Page 40 of Pining for Pierce
I spent yesterday evening and most of the night wondering if I’d lost my mind. My plan might have seemed like a good one when I was standing outside the flower shop, and even when I was ordering the roses, imagining the scene… seeing myself and Harley talking, hugging… kissing.
The reality is that surviving without her is so much harder than I thought.
Sure, I know I’ve survived without her for the last twenty-six years, but I didn’t realize what she meant to me then… and now I do.
She means everything.
And that means I want to be with her.
The last thing I wanted was to spend the evening by myself, staring at the TV screen, trying to remember the plot of the movie I was pretending to watch. Instead, I wanted Harley to be lying in my arms, telling me about her day, talking through our plans for the weekend, and all the things we could do together… a late brunch at the coffee shop, a walk by the creek, dinner at my place… or hers. Either would be fine.
As it was, I gave up with the movie and went to bed. Which didn’t help in the slightest.
Once there, I lay back on the pillows, wishing I could turn my head and see Harley lying beside me, a smile touching at her lips. The thought was almost too much to bear, and no matter how hard I tried, sleep eluded me. I tossed and turned all night, desperate to see her… to hold her, to kiss her, and when I got up this morning, I was relieved to be spending the day at work. The idea of too many more hours thinking about her was enough to drive me crazy.
As it is, I’ve been mercifully busy, and although I’ve thought about Harley every moment of the day, I haven’t had time to fret over missing her.
My last customer of the day is keen on one of the paintings. It’s not one I particularly like, but this guy seems to and he studies it for ages, while I check my watch every few minutes.
“Are you due to close?” he asks, looking from the painting to me.
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“You close at four?”
“On Saturdays, yes.”
He nods his head, looking back at the painting again. “Are you open tomorrow?”
“No. Sorry.”
He sighs, tipping his head to one side.
“I’m leaving town on Monday morning and I really can’t decide whether to take this.”
I don’t know what to say to him. Obviously I’d like to make the sale, but I’d also like to get the hell out of here, and I just wait, studying the abstract piece in front of me.
“If you can come back next weekend, I can put it to one side for you?” I suggest, but he shakes his head.
“I’m just visiting my wife’s family,” he says. “We live in Rhode Island and only come here a couple of times a year. We won’t be back until Christmas.”
“I see. I’m sorry, but I can’t keep the painting for that long.”
“No. I wouldn’t expect you to.”
He steps back, studying it a little harder and then says, “I’ll take it.”
I don’t give him time to change his mind and move forward, removing the painting from the wall.
“Do you want me to have it shipped?” I ask, carrying it to the counter at the back of the store.
“No. I’ll take it with me, if that’s okay.”
I nod my head, wrapping the painting in brown paper before taking his credit card. He doesn’t bat an eyelid over spending several thousand dollars on one rather ugly painting, and I recall my reaction to the cost of a couple of dozen roses, wondering about the different worlds people live in, and whether he’s any happier in his than I am in mine.
Somehow I doubt it… because if things go according to plan, there won’t be a happier man in the world.
The man leaves, taking his painting with him, and I lock the door behind him, checking my watch. It’s just after four, and Iquickly switch off the lights and put the cash into the safe, going through to the lobby and opening the door to my apartment. I rush up the stairs to my bedroom, where I change my jeans, putting on a white t-shirt, and my boots. Then I grab my jacket and run back down, shrugging it on before I head out.
