“Happy birthday.”
“Bye.”
Downstairs, the fragrant roses remind me I’ve yet to thank Rob for remembering my birthday. I know he’ll be wondering if they’re freshly cut or dying. It’s always been one of his pet peeves. He’s sent back more than a few orders when they’ve arrived in poor condition. These roses, however, are perfectly firm and beginning to open. By Monday, they’ll be glorious.
I snap a photo of myself with the flowers and attach it to my thank-you note. It takes some thought to compose an appropriate, simple message.
Rob,
Look at the gorgeous flowers you sent. You can see for yourself they’re in perfect condition. ;-) Thank you for remembering my birthday. Getting older forces me to acknowledge the need to make some decisions. I know you are waiting for some answers from me. I hope to have them soon. Until then, be well. Again, thank you for the flowers. You surprised me. Thinking of you.
Love,
Lindsey
I hit Send and sit back, realizing I’d been holding my breath. Okay, enough dwelling on thoughts of Levi and Rob. I should schedule the rest of my training sessions and do a little extra reading on guardian ad litems and the legal system.
It’s just past three when I return from the bookstore with a book about foster care and another about cultural diversity. Educating myself about the foster care system and related hardships has really made me realize what a bubble I’ve lived in for most of my life. The courage shown by the children, and volunteers in many instances, is uplifting. But other stories bring me to tears. I want to be admitted into this group so I, too, can stand up for a defenseless child or two.
I lift the book bag out of my car. Rather than enter the house through the garage, I walk outside to pick up the package—probably from Jill—the mailman left at the front door. On my way out of the garage, my heart skips a beat when I see Levi in the passenger seat of Elena’s car as it pulls out of his driveway.
I’m glad they didn’t notice me, but can’t help wondering where they’re going together. Did he have a follow-up appointment today? A therapy session?
Although he has no interest in Elena, envy gnaws at me. I should be with him today, not her. If my mother hadn’t interfered, everything would be normal today. I’d be spending my birthday cooking something with him tonight and playing Scrabble or listening to him read more of Unbroken.
Instead, I’m sitting here alone, my heart torn between two dissimilar men, with no one to talk to about any of it, except for Jill, whose best advice is to abandon all caution and start something with Levi.
I open the box Jill sent. Inside are two smaller boxes and a card, which reads, Hope you enjoy these little gifts. Feel free to use the spray on your mom, Rob, Levi, or anyone else (except me, of course, because I’m immune). Happy birthday! Puzzled, I open the smallest box to discover a pretty pair of silver and turquoise earrings. Inside the second box is a gag gift: a can of “asshole repellant.” In spite of everything, I can’t help but laugh. This is why I still love Jill.
But at ten thirty, I find myself on my deck for the fourth time tonight. I can’t believe Levi never even called to say happy birthday. I still don’t see any lights on in his house, either. He’s never returned since taking off with Elena. Curiosity and concern are killing me. I won’t call him, not when I’m not even sure what I want to say.
He said we needed time apart, and he sure meant it.
I don’t like it, not one bit.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
August 18, 2013
Levi
I spent the past week at a local hotel near the Ranch at Live Oak retreat and participated in the Ranch to Farm Culinary Experience cooking classes with its executive chef. I escaped Lindsey while staying close enough to return quickly if she called. Of course, she never did.
At least I’m turning the corner in terms of healing. The PICC line came out yesterday and my back pain subsides a little each day. As for my time away, the cooking classes have been the best part of the week—the silver lining, so to speak.
It’s been costly, but worth it. I couldn’t have steered clear of Lindsey those first couple of days if I saw her on the beach or sitting on her deck. I can’t handle the forceful pull of my novel affection.
In the mountains above Malibu, I was removed from temptation. But as I sit in the cab on my way home, I’m ready to face Lindsey without losing my nerve or my mind.
She’s a wonderful person, but she’s not mine. Truth is, she’s not anyone’s. None of us really are, but some vow to belong to others. If she belongs to anyone, it’s Rob and her parents, not me.
I’m an interloper, the fortunate beneficiary of her empathy.