Previously Loved Treasures (Serendipity #2)(13)

Caroline would close her eyes and see the story unfold; then she’d transform her vision into magical words that fairly danced across the page. She and Greg became the fictional Claire and Matthew. But, unlike Greg, Matthew was madly in love with Claire.

While Greg found other things to do, Caroline spent evenings pouring her heart into page after page of the novel she’d titled Someday. The lonely weeks turned into months, and the months became years. In time a wall rose up between Caroline and Greg. Bricks of resentment, thoughtlessness, and anger were laid one on top of another until the wall reached a point where hope could no longer slide through the cracks.

But even the most hopeless love doesn’t disappear like a shadow in darkness. It clings to you and hangs on with every last thread of possibility until one day you see the ugly truth of what it is: something that never really was. When that finally happened, it was too late. The ill-tempered and vengeful Greg was Caroline’s boss. For her there was no longer an easy way out.

~

When the telephone rang a second time, Caroline grabbed the pillow and covered the phone to muffle the sound. When a softer ring came from beneath the pillow, she moaned, “Go away,” and covered her ears. The answering machine finally clicked on and the caller hung up. Obviously Greg.

Caroline buried her face in her hands. Every ounce of common sense screamed let this be the end of it, but there was a pinprick of possibility poking through her resolve. She thought back to a week earlier when they’d fought over precisely the same thing. She’d refused to write his article on the Delaware Water Gap, and Greg had stormed out saying he’d not be back, ever. But he did come back. He came back with flowers and a feeble apology. He’d kissed her mouth and held her close until she crumbled.

“I wouldn’t ask if I weren’t in a bind,” he said, “but this is the last time, I promise.”

Caroline had remained at the computer until two in the morning finishing that article. In the morning he’d scooped up the pages and dashed out the door with little more than a peck on the cheek.

~

Before a half-hour had passed, the telephone began ringing again. Caroline threw Greg’s leather jacket over the pillow, and the ring became little more than a soft buzz. She knew what would happen if she answered the phone: he’d say he was sorry, tell her how much he loved her, and ask if she’d meet him at some little out-of-the-way restaurant so they could talk. When the telephone finally stopped ringing, Caroline gathered her resolve, pulled Greg’s suitcase from the closet, and began packing his clothes. “Not this time,” she sobbed. “Not this time.”

The telephone continued to ring off and on for most of the day; still Caroline refused to answer it. Shortly after nine she heard a key in the door. Greg.

He came in obviously tipsy and carrying a bouquet of flowers that had already started to wilt. “I’m sorry,” he said and offered the flowers. “It’s the stress of the job. It makes me crazy.”

Caroline did not turn to look at him.

“You know what it’s like. Deadline after deadline. My life is hell. If I didn’t have you—”

“You don’t have me,” she said crisply. “I’m through.”

“Through with what?”

“You.” She motioned to the suitcase standing in the hall. “Take your stuff and get out.”

“You’re kidding.”

The words stabbed at Caroline’s heart, but her expression remained flat. “I’m not kidding. Go.”

“No way!” he shouted. “I paid half the rent, and I’m staying.” He suddenly sounded a bit more sober. “Okay, you’re mad, I get it. But we’ll work this out. By tomorrow—” Greg lifted the suitcase onto a chair and began unpacking his clothes.

“Please don’t do this, Greg,” she said. “Our relationship is not working. I need to get on with my life. You don’t care a thing about me—”

He turned and looked at her. “That’s not true. I do care about you.”

Caroline heard the words, but this time she also heard the truth behind them. He cares about me, but he doesn’t love me.

Without saying another word, she turned away. Tomorrow she would go in search of a new job and a new apartment. Even as that thought ran through her mind, a nagging voice whispered, But if he says he loves you? What will you do then?





Ida Sweetwater





I didn’t get twenty minutes worth of sleep last night. I just couldn’t stop thinking about how I’ve got a granddaughter I never knew existed. A number of times I squeezed my eyes shut and tried picturing sheep jumping over a fence. Counting sheep is supposed to make a person sleepy, but it doesn’t really work. Not if you’ve got something more important on your mind. I’d get to three or four sheep, then I’d go back to thinking about Caroline again. I was imagining her smile and her laugh, and I was wishing she’d have that same happy-go-lucky laugh James had.

Yesterday I tried calling her twelve different times, but all I got was an answering machine. It would be downright impossible to tell a machine the things I’ve got to say. Wilbur suggested I ought to leave my name and number with a message for her to call back, but I was afraid to do it. What if she’s already decided she wants nothing to do with her daddy’s family? If she feels that way she might not bother calling back. I can’t take that chance.