Sorry- this installment is short! I'm more likely to get em posted if I post shorter bits each time! Keep the reviews coming, thanks! They help! - Pumpkin
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David sat heavily in his Adirondack chair, sipping another scotch, and glanced through the mail he'd only just taken out of his box. Time to move his mind to other things... a bill... magazine of the American Chemical Society... fundraising letter for heart research... and... He sat up surprised. Greenlee's handwriting... no stamp. This was dropped in his box, and not by the mailman.
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Second call for flight 73. Greenlee sat. The notes to Jack, Erica, and Simone just said she was already gone, sorry, but she didn't want long goodbyes. No more information. Why had she put more information in the note to David? She pursed her lips and looked back to where happier groups of people were hugging loved ones and smiling as they moved to board. She turned away and squared her shoulders. She was done with hugs and good byes. Better to avoid pain by not loving at all.
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He looked again at the note. She wasn't leaving tomorrow... she had left tonight ...Flight 73 to Aspen. He glanced at his watch... would be leaving tonight, 8:30 pm, he corrected himself. . The flight hadn't left yet. He went to the door again, and reread the note. She did this because she wanted to leave without fuss... without a scene...
"Isn't that kind of chicken?"
He could hear in the distance, the faint hum of the falls.
He had fought himself, back then, when he answered her.
"Oh, so that's your sign that it's ok to defy logic and reason and fall in love again?"
He'd done it. He'd defied all that logic and reason he professed to hang on to, and fallen. He knew it as he looked into her eyes at the waterfall, as she challenged him with her "chicken?". But he'd decided at that moment, the moment he almost decided differently, that he would not go back into that beartrap. He'd almost kissed her. He'd will himself not to. He wouldn't risk it.
And then she'd run to Ryan. And despite denying his feelings- telling himself he would not love, he would not feel- he'd felt the punch in the gut when he heard she'd married the sonuvabitch. He still didn't tell her. He couldn't.
"Isn't that kind of chicken?"
And she was gone. He crumpled the note in his hand.
And called a cab.
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