Someone once shared a game with me, using the language of flowers; clandestine messages shared between young lovers…Delicate petals with stories of dreams, innocence, desire, and true love…
…It's fitting in this moment to find myself in Washington Park, roses stretching in velvet beds for what appears to be miles. And I wonder how many have sought solace in this very same way, while in the City of Roses…
"Sir?"
He folded the magazine in two, tossing it onto the coffee table, as he turned to the man at his penthouse door.
"Yes?" he asked, scratching a hand over his unshaven face.
"The car is waiting," he replied dutifully.
"And St. Timothy's is empty?" he asked, moving to his feet, and grabbing the suit jacket that laid over the back of the couch.
"For at least another hour."
He nodded, slipping the jacket over his broad shoulders. "I'll be down soon," he replied, straightening his lapels.
Turning his back to the man, he walked around the back of the couch, stealing a glance at himself in the mirror. He regretted having opted out on a tie, but knew the suit was more than what was expected of him.
His fingers moved over the buttons of his jacket, lips turning into a scowl when he met his gloomy cerulean eyes. He knew he should be embarrassed by his disheveled appearance, but he figured that today of all days allotted such.
The penthouse door opened, and he recognized the sound of the footsteps immediately. He wasn't in the mood for visitors, and recalled how he firmly stated that this was something he wanted to handle alone, but his best friend had refused his request.
"The car is waiting," Johnny O'Brien murmured, repeating what he already knew. "And I checked St. Timothy myself, so you should be clear."
He nodded at his face in the mirror, sighing heavily. "I suppose it's time then," he replied, swallowing hard when he felt the churning in his stomach.
When he met Johnny's eyes, it was like seeing his reflection all over again. His friend's shoulders were sagging and his eyes heavy, making it clear that he was hurting just as badly.
But not out of pain, or heartache, or empathy. Just merely because Jason was hurting, and his friend was the type to take on whatever was bothering him.
"You could always go later," he offered, sliding his hands into his the pockets of his pants.
"Now is better," Jason replied, shifting his eyes towards the coffee table.
Johnny's head whirled around, and he moved hurriedly to the other side of the couch, and swept the magazine into his arms.
"Sorry about that," he said, tightly wrapping his hands around the pages, as if squeezing it hard enough would make it disappear. "I didn't mean to leave it lying around."
He shrugged, his gaze lingering on the rolled up publication. "Was a nice article," he stated as if he'd been rehearsing the words over and over in his mind.
And maybe he had, but not for Johnny.
"You read?" he asked, hands loosening their hold, hesitating before dropping the magazine onto the couch.
The pages fluttered open at the edges, catching their breath in the sticky air that seemed to consume the room.
"It was there," Jason replied, turning back to look at himself in the mirror.
He'd never been as obsessed with his appearance as he was in this moment. Silently scolding himself, he tried to remember that it didn't matter. How he looked wouldn't change anything that had happened. It wouldn't fix it or right any of the wrongs, and it surely wouldn't clear the empty space around him.
His clothing suddenly felt too small, and he found it difficult to breathe. Panic was setting in around and within him, and he needed a moment to get his world back in order.
"Could you give me a minute?" he asked his friend, tugging at the sleeves of his jacket.
"Yeah," he replied, shifty eyes sweeping over him. "Look, Jason, I know how situations like these make you feel…Are you sure-"
"Go wait in the car," he cut in, tone more stern than he'd meant, but Johnny seemed to the point as he scurried to the door.
Jason regretted his abruptness when the door slammed behind him, his friend's way of saying he'd been rude. But he knew that all would be forgotten by the time he made it down to the parking garage.
Clearing his throat, he picked up the magazine that Johnny had been so quick to hide, yet managed to leave behind. Perhaps, there was supposed to be a message there, just as there was within each word of the article.
Hidden messages were tiring. He could never understand why things couldn't simply be said and blunt gestures made. Instead people around him were always scurrying at other ways of getting their points across, usually failing in the end.
He flipped back to the article he'd been skimming before he was interrupted, thought twice, then shut it again. Heading for the desk, he slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out his keys. He stooped down and unlocked the bottom drawer, tossing the magazine inside. Standing up, he slipped his keys back into his pocket, and headed for the door.
It was now or never, and while he preferred never, now was what he needed.
Now would give him the answers he'd been waiting for all this time.
Zipping her tiny, square carry-on bag closed, she turned her suitcase upright so that the she could pull it from the bathroom stall on it's wheels.
She paused in front of one of the airport bathroom mirrors, fussing over her frizzy hair. She blamed the rain that she had encountered when leaving the west coast. The weather was never on her side when she wanted a good hair day.
Sitting her oversized, black, leather bag on the edge of the sink, she dug through it for a hair band and a comb. She froze briefly, staring at the front of the glossy magazine cover that was peeking out at her, and told herself to just let it go. After all, she couldn't take back what was already in print, and well, there really wasn't much she could take back at this point period.
Clucking her tongue, she attempted to draw her hair back in an appropriate bun, two single curls fell loose almost immediately, causing her to scowl.
"Well," she murmured, pursing her plump lips together and staring at her grim reflection, "this is obviously as good as it gets."
She hadn't slept in three days, not since she got the dreaded phone call, and the strain showed on her face. Her nights were spent tossing and turning, heart and soul tortured with guilt and regret.
Suddenly overwhelmed with nausea, she braced herself against the sink with one hand, digging through her purse for the bottle of Tums with the other.
When the queasiness set in during her morning coffee, she blamed it on her God awful fear of flying, which was ironic considering she spent close to thirty hours a week in the air. Hanging her head, she popped a few of the tablets in her mouth, knowing this had nothing to do with flying.
This was the fear of home; of living, of loving, of facing death.
Her sapphire eyes brimmed with tears and when she caught her face in the mirror, she thought about how easy it would be to catch a plane back to the West Coast. After all, she didn't have to be here and probably wouldn't even be missed.
She ran her shaking hands over her face, her palms rubbing hard against her cheeks, a failed attempt at wiping away the stress. Her cell phone vibrated in her bag, causing it to teeter off the edge of the sink, and it contents scattered across the shiny tiled floor. She fought the urge to laugh at her worried antics, hurrying to shove everything back into her purse, while the phone moved across the floor as it vibrated.
Before she looked at the caller ID, she knew it would be her boss. "E-Elizabeth," she murmured, caught off guard by how small her voice sounded.
"Elizabeth, darling? Is that you?" Kate Howard asked, obviously taken back too.
"Um, yeah-Yes, it's me," she replied firmly, doing her best to clear her throat without her boss realizing it.
"Are you alright? You sound almost frantic."
"Just a tense flight…You know, turbulence and all," she said, moving to give herself a once over in the mirror.
"Oh, well, I'm sorry to hear that," Kate replied earnestly, something about the care in her voice easing Elizabeth's nerves. "I know how much you dislike flying. Are you sure this trip isn't going to be too much for you?"
She rolled her eyes at her reflection, disliking that her boss knew her well enough to know just what she was feeling.
"I will be fine," she said, staring into her own face when she spoke, as if prepping herself for what was to come. "Fine. Definitely fine."
Kate sighed heavily into the phone, a sure sign of discontent. "Well, I hope that you changed out of that dreadful outfit you wore to the airport," she muttered, and Elizabeth knew her lips were twitching at the thought of the sweat suit, she'd boarded the plane wearing.
"Unfortunately, that outfit was not appropriate for where I'm going," she reminded her boss, annoyed that Kate expected her to look so together all the time.
When you were on a plane for eight to ten hours at a time nearly every flight, comfort was a necessity. Then again, this was Kate Howard. Comfort was six inch heels and the tightest Gucci dress she could find.
"Are you going to tell me what you're wearing or just continue breathing into the phone?" she asked in a tone that sweltered with inferiority.
"The black wide strapped Michael Kors," Elizabeth replied, knowing that if Kate muttered one word of disapproval, she'd find herself wanting to change.
"With the Christian Louboutin's I gave you last week?"
"Yes," she lied, staring down at the simple black Jimmy Choos she was wearing, something about red sole shoes also seeming inappropriate to wear.
"Good," Kate said, sound all too pleased. "Now, try not to get so upset. I know this is hard for you."
Elizabeth's eyes widened at the brief moment of compassion, and she knew it was difficult for Kate to get more personal than usual. "Thank you," she replied, sticking her clutch beneath her arm, grabbing the handle of her suitcase with the other. "I'll be fine. It's just a few days."
"That could change everything," her boss chimed all too knowingly.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed through the bathroom door, heading out into the bustling airport. She did her best to pay attention to Kate as she rambled on about deadlines, meetings, and flight schedules for next month. She paused briefly at baggage claim to see her suitcases parked in front of a man that held a sign with her name scrawled across it. Thanking Kate for the driver, she hung up the phone, and followed the man out into the familiar air of home.
Or rather, what used to be home.
She murmured a thank you as he loaded her things into the black luxury car that was parked out front. Sliding into the backseat, she leaned against the cool leather, telling herself to take deep breaths.
Sighing, she slipped the magazine from her purse, and flipped it open to the pages marked with a yellow post-it. She skimmed the article one last time, and her heart tightened in her chest.
"The hotel first, I presume?" asked the driver, as he slid into the front and buckled his seatbelt.
She shook her head, running her fingertips over the words at the apology on the very bottom of the page. Words that were supposedly written for someone else, but only she knew the secret that laid within them.
If somehow you're reading this, I'm sorry I wasn't there.
Snapping the magazine closed, she cleared her throat, tucking it safely back into her bag. "No," she said firmly, more so for herself. "St. Timothy's Church."