163

Aligned Design

Ch 30

Bobby parked illegally at the curb outside ticketing. He put on his four-ways and set the OPB sign on the dash. He caught the attention of a traffic official, walked toward the woman, identified himself, displayed his shield and spoke briefly. She nodded and he turned and entered the terminal.

He checked the arrivals screen and saw that Gleason's flight was on time. He stood inside the ticketing lobby, outside security. He looked out the huge window at the comings and goings outside. The sky was clouding over. It would rain later. Gleason loves the rain, he thought. He thought about what he would tell her.

His mind ran with words, ideas. I'll be honest with her. My anger was, is, out of control. I know that. I'm taking steps to control it. I'm back in therapy – aggressive therapy. I will do whatever it takes for me to get back to where I was. I will do anything to keep her with me. I love her. So much.

She loves me. I know it. I feel it. So what if she can't or won't say it. It's only words. I was wrong to go off on her about it. I'll apologize. I will do anything to keep her with me. Anything. I cannot live without her.

I know she interviewed at Northwestern. It is the only explanation. She wants to move away. She wants to leave me. She can't leave. She can't. I cannot live without her. I will do anything to keep her with me.

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Gleason walked the length of the terminal lugging her carpetbag. Her mind was reeling. She would take a cab to her flat. She had made the decision to live there. She could not live with Bobby anymore. Not after that last phone call. She was afraid of him. She would not even tell him she was back. He knew she was coming home Friday night. Let him find out.

Bobby stood to the side, watching for her. She's on this flight. She's on this flight. There, there she is. Oh, thank God. His stomach jumped. His heart sang.

He saw her walking through the terminal within a crowd of others from the flight. She's tired, he thought. She looks so tired.

Gleason didn't see Bobby standing there. She wasn't expecting him. He moved to the edge of the group of others waiting to meet passengers. Gleason walked right past him. '

"Gleason!" Bobby called as she walked by. She continued walking several steps, finally stopped, but didn't turn around. "Honey," he strode to her side. She began walking again. He grabbed her arm.

"Let go of me!" she hissed, shaking him off.

"Gleason, honey, please," Bobby couldn't draw a breath. "Honey, please."

She kept walking. He jogged to her side. "Gleason stop, stop!" He pulled her to a stop. "Look at me! Gleason! Stop." She did and dropped the carpetbag. She looked at the floor. He pulled her to him and enveloped her in his arms. "Gleason, please. Honey. Oh God. Honey," he whispered into her hair. Finally, slowly, she raised her arms and hugged him under his coat. She relaxed into him. She was so tired. So tired. He was so big, strong, warm.

He took her head in his hands. He searched her face, every inch. He tilted her head and kissed her as tenderly as he ever had. She responded immediately, her tongue seeking its way through his lips. Bobby's left hand moved to her neck, his breathing quickened. He moaned softly. "Let's go home," he whispered deeply. He picked up her bag and they walked, his arm holding her close.

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He opened the passenger door and helped her up, shut the door, went around the back, lifted the hatch and set her bag inside. He watched for traffic and then got into the driver's side. Neither said anything. He removed the OPB sign, changed the four-ways to the left blinker, and watched the traffic in the side mirror, waiting to pull out. Suddenly, the traffic official was right there, beside the SUV, tweeting her whistle, holding up her hand, stopping traffic. She nodded and waved Bobby away from the curb. He waved thanks and pulled away.

They drove in silence. He kept glancing over at her. She rested with her eyes closed. Bobby left the airport property and once he was into the traffic stream, he reached for her hand. Gleason seemed to be asleep. She's so tired, he thought. This traveling has wiped her out. He glanced at her again. She was asleep.

Thank God, she's here, he said to himself. He felt so relieved. He was cautiously happy. Dr. Stephens told him to think about how he was feeling in different situations. I'll tell her I feel relieved. She's here. She's with me. Thank God.

Bobby drove with his left hand on the wheel; his right hand wrapped around Gleason's left. He would hold on to her for as long as he lived.

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"Honey? Sweetheart? We're home. Gleason, baby, wake up." Bobby leaned over the console and brushed a stray whiff of hair from her face as he gently woke her.

"Hmmmm . . . what?" Gleason sighed deeply, her eyes opened and she saw him looking at her. She smiled. "I must be really tired."

"You've had a long day. Come on, let's go up stairs." He got out, went around back, removed her carpetbag and then opened her door. Bobby took her hand and helped her from the SUV. He shut the door, clicked it locked and led her up the block to his flat. Once inside the lobby, Gleason walked slowly up the stairs, nearly pulling herself up the banister.

Inside the flat, Bobby set down the carpetbag and took her wrap, hanging it in the hall closet, and then he hung his coat. She set her purse on his chair and didn't know what to do next.

"Bobby . . ." she began.

"Honey, let's go take a nap," he interrupted. He didn't want her to say anything. He was afraid of what she might say. "You're so tired. Come on." He took her arm, picked up the carpetbag and took a step toward the bedroom.

"Bobby, wait." Gleason pulled her arm free.

He stopped and turned. He heart stopped, his stomach fell, he couldn't breathe. He looked at her. This is it, he thought. She's going to tell me she's leaving. Oh.

Gleason moved to the sofa and sat. She put her hands over her face, and then set them on her lap.

"Bobby . . . we need to talk," she said, not looking at him.

The words you ever want to hear from someone you love.

He could say or do nothing. He stood there. Slowly, he set down her bag. It was hard to draw a breath. His chest was wood. Stone. Marble. Cement.

"I've been offered a position at Northwestern. I start in August." She said this without looking at him. She was shaking.

Bobby stared at her. His heart pounded in his chest, in his ears. He couldn't breathe. He found himself sitting on the edge of his chair, her leather bag behind him, his elbows on his knees, fingers laced. His eyes moved away from her, looking at nothing, seeing nothing.

Gleason looked at him. "Say something," she said.

He couldn't find his voice; there wasn't enough air to speak. Finally, he looked over to her and whispered, "Why?"

"My program has been terminated at Brookbine. I've been let go. I'll see this group of students to the end of their program and then I'm done the end of July."

This information swirled around Bobby's mind. It's the job. She's leaving because of the job. Suddenly there was light, hope. Air came easier.

"You're not leaving me? You have to take a new job? Is, is that what you're saying? It's the job? You're not leaving me?" He couldn't hide the desperation in his voice.

"I need to work, Bobby. This is a great opportunity. Northwestern is a wonderful university. I'm lucky to be offered the chance to teach there."

"You're not leaving me, though? You still love me? Do you love me, Gleason?" He couldn't keep the tears from filling his eyes.

Gleason looked at him. Oh, God she did love him. More than she ever thought she could love anyone. He is the best thing ever to happen to me, she realized. He is kind, good, strong, smart, brave, and he loves me. He loves me like I've never been loved. Yes, yes, I love him.

She stood and crossed the room to him. He watched her move and sat upright as she approached. She stopped in front of him; he reached and held her around her waist. She pulled his head to her stomach. He sobbed quietly against her. She ran her hands through his hair, on his neck, over his shoulders. "Aye, Bobby, I love you."

Gleason held Bobby's head against her stomach and stroked his hair, she stroked his neck, stroked his shoulders. He cried quietly. "Shh, love, don't cry. Shh," she purred to him. She held him like a little boy, like a son.

Finally, he quieted and moved back, not letting go of her, but looking up at her. "Say it again," he told her.

"What?"

"Say it again. Say you love me," his grip on her tightened a bit.

"Bobby . . . stand up, love. Stand up." She pulled him to his feet. He stood and held her arms. Gleason took his head in her hands, looked into his eyes. She saw love, fear, want, need, love, fear. "Bobby, I love you."

He hitched a sob and said, "Say it again."

"I love you," she said with a smile. As he had done so many times to her, she wiped his tears with her thumbs and then pulled his head to hers. She kissed him softly. He held her and she rocked him.

"Bobby, love. . ."

"Hmmm?"

"I have to pee."

He backed away and looked at her. He released her arms and stepped away, smiling. She returned the smile and turned for the bathroom. Bobby walked into the kitchen, unbuttoned the cuffs on his dress shirt and rolled up his sleeves. He threw water on his face, and then wiped it with a paper towel. He leaned on the edge of the sink. It will be ok. She loves me. She said so. She loves me.