Authors: Samantha Shakespeare
“Everything all right, sweetie?” he asked concerned.
“I’m fine dad.”
“Ready to go?”
“Yes, anytime you are,” I responded, returning my gaze to the safety of the table. I was pretty sure the table couldn’t read my face like most people could, so I took solace in that.
The car ride home was silent except for a few stories about the locals that my father decided to share. He gossiped worse than a teenage girl sometimes.
“Will you be all right if I go play poker tonight?”
“Poker again?” I asked slightly irritated.
It was impossible to play poker seven nights a week. My father would be completely penniless if that were the case. He was a smart, successful businessman, but a lousy gambler. He, of course, would have contested to my observation.
“Yes, playing poker is a good way to pick up the local rumors, which also helps business.”
“Okay,” I responded. “I’ll be fine just like every other night.”
“I know, but tomorrow is your first day at a new school, so I wanted to make sure you were comfortable with being alone.”
“I’ll be just fine, Dad,” I sighed. I wasn’t that fragile.
Starting a new school in the middle of my college experience wasn’t exactly a comforting thought, but it was my reality now.
“Call me if you need anything.”
“I will. Have fun.” I faked a smile and slid out of the car.
His car sped out of the drive. Retrieving my keys, the memories of my mother suddenly came flooding back as I noticed the brass nameplate on the front door for the first time since returning home. I ran my fingers across the engraving, remembering the day it was placed there. It was the final touch my father insisted on after having this house built for my mother.
Life had never been the same since her death. If my mother were only here today, the pain I felt would be tolerable. Only her love and wisdom could help heal my wounded heart.
Looking at the clock over the fireplace, I realized it was only eight-thirty. Pictures of a once happy family lined the mantel. It felt like another lifetime when those pictures had been taken.
My father’s need to keep reminders around was unhealthy. This house was enough of a reminder, why did he have to keep every little detail the same. By all appearances, it seemed like he hadn’t moved on with his life.
Grabbing every last one of those reminders, I placed the picture frames in my arms and headed to the garage. I pulled out an empty box from the shelves above my father’s tool bench, carefully placing each picture inside. I sighed heavily before closing the lid and sliding the box onto the shelf. I purposely left it unmarked.
My actions were selfish and had nothing to do with my father, but it saddened me to have to look at her picture knowing she was no longer in my life, which now seemed like an endless darkness without her light to guide the way.
I headed upstairs to my room, which hadn’t changed since I was thirteen. The bubblegum pink walls and white trim were reminiscent of my childhood—happy and carefree. The ivory bedroom set with crystal knobs was every little princess’s dream. How I longed for those simpler times.
As I lay in bed, tossing and turning, I found my thoughts reluctantly drifting back to Braden again, still wondering how I could have been so naïve as to trust someone with his reputation. Although he had pledged his love to me, everyone in
Boulder
knew about his many past indiscretions. There would be much gossip around the college campus, adding humiliation to my return home.
I had to shake those thoughts, so I pressed the power button on the television remote and began flipping through the channels. Every show seemed to revolve around weddings and every commercial was an irritating dating website that promised to find the person that was made just for you. It was hard now to imagine there was anyone made just for me out there as I had once believed that Braden was that person. With nothing but reminders about what I had lost, I turned off the television.
Continuing to revisit Braden’s betrayal wasn’t helping me heal. As I lay in the quiet house, I became determined to focus on more pleasant things. Reflecting on the evening, I thought about how Andrew looked just as appealing as he did the night we met on the plane. I wondered if he and I would ever cross paths again.
Glancing at the clock, it was hard to believe it was already 1:00 a.m. I thought about school and my late registration, pleased because there had only been evening classes available, which suited my current case of insomnia.
The sound of the garage door opening disrupted my thoughts and sent me flying to my feet. I pushed back the pink, translucent curtain and peeked through the blinds. I saw my father’s truck slowly pulling up the drive. His late night excursions were becoming suspicious.
I wondered if he had met someone and my return had put a damper on things. It had been almost three years since my mother’s passing. My emotional state was fragile, but I just wished he felt the ability to be honest with me.
I decided to greet my father at the door, thinking this might give him the opportunity to open up to me about where he had really been going. I flew down the stairs and stood patiently waiting at the door connected to the garage. The door swung open.
“Hi, Daddy.”
“Oh my goodness, you almost gave me a heart attack!” he said, grabbing his chest.
“Sorry.”
“Did I wake you?” he asked, lightly leaning against the counter.
“No, I couldn’t sleep again,” I admitted, fetching a glass from the cabinet and slowly filling it with water.
“Sweetie, it’s been three weeks. It’s time to stop dwelling on people that aren’t worth it.”
“I know, Dad. I know,” I muttered.
“You do realize that all men aren’t bad, don’t you?”
“Dad, I don’t think all men are bad. I had my heart broken and it takes time to heal. It’s only been a few weeks, it hasn’t been months,” I said angrily.
“Don’t let it take much more of your time. You’re much too young and beautiful to be stuck in this house depressed.”
“I’m only twenty. There’ll be plenty of time to date again, Dad.” I rolled my eyes.
“Not at this rate,” he mocked.
It was time I turned the tables. “Where were you tonight?”
“Poker.”
“Really?”
“Yes, poker.” His voice was slightly angry.
“What’s her name?” I asked, ignoring his response.
“Haley, you’re ridiculous. No one could replace your mother.”
His mention of her instantly turned me into a sobbing mess. “I know that. She left my life, too.”
He immediately wrapped his arms around me, kissing the top of my head. “Calm down, sweetie,” he said, trying to console.
“I want you to be happy, too, though. It’s been almost three years since she passed. Isn’t it time for you to find love again, too?”
“Three years is nothing compared to our thirty-two year marriage.”
“And three weeks is nothing compared to my two-year engagement. So, I guess we’ll both move on when we’re ready.”
“Agreed,” he smiled. “Now let’s go to bed.” He put his arm around me and gently nudged me along.
“Good night, Dad,” I said, entering my room.
“Good night, sweetie.”
The house was silent again as I slid underneath my blanket. It still felt like my father was avoiding the issue, but for now, I would have to take his word for it. Exhaustion had finally set in, and I drifted off to sleep.
Familiar Faces
I sat tapping my newly sharpened pencil on the speckled gray desktop—waiting for the other students to arrive. Every few minutes I glanced up at the clock on the wall. Was I even in the right room? Retrieving my schedule, I searched for the room number on the paper: Dr. Steven Collins, History 224 Western Civilization, Liberal Arts Building, Room 202. I walked out into the hallway and checked the room number. Room 202 the black and gold plaque read. I flopped back down in my seat.
A few footsteps and whispers filled the room. Two short, athletic girls walked through the door. I felt relieved, as I didn’t recognize either of them. I wasn’t ready to address the end of my relationship with Braden publicly. Both girls glared at me as they walked through the door but didn’t say a word.
Ignoring their rudeness, I asked politely “Are you in Dr. Collin’s Western Civilization class?”
They both looked at me and simultaneously said, “Yes, Haley, we are.”
I might have not known them, but they certainly knew me. “Thanks, just making sure I was in the right room,” I replied, concentrating on their faces, hoping something would jog my memory and reveal their identities.
I heard more footsteps and a few more students appeared. The class began filling. I didn’t recognize many of the faces, but I did receive a lot of second glances and hear a few whispers. I was never intentionally rude or mean to anyone, but after my mother’s death, my depression pushed me further away from my previous happier days as a cheerleader who was involved in almost every extracurricular activity available.
My head dropped, hoping that none of them would feel the need to speak to me. I knew I wouldn’t remember any of their names, nor how I treated them.
A tall figure with dark short hair quickly floated past my desk. The loud slam of a heavy textbook hitting the desk behind mine jolted me, indicating an unwelcomed presence. I paid no attention to the individual. There were so many empty desks spread throughout the room, why did this person decide to pick that desk?
Hoping to busy myself, I pulled out my phone and noticed it was 6:35. Most of the students were whispering amongst themselves, hopefully not about me. I was probably just paranoid. I laid my head down on the desk to block out the chatter.
My unwelcome neighbor was loudly clearing his throat. “Haley Helms, is that you?” he asked. I closed my eyes trying to buy some time and figure out my next move.
Before I could turn around and acknowledge the voice, a familiar scent filled the room. Immediately, I lifted my head and turned my attention toward the door.
My jaw dropped instantly, recognizing the man entering the room. It was Andrew. He walked over to the teacher’s desk and neatly placed his bag down beside it. Papers filled his arms, and he neatly stacked them on top of the black metal desk. I guess any further pondering about whether our paths would ever cross again was needless.
“Hello class, I’m Dr. Alexander, but you can call me Andrew or Drew.” He cleared his throat. “Dr. Collins took on a few day classes, so I took over his evening ones. Nonetheless, welcome back to school.”
Whispers filled the room. All the girls in class were admiring Andrew’s alluring presence. This was going to be a long semester, most likely filled with inner torment.
Andrew began taking roll, and with the call of my name, I responded with the usual “Present,” and sighed, without flashing a look in his direction.
“Nice to see you again, Miss Helms,” Andrew commented. My eyes shot up toward the front of the class. He was apparently aware of my presence also.
“S-same to you,” I stuttered.
Every girl started giggling as they stared back at me, shaking their heads. I just rolled my eyes and looked down again.
As soon as roll call was over, Andrew handed out our syllabus for the semester. I surmised the amount of effort I would have to exert. I was surprised, only one paper due at the end of the semester and a weekly quiz—this was a piece of cake. Having an easy class gave me a slight feeling of joy. Realizing that Andrew was more than likely going to be my Thursday night instructor for my History 362 class, gave me another slight feeling of joy—and anguish.
Andrew was reading the syllabus aloud, so my attention was directed elsewhere. Having to endure his god-like presence two nights a week would be difficult—very difficult. I stared at the paper that lay before me, realizing that I had never addressed the male presence sitting behind me.
The words ‘fifteen minute’ break broke my concentration, and I was relieved to be able to stretch my legs. These classes were almost three hours long, since we only met once a week. Digging through my purse, I hoped to find some change for the vending machine. I quickly slipped out of the room to avoid any conversation.
The vending machines were conveniently located right outside the classroom. There was a line forming behind me as I fumbled with my change. After retrieving my selections, I casually strolled down the hall. A loud voice broke through the silence. I looked back over my shoulder to find a tall, slender boy with light brown hair and piercing blue eyes, shaking his head.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Miss Haley Helms, right here in the flesh.” His loud voice boomed.
“Ryan Scott,” I sighed in relief.
He wore the old style black Converse sneakers and his hair was spiked with a little too much gel. His jeans showed serious wear and his t-shirt was covered with skulls and crossbones. He sported a black hooded sweatshirt in the middle of August.
His voice was deep, yet gentle, unlike his appearance. “I never thought I’d see you again.”