EXcapades (6 page)

While I stood on the front porch, watching him climb into his vehicle, I breathed in the humid air. I looked at the cloudless sky, and the blue vastness of it made me think about the endless opportunities that lay ahead for me. Life, I knew, was going to be different now . . . better. I was going to live for today and for the future.
Dear past . . . thank you for the lessons. Dear future . . . I am ready.

No, I would not allow the shadows of my past to haunt me. I would look to the future, a better future. At that moment, I removed the handwritten note I had shoved into my pocket earlier and read it:
Urgent!
Call doctor about scheduling follow-up appointment for test results.

I squeezed the note in my hand, crushing it until my fist turned red.
I really didn’t want to know the results from my biopsy or imaging scan.
I tossed the crumpled paper into the bushes.

As I watched his truck drive away, I wanted to shout after him, “Thank you, Chase, for chasing away the last hint of darkness in me.”

Chapter 4

And when I sat up in bed the next morning I didn’t realize my entire life as I had known it was about to change.

My morning started out like every other day. Even though I was emotionally drained, I felt determined to overcome any negative thoughts. I jumped out of bed
eager to start a new art project
.
Stained glass would make a perfect gift for Jenny to brighten her stodgy dorm room.
Day one of starting a new life.

No, I was not going to sit around waiting for someone to rescue me. Another idea shot through me. I needed to make a list of what I wanted out of life. I should figure out what I would like to do. It was time to start living!

But creating this list of desires was not a simple task. I had so many ideas about the future. What were my dreams? What did I fantasize about?
Let’s see, where to begin? Hmm . . .

Just as I was thinking about what adventures I wanted to put on my list,
I felt that sharp pain in my abdomen again. The throbbing pain was followed by that sudden surge of uneasiness. Maybe a warm shower would help? It didn’t; something felt terribly wrong.

While getting dressed, I glanced at the window with my decorative glass artwork glistening in the sunlight. I used broken glass to create my craft. Discarded glass . . . considered trash and useless. And that was how I felt for the past year of my marriage separation, like my ex-husband’s trash—used and dumped.

In that same instant, I decided that I valued myself too much to be discarded goods. Enough feeling sorry for myself; I would look at my stained glass as inspiration. Much like fusing broken glass, I could pick up the fragmented pieces of my life and turn them into something beautiful—transform the shattered into something spectacular!

I had given up my career as an art teacher to help manage my husband’s company and raise Jenny. All the while, I dreamed of opening an art gallery to display my creations. Perhaps I could partner with another artist.

Suddenly, I felt inspired and ready for action. I slipped on my comfortable jeans, red T-shirt, and flip-flop sandals. I applied my makeup basics, mascara and lip gloss. And then I brushed the tangles from my hair and left it to dry naturally. I hopped in my Ford Explorer and headed downtown to my favorite art supply store.

While walking along the crowded sidewalk, I thought I saw a familiar face. Could it be? Was that Blake, my first love, strolling by on the other side of the road, walking in the opposite direction? I huffed in frustration because there were four lanes of cars zooming between the two sides of the street, obstructing my vision. Plus, it was beginning to drizzle.

Should I turn around, cross the lanes of traffic, and chase after him?
Too
impulsive.

Could it be true? Was it possible that was Blake?
No, that must be my wishful imagination playing tricks on me.

Despite my burning desire to run after him, I decided not to be that impetuous.
Maybe it wasn’t Blake, anyway.
After all, I had not seen him in years, nor heard any news about him. I had stayed in our hometown, but the last thing I heard years ago was that he had moved away.

I wanted a fresh start with my life. But wouldn’t that be a step backward if I pursued him? Besides, I broke up with him years ago and I had my reasons that made sense at the time. Right now, I felt a twinge of regret for ending the relationship.
But it was best to push those thoughts of a reunion out of my head.

My destination, the craft store, was located in a busy section of town lined with trendy brick-front restaurants, fashionable boutiques, and coffee shops. My favorite shop was a relic from the past, its wooden door covered in thick layers of chipped paint. A bell chimed as I stepped inside.

Walking into the historic shop was like stepping through a time portal. The store had remained the same through the decades. It was built before central air conditioning and had fans running in every corner. The air movement only stirred the lingering smell of cigarette smoke and dust. I always wondered how it stayed in business, since the store was usually empty. Today was no exception. I must buy enough glass supplies to keep them afloat.

A familiar voice greeted me. “Hello, Lila.” The store owner shot me a crooked smile as he approached. Steve had a weathered face. The gap between his yellowed teeth looked as if he’d had a cigarette dangling between them for years. His wispy silver hair was combed back with gel. He didn’t seem to put much thought into his appearance with his rumpled clothes, but his art was perfection. He put his efforts into his paintings and glass work; he was a master craftsman.

“Hi, Steve.”

“Are you okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

I felt the last bit of warmth drain from my face. “I . . . just caught a glimpse of a face from the past, my college boyfriend. It may have been an apparition. Really, I’m not sure.”

“What, you think your imagination is playing tricks on you?” Steve had dark circles under his eyes. He probably hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since the big box store opened up around the corner.

My stomach made a tickling flutter from nerves or excited energy. “I had a rough week. And I don’t know what to think anymore. I thought about chasing him down, but I got a grip on myself.”

We were standing near the plate-glass window that took up most of the storefront. When I looked out toward the street, I saw a shadowy figure glance into the store. By the time my eyes focused enough to zoom in on the face, it disappeared.

Steve sighed wearily. “A sight of my ex-wife would have me running in the opposite direction.” He let out a sarcastic laugh. I would have joined in, but I felt a little choked from the musty smell.

“I just got divorced. I know far too well what you mean.”

“You look like you might pass out. You better step away from the glass section. Can I get you some water?”

“I’ll be fine. But you’re right. Maybe I’ll check out the fabrics you have in stock first.”

“That might be a good idea.” Steve led me to the back of the store and pointed to the yarn and fabrics on display. As we walked, Steve looked at me. “You know when one door closes, another door opens.”

“I keep hearing that, but it’s the hallway I find scary.”

“You got that right.” He sounded a little out of breath. “Let me know if I can help you find anything.”

“Thank you, Steve.”

I watched him limp to the cash register wishing I could afford to buy all of his sheets of glass. The store had definitely seen better days. After making my selections, I paid and promised to return soon.

As I walked to my car parked at the curb, my eyes scanned the crowd. No sight of Blake. I drove home in the drizzle consumed in thought. With a smile lighting my face, I raced along my walkway, thinking about Blake. It began to pour. Even though I parked by the front door to unload the car, I decided to wait until later. For several minutes,
I stood on the porch, watching the rain, and then turned to enter the house.
I hesitated in the doorway, stepped inside, and closed the door. I leaned against the doorframe, glancing around. I was greeted with silence. Even my dog was silent.

I stepped over Elky, sprawled across a foyer rug, thinking she wasn’t much of a watchdog. She opened one eye to glance my way, curled up her lips in a doggy smile or maybe just a twitch, and then continued sleeping.

Standing alone in the stillness, I heard the sound of a ticking clock resonating through the house.
But I don’t own a ticking clock!
Was that my heart pounding in my ears?
I plugged my fingers in my ears and still heard the ticking noise, but this time faster—and faster.

Tick . . . tick . . . tick . . . tick . . . tick . . . tick—BOOM!

I grabbed the fluffy pillow from the foyer bench, covered my mouth, and let out a muffled scream.
The ticking stopped.
A moment later, I tossed the pillow onto the bench, shook myself back to reality, and slowly walked through the house. My flopping sandals echoed like blasting gunshots across the floor and walls, breaking the painful silence. From room to room I walked, alone.
When will this empty feeling finally stop?

As I peered into each silent room, I saw only shadows from my past. Hard as I tried to quell the memories that whispered here, they were all around me, impossible to subdue. I felt a pang of loneliness and wondered what I should do about the gaping holes in my life.

I snapped my finger as the answer seemed to appear magically. My first stop would be the gateway to the world—my computer. And there I sat, swiveling in my chair, in front of the computer, reflecting on my life. I leaned back and pondered about what was missing.

Maybe for distraction, just a quick trip down memory lane would be fun. I could look up some old friends and try to reconnect. My first priority, I decided, was searching for Blake.

Since discovering that photo from my memory box, I couldn’t get him out of my mind. Was that him today? We did have amazing chemistry, back in the good old days. It seemed like such a distant time, so long ago. And if that was Blake, he was as handsome as ever.

What if I just sent him a quick hello on the computer? He must be easy to look up. What was the harm, right? If he’s not interested, then he won’t reply—easy enough. My heart beat faster.

Luckily, Facebook made the search easy. I typed his name and much to my surprise, I found him. He does use Facebook. And looking at his tiny, blurred picture created even more memories. Why did I wait so long to do this?

Oh, why not?
I started to type him a message:
Remember me? It has been a long time, but I wanted to say hello. Love your Facebook picture. You look the same after all these years. It would be wonderful to talk to you about old times.

I sat lost in thought. Should I send that message? We did have great times together. The first time we made love left such an indelible impression, I could remember every detail. Maybe he remembered that day, too? We were each other’s first. Who could forget losing their virginity? I once told Jenny to choose wisely because that person will stay in your mind forever.

I placed my finger on the enter button to send the message and hesitated. Was it even fair to try to reconnect with him? After all, I was the one who ended our relationship.

And what if he doesn’t respond to me? What if he doesn’t remember me? That would feel devastating. I shuddered, and my mind began to race with negative scenarios.
Why do I want to subject myself to this agony?

I distracted myself by glancing up to the enormous cork board hanging above the computer, cluttered with photos of Jenny at various ages. Although several were recent photos, most of them dated back years ago and had faded and curled edges.

My eyes gravitated to the oldest pictures. I stared at two photos of Jenny as a baby. I sighed briefly, thinking about how quickly my little girl had grown into a mature young lady. Finally, my gaze skipped over to a note scribbled in Jenny’s handwriting taped to the wall next to the cork board. I stood, walked over to the board, and traced my finger around the edges of the note that was a reminder to call the doctor.

I removed the note from the wall, stared at it without blinking, memorizing the words, and shoved it into my pocket. How many of these notes were scattered around the house? How many times had they called with the same message? They called too many times to think about now.
And they can’t make me go for that follow-up appointment. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.

At that exact second, my telephone rang. Grateful for the distraction, I answered it. There was a calm steady voice that I didn’t recognize coming through the phone, asking for me.

“Yes, this is Ms. Baxter,” I said.

The soft voice said politely, “Doctor Young would like for you to come into the office to review your test results. We have been leaving messages for the past few weeks, but we still don’t have you on the schedule.”

“I need to do that,” I stammered. “But I’m busy this
week . . . and the last few weeks were extremely hectic,” I said. I scanned the room, searching for a distraction.

Unrelenting, she continued. “The doctor wanted me to tell you it’s essential for you to come in for your follow-up appointment. He wants to speak with you and has tried to call you numerous times. He said he left messages, but never heard from you. Lucky for you, he has a cancellation tomorrow at nine a.m., and we would like for you to fill that vacant slot.”
Yes, lucky for me.

I should have at least listened to his messages. I guess I was not ready.
But am I now?

I listened to her with my eyelids squeezed together and my lips pressed tightly. I wished this scenario would end. “I hear you.” I paused. “Okay, okay, I get it. This appointment is important. I appreciate that you worked me into his busy schedule. I’ll be there tomorrow morning, I promise.” I released a deep sigh and hung up the telephone. I stared at the phone as if it was the source of my problems, instead of the messenger.

A sense of impending doom began to build within me. I quickly shut off Facebook, relieved I never actually sent that message to Blake.