Coffee and Cigarettes
Chapter Seven
Leah
Claire and I drove home from Coral Bay in deafening silence. The phrase 'pregnant and married' toppled around in my head like one of those annoying Windows screensavers, tumbling and bouncing across my mind in a seemingly random pattern. I exhaled loudly and forced myself to stop thinking about it. I couldn't decide if she was baiting me or really trying to help. Regardless, I refused to give in to the game. I wanted details, oh god how I longed for juicy tidbits of information, little nuggets I could squirrel away and dissect later in time. It was though, as Claire had pointed out, pointless. Wondering about it wasn't going to change a damn thing, so I forced myself to not think about it. To, instead, listen to the rush of the wind as it whipped stray hairs out of my chignon and into my face.
My conscious refusal to think about Sam and Emily's news did little to stem the flow of unconscious thought that trickled through the mental wall like a faucet left to drip. My mind still reeled from shock. Their perfect - my perfect - happily ever after radiated betrayal. How was it possible that they could still hurt me? How could the ripples of their actions reach that far? How could those ripples could travel over so much time and space to reach, and affect, me here in the seemingly safe little bubble I'd cocooned around myself.
From the darkness beside me, Claire finally spoke up. "Lee, honey, you alright?"
I took a deep breath of the moist night air and exhaled slowly through pursed lips. "I'm fine," I replied tersely. "But boy, I'll tell you what. You sure know how to ruin a good time."
"I'm sorry," she said not sounding the least bit apologetic. "But it's like I keep telling you. He's not coming back. You're stuck in the past. You keep holding on to this romantic little notion that he's going to wake up one day and realize he made a huge mistake and well, he's not. Sam's moved on Leah. He's moved on and he's not coming back to you. Its time you move on too."
"You know what?" I said, anger winding its way around my words. "I'm so sick and tired of people telling me what I should do or how I should feel. I'm so over everyone telling me what to believe in and what to give up hope on. I swear, if I listened to any of you I'd be a shut in. I'd never leave my house!"
Claire sighed, shuffled through her bag, then retrieved a tube of lip-gloss. She smoothed it over her lips, deposited the strawberry scented gel back into her purse and stared straight out the windshield as the headlights swept over the dark pavement. "We're all just trying to help. Me, your mother-"
"My mother's full of it," I interrupted.
"Beside the point. We just want you to be happy," she said softly.
"Well stop," I snapped, "because I don't need it. This is my life. Mine and I choose how to live it. Or not live it. It would be really great if people could respect that."
When we finally got back to Capeside it was after nine. Cars were parked along the street in front of several houses were parties appeared to be in full swing. As I rounded the bend, my own house came in to view. The first thing I spotted was a muddy pickup truck parked in Paul's driveway. My heart - for all the hurt it beat through tonight - did a jubilant little dance in my chest, then picked up speed double time.
As I pulled into the drive, Zeus came charging across the lawn, his jowls flopping, flying away from his face before slapping back into it. The dog skidded to a stop at the car door and flopped his rump to the ground, waiting for me to get out of the car. The second I opened the door, he jumped on me, licking my face.
"Hi," I said laughing as his rough tongue grazed over my cheek. "How are you?" As I scratched behind his ears, I could feel eyes burning into the back of my skull. Claire made her way around the car and eyed Zeus warily.
"Who's your friend?" she asked, maintaining her distance from the now drooling canine.
I pushed Zeus off my chest and wiped my cheek with the back of my hand. "This is Zeus. He's Paul's dog." I nodded in the direction of his house and saw him sitting on the porch. He raised his beer bottle and nodded a greeting.
"That's Paul?" Claire said breathily.
"Yup."
"He's...wow. If I wasn't married..." her voice trailed off.
I smiled and said, "come on, I'll introduce you."
"Oh no," Claire said. "He's looking at you like, well, you know."
"Shut up," I retorted. "I don't know what you're talking about." All of my previous irritation with and at her dissipated. All thoughts of Sam and Emily, their upcoming nuptials and bundle of joy, faded. It was stupid, of course it was, to go and get all giddy over a man, especially a man I've known for like what, a week?
I chalked the feeling up to physical attraction, plain and simple. He was a good-looking guy who had a lot going for him in the "check out my chiseled features" section. So naturally, my response was normal. See a nice looking guy, get a little worked up. It was as natural as two plus two equaling four.
"I'll be right back," I said to Claire and reached down, grabbing Zeus' collar. To the dog I said, "come on, it's time to go home."
"Are you staying over there?" Claire hissed.
I stopped mid-step, glanced over my shoulder and shot her a looked that screamed, 'shut up!'
"Are you?" she asked again, oblivious and unable to take a hint.
"I said I'll be right back." I tightened my grip on Zeus's collar and half walk, half drag him across the yard. At the porch, I release his collar and say, "go home." To my utter amazement, the dopey-eyed dog climbed the porch steps and settled at Paul's feet.
"Hey," he said finally acknowledging me over the brown rim of his sweaty beer bottle.
"Hi," I replied, unsure of what came next. All around me, the humid night air crackled with uncomfortable tension. "Well," I said after a few seconds of buzzing silence. "I was just bringing your dog back. See ya around." I turned, about to walk away when Paul called my name.
"Did you get my note?"
I nodded, turning to face him. "I did."
"Good," he replied raising the bottle to his lips and taking a long swallow.
"But I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. You didn't do anything wrong. That was-" I took a deep breath hoping to counteract the erratic beating of my heart. "That was all me. I'm sorry I put you into that situation."
Anger flashed in his eyes, his face twisting into a mask of sarcasm. "That "situation"?" he sneered, "Jesus Christ what am I, some sort of delicate garden flower? It wasn't a "situation," it was a kiss - and a damn good one at that."
Flabbergasted, I stood on the soft grass staring up at him. From my position in the yard, Paul towered over me, striding back and forth across the porch waving his arms almost comically, his mouth still moving, words drifting down to my level yet failing to register. What the hell is going on? Was he seriously standing up there yelling at me?
Yes, I noted, he was in fact yelling. "Shut up!" I yelled over his tirade. "I kissed you because for some reason I wanted to. You let me because you wanted to. Now apparently you're sorry, for what though God only knows, and you're standing there yelling at me after I've had one of the worst nights of my life..." My voice trailed off as inexplicable tears filled my eyes.
At the sight of my tears, Paul's features softened. Setting the bottle down, he carefully navigated the steps and stopped in front of me. "I had a bad day too." He took a step forward, almost imperceptively closer toward me. Our chests were barely touching. I could feel the soft heat radiating from his body soaking through the top of my dress. Closing his fingers around my hand, he looked down at me. "Want to tell me about yours?"
I glanced up. His breath reeked of alcohol, his eyes, two unfocusing glassy orbs in his head still held the power to undo me. A tremor wiggled up my spine. "Maybe," I began, inhaled and exhaled, continued, "maybe later. But not tonight. I don't want to talk about it tonight.
With the fingers of his left hand still wound around mine, he reached up with his right and laid his palm against my cheek. "Okay," he said quietly. Unwillingly, I leaned into his caress. "I think I missed you." His boozy breath invaded my nostrils, made my stomach clench.
"You're drunk," I told him, casting his statement off as nothing more than a drunk's loose and loving tongue.. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Yeah, I am drunk, but I know what I'm saying. Really. I missed you. I missed the smell of your coffee and cigarettes on the early morning breeze and the way you yell at me when my dog does something asinine, and I missed your eyes, those sad and pretty eyes."
"Alright Romeo," I said, removing his hand from my face and gently freeing my fingers from his. "Go home and sleep it off."
Giving him a gently shove in the direction of his house, I step back and wait for him to leave. "But you didn't tell me you missed me," he practically wined.
"Because I didn't," I lied.
Paul pouted, his lower lip sticking out, his eyes downcast and very puppy doggish. "You wound me with your words."
"Oh knock it off. I didn't miss you, but I didn't particularly like not knowing where you were or when and if you were coming back."
"I'll take it," he said with a victorious smile. Something behind me caught his attention and he gazed up at my house. "Your friends are watching."
"Of course they are," I muttered. "Now go home and sleep it off. I'll see you later."
Claire and Quil had the good sense to clear out before I walked back across the yard. After shutting and locking the front door behind me, I kicked off my shoes and padded down the hall to the kitchen. A bottle of juice sat on the counter between Quil and Claire.
"Is there any left?" I asked pointing at the container.
"Huh? Oh yeah, here." Quil picked up the bottle and handed it to me. "I'll, uh, leave you to alone. If I have any luck at all I can catch the last half of the game, maybe see Bickerman get a chance to bat."
As soon as Quil disappeared into the living room, Claire turned to me. "So," she said with a sly smile.
"So?"
"Did you talk to him?" I picked up my juice, took a sip. Claire stared at me expectantly, her eyes wide and pleading. "Did you?" I set the cup down and nodded. "What did he say?"
"Nothing," I said casually.
"Oh my God, come on, tell me something," she pleaded.
"There's nothing to tell. He's been drinking so it's not like what he did say was trustworthy."
Claire's eyes were beginning to pop out of her head. "Oh my God Leah cut the crap. Tell me what he said."
"He said he "thinks" he missed me. Me and my, and I quote, 'sad pretty eyes.' End quote."
"Aw," Claire gushed. "He missed you, how sweet."
"Thinks," I corrected. "Thinks he missed me, which is just stupid. You can't miss someone who's unsure if she likes or loathes you."
"It's a fine line between like and loathe," she said with a shrug.
"A fine line indeed. Anyway, it's been a long day and I'm exhausted. Would you hate me if I went to bed?"
"Of course not," she replied, laying her hand on my arm. "Listen, I want to tell you I'm sorry. I don't mean to be such a bitch about how you live your life; I just worry about you. And don't tell me not to. I'll worry either way. I don't want you waking up one morning ten or fifteen years from now and regret the decisions you've made, I just want you to be happy, you know."
"I am happy, you know. I like my life here, even if it doesn't always seem like it."
