Chasing the Tide Page 6

  I almost choked. “Oh god, no,” I exclaimed.

  Jeb wiped some spit off his chin with the back of his hand. “Good. You’re a better girl than that fool. So what are your plans now that you’re back? Whatcha gonna do with that fancy degree?”

  This time I did feel a little embarrassed. I hated that I had no real plan to speak of when it came to my future employment.

  “Uh, well, I guess I’ll look for a job.”

  Jeb came around from behind the counter and draped his pudgy arm around my shoulders. He smelled like cigarette smoke and body odor. It made me want to gag.

  “Well, you know you always have a job here if you want one. I just had to fire the fucker that worked the third shift last week. He was stealing lottery tickets. Dumbass forgot that I have cameras all over the place. Had to call the sheriff’s department and file charges and everything.” Jeb shook his head.

  “You may know him actually. Stu Wooten.” This time I shook my head, not surprised in the least that Stu hadn’t matured at all. He was still a dumb criminal.

  “Sounds like Stu,” I muttered. I was only surprised he had bothered getting an actual job in the first place.

  “Yeah, that guy’s a couple cans short of a six-pack. So anyway, I’ve got an opening. If you need some extra cash, the job is yours.” Jeb grinned with a mouth full of yellow teeth.

  While I appreciated his offer, the thought of working at JAC’s again made me want to run away screaming. Coming back to Wellston was hard enough. But finding myself working at JAC’s would be enough to drive me insane. I could only go backwards so far before I fell over.

  “Thanks, Jeb. I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, taking the bag Melanie held out and grabbing my change.

  Jeb held the door open for me. “Good to see ya, kiddo. Don’t be a stranger. Though there aren’t any strangers in Wellston, are there? You can’t get away from anyone, no matter how hard you try,” Jeb chortled and I knew he was all too right.

  **

  Visiting with Jeb at JAC’s had kind of killed my motivation to go job hunting. Faced with a long day ahead, I decided to head over to Black River Community College to visit Flynn and to maybe see him in action.

  I was curious about what kind of professor he was. I remembered how hard it had been for him to lead the art workshops. I assumed since he was offered additional classes, he must be doing okay.

  I parked my car at the community college and promptly realized that I had no idea where Flynn taught his courses or what times they began and ended. My grand idea of surprising him was starting to look like a really stupid idea.

  “Hey!” I called out to a passing student. The girl jumped and looked at me with wary hesitation. And here I thought I had gotten rid of my scary, stay away persona.

  “Yeah?” she asked, looking like she wanted to bolt.

  “Do you know Professor Hendrick?”

  “Yeah,” she repeated. This girl’s vocabulary seemed to be severely limited.

  “Okay. Well can you tell me where his class is?” I asked slowly, overly enunciating my words on the chance she was a bit slow.

  She pointed towards campus and I had to tamp down on my urge to strangle her in frustration.

  “Let me try this a different way. What building will I find him in?” I snapped, losing all semblance of patience.

  “Oh, um. I think he teaches in the Bancroft Building,” she stammered and then hurried away as though her ass were on fire.

  I wasn’t entirely sure which of the buildings was the one I was looking for. Monosyllabic girl ran away before I could ask her. I remembered that Flynn used to spend time in an art studio near where I would go to class. I assumed that was the place I was supposed to go.

  Black River Community College was one of the prettier areas of Wellston. I noticed new benches and an outdoor picnic area in the middle of a copse of trees. Even though it was close to freezing, there were the few students studying outside, their books and papers spread out around them.

  I loved going to school. I loved learning and feeling as though I was working toward something. I remembered how scared and unsure I had been the first time I had stepped foot on the campus. I had made the decision to take a class on a whim.

  It was one of the few impulsive actions in my life that I was glad to have made.

  I walked through the side door of the Bancroft Building and walked down the hallway, peeking through windows into classrooms. When I reached the end of the corridor, I looked into the art studio where Flynn had spent his time when I had been a student.

  And there he was.

  The room was full of students with their hands deep in clay. Flynn stood in the front of the classroom, a projector focused on the lump he was manipulating.

  The people in the room watched him intently and then attempted to emulate his movements. Flynn was completely fixated on his task and didn’t notice when I quietly entered the studio and made my way to the back of the room.

  I took a seat in the corner and watched my boyfriend teaching a class. I could hardly believe what I was seeing.

  I remembered the workshop I had attended before and how he had barely spoken, instead letting his art speak for him. He had been uncomfortable and awkward. You could tell he hadn’t wanted to be there.

  Flynn had always hated people staring at him. It was hard for me to admit that I was partly to blame for his aversion. I had made him feel like a freak. Teasing and taunting him mercilessly.

  It had shaped the person he became just as surely as it had shaped me.

  But here he was, standing in the front of the class, molding the clay with his adept fingers, talking in slow, halting words about the methods he was using. His tone never wavered. As usual he showed no emotion. But he appeared at ease at the front of the classroom. Even with everyone watching him, he was confident and sure.

  “Press and smooth the surface using the pads of your fingers. You can use the sculpting tools for better detail. Some people use pieces of fabric to add texture and depth. In your pieces I want to see elements of folding and flattening as well as the rounding technique we discussed last week,” Flynn said clearly and without hesitation.

  He put down his clay and wiped his hands thoroughly on a cloth beside him. Then he began to walk up and down the aisles, speaking to his students, offering advice. He was oblivious to the flirting smiles and batted eyelashes of the female co-eds.

  He also kept a certain amount of physical distance between himself and his students. But this wasn’t the man who had been terrified to speak in front of others for fear of being ridiculed. This wasn’t the guy who had isolated himself because it was easier than dealing with people.

  This man, this amazing, talented person, had a presence that was impossible to ignore. He knew his craft and he taught it well. In the three years since I had been gone, Flynn had quite clearly made a comfortable life for himself here. He was blossoming and becoming someone I had always known he could be.

  My chest felt tight.

  I was full of both pride and sadness. A part of me was sad to have missed this huge change in him. I had been absent during this integral period of growth. I had missed out on his transformation. I felt strangely cheated.

  Flynn continued to walk down the aisle toward the back of the classroom where I was seated. He still hadn’t noticed me and I hadn’t expected him to. He was entirely focused on his class.

  Flynn had made this life. He had carved out his piece of contentment, and I couldn’t help but wonder how in the world I would ever fit. He had done all of this in the time we had spent apart and he was flourishing. What in the world did he need me for?

  He was happy. I could tell that. His passion for his art was apparent as he spoke to his students, who hung on his every word.

  Even though I had gone off to school and gotten a degree, I still felt so behind the curve. I hated feeling inadequate. In the past it would trigger a nasty, hateful response. But now it just made me feel depressed.
r />   It was important for me to feel like I belonged in this life Flynn had built. I hated the twinge of bitterness that he had done all of this without me.

  That he hadn’t needed me.

  But Flynn had never really needed me.

  He had been perfectly able to survive without my assistance. And it wasn’t fair of me to think of him as someone that would require my help in any way.

  His disability had never hampered him. It had never held him back from anything. So why was I suddenly feeling resentful of that?

  It was being here. In Wellston. I had been back for less than twenty-four hours and already I was starting to doubt myself.

  Finally, as if sensing I was there, Flynn looked up.

  His eyes met mine and held for just a moment. His dark hair fell across his forehead and it made him look incredibly young. He gave me a shy smile, reminding me that despite all of the changes, he was still Flynn Hendrick.

  Just my Flynn.

  Chapter Six

  -Ellie-

  I was angry.

  Really, really angry.

  I wanted to hurt someone.

  I wanted to hit and claw and scream.

  It had everything to do with Sarah and Bailey. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson’s daughters who liked to hurt me when no one was looking.

  I had been living with the Johnsons for four months. I hated it but I thought maybe, over time, they’d start loving me. Maybe they’d let me be a part of their family forever.

  I didn’t know much about being nice to people. But I tried. I did the chores Mrs. Johnson told me to do. I picked up all the toys and I washed the dishes. Even though Sarah and Bailey never had to do anything¸ I never complained.

  I was trying to be a good girl.

  I tried not to get mad when I wasn’t allowed to watch television with the rest of the family.

  I didn’t tattle when Sarah broke the glass angel Julie had given me for Christmas. And I didn’t tell when Bailey stole my favorite book.

  I would be a perfect girl. So perfect, they’d let me stay. Then they would love me. Sarah and Bailey would want me in their family. I could go see movies with them and they would take me shopping.

  Maybe then Mrs. Johnson would kiss me goodnight like she did Bailey and Sarah.

  Julie told me I had to learn to control my anger. That I couldn’t break things and hurt people. That I’d only get into trouble and it didn’t solve anything.

  The counselor I had been seeing told me that if I got mad, I should scream in my pillow or count backwards from ten. So I tried to do all of those things. They didn’t really help but I didn’t want to get into any trouble. I wanted to be a good girl and then maybe, one day, I’d find a family who wanted to keep me.

  So I did all of those things, even though I wanted to do the bad stuff more.

  But then I came home from seeing my counselor to find that Sarah and Bailey had pulled all the stuffing out of Clive and left it all over my bedroom. They had cut off his ears and ripped off his tail.

  I had cried. I couldn’t help it. I never cried, but I loved Clive.

  My mom had given him to me when I was a baby and it was the only thing that was mine.

  I should have hidden him.

  I should have kept him safe. He was all I had. And now he was ruined.

  Gone.

  And then I wasn’t crying anymore. I was angry.

  So, so angry.

  I didn’t want to scream in my pillow. I couldn’t think about counting backwards from ten. I couldn’t think of a happy place in my head that I could go to.

  I marched down the hallway and went into the room that Sarah and Bailey shared. I didn’t feel jealous at seeing the chest overflowing with toys or the closet full of beautiful clothes. I barely noticed that this room was every little girl’s dream.

  I grabbed a pair of scissors from the desk in the corner and picked up the doll I knew was Sarah’s favorite and I cut the hair. Then I poked its eyes out. Then I ripped its arms off and threw it against the wall.

  I moved onto their pillows, pulling all the stuffing out, like they had done to Clive. I was so angry that I just kept cutting. And ripping. And breaking. Until their room looked like Clive.

  In pieces.

  I gripped the scissors tightly in my hand, the blade cutting into my palm. It hurt. Really bad. I looked down and saw the blood dripping down my fingers.

  I smeared the sticky, red stuff all over the pretty, pink wall.

  When I was finished I found their markers and wrote I hate you in big letters.

  Mrs. Johnson found me scribbling on the walls. She took in the sight of her daughters’ bedroom and started yelling. She grabbed me by the arm and yanked me out into the hallway.

  She screamed in my face but I didn’t hear her.

  Because I felt better.

  I had hurt them just like they hurt me.

  I didn’t even care that they’d never want to keep me now. I didn’t care that they weren’t going to be my family.

  I had to start taking care of myself.

  I couldn’t depend on anyone.

  **

  I had spent all week driving around looking for work. I had put in at least a dozen applications. I had applied for a few secretarial positions and a couple of retail jobs. Nothing that really utilized my degree, but for now, I’d be okay with a steady income.

  I hadn’t planned much beyond moving back to Wellston and now I was struggling to figure out the next step.

  “How’s it going?” Nadine asked after calling me on my way to scour yet another town for employment.

  “Well I haven’t earned my millions yet, if that’s what you’re asking,” I replied drolly. Flynn would be home early, so I planned to stop at the grocery store after job hunting. He had been in staff meetings that had lasted late into the evening all week and I felt as though I had barely seen him.

  He’d come home after work, eat a quick dinner, usually consisting of a chicken salad sandwich and banana bread, then we’d walk Murphy before going to bed.

  I could admit I was having a hard time fitting in with his routine. It was so established. So part of him that it felt whole and complete without me.

  I would often sit up long after Flynn was asleep hatefully wondering whether I was content with this being my life. Whether this painfully routinized existence was something I could be okay with…forever.

  I felt like a total asshole for even thinking it. But it was there all the same. Ugly, nagging thoughts that wouldn’t go away no matter how much I wished they would.

  “How’s New York?” I asked, putting my phone on speaker so I could drive and talk without crashing into a tree.

  “You know. It’s New York. Which means it’s freaking awesome,” Nadine enthused.

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been there,” I remarked, pulling up in front of a non-descript office building. I had read online that Lambert and Associates, an accounting firm, was hiring a new receptionist to answer phones and sort through mail.

  I was sure it would be less than thrilling work, but beggars can’t be choosers.

  I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror, tucking a stray piece of blonde hair behind my ear.

  I picked up my nicely printed resume and looked it over. There wasn’t a whole lot in the way of applicable work experience, but everyone had to start somewhere, right?

  “You should come for a visit. I can show you what you’re passing up by not coming with me. Bring Flynn! Make a vacation out of it. I don’t have a lot in the way of room, but I could spring for an air mattress,” Nadine offered.

  “Yeah, I don’t know,” I said, knowing that no matter how much I wanted to go, Flynn wouldn’t be up for it. He hated crowds. He hated cities. He hated anything new an unfamiliar.

  “Oh come on!”

  I wanted to go. I wanted to so badly. Maybe I could talk Flynn into going.

  “Yeah, okay, I’ll talk to him,” I said.

  “Awesome! Let me know
! I’ve got to get back into work. How’s your job search going?” she asked and I bit down on a sigh.

  “It’s going,” was all I offered.

  Nadine, having known me for the better part of three years, knew what that meant. She had become accustomed to my flippant evasions. “You’ll find something, Ells. Just keep looking.”

  “That’s what I keep telling myself.” I got out of the car and locked the door.

  “Is it potato chips time?” she asked and I laughed.

  “No scary mountain men yet.”

  “Thank god. I was picturing Deliverance territory out there,” Nadine responded, sounding worried.

  “I’m good. No need to call out the cavalry just yet,” I assured her, straightening my slacks and blouse.

  “Start planning a visit. Seriously. I think it would be good for you and Flynn. Who knows, maybe you could convince him to move here. Get you guys out of that po-dunk town for good.”

  I already knew Flynn’s feelings about moving. They were the same reasons he wouldn’t come with me when I left to go to school. His roots were here. His life was here.

  I had to respect that if I wanted to be with him.

  And I did.

  I really did.

  I wasn’t trying to convince myself was I?

  After hanging up the phone, I took a deep breath, and walked into the office building.

  I approached a frazzled looking woman who was talking on the phone, a pencil stuck in her hair. I stood there patiently for the first few minutes. The woman’s name placard read, Wilma Hindgardner. She definitely looked like a Wilma. Drab and uninteresting.

  I started taping my fingers on the counter. Wilma narrowed her eyes at me and I forced myself to stop, though I wanted to amp it up to full on fist pounding.

  Have I mentioned that I have defiant tendencies? Ones that I was trying really hard to curb?

  When Wilma was finally off the phone she looked at me with pursed lips. “Can I help you?” she asked.

  I plastered the fakest smile I could muster on my face and slid my resume across the counter towards her. “I read in the online classifieds that you are looking to hire a receptionist. I can tell you need one.” I choked out an awkward laugh.