“Thanks,” he said when I handed him a glass.
“You’re welcome. Sit down.”
He sneezed twice. “You got a dog. You always wanted one.”
“His name is Bo.”
He sat in the chair across from the couch. I set my glass on the coffee table in front of me and started pulling items out of the box. It was like seeing my clothes hanging in Sarah’s spare bedroom closet. Possessions I had almost forgotten but recognized immediately as soon as I saw them again.
I removed the rubber band from a stack of pictures. The one on top showed John and me standing in front of the ferris wheel at Navy Pier, our arms around each other, him kissing my cheek. I leaned across the coffee table and handed him the picture. “Look how young we were.”
“Twenty-two,” he said.
There were vacation pictures and group shots with our friends. A picture of my mom and John standing in front of the Christmas tree. One of him holding Chloe in the hospital a few hours after Sarah had given birth.
Looking at the pictures reminded me of the history I had with John, and that a lot of that history had been good. We’d started out with so much promise but then our relationship stagnated, crushed under the weight of two people wanting different things. I snapped the rubber band back on the pictures and set them on the table.
I pulled out an old pair of running shoes. “These have some miles on them.” The next item – a Hootie & the Blowfish CD – made me smile.
“You played that constantly,” John said.
“Don’t make fun of Hootie.”
There were a couple of paperbacks. A hairbrush and a ponytail holder. A half-empty bottle of Calvin Klein CK One perfume, my signature scent for most of the nineties.
My fingers grazed something near the bottom. A nightgown. I looked at the sheer black fabric and recalled a hazy memory of John taking it off me in the middle of the night, shortly before I left Chicago.
“I found it when I changed the sheets. I never did wash it,” he said softly.
Reaching in one last time, I came up with a blue velvet-covered box. I froze.
“Open it,” John said.
I lifted the lid. The diamond ring sparkled, nestled in satin. Speechless, I took a deep breath.
“After I dropped you off at the airport I drove to the jewelry store. I knew if I didn’t marry you I’d lose you, and I didn’t want to lose you, Anna. When Sarah called to tell me your plane went down, I held that ring in my hand and prayed they would find you. Then she called and told me you were presumed dead. The news devastated me. But you’re alive, Anna, and I still love you. I always have, and I always will.”
I snapped the box shut and hurled it at John’s head. With surprisingly fast reflexes, he deflected my throw and the box bounced off his crossed forearms and skittered across the hardwood floor.
“I loved you! I waited eight years for you and you strung me along until my only option was to break my own heart!”
John stood up from his chair. “Jesus, Anna. I thought a ring was what you wanted.”
“It’s never been about a ring.”
He crossed the room and paused at the door.
“So it’s because of the kid, then?”
I winced at the mention of T.J. Standing up, I marched over, scooped the ring off the floor, and handed it to him. “No. It’s because I would never marry a man who only asked me because he felt he had to.”
The next morning I went to the attorney’s office, signed the papers promising I wouldn’t sue the seaplane charter, and collected a check. I deposited it at the bank on the way home. Sarah called my cell phone an hour later.
“Did you sign the papers?” she asked.
“Yes. It’s too much money, Sarah.”
“If you want my opinion, one point five million wasn’t nearly enough.”
Chapter 64 – T.J.
I dragged my ass up the stairs at 9:30 on Saturday night and as soon as I walked in the door, I figured out that the party had started without me. There were at least fifteen people drinking beer and taking shots in our kitchen and living room.
The guys on the crew and I were trying to finish framing a rush job in Schaumburg and we’d been putting in fourteen hour days, six days a week, for the last month, working until it got dark. I wanted everyone in our apartment to disappear.
Ben came out of his bedroom, a girl trailing behind.
“Hey man, grab a shower and get back out here.”
“Maybe. I’m tired.”
“Don’t be a pussy. We’re heading to the bar soon. Party until then and if you’re still tired, you can crash when we clear out.”
“Okay.”
I took a shower and pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, leaving my feet bare. Weaving through the people partying in my kitchen, I said hi to the ones I knew and wondered where the hell the rest came from. I grabbed a Coke and a pizza box out of the refrigerator, then leaned against the counter eating the slices cold.
“Hi, T.J.,” a girl said, coming over to lean against the counter next to me.
“Hey.” She looked familiar, but I couldn’t think of her name.
“Alex,” she said.
“That’s right. Now I remember.” She was the girl that sat down next to me on the couch at Coop’s party when I first got back from the island. The one with long blond hair and too much makeup. I kept eating my pizza.
She leaned around me to the refrigerator and opened it. When she bent over to grab a beer, her boobs almost fell out of her tank top.
“Do you want one,” she said, holding up a can.
I drained the last of my Coke. “Sure.”
She grabbed another beer and handed it to me. When I finished eating I opened it, took a long drink, and set it back down on the counter.
Ben walked in and handed me a lit joint. I took it and inhaled, holding the smoke deep in my lungs. After exhaling, I asked Alex, “You want a hit?”
She nodded, took a long drag, and handed it back to me. We killed it off, taking turns back and forth. Maybe if I got high enough I’d actually sleep through the night instead of waking up every hour.
Alex handed me another beer. When I went into the living room to sit on the couch, she followed me. She never left my side after that.
We drank beer and took hits until I couldn’t see straight. People cleared out to go to the bar with Ben, and then it was just Alex and me. I was about to tell her to catch up with the others because I wanted to crash, but before I could say anything, she stood up, swaying, and pulled me toward my bedroom. When she put her hand between my legs, I stopped thinking with my brain and let another part of my body take over.
My pounding head woke me the next morning. Alex lay beside me, naked, with makeup smeared across her face.
I threw back the covers and headed for the door, grabbing some clothes on my way out. There was something stuck to the bottom of my foot, and I bent down and removed the condom wrapper I had stepped on.
Thank God.
I tossed it into the garbage can when I got to the bathroom. The hot water filled the room with steam and I took a shower, washing all traces of Alex away. I dressed and brushed my teeth, then went into the kitchen and drank three glasses of ice water.
I was watching T.V. when she walked into the living room a half hour later. She found her purse and jacket, and I met her at the door. “Take a cab,” I said, pushing a crumpled ten into her hand.
“Call me,” she said. “Ben has my number.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not going to.”
She nodded and avoided my eyes. “Well at least you’re honest.”
Ben staggered out of his room at noon.
“Holy fuckballs, Callahan. My hangover is epic.” He scratched himself and flopped down on the couch next to me. “There’s some chick in my bed, but she’s not the one I brought home last night. The girl I brought home was much hotter than that.”