11. Ian
11
IAN
I put the last of my clothes into the duffel bag I'd brought with me on this journey and zip the bag up.
After a long day of aimlessly driving around, wasting gas that I don't really have money to afford right now, I drive back to the motel and start to pack up.
The receptionist lady wouldn't take money from me when I tried to pay for it. Instead, she asked how long I was going to stay, and when I said I was leaving the next morning, her face changed, or maybe I was just imagining things.
At this point, there's no putting it past me. The rest of the day passed in a blur after I left the estate. I spent most of the drive convincing myself not to call Sarah.
I just don't see any sense in it. She's doing well without me. Why mess with her life after all these years?
She's better off. Really.
Someone knocks on my room’s door, and despite my earlier thought, I'm running to the door excitedly at the prospect of Sarah being the one there.
It's not her.
“Hello,” the lady in front of me greets me. She is about the same age as me, I think. She doesn't look that old, but she's definitely not young.
“Hi, how can I help you?” I ask her out of mere courtesy. I'm sure she's got the wrong room. I don't know her.
“I'm the hotel's Manager, Teri. My sister, Susie, is the one at the front desk, and I've been made aware of how bravely you stood up for our motel last night.”
This again?
I honestly had forgotten that I got into a fight with someone, well, two someones, last night. As a matter of fact, I've not taken the meds given to me at all today. I should probably do so when I have dinner tonight.
“It's fine, it was nothing.” I try to play it off, but the smile that touches her face followed by the frantic shake of her head tells me she doesn't share my sentiment.
“No, it wasn't. What you did was brave, and I just stopped by to thank you and tell you that you'll always have a room here with us whenever you're in town again.”
“Sure,” is all I say to her in response, forcing a fake smile so I don't appear rude. I honestly would like it if no one reminds me about last night ever again.
“I heard you're leaving tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I uh, I'm sorted with what I came to town for.”
“Good. That's good. We hope to see you again, and don't hesitate if there's anything we can help you with.”
“Of course. Thanks.”
She walks away, and I watch her. I have a strange sense of happiness. It feels good to have made an impression, I guess.
I dash back into the room and pick up my wallet and phone. I need to get dinner, and since they didn't allow me to pay for the extra night, I certainly can't take their food. I rummage through the jeans I had on yesterday to get the meds I was given. I take the dosage for tonight, wash it down with water, and then step out of the room.
I am able to get a decent dinner of cinnamon rolls and milkshakes. When I'm done, I remain seated and watch people come in and out of the café like it's the best thing I've seen in my life.
Gosh, I'm so bored. It's a wonder I haven't lost my mind just yet.
Just call her
No.
Even if I do cave, what the hell am I supposed to say to her?
I miss you?
I want to see you?
I'm sorry for always being such a prick?
The door to the café opens again, and a group of three girls step in. They look around before they come to sit at the table arrangement right ahead of me. As they sit, my eyes meet with one of them, and she smiles at me sympathetically.
Great. I look just as awful as I feel.
I look away from her and try my best to not listen to their conversations. Sometime during the night, they leave. Another couple takes the seat and leaves, too. Then another lady. She's alone, and she has a book.
I'm surprised I haven't been chased out yet. I've been here for over two hours. Just when I decide to leave, my eyes stray to the book in the hand of the new lady, and I see it's a book by Sarah.
Shame on You .
The title of the book feels like a slap to my face. Especially because of how I've treated the author.
Did she have me in mind when she picked the title?
I wouldn't be too surprised.
“Are you a fan too?” comes the inquisitive voice of the lady who's holding the book.
I blink at her words, realizing I've been standing and staring at the book in her hand.
Feeling stupid, I shrug and walk away.
As I walk back to the motel, the spot where my phone is currently resting in my pocket starts to burn with an alarming awareness that leaves me with no choice but to pluck it out.
Once.
I'm just going to call her once, and if she doesn't pick up, I'll let it go.
I find her card in the same spot I'd shoved it in earlier and dial her number on the screen of my phone. I hesitate before pressing the call button, but I quickly tap it before I can chicken out again.
The phone starts to ring, and I force myself to continue walking so I don't look like a total loser in the middle of the road.
Just when I'm close to giving up, she picks up the call.
“Hello?”
I exhale at her voice, a huge sense of relief slamming into me as I enter the motel and pass by the reception. I look away from the front desk area so I won't have to exchange pleasantries with the Susie lady.
“Sarah, it's me.”
“Ian?” Her voice sounds strained. Almost as though she's asleep. Did I wake her up?
“Yes. How are you?” I ask.
“I'm… um… I'm in front of your room's door?”
What?
I quicken my step to turn the corner that leads to my room, and true to her word, she's standing in front of the door.
What is she doing here?
Walking fast toward her, she turns just as I'm about to get to her.
“Sarah, what are you doing… “ I trail off at the sight of tears in her eyes. Some have rolled down her cheeks, too.
What the fuck?
“What's going on?” I ask, immediately I'm in front of her. My hands cup her face on instinct, and I peer into her eyes. She closes them for just a few seconds before she opens them, wipes her face with a palm, and then clears her throat.
“Can we go inside?” She nods at the door, and I release her face.
“Of course.” I find the key and open the door. I let her go in first before I follow her.
“Give me a minute,” I say and run down to the bar where I get a bottle of wine and return within five minutes. She's seated on the floor when I come in.
I open the drink and fetch the empty glass I have from the water I drank earlier and pour her a huge portion.
She takes it from me with a grateful smile and gulps down a decent amount before she places her glass down.
I sit beside her. “What's going on?” I ask her.
She shakes her head at my question, a shadow casting over her face.
“I don't want to talk about it?” The way she speaks makes her words come out more like a question than a statement.
Something tells me if I push further she'll tell me, but I decide not to.
I pour her more wine until the bottle is half gone, then I start to drink from the bottle. We remain in silence for a while, my mind doing an active job of trying to figure out what could be wrong with her.
But I can’t come up with anything.
“Did you ever regret leaving me?”
Her question comes out of nowhere. I'm momentarily short of words. Then a thought occurred to me.
As if she can read it, she shakes her head. “No, me crying wasn't about you.”
Oh, good. I don't know how I would feel about myself if she had said otherwise.
We fall into silence again before she speaks, prompting me to answer her question.
“So?”
I scratch my jaw as I mull over her words. Did I regret leaving her?
I mean, a lot has happened since the last time we were together, and she's doing so much better now. Who knows if she ever would have gotten to where she is in life now if I had remained a part of her life?
I don't want to tell her yes, because that would be a lie. Saying no wouldn't be right either, because I can't say I haven't thought about the possibility of never letting her go a couple of times.
“I don't know,” I say honestly. “You do seem better off without me though,” I offer as a consolation.
She nods at my words, a strained laughter escaping her.
I try not to be bothered by that because I know she's going through a lot right now. Whatever brought her to my door must have been pretty serious.
I badly want to ask her again, but I don't like it when people pressure me, so I tend to not do so to others.
“You're the reason I started writing, you know?”
The title of the book I saw at the café comes back to me, and I force myself to suppress a groan.
Oh boy.
“Oh yeah?” I ask, pretending to not be feeling like a total shit on the inside right now.
“Yeah,” she says and goes silent again.
Soon, her voice comes again, quiet yet emotional. “After you left, I wrote down about a thousand words expressing how your disappearance made me feel. A friend at the time found out and published it without my knowledge. It went viral, and that's how I picked up writing. People wanted more from me, I guess. And I do love to write, so…” She trails off, shrugging.
The emotion behind her every word pierces through me. It's like a needle poking at my heart, but I refuse to make this about me.
“I'm glad you're doing well, Sarah,” I say.
She glances at me, a smile coating her face. “Yeah, me too.”
This time when we fall into silence, it's a comfortable one. Although there's still so much left unsaid between us, there's a level of peace that flows at her confusion.
Then the drink is finished and she stands up, her eyes telling me goodbye.
Of course.
“Teri told me you're leaving,” she says.
I vaguely remember the manager earlier telling me her name is Teri.
I nod.
“Yeah, my business here is done.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel like a total idiot but there's no taking it back.
“Business, huh? I could have sworn you said you were here for a job.”
I open my mouth to defend myself but decide against it. I don't want to lie to her.
She smiles when I don't speak, a resigned look on her face.
“Anyway, I should get going. Thank you for listening to me.”
“Always,” I whisper and as the words leave me, I realize I mean it. I will always be available for her if she so much as asks.
She nods and starts to leave.
I remain seated on the floor, watching her leave and unable to do anything.
“Ian?” She calls my name when she's at the door.
“Yeah?”
“You don't always have to run.” The meaningful look she gives me before she closes the door is enough to know what she means.
Hours later, after she has gone, I'm still seated on the floor, her words repeating in my ear and mind.
“You don't always have to run.”