Chapter Thirteen
As we reach the outskirts of Savannah, the sun is setting and I’m plotting the logistics of Danny and me staying together tonight. Unfortunately I don’t see any way for it to happen, especially when we both have to go to work tomorrow. I reluctantly ask him to drop me at my place so he can take the car to his house.
We block all the parking spaces behind my building as we unload my suitcases. I take my carry-on bag and Danny grabs the rest. As we are coming up the back steps, my neighbor, Mrs. Ogden, opens her door.
“Vivienne, I thought that was you.” She looks at me briefly then studies Danny. “I haven’t seen you around much lately.”
“No, I’ve been out of town. Were you looking for me? Can I help you with something?”
“Oh no, I’m fine, but I took a delivery for you and I haven’t seen you around to give it to you.” She seemed a little irritated, which was odd. We accept packages for each other all the time.
“Oh, ok. Well I can take it now.”
She slips inside her door and returns hidden behind the largest bouquet of flowers I have ever seen outside of a hotel lobby. I have to step back to make room for the oversized arrangement between us. “Wow, thank you for taking them Mrs. Ogden. I appreciate it.”
“There’s a card, but it’s sealed.” I can see her watching Danny for a reaction out of the corner of her eye. She has to be wondering if this is my new boyfriend and if he sent the flowers. And ok, she’s being a busybody, but we keep an eye out for each other in this building.
I take the vase from her but have to set it on the floor while I unlock my door.
“I can’t thank you enough for accepting them for me. They must have taken up a ton of room in your place.”
She shrugs. “They smelled nice.”
Once Danny and I and my flowers are all crowded into my living room I search for the mystery card. Not only is it sealed but my name and address are typed on the front.
Danny takes my suitcases into my bedroom and I wonder if he’s giving me a little unnecessary privacy. I know he hasn’t been dating anyone because I have a Darlene-spy in his department at work but he doesn’t know the same about me. I want to reassure him because I seriously doubt they’re from some secret admirer.
“I have nothing to hide from you.”
He shrugs and carries my stuff away anyway.
He returns to find me sitting on the floor next to the vase, obviously confused.
“Who they from?”
“Joel Rockhurst.” I say.
“Joel Rockhurst? As in the CEO of JetStream, Joel Rockhurst?”
“Yeah.” I nod still studying the card. “And it’s handwritten. I think it’s actually his handwriting.” I hold it up for Danny to see.
“What’s it say?”
“Bob told me why you left the conference early. I’m sorry for your loss. You and your father are an important part of the JetStream family, and it’s signed by him for sure. I know his signature.”
“I didn’t know Joel Rockhurst knew who your dad was. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him down on the maintenance floor.”
“He didn’t know who I was until recently. I got an iced tea for him during the golf tournament.” I study the gorgeous, fragrant flowers. “The man must really like iced tea.” I put the arrangement on my kitchen table where it takes up so much room I’ll have to move it to eat. I try moving it to the coffee table but it blocks the TV screen. My already tight living quarters just got that much more crowded.
✈✈✈
Danny doesn’t stay with me that night in my apartment or the next night or the rest of the week. I talk to him on the phone or we text but only because I’m contacting him about the storage garage we are renting together. He’s putting distance between us and it feels awful. He’s still hasn’t given me a direct answer on moving in so I’m going to take that as a yes and move ahead with the plan. I offer to meet him at his place on Saturday morning so we can start packing. He reluctantly agrees.
When he opens the front door I want to jump into his arms and take a week’s worth of sexual frustration out on him. He hugs me but stops there. The lack of kisses is unnerving and I’m not sure how to react. I try to keep things upbeat and make myself useful.
I follow him around with my iPad as he points out the few things he’s taking with him and what needs to go into storage. I make notes about the number of boxes we will need and sizes. I also start a separate section on repairs and sprucing up that will need to happen before his house goes on the market.
When we reach his bedroom he stops the tour and finally asks, “What are you working on there?” He glances at the screen.
“Just taking notes.”
“Notes about what?”
“Packing, painting, stuff like that.”
“Vivey, I got this. If you want to help a little fine, but I know what I’m doing.”
I minimize my notes but don’t delete them. “Ok, what do you want me to do?”
He looks around and it’s clear he doesn’t really have a plan. I bite my tongue and wait for his instruction.
“I guess start in the kitchen, pack stuff up in there.”
“OK, where are the boxes and packing supplies?”
“The boxes are in the garage if that’s what you mean by packing supplies.”
The tension is building between us already but the idea of just throwing breakables in a box is too ludicrous for me not to challenge.
“Do you have some bubble wrap or old newspaper I can use to protect stuff?”
He lets out a deep sigh as he puts his hands on his hips, his stance that says he is struggling to be patient but I’m not sure if it’s with himself or me. I assume he doesn’t have anything but boxes when he says, “Fine, start in the extra bedroom and I’ll see about finding some newspapers.”
I back out of the room to avoid pushing up against him because he’s irritated. My eyes linger on his bed, the one I seriously doubt we will be using today if things keep going like this.
✈✈✈
I make a ton of progress in the room that used to belong to his son. The fact that it’s full of extra stuff now tells me that his ex hasn’t allowed visitation in Savannah and Danny has had to drive to see Nick for a while now.
As I sort through boxes of high school yearbooks and sports trophies, it hits me how little I really know about his past and the things that matter to him. I’ve memorized every detail I’ve been able to observe since I’ve known him but he’s never really sat down and talked about his past to me. If I throw away this plaque he got for volunteer work in high school, would it matter to him? It’s from Habitat for Humanity. I didn’t even know that he knew how to build a house.
Working in separate rooms is good for us. The tension dissipates and he seems grateful when I offer to go get more boxes and pick up some sub sandwiches for lunch. Of course, I also grab bubble wrap, shrink wrap, packing tape and labels from the store then sandwiches, chips, a six pack of his favorite beer and a bag of his favorite cookies. Before I check out, I toss a box of condoms in the cart too. I can never be too prepared.
I try to be subtle as I bring all of the packing supplies into the house and he doesn’t mention them but glares to make sure I know he thinks I’ve gone overboard and they’re unnecessary. I use our lunch time to ask him a little more about his past.
“I didn’t know you could do carpentry.”
He seems perplexed for a minute then remembers the plaque. “Yeah, my family was big on doing charity work. Everybody had to do something. Building houses sounded easy to me.”
This is the first time he’s ever talked about his family to me. “You grew up in Florida right?”
He nods as he takes a bite of his sandwich.
“Any brothers? Sisters?”
He drinks some beer before answering. “One brother.”
“Is he still in Florida?”
He doesn’t look at me and concentrates on tearing open a bag of chips as he says, “No, he died. We were both in the military. He was stationed in Iraq. He didn’t make it back.”
My heart sinks and my throat is too tight to swallow another bite of food. “I’m sorry. That’s horrible.”
He shrugs but still won’t look at me. “Comes with the job.”
I don’t know why he’s being so cavalier; if he never talks about it to anyone or if he is avoiding opening up specifically to me. I feel the same sting of distance I’ve been feeling all week from him. He’s letting me into his life but only so far, only as much as he deems acceptable before he leaves.
I concentrate on my sandwich and wonder if maybe he’s seeing this all so much more clearly than I am and he’s right. Maybe we should just let New Orleans be a brief fling that we had and I should stop pushing him so hard.
But the doubts in my mind are quickly whisked away by the truth I feel from my gut. We have a chance for something great here, even for a short time and I won’t give up on it that easily. The carpe diem in my soul is a final gift from my dad and I can’t ignore it.
I change the subject. “Have you ever watched any shows about staging?”
“Like building sets for a play?” He shakes his head.
“No, staging is setting a house up to sell faster at the best price.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, they have all these shows about what paint colors to choose and how to arrange the furniture and do things to make buyers see it as their home.”
“Let me guess, you’ve watched them all.” He’s being obtuse, pretending not to know why I brought this up.
“I’ve watched a few. I mean I’ve already got some great ideas that we could do really cheaply; a little paint, some flowering plants. I’ve seen them use spray paint to make old appliances look amazing.”
And the patronizing glare is back…
“I’m just trying to help.”
But again, he pushes me away. “I know you are but it’s not necessary. You helping me pack some of this stuff up is enough.” He might be trying to tell me that my help will not be needed after today, but I can play at the obtuse game too. I’m doing it for his good and mine, for what I know is right. I’m going to keep showing up and helping until he admits how much he needs me.