What just happened?
That was the question Shane McInerney struggled with as she sat, alone, in the Mailbox Grille that evening.
Of course it was obvious-Oliver has just canceled their dance. What was not immediately obvious were all the feelings the cancellation had stirred in Shane.
Since her time began at the Denver Dead Letter Office, each letter, each story and the life connected to it, had managed to pull at her heartstrings-But this? This had pulled them in a distinctly different direction-a more personal one-and that was something Shane had to not only admit, but contend with.
When exactly had this dance, which she had only agreed to as a favor to Oliver, become something that, when canceled, prompted a sting of disappointment that almost caused her to shed a tear in front of Oliver that somehow felt different than those other times?
Perhaps the real question was why Oliver had chosen to cancel their dance at all? The answer was somewhere between the nameless, faceless wife who left in him in front of that Pony Express exhibit in the National Post Office Museum a year ago, and he and Shane's last practice dance the night before.
As her index finger traced the lip of her teacup for likely the one-hundredth time, she tried to piece together as much as she could. It was obvious his wife's departure had deeply wounded him, but even so he held steadfast to a hope that compelled him to check that Paris box every morning. It seemed so ridiculously and frustratingly unfair. At the very least it was certainly hard to watch.
Was it possible that, as they danced the night before, the ghosts that seemed to linger in his life vanished for a second? That the Oliver she danced with was reminiscent of an Oliver unencumbered by the memories and longings for a wandering wife-an Oliver capable of having fun? If his smile had been any indication, he certainly appeared to be enjoying himself. Shane hadn't realized how much until the smile suddenly faded, and the ghosts returned with a quiet, but somehow decisive, vengeance. He released his gentle hold around her. The music ended.
Undeniable. Undefinable.
The words echoed in her head. All she knew is the word "goodnight" managed to fall of her lips, perhaps too late for Oliver to even hear it. And like that, he was gone. It almost hadn't even registered last night. But when combined with this sudden cancellation, Shane was suddenly overwhelmed.
Undeniable. Undefinable.
Why did it feel like Oliver, in his attempt to explain to her how he'd only ever intended to take those lessons in the hopes of surprising his wife, was also apologizing at the same time? His words said one thing-but his eyes carried on a conversation all their own. It was a conversation she felt like she should understand, but the translation never quite completed.
What just happened?
Perhaps her response to the whole thing was an indication of something deeper on her part. She'd spent the last two weeks being Oliver's dance partner, his co-worker, and it would be a lie to say her feelings towards him weren't constantly evolving. She was drawn to Oliver, and yet the distance she would have to overcome to finally really reach him seemed insurmountable.
And in that moment it became quite clear to Shane that there was nothing she could do but simply be there.
For now, that would have to be enough.