5. Punch To The Gut
Chapter five
Punch To The Gut
Paul
Staring out my window, I refused to take my eyes off the front doors of Kent Design. With any luck, I’d catch sight of Maggie and be able to leave here knowing she was happy.
It occurred to me that in going to dinner I could miss seeing her, so I splurged on room service. When my burger and fries arrived, I tipped the server quickly so I could get back to the window. Using the sill as a table, I ate while keeping watch.
All of this waiting reminded me of the times I’d waited for Maggie by the pond, our pond.
One of the last times I’d waited so long I almost gave up, she’d finally come by and did nothing but chatter on about how excited she was to be leaving soon, not realizing that in doing so, she was taking an axe to my heart.
When I couldn’t take it anymore, I changed the subject:
I searched around in the tall blades of grass until I found the perfect two to hold in my hands. “Read a book the other day that reminded me of you.”
Maggie perked up. “Really? What was it?”
Lifting one shoulder, I lined up the blades of grass. “Don’t remember the title, but it was about this girl who was never happy with what she had. Sounded familiar.”
“I beg your pardon,” she huffed. “I am happy with what I have. You know, mostly.”
With a tilt of my head, I challenged her without a word. I didn’t speak much, usually preferring to hear what Maggie said, but this time, I couldn’t let that statement of hers go.
“I mean, I’m happy here with you,” she tried again.
I blew on the two blades of grass eliciting a vibration. “This is my bullshit sound.” I blew on it again. “And I’m calling bullshit, Mags. You hate this place. Since we were young, all you’ve talked about is leaving.”
With a sigh, she fell back into the grass, plucking a stalk of lavender along the way. “I’m happy smelling flowers and watching the lightning bugs come out with you.”
While I was content being with her, too, this wasn’t what she wanted. “Come on, admit it. You’re bored here.”
Maggie leaned up on one elbow, blowing a chunk of hair out of her face that had fallen from her braid. “Well, do you blame me? Other than taking pictures, drawing, and spending time with you before and during your chores, there’s nothing to do unless ...”
The way she stared at me after that comment, biting her lower lip as she focused on my mouth, hinted at what she wanted to be doing with me. I wanted to do it so much, too that I fell back, putting my arm over my eyes to block out the sun and keep her from seeing it written all over my face.
“There’ll be plenty to do in Chicago, Mags. You won’t be bored for much longer,” I muttered.
If only I could’ve told her how much I’d wanted to kiss her right then. I was crazy about her, just as much then as I was now. It was why I’d never been with anyone else. I’d die a virgin if I had to, but there was no other woman I wanted. I’d wait for her forever.
I was long finished with dinner, about to give up on seeing her around seven o’clock when the front door to Kent Designs opened. And there she was with that long, beautiful, chestnut hair. I’d know those thick, wavy locks anywhere.
Sitting forward in my chair, I pushed my plate aside so I could catalog everything about her.
How her shoulders slumped after a long day of work.
How her arms looked more toned. How her face looked stressed and gaunt.
She looked too thin, too worried, and probably too busy to remember to eat.
But the sight of her made my heart sing.
I wanted to race out of here, grabbing her up in my arms, but something held me back. Would she even want to see me? At a few floors above street level, she was right there. So close.
But even if I made myself known to her, what would happen next? Would she be happy to see me or slap me?
After not keeping in touch, I deserved the slap. No, I couldn’t go to her. I came to see that she was okay, not interfere in her life.
As she turned back in my direction, I saw her face more clearly.
Same hazel eyes. Same love of flat shoes.
Same freckles on her nose. But her features were more delicate.
Her frame was smaller, and she wore pants.
She was where she’d always dreamed she could be – a professional in a big city living by her choices instead of others.
She was twenty-six years old now, long past when her parents could have a say.
Then, I realized she was just standing there. Who was she waiting for? A friend? A boyfriend? She checked her phone a few times, held it up to her ear, said a few words, and then glanced around.
As I followed her gaze down the block, I saw someone rushing toward her. A man. Tall. Stylish. Perfect blond hair. Looking back to her, trying to decide whether I should race to her rescue, I saw her mouth tip into a smile.
She knew him. He knew her. And now they were hugging.
Wait, was he sniffing her?
Popping up from my chair, sending it flying, I noticed her push back, take his hand, and tug him down the street with her.
She bounced on the balls of her feet as she walked backward, like she used to when she got excited about something she wanted me to see.
I could still see her eyes sparkle when she tugged me to see the new calves down at the Holden’s dairy farm or how the paint peeling off the siding on our barn looked like a bunny wearing a hat.
Her enthusiasm for the little things in life was always contagious.
Sighing as they moved from sight, I flopped back onto the bed.
As I stared up at the ceiling, I realized I saw my greatest hope and fear realized.
She was with someone, making a life for herself here.
Coming to Chicago gave her the life she’d always dreamed of, which meant she would never return to Buena Vista.
Her happiness was everything to me, so I should be happy, too. Elated.
But seeing her with another man? Nope, I wasn’t ready for that punch in the gut. Not even a little.
Was he good enough for her? Was he good to her? Did he hold a car door for her and give her his coat when the evening got too cold? She towed him along, dragging him toward something, but why? Shouldn’t he feel her excitement and race with her toward it?
While I tugged on my boots, I replayed that secret smile she wore for things that truly delighted her, the one I’d seen her give him tonight. She wouldn’t have that if she didn’t feel safe with him. She liked him. Maybe even loved him.
The thought made my stomach churn.
Breathing through it, I forced myself to buck up. Now wasn’t the time to jump to conclusions. I’d follow them to the gallery, see what happened between them, and if she’d made her choice, find somewhere to get blackout drunk.