Tuesday

Tuesday morning, I woke up late. My eyelashes felt glued together, so I took a long, hot shower, trying to scald away the memory of the night before. My skin was red and raw when I emerged. Well, at least it matched my eyes. I looked terrible, which was just as well, because I felt terrible.

I called Zaira.

“You can say I told you so.”

“That was fast.” Her tone was one of surprise and concern. “Yesterday you were all ‘I wanna give it a go with Mr. Small Town Mechanic Man with the good pipe’.”

“I can’t…” I paused. “I can’t let myself.” I sighed. “Fuck Kyle.” I added after a moment.

“Yeah, fuck Kyle, but what does he have to do with anything?”

“Because if I do start seeing this guy in earnest, I will forever be worried that my job is going to ruin it. And the long distance.” I said. “You were right. There’s no way this can work out. I would like to rejoin the Sisterhood of the Jaded Ladies.”

“Oh Ella,” Zaira sounded terribly sad. “I didn’t mean that. Did what I said have anything to do with this? I’m so sorry, I was being bitchy and I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s not just you.” I assured her. “It was the fact that I met him five days ago, and also Kyle, and there’s other stuff going on in this town, and…” I trailed off. “The fact that the sex was so good, and the fact that when he looks at me, I feel butterflies in my stomach and I’m almost fucking 40…” I was crying again. “I’m coming home.” I said after a bit.

“Okay, if you’re sure you want to come home, I support this. When you get in, let me know, we’ll order in, have a movie night. I’ll bring wine.”

“Okay,” I said, sniffling. I checked my watch. It was almost noon. I wondered if Virgil would be done with my car. I wasn’t looking forward to the conversation.

I packed my things, glad to have something physical to do. It helped calm me down… 

…Until I came across the flower crown and then I felt like crying all over again. I gently wrapped the dried flowers in a bag and put it aside so it wouldn’t get crushed. After I was packed up, I went down the stairs with the intent of going to the garage to finalize things, but Gladys caught me on my way.

“Virgil dropped these off for you. He had to go pull someone out of a ditch in Verona,” she said, holding out my keys. “He said not to worry about payment, it’s taken care off.” 

My heart sank.

“I’ll be checking out, then.” I said. 

Gladys looked surprised. I signed papers and then I went outside, expecting to have to walk down to the garage for my car, but the bug was parked in front of the inn. I loaded my things, and then I climbed inside, debating if I should say goodbye to anyone, Ms. Fiona and Devola, Joe and Aubrey, or even Cat Benatar.

I decided not to. It would hurt too much. I hoped the article I wrote would make up for it. They would probably hate me for hurting Virgil anyway, so what did it matter? I sighed. I could have waited around for him to get back, I didn’t have to leave things like this.

But I did anyway. Him leaving the keys sent a clear message. He didn’t want to see me.

I drove three hours back to New Oxford, not stopping for anything except red lights. I drove with the radio on for a while, but as I was driving through Bell City, “Wildflowers” by Tom Petty played, and my tears started anew. I turned it off and drove the rest of the way in silence.

Once I was back at my apartment, I brought my things upstairs and unpacked. I hid the flower crown in an old hatbox that I kept photos and a few mementos in. I wasn’t ready to face the feelings attached to it. I texted Zaira, and then distracted myself with my email.

Mel wrote me back, approving my vacation time and telling me that my article and the pictures were going live Wednesday morning. He tweaked a couple of things with my copy, as I knew he would, but he told me the pictures were spectacular.

I wanted to call Virgil, but I realized that we never exchanged numbers. It happened too fast for even that. I supposed I could call the number for the garage. I started to, but then there was a knock at the door. Zaira had several bottles of wine in her purse and a sad expression on her face. We sat on my couch and I cried telling her about my weekend in LaCera. 

She was far more supportive than I expected her to be, given her earlier protestations. She never said “I told you so.” She only said “I’m so sorry, Ella.”

I drank a whole bottle of wine myself, and after she left, I passed out on the couch, feeling terribly sorry for myself.

Wednesday

Thursday

Friday

Saturday

The rest of that whole miserable week, I lay in bed. I tortured myself with thoughts of Virgil. His arms. His smile. His scent. The way he held me in his arms and danced with me at the social. The tender way he tucked my hair out of my face as we moved in that slow circle around the dance floor. The way he kissed me. Part of me wanted to get back in the car and drive the three hours back to LaCera. Probably only two and a half hours at this hour, I rationalized to myself. No, I was a lot of things but I wasn’t insane. He must hate me, I left without even saying goodbye. I was filled with regret.

I lost track of the days when Mel called me to say that my article went live on Wednesday, and the response to it was unprecedented. 

“Happy Saturday. I’m just calling with some good news. According to the marketing team, your article has been shared over 30,000 times on social media. People are even calling in, which I don’t think has ever happened before. We’re getting asked how they can help.”

“Shit,” I said, unable to believe it. “Can we set up a GoFundMe or something?”

“Marissa and Gabe are on that,” he said, referring to the two interns The Globe employed. “I just thought you might want to read some of these stories. I’m sending them to you in an email.”

“Awesome, thank you.”

I spent the next couple of hours reading literally hundreds of messages from people who visited LaCera over the years. Some proposed to their spouses there, or they had happy memories with their parents and grandparents there. Some just took a normal trip there and liked it. One woman wrote that she was blind now, but she could still vividly picture the meadow. It was enough to make me feel like crying. So many beautiful stories, each one a love letter to the town. Maybe I could help save the town, I thought, wiping away an errant tear. Maybe that would be the silver lining in all this.

My chest ached terribly, though. I tried calling the number for Baker’s Towing in LaCera, but I got a voicemail. I was too much of a coward to leave a message. What if he didn’t call me back?

Zaira checked in with me periodically, and I could tell she was worried about me. I knew I would get over it eventually, but for now, I just wanted to wallow. I tried the garage a few more times, to no avail. I still couldn’t bring myself to leave a message. I couldn’t stand the notion that he might not call me back, that he might not want to talk to me.

Later that morning, my phone rang again. I answered it.

“Hi Ella,” Mary’s tentative voice came through.

“Hi,” I said dully.

“I just wanted to see how you’re doing, it’s been a while.” A Pause. “I haven’t talked to you since Christmas.”

“Yeah,” I said. And without really meaning to, I said: “I’m not great.”

“What’s wrong?”

I sighed, wishing I hadn’t said anything at all.

“It’s nothing.”

“You’ve always been the worst liar. I’m glad to see that hasn’t changed,” Mary said, and while her tone was light, there was an edge of sympathy to it that made me wish I wasn’t still so mad at her.

“I went to LaCera last week,” I said. “Have you ever been?”

“No, but I’ve always wanted to.”

“I wonder why Mom and Dad never took us there as kids.”

“I know, they sure dragged us to every other tourist trap in a 200 mile radius.” When I didn’t go on, she took a deep breath. “I know you’re still upset-”

“I’m not upset, I’m angry.”

“Okay, fine, I know you’re still angry-”

“He was my boyfriend, Mary, I had a crush on him from the time I was 13.”

“I know, but Ella…” Now Mary sighed. “I know you don’t believe me, but nothing happened until after you two broke up. I’ll say it as many times as I need to.”

I chewed on the inside of my lip, looking at the facedown picture on the bookcase.

“I’m sorry,” Mary said after a while. “For everything.”

“I am, too,” I said. “But I don’t know what to do with the feelings I still have. Look, I have to go, I’ll give you a call in a few weeks, okay?”

“Do you promise?”

“I do.”

After I hung up, I called Zaira.

“How are you doing?”

“Lousy. Mary called.”

“Oh boy, what did the trollop have to say?”

“She still insists nothing happened until after Kyle and I broke up. How can I believe that? How can I get over that?”

“I don’t know,” Zaira said honestly.

“He was my first love,” I said. “I gave him my whole heart.”

“Look…” Zaira paused. “I’ve debated if I should say this for a while, but I think you need to hear it… When you were with Kyle, you weren’t yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“You worshiped him. It was like you didn’t have any wants or needs of your own. I bet you would have quit your job if he asked.”

At first, her words stoked my temper, but the flames were quickly extinguished with the realization that she was right. I pleaded and begged Kyle to give things another chance – I even offered to find another job that wouldn’t involve so much travel. I thought back to all the times I gave up things I wanted instead of making waves. The cat he didn’t want. The apartment I loved that he didn’t want to live in. There were probably dozens of other small things I didn’t even register over the years. Zaira gave me a moment to process this, and then went on:

“You really like this guy in LaCera, don’t you?” 

“I do,” I admitted sadly. “But I’m too much of a coward to leave a message on his answering machine. What if he doesn’t call me back?”

“Then at least you’ll know.”

I sniffled a little bit.

“You must think I’m so pathetic,” I told her.

“No, I don’t. I think that you’re hurting,” she said. “It’s in the best friend contract that I support you no matter what, so tell me what I can do.”

“I don’t know,” I told her. “I wish I did.” I let her go then, promising that I would call her if I needed to talk.

Finally, Saturday evening, I drug my pathetic carcass out of bed and took a shower for the first time in several days. I spent time shaving my legs, exfoliating my skin, and generally trying to make a clean break with the last few days, if only symbolically.

I was drying my hair when I heard a pounding at my door. I paused, setting the hair dryer aside. It was an aggressive banging, like you would imagine from the police before they brought in the battering ram. I peered through the peephole and I clapped my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.

The man from the woods, the one with the unsettling smile and the mean face, stood on the other side of my door.

“I know you’re in there. Open up you little bitch!” He roared. More thudding, like he was trying to break down the door.

I scurried back to my phone and dialed 911.

“New Oxford PD, what’s your emergency?”

“A man who has been stalking me is trying to break into my apartment.” I whispered, hiding behind my couch. “He followed me here from LaCera.” 

The shouting and banging continued.

“I hear him. What’s your address?”

“I have two units enroute. Stay on the line with me.” 

But then, the pounding abruptly stopped, and I could hear scuffling out in the hallway. I climbed across the couch and peered through the peephole. I couldn’t see much, but two men were grappling with one another in the hallway.

“Someone else is here,” I told the operator. “I can’t see.”

“Ma’am, please try to get to a safe place, the police are on their way.” 

I could hear the sounds of blows landing. The man from the woods cursed and charged the other man, slamming him up against the wall directly across from my door. I got a good look at him then.

“Virgil!” I shouted. Because of course it was him. I couldn’t believe it. The two continued to fight. They moved out of sight and I didn’t know what was happening. I was terrified for Virgil. 

Unable to stand it, I wrenched open the door just in time to see the police running down the hallway. They tackled both men, slamming them both face first up against the wall.

“Wait!” I cried. “That man in the plaid shirt, with the mustache! He’s… My boyfriend, he was just trying to protect me!”

“Sorry, we gotta cuff ‘em both while we take statements.” The officer grunted. They took Virgil and the man from the woods away. My neighbors were opening their doors and peering out, gawking at the situation. I flew back into my apartment, grabbing my purse, keys and shoes and then chased after them barefoot. Another officer caught me and held me back. They put the man from the woods in one cop car and put Virgil in the other.

“Virgil!” I called.

“Ella!”

“I’m sorry!” I cried. 

“Me too!” He called back. The officers questioned them both, and took a statement from me. An hour later, after much convincing on my part, the officers released Virgil, and took the man from the woods away.

“Hey you,” I said, a bit sheepishly.

“Hey you,” Virgil returned, slipping an arm around my waist. I led him back inside the building.