Most of All You: A Love Story(22)
Fuck!
I spent another twenty minutes nursing my beer, contemplating what she’d said. Was I here to fix her? Was that even worse than asking her to help fix me?
She didn’t return to my table. Her section kept her busy enough, but I knew she was avoiding me, and I wasn’t sure I could blame her completely. She went to the back, and when she hadn’t emerged ten minutes later, I signed the credit card slip the waitress had brought a few minutes before and started walking away. With a sudden thought, I turned back and used the pen in the bill folder to write my cell phone number on a napkin and then folded it in half and wrote Crystal’s name on the front. I almost balled it up—who even knew if she’d get it, and if she did, she’d most likely toss it out. With a sigh, I left it there anyway and turned and walked toward the door.
All the way home, I vowed not to go back again. It was hopeless. Move on, Gabriel. Let her be, and do what she said. Find someone else.
*
The next day, I helped George in the quarry, directing the machines and trucks that cut and hauled the stone. The physical labor involved in constant hikes from the bottom of the quarry to the top, combined with the nonstop activity, kept me distracted enough that I didn’t drive myself crazy with my own thoughts. The crew didn’t necessarily need my help, but there was always something to do at the quarry, and I enjoyed the strenuous work at least a couple of times a week. It usually helped inspire creativity the next day—something about putting my body to work and emptying my brain. It was a type of therapy, I supposed. Then again, so was carving.
As I was heading up the hill, George fell in stride beside me. “Thanks for the help today. Got something on your mind?” He grinned over at me.
George wasn’t one to pry, and was a man of few words. I didn’t often discuss personal things with him, and he’d never asked me about what I’d experienced in that basement all those years. I knew in my gut he’d talk about it if I brought it up, but I’d never felt the need to, not with him, and I appreciated that he respected that boundary. So when I stopped and turned to him and asked, “George, how do you know when to give up on someone?” he looked mildly surprised.
He paused, looking off behind my shoulder, before turning his wise eyes back to me. “We talking about a female someone?”
I laughed softly. “Maybe.”
“Maybe.” One side of his lips quirked up in a half smile. “Well, is she giving you any reason to be persistent?”
I sighed. “Not so much. But I just, I have this feeling …” My words died. I didn’t know how to finish that sentence. This feeling that what? That she’s mine. The words rose up inside me so strongly I almost stumbled. “This feeling …,” I murmured again, feeling both off-balance and somehow energized.
George glanced at me worriedly. “Uh-huh.” He paused again, seeming to consider his words. “Well, kid, I guess there’s no one answer to that. I think you have to go with your gut.”
I smiled. “That’s what my dad used to say.”
He smiled back. “Yeah, sounds like him.” Affection moved over his face at the mention of my dad, his best friend. “I think you should trust yourself, Gabriel. The answers are in here.” He tapped a hand over his heart. “Whatever you decide, I have faith it’s the right choice.” He paused as if he was gathering his next words. “It’s not the things you do with love and good intentions that you end up regretting. It’s the things you don’t do that you have to live with. Be honest with yourself about your intentions, Gabriel, and then follow your heart. Regardless of the outcome, you’ll never live with regret.”
“Thanks, George. I kind of needed that vote of confidence.”
“Gabriel, where you’re concerned, I’m always confident.” He winked and walked away, toward the office.
I went home and took a quick shower, George’s words—my dad’s words—echoing in my head. Go with your gut. My gut told me to try again with Crystal.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I got in my truck and headed to the Platinum Pearl. I’d told her I wasn’t giving up on her. I’d said it. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I had. I couldn’t make a fool of myself forever. If she never reciprocated the effort, I’d have no choice but to give up eventually, but I was willing to check my pride again to prove to Crystal I hadn’t just delivered empty words. I had a feeling Crystal was well acquainted with empty words.
I sat at a different table this time, but one still far back from the stage. All the tables at the front of the room were taken—the men crowded together, anxious to see the dancers up close and personal. A small flicker of jealousy lit inside me at the thought of all the men gaping at Crystal, but I tried my best to extinguish it. I couldn’t even get her to have a cup of coffee with me. I had no right to be jealous.
I hoped I had arrived after she’d danced but with enough time to be seated before she came out to serve drinks, and it seemed I had lucked out with my timing. Twenty minutes after I got there, Crystal emerged wearing her waitressing outfit. She stopped in the doorway, an empty tray in her hand. My heart flipped over. A loose braid fell over one shoulder, several pieces of hair already escaping and hanging around her heavily made-up face. She looked both innocent and far, far too knowing at the same time. A complete paradox.