Memories of June Part 2

     Soft hands knotted with arthritis patted out the last few wrinkles of the quilt. I watched as she clucked quietly to herself and then fluffed the pillows that were probably as old as I was.  I watched as she pushed back the lace curtains yellow with age. They seemed the same parched yellow of her skin. With a huff of satisfaction she turned to face me and gestured about the room with her hands.

         "Well, its not the Hilton or Ritz or whatever it is you young people prefer these days, but it will be a place to sleep," she sounded exasperated as if the younger generation had ruined all that was good with life.

         "No, grandma, its perfectly fine," I shifted away from the doorway where I thought I could hide myself. "Thank you."

         She gave a slow thoughtful nod of her head and studied my face. "There are fresh towels in the extra bathroom for you. Nothing has changed since you have left so make yourself at home. Now if you will excuse me I must prepare for the ladies knitting circle. They are meant to come here tonight. I hope you do not mind and will be able to find entertainment elsewhere."

         I shook my head absently, "I will be fine. There is no need to halt your life on my account."

         It was my mother's entire fault anyways, I mused to myself as the floor boards creaked under my grandmother's weight. The heavy falling sound of a hammer permeated through the window and I spun on my heel to catch grandma disappearing around the doorway.

         "Grandma, wait!" I called, long strides carrying me over to the door to see her paused in the middle of the hallway. "Why is Nicholas here?"

         It was something she regretted answering by the way the melancholy sadness inflected her tone. "I'm an old woman, Amelia. These old bones can't move around the house like they used to. Ever since Henry died and all the family moved away, Nicholas was kind enough to offer his help on all the repairs and upkeep."

         Her shoulders sagged and I looked at the floor embarrassed, the echoing creak of wood leaving a trail of where she was once. The distant thump of a hammer breaking the stillness that was left behind.

         The room was just as I remembered. It was the same room I slept in as a girl. Pale blue walls with a ribbon of floral wallpaper edging the ceiling. Lace curtains covering the window that had grown yellow with age. A simple bed made of pine with a cedar chest at its foot. Against a spare wall stood a five-drawer dresser in need of a good polishing. It's only contents was a single picture frame with my own young face smiling back at me while Nicholas stuck out his tongue. He could never be serious about a picture. Next to the bed a nightstand held a lamp and an old telephone. Simple. Or as my mother would fondly term it: rustic.

         Perhaps that was why my mother wanted to leave this place. It was not because she could not find a job in the nearby city even if the commute was something of a distance. Growing up she always told me she wanted me to have better things, to grow up in an educated society that did not revolve around farming and mom and pop shops. My mother did not fit the society here; she did not fit the time. I used to, but not anymore.

         The bed groaned as I settled myself on the edge, dropping my purse and laptop bag beside me. Laptop. My body suddenly seized up when I realized a computer here was pointless. Grandma, as old-fashioned as she is, would not have the internet here. It was bad enough to be stuck in the middle of a cornfield, even worse to be cut off from the modern convenience that kept me connected with the world. As I looked at the phone I realized I needed to call Alex. He never liked to be disturbed when he was at work. Often when he would go on tirades of how people pestering him took away from his work I would tune out the sounds and simply observe his actions. One hand would fly loosely through the air while the other ruffled his gelled hair in frustration. That was one characteristic I did not like about him. He valued too much his own self-worth.

         Hesitantly I picked up the receiver and punched in the phone number. An endless parade of unanswered rings shot me through to voicemail as I expected.

         "Hey! You have reached Alex Fairburn's voicemail." The fake enthusiasm in his voice made me cringe. "Sorry I am not available right now, but please leave a name, number, and short message and I will return your call as soon as possible. Thanks!"

         I waited for the punctuated beep in the silence, noticing for the first time that I could no longer hear the hammer pounding away at its work

         "Alex, its me. I just wanted to give you a call to let you know I made it to Oklahoma. The stupid airline lost my luggage----Listen, just please don't forget to feed my cat. I know you are busy, but please. Feed my cat. Bye."

         The receiver clicked back into its cradle and all was quiet again. The next couple of weeks were going to last an eternity.

         Sometime between my call to Alex and the twinkling chime of the doorbell I had fallen asleep. I glanced out the window at the darkening sky, wondering at the wasted hours. The sun's last rays casting the landscape in shades of orange and red. Chattering voices echoed up through the floorboards to relay the latest news and gossip and recipes. I pressed my hands against my temples and massaged them wearily. After having spent the previous night sleeping in a car my muscles felt stiff and strained as I stretched them.

         Heavy footsteps pressed up the stairs muffled only slightly by the rug followed by a lighter, quieter pair of feet.
         "Nicholas, its in here," Grandmother's voice sounded from the bathroom. "I can't get the faucet to stop dripping to save my life. I'm paying more for water than I actually use."

         I could not make out what Nicholas said except to hear the clink of his tool belt and a sudden rasping knock on my door. The door cracked open to reveal starched white hair in tight curls. Grandmother raised an eyebrow at the ruffled bed and my sleepy expression. No longer was she wearing the apron with "Aged And Well Seasoned" printed in bold letters across it. I had remembered it as a Christmas present my mother had sent her years ago.

         "Heavens, Amelia, have you been sleeping all this time?" she inquired with her hands folded on her hips. I nodded slowly, the afternoon's nap having not completely evaporated yet. "Well, I was thinking since I am busy that perhaps you and Nicholas here—" she jerked a thumb in the direction of the bathroom, "—could head off somewhere tonight and catch up."

         Either Grandma was oblivious to the fact I was engaged and setting me up on a date with an old friend or she was truly concerned about me having something to do. I wondered if my mother had ever mentioned my engagement to her. As her brows began to knit together I realized I needed to formulate some sort of answer. "Umm—No, its fine. I don't want to be a bother or an inconvenience."

         "It won't be a bother," Nicholas said suddenly, his lean figure resting against the bathroom doorframe with a wrench dangling loosely in one hand. "We can just grab some food in town and sit and chat for awhile."

         But surely you have a girlfriend or something. I bit my tongue to keep the words from spilling past my lips. "Well, if its no trouble I don't see why not."

         In the shadow of the hall was a flash of white teeth as he smiled. Grandma grinned, apparently feeling pleased with herself for trying to turn me into the socialite that I wasn't. She pointed a finger in the direction of the nightstand. "The lamp does work."

         The door closed behind her shutting out the light filtered from the bathroom. It had finally occurred to me that I had been sitting in the dark for some time.

         Even though the sun had disappeared below the horizon for an hour now the night air still sweltered under the heavy heat of summer. Nicholas had apologized in advance for not having air conditioning in his truck and sped along the dark road with the windows rolled down. The steady rush of wind only eased the silence slightly. I caught him glancing at me from the corner of my eye and I tried to look as pleasant as possible, attempting to settle his nerves with a slight smile. I had to admit that I was not a comfortable person to be around. Not intimidating, just uncomfortable. Those years of working as a journalist gave me a frost-bitten exterior so instead of attracting people I only pushed them away. Neither was I easy to converse with. My words were better written than sullied with sound. But I forced myself to remember what my friendship with Nicholas used to be like. Easy conversation and relentless teasing on both parts. The one difference was we were adults now. We were adults who had not spoken to each other in at least 14 years.

         My hands twisted into the fabric of my purse unconsciously as I watched the town lights grow closer. Nicholas whipped the truck into the parking lot of a local diner and reeled up the windows. While I patted at my hair to assess the wind damage I had not realized he had already gotten out until my door stood open for me. His brows furrowed at my surprise.

         "Thanks," I muttered with a good deal of effort.

         He watched me curiously as he closed the truck door behind me. "You're welcome."

         The diner was sparsely populated and smelled of fresh brewed coffee. A couple of teenagers hovered over the jukebox, complaining about the old selection of songs. With great effort they settled on a song and slipped in their quarters. Nicholas eased himself into the red vinyl seat of a booth tucked away in the corner of the diner. I followed suit, plucking a menu wedged between the napkin dispenser and condiments. I was familiar with the place. My mother used to always bring me here on Friday nights and buy me dessert. A loud burst of laughter earned a look of displeasure from the one waitress on duty as she lazily wandered over to our table. With our orders out of the way there was no longer anything to distract myself with.

         "You don't want to be here do you?" Nicholas asked suddenly, his eyes concentrating on my face.

         I felt my blood run cold. His excitement from earlier had faded and I did not want to make things worse. "No, no – I do – I'm glad you invited me. I would have nothing to do at my grandma's."

         But I noticed his eyes were no longer watching me. They were focused on my left hand and I suddenly began to wonder if no one knew.

         "Oh, wow. You're—uh –engaged." He could not hide the surprise in his voice.

         "Yeah. I am," I slid my hands off the table and dropped them in my lap. I twisted the engagement ring sharply on my finger. "Haven't set a date yet."

         Plastic cups thumped on the table as the waitress set our drinks before us. She never bothered to ask if we wanted straws.

         "Well, who is he?" Nicholas asked casually, stretching a tanned arm across the back of his seat.

         "Alex," the ring made a circuit around my finger. "He is a junior editor for Harper Collins. I met him a few years back after I started my job at the newspaper."

         My eyes flicked up to glance at Nicholas. His face was shuttered. Nothing else was said until our dinner plates were slid onto the table. I pushed back the fries that threatened to spill over the edge of the plate. The silence opened like a chasm between us and being the human that I was desired to fill it with sound.

         "So how about you?" I hazarded as I squeezed on the ketchup bottle. "Is there someone special in your life?"

         He did not answer right away, waiting till he cut his hamburger steak into bite-sized pieces. "There used to be. I was ready to propose when she decided to break it off. That was about a year ago."

         "Oh."

         His knife accidentally scraped across his plate and I cringed. He muttered a hasty apology under his breath and settled the knife next to his plate. Nicholas set about his food with a ravenous appetite that I did not feel. I held one half of a sandwich in my hands, too self-conscious to consider biting into it. When I noticed him watching me I thought about how ridiculous I must have looked with my dinner hanging in the air between my mouth and the plate. The bread crumbled into ash on my tongue and it took a mouthful of soda to swallow it down.

         Nicholas pushed his empty plate away. "You are different."

         "We aren't kids anymore, Nicholas," I chided gently. "People grow up and change. We get stuffed into these little boxes of the people we are expected to be. We can't stray outside of the box because then the whole world just reprimands us. It's life. We grow up, we get jobs, and somewhere along the way we find the life we are expected to live."

         He laughed and shook his head. "That's absurd. Yes. People do grow up and people do get jobs. But perhaps you should ask if the life you have chosen that is making you conform to their rules is a life worth living. I'm just an older version of the boy who rescued your dress shoe from a drooling dog."

         I could not prevent the smile that tugged at one corner of my mouth. "You still remember that too, huh?"
         "Of course, I do," he shrugged nonchalantly. "Its what put me in your good graces."

         Our dishes disappeared from the table as the waitress made a subtle attempt at letting us know the diner was closing. Nicholas pulled out his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and snatched away the receipt before I could look at it.

         "Nicholas, don't," I pleaded.

         "Don't what?" he glanced up at me. "Don't pay for dinner? I would really hate to end our evening in jail because we failed to pay a bill."

         Before I could protest any further, the bill had been scooped up into the waitress's hands and Nicholas's wallet disappeared back into his jeans. My cheeks burned. Oddly, I felt angry and offended.  I had been so independent for the majority of my life that I took pleasure in taking care of myself. Or at least paying for my own meals.

         The vinyl seat squeaked unpleasantly as I scooted out of the booth and blindly forced my way outside to wait by his truck. I watched his silhouette wave a hand farewell to the waitress inside, the lights snapping off one by one. The ride back was as silent as the drive to the diner. I hung my hand out the window, combing the wind with my fingers. Music clicked on in the background and Nicholas sung along quietly. Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. We seemed to be doing our best to avoid each other. He never spoke or even looked at me and I felt guilt wrench my stomach. As the miles ticked away I could hear my editor's voice whining loudly in my head. He was angry when I told him I needed to leave for a couple of weeks. Even took the time to tell me that if my desk was cleared out when I came back to not be surprised.

         "I'm a journalist," I blurted suddenly, surprised at the words as they tumbled out of my mouth. Afterwards I seemed to have no control of what I said. "My editor rides me every day and reminds me of how insignificant I am. To make things worse my articles have been getting bad reviews lately. My mom thought it was a great idea that I needed to take a break from a job that was already in jeopardy. There's not going to be a job when I get back."

         Nicholas looked at me then over the arm that controlled the steering wheel. My sudden outburst seemed to have answered his earlier question. "If it makes you so miserable then why do you do it?"

         "I don't know," I leaned my head back against the seat with a defeated sigh.

         The truck slowed as Nicholas pulled into the drive of my grandmother's house. There were no lights on inside. She had already gone to bed. I was too preoccupied with my own thoughts to wish Nicholas a good night and stood on the front porch until the red taillights vanished into the night. My job and Alex pushing themselves in one circular motion in my mind, a track on repeat that I could not stop. If anything I was not going to admit easily that perhaps my choices in life were a mistake.