I wanted so badly to stay in his arms. He held me so tightly against his body; I felt him kiss the side of my head. I felt so safe; it was the first time in days.
"Jordan, I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I let work and stuff get in the way," Woody whispered. I could smell his cologne . . . it smelt like home to me. I couldn't say anything; I just started to cry. I realized that I hadn't cried much over the last few days; I had done every other destructive thing that I could think of. These last few days were the first time that Garrett could ever say that I talked too little.
"Hey, it's over, Jordan. It's over . . . everything that's important is safe," Woody whispered.
"My mom died when she was my age. When I saw that man, I thought about everything my mom had when she was my age. I don't have any of that," I replied. I stayed still in his arms. I didn't know what to do next; I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do next.
"You aren't your mom . . . I think you have more than you think," Woody replied his hands gently rubbed circles on my back. He made no attempt to move me; he made no attempt to move himself.
"Woody, I've done everything possible to avoid having the things my mother had," I replied. It was one of the most truthful things that I ever said; I ran from anyone that could love me, I pushed away the little family I had left, and I inadvertently made myself unhappy. I had deprived myself of all that out of fear that the moment I had too much something would happen to take it all away.
"Maybe that isn't what you need," Wood replied. It was such a simple response. Growing up, I never dreamed of children, houses, white picket fences, or dogs. My Barbie dolls solved mysteries and crimes. I wanted so badly to help people; even before my mom died, I wanted to help people the way that Dad did.
"I don't even know what I need," I replied. It felt like we had been standing here for an eternity; I wasn't ready to relinquish my hold. It seemed silly for a grown woman to cling to someone like this. It seemed silly for a grown woman to feel so lost within her own skin.
"I think you know. I think you always knew. I think you just can't see it because you are so used to digging for answers, but this answer is so superficial, Jordan," Woody whispered. I didn't understand.
"I don't understand," I replied. He was right that I always chose the path of the most resistance. My answers were never that easy. I was always difficult; I was always defiant.
"I think you just need to know that someone loves you. You have everything else you always wanted . . . a good job, respect, power. You have the career, but it isn't special if you don't have anyone to share it with," Woody replied. He was right; for the first time in my life, my career was under control. It was the only thing in my life that was under control.
"Jordan, I miss who you used to be . . . impulsive, funny. I don't like this new 'down-to-business-Jordan.' I know you have the added responsibilities of the Pogue, but I wish you wouldn't hide away everything that makes you special," Woody whispered. I could feel my tears dampening his shirt. I thought if I was the perfect ME . . . the perfect bar manager then maybe Dad would come back. I got my life together in warp speed in a desperate attempt to bring him home. The solution seemed so simple, but I didn't realize how much of myself I was giving up in order to be the daughter that I though Dad wanted.
"Don't cry," Woody whispered; his breath hot against my skin.
"I just wanted him to come home. I thought maybe I could make up for everything I did, but he's not here. He may never be here again," I whispered. The words hurt. It was a hurt that I had been hiding for weeks. I didn't fight back because I thought I was getting what I deserved, but when I saw the locket in his hands, I couldn't let that little artifact of Mom be lost. I always intended to make sure that part of Mom was put in the ground with Dad. That's how it should be; they should have grown old together.
"Jordan, Max is going to realize what he's missing. He's going to come home; I don't know how he's managed to stay away from you this long. I would have never made it this long," Woody replied.
"You wouldn't?" I asked.
"I don't need you to kiss me . . . I don't need you to have sex with me. None of that matters . . . Jordan, I'm patient . . . I want to do this right . . . not like California . . . not like two nights ago. No matter what you say to me . . . I don't think I can stay away from you. Max is stupid for staying away this long," Woody rambled. It was one of the rare times I have seen him ramble; it was one of the rare times that I got to see the soft spot in his self-confidence. Only then did I realize how much he had grown since he moved to Boston. The naïve Woody would have never been this patient; he would have backed away after I hurt him.
"Thank you; can we stay like this a little longer?" I asked. I finally looked up at his crystal blue eyes.
"Sure. I can't think of another place I would rather be," Woody replied.