’re there, and that you’re listening.” I stopped, suddenly unsure. I hadn’t planned out what to say. Hadn’t thought at all beyond the image of Landon standing in my parents’ living room, some dusty piece of bric-a-brac in his hand, listening to my words echoing from the machine. Should I tell him about Chase? About feeling like I was living in purgatory? About walking a tightrope between dread and hope? No. That was all too much. In the end, I settled for something simple. I settled for the one sentiment that bubbled to the top, bright and pure and true. “God, I miss you like crazy.”

T
HE
NEXT
week was much like the one before, but Chase was a bit happier. I feared he’d misunderstood my silence—that he’d taken it for agreement—but I dreaded bringing it up and hashing it all out again, and since he still allowed me my boundaries, it seemed simplest to let it lie. He busied himself around the house. He filled out job applications. He talked hesitantly of going to night school. He cooked dinner every evening. And through it all, from dawn until dusk, I thought of Landon.

That one simple phone call had shifted my perspective. It felt like a leap of faith. A shot in the dark. Throwing my bottle into the sea of the universe and hoping he’d received my message. I knew in my heart he had. I knew he’d not only heard it, but he’d rejoiced. He’d felt the same sharp keen joy upon hearing the words as I’d felt upon uttering them. I didn’t need Granny B’s goofy recipes or her questionable magic. I only needed him.

The knowledge gave me much-needed strength. I was still awash in the ruins of my life, dealing with Chase every day, seeing the hope and the pain etched on his familiar face, but Landon was my lifeline. As the days of week two crept by, I found myself smiling more. I felt lighter on my feet.

My new levity didn’t go unnoticed. “I’m so happy to see you smiling again,” Chase said to me one night after dinner. The sincerity of his words gave me pause. Was I giving him false hope? I didn’t want to hurt him any more than I had to, but I longed for my two-week parole to be up. I began to debate exactly how long I had to wait to call Landon. We’d made the agreement Sunday night, but did I really have to wait until Sunday evening? Certainly calling him Sunday morning would be close enough.

But if Sunday was okay, then why not Saturday?

Why not Friday?

Why not right now? Why did I have to wait another minute?

I stopped at the grocery story on my way home on Wednesday. Chase had called me an hour before on my cell phone.

“We’re out of paper towels,” he’d said. “Can you pick some up on your way home?”

“Sure.”

“And a loaf of french bread?”

“With garlic?”

“Without, please.”

“No problem.”

“Will you be home by six?”

“Yes,” I assured him. “I’m packing up now.”

“Good. I’ll see you when you get home.”

“Okay. I love you.”

The words were out of my mouth before I realized I was going to say them. Not because I felt anything profound at that moment but because it was the way I’d ended a thousand conversations with him over the years. It was as much a habit as starting the conversation with “hello.” But this time, it felt completely wrong.

“Uhh….” I stuttered awkwardly. I wanted to say “I didn’t mean it,” but that felt cruel. And yet, I didn’t want to let him believe I’d suddenly forgiven him.

“It’s okay,” he said, his tone unreadable. “Just don’t forget the bread.”

I was still pondering my blunder as I wandered through the aisles of the grocery store. It wasn’t the one closest to home, and therefore not the one I usually shopped at. As if being distracted by my mess of a personal life wasn’t enough, they’d rearranged since I’d last been there.

“Why can’t they leave it be?” I muttered.

I felt a light tap on my arm. “Excuse me.”

I turned to find a tan, fit woman looking tentatively up at me. She was probably about thirty, and had a toddler strapped into the seat at the front of the cart. “Are you Daniel Whitaker?”

“Yes.”

“You’re the Channel 9 weatherman!”

Oh great. I resisted the urge to say, “I’m a meteorologist.” I tried to recall what my forecast had been for today. Twenty percent chance of rain? Thirty? “Yes.”

She broke into a broad smile. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I’m actually meeting you! I love your forecasts. You’re my favorite weatherman! I swear, you’re never wrong. I can always count on you.”

I was so surprised I actually took a step backward. “Excuse me?”

“I work at a nursery. I mean, a
gardening center
. They hate when I call it a nursery. But anyway, there are five of us there. We work outside all the time, and it helps to know the weather, and you’re the only forecaster we trust. You always get it right.”

“I, uhh…. Really?”

She grinned shyly at me as her enthusiasm gave way to embarrassment. “Well, I’m sure you hear it all the time, but I wanted you to know.”

She pushed her cart on down the aisle, and I stood there, completely stunned.

I always got it right?

Her compliment kept me smiling all the way home.

F
RIDAY
MORNING
arrived with a dry, warm gust of wind and towering cumulus, foretelling thunderstorms later in the day. My sentence was almost up. I fidgeted through my breakfast, mumbled a good-bye to Chase, then stumbled through my shift at the station, where radar images, surface weather charts, synoptic weather data, and isotach maps were summarized with a glib, “Eighty percent chance of showers, and a hail advisory for later this evening.” I’d decided—based on nothing scientific at all—that noon on Sunday was good enough, and I counted down the hours.

Forty-eight hours from now, I’ll call Landon.

Forty-six hours from now, I’ll call Landon.

Forty-two hours from now, I’ll call Landon.

My pulse raced as I drove home at the end of the day. I’d almost reached my day of reckoning, and yet it would get worse before it got better. Going to work each day had been my shelter. How much harder would this weekend be, with Chase apparently believing we were on the mend?

I had to tell him. Not only that, but it had to be tonight.

The thought made my gut clench with nerves, but it had to be done. Putting it off wasn’t going to make anything any easier.

Once home, I was greeted by a smell both familiar and unsettling. Something savory, and yet it made me wary for no reason I could identify.

“Perfect timing!” Chase called from the kitchen. He sounded so happy, and I moaned inwardly at the thought of shattering his happiness. Maybe I could wait until after dinner?

He was laying the loaded plates on the table when I walked in the door. The sight brought me up short. “Meatloaf?” I asked in surprise.

“Well, that Granny B cookbook was on the dresser in the guest room.” He held his hand up defensively. “I wasn’t snooping, I swear. It was right there on the dresser by the door.”

“I know.”

“Well, I remembered how you’d made this for me that night, and….” He faltered, his cheeks flushing. “I can’t explain it. It just felt right.”

Oh lord. Nothing good could come of this, but how exactly did I explain it to Chase?

He mistook my silence for disapproval. His shoulders slumped. “You don’t like it.”

He sounded so dejected, I rushed to reassure him before I could help myself. “Don’t be silly. It’s fine.”

Still, it was with a certain amount of trepidation that I sat down and picked up my fork.

The first bite took away all my misgivings. It tasted amazing—better than any meatloaf had a right to taste. “Wow!”

“I know,” Chase replied, his voice flat. “I must have gotten it wrong. Maybe I missed an ingredient.” He frowned down at the slice on his plate, picking at it sadly with his fork.

“You don’t like it?” I asked in surprise.

“You do?” he asked, equally surprised.

“It’s delicious.”

“Oh.” He thought about it for a moment, then smiled. “I’m glad.”

I took another bite, and another. Each one was better than the last, and as the hefty slice on my plate disappeared, so did all of my misgivings. Why had I been worried? I’d simply tell Chase it was over (although I didn’t bother to wonder why it suddenly seemed like an easy task). I’d sell the house (it couldn’t be that hard). I’d go to Laramie (my heart swelled with joy) and I’d find Landon (more swelling) and I’d tell him—

My thoughts were interrupted by a strange, gasping sound. It took me a moment to realize it was a sob.

Chase had pushed his half-eaten meatloaf aside and now sat with his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. His shoulders shook with the force of his tears. I felt a tiny bit guilty. I’d been so caught up in my own happiness I hadn’t even realized he’d begun to cry.

“Chase? Are you okay?”

“Oh God…,” he moaned, shaking his head and bending closer to the table, as if the pain were folding him in half.

“What is it?” I asked in alarm.

“I can’t stop th-thinking…,” he gasped, struggling to form words as he cried, “thinking about all the lies I told. And about h-how you looked when I found you in our bedroom with those c-condoms in your hand. And about how heartbroken you were. I can’t stop thinking about what I’ve done. And I realize I’ve ruined the best thing that ever happened to me.” He was crying so hard now it was difficult to discern his words. “I realize we’ll never, ever get past this, will we? You’ll never be able to forgive me.”

I blinked at him, trying to catch up. “Chase, I—”

“I’ve lost you, Daniel. Oh God, I see it so clearly now. I love you so much, but I’ve lost you! How could I have been so stupid?” He lapsed into a fit of painful sobs, bent double from the force of them.