Coffee and Cigarettes
Chapter 9
Leah
Paul traded his usual background noise for something a little lighter, more mood appropriate. The smooth stylings of B.B. King pumped out of the truck's speakers, crackling with static on the AM station. The bluesy guitar wailed mournfully, mixing with the warm summer air creating an atmosphere straight out of the movies.
I leaned back in my seat, eyes closed, lost in the moment and the music. The jittery nervousness I felt as we pulled out of the parking lot at Keys flew right out the window when Paul pulled onto the highway. For a while, we rode in silence, nothing but the three-quarter moon, the music and us. Paul followed the road as he drove without a direction, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the doorframe. A smile curled at the edges of his lips. I glanced at him, peering out of the corner of my eye. His dark hair ruffled in the breeze, shooting up in tufts and waving before catching the wind again and lying back down. The curve of his jaw was shadowed; his eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight; two hazel orbs peering straight at the road, crinkled slightly in amusement. In my chest, my heart sighed, leaving me to wonder how I got so tangled up in him so quickly. Could it have really been just a week ago that I was scoffing at him and his every action, promising myself that I would ignore him at all costs until he wizened up, and left town? How had he managed to find a way under my skin?
It was, I decided, the easygoing smile and take no bullshit attitude. The fact that he also worked out shirtless on the beach every morning did little to deter my growing infatuation. He was easy to dislike and even more easy to love. Not that I loved him, hell not that I even felt anything remotely close to love for him. But infatuation? Oh buddy; I was knee deep in it.
The wind, which was pounding my face a few moments ago, was suddenly whisper soft. I opened my eyes and looked around. The orange blinker flashed in the dark as the truck bounced off the highway and onto the dirt shoulder. Tall shrubs and bushes crunched drily under the ties as the large truck bound toward unfamiliarity cloaked in darkness. Terror clawed at my throat, suffocating me. "Where are we going?" I asked, fighting to keep the panic out of my voice. How could I have been so stupid? I watched 48 Hours, I knew what kinds of things went on down dirt roads, and they weren't good.
"I want to show you something," he said, his voice matter-of-fact.
"Show me what?"
"This place I used to go when I was a kid. My family owns, well used to own, this land. It was my aunt's before she passed. It went to my uncle afterward, but he had no use for it so he sold it. Well, most of it. He kept the house and about three acres. My parents used to ship me down here for the summer when I was a kid. I loved it. The summers were always full of adventures. My aunt had horses and chickens. There were a couple of cows too. The summer I was nine, my uncle built me a pretty amazing tree house in that tree."
I followed his finger and saw the massive tree standing solitarily in the middle of the field. Further up was a dilapidated house; its windows - what few were still intact - reflected the moonlight light. A sagging porch wrapped around the first floor and the remains of a few broken rocking chairs stood there, a ghostly testament to a lifetime forgot. In the space between the tree and the old house, a sea of tall grass swayed gently in the breeze, making a light rustle of noise that added value to the nights burgeoning symphony.
Paul rolled to a stop near the tree and shut off the truck. The loud rumble silenced, the crickets added their slow and steady creeeek-it to the soundtrack of the evening. Paul reached into the space behind the front seat and pulled out a scratchy looking Mexicana blanket. "This is all I've got, but it should work. Sure beats sitting in here all cooped up when we could be out there enjoying the evening."
I followed him out of the truck and waited until he spread the blanket out under the tree, all the while contemplating running like hell back toward the road, but ultimately deciding against it. While technically no one knew where I was exactly, Claire knew whom I was with. If he were going to murder me, he'd be the first one she'd point the finger at. I waited until he had the blanket fully arranged on the ground then decided, what the hell, and sat down. We sat side-by-side leaning against the tree trunk, not touching but close enough so that I could feel the heat radiating off his body.
"So what's your story?" he asked, tugging a long strand of grass from the ground and rolling it between his fingers.
"I don't have a story," I replied looking down at my hands.
"Sure you do. What brought you to Capeside?" He idly rolled the length of grass, rolling it and unrolling it.
"A pretty bad breakup. I had to get away. I couldn't stand the city anymore. I felt like I was being suffocated by the memories."
"Portland?"
"No, Seattle. Some stuff happened and one day I just decided I'd had enough. I packed up my car and drove until I ran out of gas."
"And the farthest you got was Capeside? You must get some pretty crappy gas mileage."
"I didn't have a full tank," I laughed. "I wasn't exactly thinking clearly when I decided to go. I just did it. As I was leaving, all these thoughts came crashing down on me. Where was I going, what was I going to do when I got there, did I really even care about the future?" I shrugged. "It was a rash decision to leave, but the moment I made it, it felt as right as rain. I ran out of gas on the highway and spent the better part of the night in my car sobbing like a newborn baby. A tow truck showed up and brought me in to town. I thought about filling up and continuing south towards something a little more, I don't seasonable, perhaps the tropical shores of a beautiful Mexican city, like Cabo."
"What stopped you?"
"Honestly, I don't know. I spent a few nights in the B&B in town while I figured out what my next move was, which was terrifying because I had no idea what came next and it scared me. Here I was, alone in a strange town, on my own for the first time in almost ten years and I was scared and confused." I paused to breathe and gather my thoughts as the emotion of those first few days in Capeside came rushing back to me with stunning clarity. "Those first few days here were the worst days of my life. I felt like I was being suffocated by my own damn panic and I felt stupid for essentially running away from my life in Seattle."
"But you stayed," Paul said softly. "Why?"
"I think I stayed because...for some reason, here felt right. And when all the other pieces started to fall into place: the job, the house, and well it was like the clouds parted and fate said, "This is where you belong, where you need to be." So I stayed and as it turns out, here is probably exactly where I was meant to be all along." After the words left my mouth, I realized he could take that one of two ways. He could think I meant here with him in the right here and now, or here as in Capeside, here.
Paul didn't acknowledge the comment. He forged on with his dissect Leah's life quest. "You ever think about leaving, going back to the city, and picking up the pieces of your life?"
I shook my head no. "There's nothing left there for me to go back to. As for the pieces of my life, well they're still pretty much just pieces. I can put them back together any time I choose."
"So why haven't you?"
"I haven't seen the point. After I got over the initial shock, I was sad, depressed - whatever you want to call it - and never really saw the point. I mean, who was I if I wasn't with Sam? I didn't, hell still don't, know who to be without him." I sighed and plucked my own blade of grass. "He slept with my cousin. How screwed up is that? I mean, that's my family. I could understand if she was some random chick that worked in his office or he met in a bar, but how sleazy do you have to be to sleep with your girlfriend's cousin? I will never get that."
"Do you think it would have made it easier had he slept with some random woman?"
"Of course not. I think that it might have stung a little less. I would be able to face my family. They've made it so that now anytime there's a family function, I have to see both of them. I have to stand there and pretend that I'm fine while they flaunt their relationship in my face. If he'd had an affair with anyone else, it wouldn't be the same. I could go home, or go to a family reunion and be fine. They wouldn't be there."
"What's your family think of all this?"
I laughed humorlessly. "They apparently see nothing wrong it. " It happens," my aunt said. "You'll get past it," another cousin said. And my personal favorite, "Sometimes the mind wants one thing, but the heart wants another. Sam might have thought he wanted you, but there was something missing from your relationship and he found it with Emily. You should be happy for them."
"No offense, but your mom sounds like a bitch."
"None taken because she is. That's another reason why I stayed here. Because I really mean it when I say that there is nothing for me to go back to in Seattle. Unless you count my job."
"What did you do?"
"I taught preschool."
"I never would have guessed that. I guess you don't seem the type. Do you miss it?"
I nodded. "Like the air I breathe. I loved those kids. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss them. They were dolls, each and every one of them. Each day with those kids was like discovering buried treasure. You never knew what you were going to find. They were always happy and they made me happy. Their carefree attitude was infectious, I never went home angry. I can't say the same thing now. I miss them, but all the kids I had are all in kindergarten by now. It would be a completely new set of kids. I can't miss kids I never knew." I sighed and stared off into the distance. "It is what it is, I guess."
"But that doesn't mean you have to like it."
"No, but it sure does mean I have to live with it," I replied.
"Why do you do that?" he asked.
"Do what?" I replied, dumbfounded.
"Act like your Wonder Woman. You act as if nothing fazes you; like you're somehow above it all. When you talk about your life, you distance yourself from it all. You're kind of all like, "oh well it happened, nothing I can do about it."
"What else am I supposed to do?"
"I don't know, feel something. Have some emotion other than anger when you talk about your life."
"Would you prefer a blubbering mess of a woman crying over a man who did her so wrong? That's the way it is with me. I have to be angry because if I stop being angry I'm going to fall apart."
"If you don't stop being so angry you're going to fall apart. It's going to consume you, like a fire, and swallow you whole."
I didn't want him to be right, but he was. And it annoyed me. "I can't stand that about you," I said crossly. "You think you know everything. You think you know how I should feel. Who died and made you the expert on handling breakups?"
"No one, but you're not the only one going through it right now. You're not the only one who's hurting. You heard my story, you had to, so you know what I'm going through, and I'm not stalking around sulking, snapping at everyone."
"I do not "stalk" around snapping at people," I snapped angrily.
He reached down and took my hand, intertwining our fingers together. The warmth of his hand spread up my arm. "Look at us, why are we always fighting. It's like this never-ending pissing contest between us, a debt that has to be re-paid in snarky comments and below the belt insults. I don't want to fight with you, not tonight. I get it, all right, you're hurting, and I'm always telling you what to do and how to feel. I'm sorry. I'll stop; I'll shut my mouth and keep my opinions to myself."
I sighed and leaned my head against the rough tree trunk. "Life is crazy isn't it?"
"How do you mean?"
"It's just this, us." I shrugged. "I mean did you ever expect to end up here, now, with me?"
"Not in a million years," Paul laughed. "There's nothing wrong with this moment, but the path that lead me here, eh, I never saw that coming."
"How are you coping?"
"I don't really want to talk about it," he said, a sharp edge creeping into his voice.
"Now that's not really fair. We dragged my dirty laundry out, discussed, and analyzed it," I pointed out. "Turn a bout's fair play."
Paul sighed and stared down at our intertwined fingers. His calloused thumb began making a circuitous path in the space between my thumb and pointer finger. "I suppose that's true," he agreed. "I cope, I guess. Like you I haven't really found a reason to move on, but it was time, so I did."
"How?"
"I got rid of everything that reminded me of her, of Angela. Except Zeus. But he's my pal, I couldn't just get rid of him. That's part of the reason why he likes to mow you down; I think he thinks you're her." He paused, still staring at our hands. "There are days, times that I just want to call her just so I can hear her voice. That's it; I don't even want to talk to her. I just want to hear her say hello. I tell myself that would be enough, that I could take that tiny scrap and make it last long enough to get me through."
"Through what?" I asked.
"I don't really know," he replied with a shrug. "The day or maybe the month. It doesn't matter, it would be just enough to soothe the ache. Then I remember it won't hurt forever, that eventually it'll be okay and I tell myself that calling her would be bad. It'd be like pulling the stitches out of the wound. I'd be all spread open and screwed up again. I don't want to be that way again so I refrain. I don't call her, I don't think about her and when I find myself going down that road I find something else to do."
"Like what? What distracts you?"
"Well right now, my distraction is the darkroom that I'm building in the spare room."
"You're building a what?"
"A darkroom, a place to develop pictures."
"Why would you want to do that?"
"Because I don't plan on working on my uncles boat forever, because I had a job that I loved and ultimately want to go back to."
"You were a photographer?"
He nodded. "Yeah, back in Seattle. How ironic is that? We're both from Seattle, we both get screwed over by our significant others and we both end up here, living next door to one another. Man, if that ain't fate I don't know what is."
"Maybe it was fate," I agreed. "But I don't know if I believe that. Maybe it's just a really odd coincidence. Maybe it's nothing."
"And maybe your wrong," he replied.
I scowled at him. "Maybe you're wrong. You know, it's starting to get kind of late."
Paul glanced up at the sky. "Yeah," he said. "We should probably head back." He stood up and offered me his hand. "In case I forget to tell you later, I had a good time tonight."
"Me too," I said softly. "I did too."
