Chapter 10

He was transferring to Springfield.

That's what he wanted to talk to her about tonight. He came over to her apartment. After a few hesitant minutes of small talk, he led her over to the couch and sat down with her. Then gently taking her hands, he told her that he had requested a transfer to the Springfield Massachusetts Police Department.

"That's a smaller city, Woody…less than 200,000 people," she said.

"Yeah. I know. It will be quieter, and I need quiet right now."

"Will you keep your rank?"

He nodded. "And possibly get a promotion."

"Gee. That's great, Woody," she replied, still struggling to understand why he was doing this and to accept the fact that he was. "I'm…I'm…." She meant to tell him she was happy for him. But she wasn't. Her voice broke and she looked down at their hands still clasped together. "Why Woody? Why are you doing this? You love Boston and your work here."

He tightened his hold on her hands. "We need serious space between each other right now, Jordan. I know you may not know it, but I watch you…I've been worried. You're not eating right, not resting…and I can't help but feel that if you didn't have to see me everyday, you wouldn't be constantly reminded of the baby and the miscarriage. Maybe it will help us both get over it and go on with our lives."

Jordan felt the tears spring to her eyes. Get over it…get over him…how am I supposed to do that? "When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow morning."

That explained his strained and breathless voice on her answering machine. He was moving his stuff. He was busy trying to get out of her life as quickly as possible.

"How long will you be gone?"

Woody paused for a moment. He had caused this woman so much pain and had watched that pain nearly eat her alive. Despite his feelings for Jordan…how much he loved her…he realized that in the end, he was no better than any of the other men Jordan had dated. Just like them, he had hurt her.

But it was a double-edged sword. He knew he needed to get out of her life, but he also knew that in order for him to survive, he needed to stay connected with her somehow and someway. Dropping his eyes to their hands, he softly replied, "I don't know, Jordan. I just don't know."

"Oh. But you will come back?"

"I don't know that, either, Jordan."

"So you're leaving me, too." It wasn't a question.

The harshness in her voice cut Woody to the quick. "No, Jordan…it's not like…"

"Yes it is," she managed to choke out, getting up from the couch and pushing away from him. "It's just like all the other times in my life when people have bailed out on me when I needed them the most. I thought you were different. You….Woodrow Wilson Hoyt…the picture of Midwestern values…small town morals….but you're not. You're not any better than the others. The minute I need you…really need you, you decide to leave." She had her back to him now, gazing unseeing at the Boston skyline.

"Jordan…I just think that for awhile it would be for the best. I mean, all we do is constantly remind each other of….the miscarriage…and of her….and what we might have had. Maybe, if we have some time apart, we both can get better…heal…and then see where that takes us."

She let out a laugh…bitter and short. "Sure. Whatever you say, Woody."

He swallowed hard. "I'm just doing what I think is best for you."

She didn't respond. He wanted so badly to go over to her, take her in his arms and just plead for time….a few months, just to get his head straightened on right…for her to get her emotional bearings again…and then see where that would take them. But his feet remained glued to the spot he was in.

And instead of offering her healing, he had hurt her yet again. Maybe it was time he got out of her life. "I need to go, Jordan," he half-whispered to her back.

"Then don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out."

The early morning sun was just beginning to paint the sky with pinks and yellows when Woody loaded the last few things into his U-Haul – a lamp, his bedspread, and pillows. He slammed the doors shut and locked them. Then checking to make sure the hitch was secured, he climbed into the driver's seat of his car and looked out. Boston. It had been his home for four years. There had been good times and bad times. He had made some friends and hell, if he was honest with himself, some enemies.

And he had met her. A whiskey-eyed medical examiner who had stolen his heart. She still had it. She probably always would. He ran his fingers through his hair. He had half-expected her to show up this morning demanding that he stop…not go anywhere until they had another chance to talk.

But that had been wishful thinking. He had hurt her…and then bailed on her. In Jordan's mind, that was unforgivable. He lingered a few moments longer in the parking lot of his former apartment building…then started the ignition, pulled out into the early morning traffic and pointed his Honda Civic west.

Boston was no longer his home and she was no longer his girl.

She did craw inside a bottle that night.

As soon as Woody left and her door slammed shut, she grabbed her purse and headed down to the corner store. She had bought two six-packs of Guinness and Tequila. She was mid-way through the second six-pack before she began to feel anything remotely like release. And when it finally came, she had sobbed in her pillow until the sky began to lighten with the pinks and yellows that heralded another Boston morning. With her head aching and her eyes swollen, she dialed Woody's apartment…she needed to speak to him one more time. It rang…and rang. Then a disembodied mechanical voice came on the line to tell her the number had been disconnected. She hung her phone up. He was as good as gone.

But not so easily forgotten.