
## Contents

  * Acknowledgment
  * Chapter One
  * Chapter Two
  * Chapter Three
  * Chapter Four
  * Chapter Five
  * Chapter Six
  * Chapter Seven
  * Chapter Eight
  * Chapter Nine
  * Chapter Ten
  * Chapter Eleven
  * Chapter Twelve
  * Chapter Thirteen
  * Chapter Fourteen
  * Chapter Fifteen
  * Chapter Sixteen
  * Chapter Seventeen
  * Chapter Eighteen
  * Chapter Nineteen

The Writer

Postcards from Paris Book One

by

Rebekah Dodson

Version 2.0

Smashwords Edition

Read All Six Books In This Series:

Book One: The Writer

Book Two: The Runaway

Book Three: The Dependent

Book Four: The Independent

Book Five: The Choice

Book Six: Heart and Soul

©2014 Deckard Publishing and Rebekah Dodson. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the publisher. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please support authors by purchasing only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons living or dead is purely from coincidence.

# Acknowledgment

For Derek, thanks for helping me realize that sometimes, the pen is mightier than the sword. Without you, I would have never picked up either. You brought me back to life as a writer when I thought that side had died. Your stories inspired me to write my own, and this would have never happened without you.

Thank you to my family for putting up with me during the course of this novel: through many re-writes, edits, reading aloud, and discussions that helped me shape this story. Through late nights, early mornings, and long days. Through the times I was stuck where you helped me get through it. To my loving husband David, who learned that he's especially sexy in those moments when he vacuums and does the dishes, so I can sit down and write.

And above all, special thanks to Deckard Publishing, who took a chance on me, and gave my work value. You changed my life with your unwavering dedication and hard work.

# Chapter One

Rochelle

I never really considered myself a writer.

Well, at least not until today.

If you had stopped me on the street, I would have said I was a "cultural expert" or maybe a "journalist," but that really just depended on the day I was having.

Okay, maybe a little to do with my levels of coffee intake, as well.

I really didn't even like writers.

When I thought of writers, it left a sour taste in my mouth. I wanted to spit that word like so much bile that had built up in the recesses of my stomach. The problem with writers is they lived their life by the pen; they crafted words into stories so unrealistic that the public would be caught in an unreal fantasy. I preferred to stay in touch with the world around me. For years I had written of people, events, and businesses. Each one had touched my heart - from the bakery that donated to the local homeless mission, to the church that fed single mothers. Over the years, I had traveled many places, met many people, and written many stories, but all of them in the realm of the here and now.

I didn't want to end up like one of those writers, who never lived, loved, and laughed outside their stories. They were cooped up in offices, weaving snores onto paper, and never had a chance to experience the outside world.

So my life had taken me down the path of journalism, where I could maintain my own concept of reality. I ran my hands over the smooth cherry wood desk in my new office, and reality was slowly hitting me. Senior Editor, I tried the words in my mouth. They tasted salty and sweet, layered with years of hard work, tears, and the agony of building this business into something successful. I actually had staff now I had to look after, to guide them through this process of being what the world called a "journalist." I wanted them to know that the world was wrong, and it didn't have to be boring starched shirts and stiff ties. It was about having fun, writing, and showing the world what we were made of.

I was going to change how the world saw me.

Little did I know, Elijah would change how I saw the world.

And it all started with a little postcard.

The problem with journalists was every single one of us had an article that we were afraid to share with the world.

My team didn't have those inhibitions.

"Let's do an article on food for the super bowl."

I looked across the table and met the crystal blue eyes of Elijah, my assistant editor and lead sports writer. Impeccably dressed as usual in a pinstriped gray suit, his red tie slightly skewed around his collar, he returned my stare with the slightest of winks in his left eye. The light in his eyes danced mischievously. I wondered what he was up to.

"I disagree," Marion said. My designated "foodie" journalist always had a quip. "I think that's a sexist piece, because it insinuates that women will be cooking the food."

"Oh boy, here she goes!" Elijah called, and slapped the paperwork in front of him. "You just never shut up, do you, M?"

Could we ever conduct our weekly meetings without those two getting into it? Elijah kicked me lightly under the table, and winked again. I rolled my eyes at him and kicked him, hard. He pouted, grabbed my coffee, and took a swig.

I hated when he did that.

"Well why don't we ask – hey, where is Alicia?" Marion asked. She flipped her cinnamon red hair over her shoulder. I shrugged as she met my gaze.

I hadn't seen her since before lunch. But I hadn't paid attention. When Elijah wanted us to sneak out and grab coffee it had to be planned to the –

Alicia suddenly rushed into the board-room-slash-editor's-office for the meeting. "Sorry I'm late, folks. Spilled my coffee at lunch and had to run home to change."

This was one of those times I was so glad we all worked in a small town. "Running home" for any of our staff members usually meant it was 4 blocks away. She plopped down heavily next to Elijah, the chair creaking under her slim frame, and placed a peck on his cheek. "Hi, baby," she whispered. He gave her his typical look of adoration, running a hand through his cropped blond hair.

I looked down at my papers, shuffling them absently. Why did he have to look at her like that, in front of me? This meeting wasn't going as planned.

I cleared my throat. "I actually like the idea of the super bowl food," I had to keep my winks to myself, as I looked from Elijah to Marion. "I really think you two should collaborate on it."

Elijah started to object, but he knew I would overrule him. Our games of interruption was irritating. I stopped him before he could begin. "Let's try some guy recipes AND girl recipes, so it's not from any sexist point of view. We could do buffalo chicken cheese dip, and football shaped cupcakes." I could tell Marion was thinking it over. "Marion, Talk to Jase at the bakery and see if that's something they can do, so maybe we can tie a local business into that article."

Elijah was still staring into Alicia's eyes like a love sick puppy. "Eli!" I snapped. I bit back a sharp remark. Men! "Why don't you interview a couple of the guys on the team and ask them what they like to eat for super bowl? That will help Marion come up with some recipes, ideas, and local businesses she can work with." He nodded, jotting down notes as I talked. Figures, now his head was back in the journalist game.

"Rochelle." God, I hated the sound of Alicia's voice as she addressed me. "I was thinking we should also do an article on the health benefits of inter mural sports," Alicia said. Always the health nut... but isn't that why I had hired her?

"Yeah, that sounds great," I said, coolly. "Look into the local schools and the different types of sports they offer, and go from there." I glanced around at my staff, nodding. "Okay everyone, not bad. Let's meet back here about one o'clock on Wednesday for the weekly check-in. Meeting adjourned." I banged my little gray gavel, one of Elijah's gag gifts he had given to me the first day in our new office. He said that all the big bosses had them, and it was my sign I had "arrived".

I watched my team push away from the table, stack their paperwork and notes, and leave the room. Elijah followed steadily behind Alicia, turning to give me a wink as he exited.

Always the wink.

When they all left, I put my head in my hands and sighed. I was doomed.

# Chapter Two

I've known Elijah forever, of course. About 10 years ago, we sat in Psychology 201 together, never knowing what the world held for us. We were two kids, getting a late start on our college ambitions, but a start none the less. We quickly learned that he his talent was tests, and mine was writing, and our alliance formed. While he quizzed me on study questions for tests, I edited and reviewed his papers; marking errors with my red pen and jotting in notes for improvement.

I loved editing, even then.

Our study sessions were serious time commitments, despite both working full time together at a local coffee shop (look, it made our coffee addiction cheaper, okay?). Often it was hours into the night, long after the crickets had ceased their midnight declarations. We often huddled over steaming bowls of salty Top Ramen (he rarely had anything else in his confirmed bachelor's pad), discussing Freud's analytic theory, Pavlov's dog, and the issues of reaffirmation. Penciling in notes with some metal music in the background, the graphite moved rapidly across the page with a silent ambition.

Just a couple of college students, never wanting it to end, but we knew someday it would. We just never talked about it.

So there we were, in his tiny living room of a one bedroom house. The remains of our pepperoni and olive pizza sat between us, one piece left but both of us full. Outside, the lawn was overgrown, the fence was broken in places and had bent chain link in others, and some of the windows had bars on them. I always felt safe with him, so I thought it gave the house character. How could anyone not feel safe? He was built like a blond haired, blue eyed Hulk. At 6'5 and 250lbs, it was easy to imagine his life as a star quarterback of the varsity team just 4 years ago, but his love for pizza and bologna had certainly taken its toll.

If there was one thing we had in common, it was certainly our love of food. When I was with Elijah, I never had to worry about being criticized for how much I ate; never had to suffer the ridicule of overbearing looks and comments about my weight. Yes, I knew I outweighed Elijah by probably 50lbs. Did I care? Not really. Did Elijah care? Sometimes, but only when I was too busy to spot him at the gym. In the awkward post-High school years that determine your self-image, I was still figuring out who I was – and my size was my identity.

I sat on a beanbag, leaning over the upturned cardboard box that served as our table. He reclined on the love seat, surrounded by a sea of pastels: green, pink, and blue handouts from the three classes we shared were spread on the seat next to him, on the floor, and few on the card table that served as the dining area.

"Explain Freud's analytic theory issues of id, ego, and the super ego, and give examples of each," Elijah asked me the test prompt, causing me to look up from his sports medicine paper he was writing on the effective use of anti-inflammatory drugs. He looked over his thick glasses at me. I suppressed a smile; remembering he wouldn't be caught dead in public with them on, relying solely on his contacts during the school days.

I thought they made him look like a sophisticated scholar.

And even back then, a little sexy.

"Id, set of irrational structures, ego, the rational logical component, and super ego, the moralizing function –"

"Iceberg concept?" He interrupted me, intentionally.

"God, jerk," I laughed. "The iceberg concept denotes that the id floats above water, with the ego below it. The super ego rests at the bottom tip. An example would be shopping – the id is impulsive, and really wants to buy those pair of shoes. But the ego says, 'No, you can't afford it.' The super ego takes this a step farther and cajoles: 'Instead of buying those shoes, you should donate the money to charity instead.'"

"Good," he laughed, with a twinkle in his eye. "Shopping? Ro, geez. You're like the least girly-girl I know. You hate shopping."

I laughed. "I hate shoes, too." I look down; realizing we were both wearing our DC's again – his red and black, mine blue and white. What a symbol of our contrasts. I hated sports, he adored them. I hated shopping, and he was a picky consumer. But we both loved psychology, and had a passion for writing.

Our eyes met. It wasn't the first time in the two months since we had met that we shared a look. Call it mutual understanding, a silent communiqué of words, thoughts, feelings. Blue meets blue, we were locked in a silent embrace.

It was over faster than we could both blink; I often wondered about the meaning behind our exchanged glances.

My phone had buzzed then. I slid the screen to access the new text message. With inhuman speed, I typed a quick response.

Elijah, always so observant of my silence – of course, it was a rare occurrence. "Zeke?" he said, that one word holding so many unspoken emotions.

"Yeah," I said, turning back the paper I was editing. "He wants me to come home; apparently he's made dinner..."

"We're not done studying," such a soft answer, so unlike him.

"I know, I told him we'd be like an hour or so."

"You know he won't accept that."

"Well, he's going to, whether he likes it or not," I replied. Why were we even discussing this? The great thing about Elijah was he never pried – a good quality in a friend.

As if to answer my question, my phone rang. I silenced it; I was not in the mood to be interrupted by my clingy boyfriend!

"I don't know why you put up with it," Elijah said quietly. He shook his head softly, and I knew the conversation was over.

I didn't have an answer for him.

Elijah and I changed our major to journalism the next year but picked up a minor in psychology, both of us with a love for helping others, if the opportunity for counseling should arrive in the future. In the meantime, he focused on sports writing, and I on historical documents. I wanted to be an archaeologist then, still clinging to a childhood dream, and publish essays and articles for a big magazine.

Zeke came and went, and after him there was Aaron, the self-admitted cleaning freak that drove me nuts. For almost a year after Aaron there was Dominic, but it turns out that journalism majors didn't mesh well with computer geeks. Every time, Elijah was were with a bottle of tequila to drown my sorrows in. Elijah had Lucy, Becky, and Shelley, who all turned out to be self-absorbed health nuts that drove him up the wall in the end. He hated being alone as much as I did – and sometimes there were nights we watched TV until the sun rose, crashing on blankets spread on the living room floor.

I watched his heart get broken, time after time. He adored them all, treated them like queens. But I was the one to repair the damage they inflicted. Just as he always soothed me that another one would come along, and I was the refreshing air of friendship when his soul was wounded.

We always ended up alone in the end, but Elijah – oh! His build, his charisma, his intelligence, he always had a girl on his arm. I always joked he was a chick magnet, to which he would always respond: "More like a crazy magnet!"

At the end of the day, after the final class bell rung, our work day ended and study sessions ceased, he was the best friend I could ask for.

# Chapter Three

I wondered if Elijah ever knew how hard it was for me each time my heart had been cruelly broken. He never seemed to be single long – it was still hard to believe I had introduced him to Alicia, Aaron's sister, nearly 4 years ago. It must be nice to have someone to take care of you, unlike my current single status of 3 years.

It was a long time. A really looooong time.

Career comes first, you know.

I was too busy for love. My days began at 6am, and often ended well after midnight. Almost 2 years ago, I had decided to return to school to finish my graduate degree in English Journalism, on top of taking the top editor position. My bed called to me long before my homework was done.

Did I long for something more than my small two bedroom house? Did I stop in the doorway of my home office, and briefly contemplate how it would look if a crib replaced the desk? Sure, I did. When I cooked with a flourish, creating delicious chicken Florentine with roasted garlic Alfredo sauce, I wished I had someone to share it with.

But we are all cast different lots that we have to deal with.

I looked up at my computer screen, shaking my head from the nostalgia that crept up to deter me from my work. My pencils and red pens were replaced with a twitchy delete finger on the computer. I pinched my nose, frustrated that this article had taken up so much of my time. My coffee cup was drained hours ago, and the pot in the main office was empty. I was too committed to finishing this draft before I would get up and make more.

Glancing at the clock, I realized the stunted hand was dangerously close to the six. I had a thesis revision, on impact of historical reports in TIME magazine, due tomorrow that I needed to work on. I'd have to get out of here soon.

"Still at it, huh?" Marion stuck her head in my door.

I blinked and stretched my arms above my head. "Yeah, working on few articles," I yawned.

She let herself in, dressed in her blue down pea coat and her brown nosebag slug over her shoulder. She plopped down in one of the arm chairs that sat beside the empty coffee pot. "I'm headed home myself," as she shook her unruly red curls out of her face.

"How goes the research on super bowl food?"

Marion closed her emerald eyes and shook her head side to side. "I hate working with Elijah, but it will be fantastic, as usual."

"He's a good guy, very talented writer," I said, clearing my throat and hoping that sounded platonic enough.

"Aye," she answered, with just a tilt of her hidden Irish accent. "He is." She patted her bag. "I'm still working on the business reviews, but I'll have those for you in the morning," she stood to leave, and glanced at the clock, groaning. "I told Bob I'd start coming home by five," she lamented.

"Go ahead, get out of here, and let me work!" I said, laughing.

She chuckled, and opened the door, turning her head slightly. "Elijah's still grinding the stone, out here" she said softly, "I think he's waiting for me to leave" and was gone.

Did she just wink?

Good God, I was such a fool to think we had convinced the office we were just friends.

But that was just it, we were just friends. He was the brother I never had. Through countless sleep-overs, seeing the bottom of numerous tequila bottles, we had never been anything more. We had never touched, besides the occasional banter of kicking each other or our gangly knees knocking each other under the table.

Sometimes, the touch sent a jolt of electricity through me; but I'll be damned if I ever let him know that.

God, just keep is professional, Rochelle, was my daily mantra.

Trying to focus on my work, I glanced back to my computer. I worked for a while finishing some grammatical errors, and moved a few graphics into place. Tim, who doubled as our web designer as well as local business critic, sure took some amazing pictures. I jotted down a notes on the post-its next to the keyboard to call Tim when I got home, just to see how he was doing, being out and down with the flu for the past week. Then I remembered that the shopping cart on our website had some errors, and wrote down that he needed to fix that, as well.

I was so lucky to have such a diverse and multi-talented crew.

Saving the file, I clicked open to Alicia's latest turn-in, an article on the kids' diabetes workshop up at the hospital. I didn't feel it would fit into our edition of "BBQ and Balls," with our focus being on local sports and BBQ cuisine/sales. Still, just by glancing at the spelling and grammar errors, it could use a good edit, so it would be ready for insert when the time came.

After a few paragraphs, I realized there were far more edits than I realized. Alicia was a decent writer, and her nursing background and expertise more than made up for it. When Elijah had first suggested I hire her, I had my reservations – but there are two kinds of people who can't be choosy – beggars and small business owners. And Elijah knew I was in desperate need of a health writer with credentials. Despite her often butchering of the English language, she had been an asset to our team as our health and fitness writer.

And boy, was she healthy. She was the picture of fitness. She had the bikini body that most supermodels would die for. She filled out in all the right places, with a waist slim enough to boast her natural curves. For Christ's sake, the woman had some of the best abs I had ever seen. Who ever knew a vegetarian nurse who balanced on-call duties and a near obsessive amount for the gym could also write for a magazine with 20,000 readers worldwide?

I could see why Elijah had such an infatuation with her.

I closed my eyes again and pinched my nose. I really wanted to stop in the middle of this edit, pack up my tablet, and just go home.

"So do it, then," Elijah said, causing me to jump.

I hadn't realized I had said that out loud.

"Wha'cha working on?" he leaned over desk, and put his face next to the computer to catch a glimpse of my screen. He smelled like Old Spice, and musk. A heady, spicy scent with a touch of gentleness.

"Nothing, just the Huntsman piece." I realized he'd smelled the same since college.

You're 28 years old, I told myself, and too old to swoon. Get a grip. I hastily popped open the Huntsman article; he didn't need to see the heaving editing I was doing on Alicia's article. Why ruin his perfect impression of such a goddess?

My heart beat a million miles a minute. I realized he was wearing his horn-rimmed glasses. He was the vision of a 1950's working man at the end of the work day: tie loosened, top 2 buttons on his collar undone, black suspenders (he always said it completed his journalist "persona") and khaki pants. His brown jacket was thrown over the armchair. But those glasses – so in style, now – just completed the look.

I took a deep breath, as mental pictures flooded my tired brain: me, dressed in a blue flowered housedress and apron (and skinny!), putting roast beef on the dining room table, the blond haired and blue eyed children playing quietly in the den with trucks, and trains, and dolls.

I set the computer to sleep; mostly to rescue myself from the unrealities that crowded my head. "I have a lot of homework, think I'm gonna take off." I stood up, smoothing the front of my pleated black slacks, and tugging on the bottom of the silk ruffled blouse. Such an embarrassment; it never did cover those fat bulges in the front. My chest heaved as I swung my arms into my coat.

Elijah grabbed my hand lightly. He swirled me around the small office in a dramatic dance flourish. "Let's go get some sushi!" he said, laughing.

"Why are you in such a good mood?" I giggled; his laughter was contagious.

"I have some good news to share with you," he said. Sparkles danced his pastel blue eyes. Pools I could drown in.

"Well, then, sushi it is." He knew I could never resist him. "Saki Sans?"

"Sure, they have great tempura there."

"And California rolls!" He shrugged into his coat and grabbed his laptop bag.

I switched off the office lights, leaving the running lights along the window that faced Main Street. We didn't bother discussing transportation; Saki Sans was 4 doors down. It was a brisk night in early December, already full dark, except for the blinking Christmas lights that adorned the closed toy shop across the street.

"Elijah! Rochelle! My two favorite writers!" Exclaimed Joshua, owner Sans Tanka's son, and also our favorite waiter. "Sit wherever, my friends!"

We took a seat for two in the corner, and ordered warm saki, California rolls for him, and tempura medley for me. There was only two other couples in the restaurant; it was a Tuesday, and Tuesday were slow for anyone in town that was open after 3pm, especially in the poorly lit downtown area.

In the far corner there was a slender woman in a pink 3 piece suit, and her companion, another woman wearing a pinstripe gray pencil skirt and matching jacket. I thought I recognized them from De Leanu & Sons, who had an office down on 5th. The first woman was tapping her well manicure nails on the table ever so slightly, wearing a blank stare of boredom at her companion.

The second couple, three tables away, was not bored at all. They were grasping hands over the table, and silently staring deep into each other's eyes. Dressed in jeans and sweaters, they looked young. With affordable and delectable sushi only a mile from campus, this place was a popular place for college students. Sake and one plate of probably shared yakisoba noodles sat between them, chop sticks discarded to the side. They kissed once, twice, and again, enjoying the peace of their new found relationship.

I suddenly felt like crying and throwing something, all at the same time. Instead I crossed my legs under the white table, spreading a crimson cloth napkin on my lap.

"So how far are we on the new edition?" Elijah asked, sipping the deliciously tepid liquid and thankfully, ripping me out of my thoughts and back to reality.

"We have two weeks until publication," I answered, taking my own sip, and enjoying the balmy sweetness that heated my belly. "I think we're doing okay. I have about five more articles to edit, and two to write on the history of the Christmas parade. How are you doing on the "10 Greatest Announcers of All Time" article?"

"Good, but I think I might change the order of some of them," he added, "I love having a job where I get to do research on YouTube all day."

"Don't forget the endless supplies of coffee."

"True, true," he laughed, but quickly sobered. He took another sip... were his hands shaking? "But seriously Ro, I've never thanked you enough for hiring me."

"Oh come on, Eli. What are friends for?" I really hoped he wasn't getting mushy on me; I was barely in control as it was.

"No, really. If it hadn't been for you, with your stories of knights and dragons, your literature reviews and stories of real people, I would have never become a writer. And it took me a long time to realize my talent."

"Well, I'm glad I could be of help, ya big oaf. I saved you from a hideous career in football."

"Eh, football is overrated."

I put down my small cup and held the back of my hand to his forehead. "Hmm. Not sick. Maybe you're mad? Mad hatter style?"

"We're all a little crazy down here..."

We both laughed.

"There is more to life that football," he said quietly.

I let the ball drop on the one. My stomach churned. Maybe I was just hungry; too much coffee today was making me jittery. Maybe sake had been a bad idea, as I sipped it again. Naw.

Our food arrived. We devoured the sushi rolls of slender avocado and salty crab meat, wrapped in sticky rice and held together with thinned seaweed, like only starving writers could do. The crisped broccoli, carrots, squashes, and green bean tempura was hot and delicious. And as usual, the sweet ginger soy sauce was a compliment to the palate.

Over our third cup of sake, he looked at me. No winks, no sparks, no mischievousness was hidden there. His black pupils were huge, ringed with eyes such a dark blue from the low yellow lighting of the paper lanterns above us. They were glazed over, as if on the brink of tears. In 10 years, he had only shed them once, at his brother's funeral.

If Alicia had broken his heart, I swear, I would –

"So you know Alicia has been thinking about applying to medical school," he started, grasping his cup firmly as he met my gaze.

Uh oh.

"She applied to the University in San Francisco," his eyes darted to the lanterns above us, and he neon sign in the window, and into his nearly empty cup, "about two months ago." He refilled his cup. "We didn't think that she would get in, with it being so long since she graduated. And her grades, uh, you know, weren't perfect." Gulping the last drop, he spit out the words rapidly: "And we found out yesterday that she got in."

I chugged my remaining sake, and emptied out the rest of the hot carafe into my cup. Liquid courage, don't fail me now. "So, does this mean, you're resigning as my staff writer?"

His lopsided smile adorned his face. "Yes, and no..."I pushed the last bit of tempura towards him, suddenly not hungry. He shook his head.

"I've asked her to marry me, Ro."

I dropped my cup. It hit the glass top and rolled, thankfully, intact.

He finally captured my eyes, and searched them. "I want to ask if you'll be my best man. Woman. Whatever."

Oh.

"Um... now wait, haven't you guys been together for like... how long as it been..."

"Three years. A long, wonderful three years. She's been a great partner, and I want to support her in her dreams to be a doctor. So we're ready to take this next step, both in school and in life." It came out in a gush, as if he'd researched this for days. "So, will you do this? Please?" Setting down his cup gingerly, as if it was an anchor of courage, he grasped my hand and squeezed it lightly. "We'll be rushing the wedding; we only have a few family members here, and we'd like to get it done before the move."

It was so, so much to take in. "Move?"

"Yes, she starts residency in March, so we are looking to move at the end of January, to give us time to find an apartment near the college and get our bearing. Alicia is really looking forward to a beautiful winter wedding, about mid-January. Outside."

I felt tears well up. Married, gone. And me, without a clue. Sure, we had lost touch before. After Matt had died, Elijah had moved back to the coast to be with his mom. After that, he took an editing gig up north for a few years. We had gone months without talking, so busy with building our lives, completing our dreams, and picking up pieces of disappointments. Always, always, we had picked up where we left off in our friendship, as if no time had passed.

A tear slipped down my cheek, and my cheeks flamed."Oh my god, Rochelle. Are you crying? Are you that happy for me? Does this mean yes?"

Tears of joy. Yup, that's what they were. Okay, let's run with this.

I nodded. "Yes, I'll do it. But if you don't call me once a week from San Fran, I will be very angry. You wouldn't want to see me angry."

He laughed. "You're such a nerd. But nice Hulk reference, by the way." He slapped a $20 bill on the table for payment, and held my coat for me. "So glad you're in on this, buddy," he said, slapping my back in camaraderie, as he held open the glass door. "I might even make you wear a dress."

"Oh dear God, I hate you."

His laugh was rich and deep, but mine was only an echo.

As we walked to our cars, I felt something cold and wet hit my cheek. I looked up at the lamppost, and could see the big, thick flakes falling steadily. My car windshield was covered in a fine dust of icy white fluff. The temperature had dropped, and I was suddenly freezing as I waved goodbye to Elijah and slipped into the driver's seat, blasting on the heat.

I knew the heat wouldn't warm my heart. It continued to pump blood into my veins, but I knew a little piece of me had died.

It was snowing.

# Chapter Four

"I think I will wear a dress," I said quietly, as I flipped through the bridal dresses with Alicia. We sat on a white lacy chaise lounge near the window, facing the decorative, albeit small, showroom. Their selection wasn't huge, but it wasn't expensive either, and the latter was important to Alicia. She'd even found a dress that was a consignment, elated to be able to save some money for the move.

She jostled me with her shoulder, and winked. "Coming to the dark side, eh? Elijah said that you never in a million years. It has to be pink, you know, that's my colors."

It was her colors. Magenta, pastel pink, and an odd blend of crimson. A sickening array of girl pinks for everyone! Ugh.

I flipped the last page, and I found it. Sleeveless, with a heart shaped bust and a wide skirt ruffled with layers of tulle. The raven hair model smiled at me from the page. It was even a deep shade of pink that would offset my pale skin and murky gray eyes.

"This one," I said, pointing to it.

Alicia squealed. "Oh, that is so gorgeous! But maybe we should trim the tulle, because that wide waistline isn't very flattered for a woman of your size."

Those last two words she hesitated to say, as if mulling around the appropriate substitute for "fat." Okay, Alicia, we get it, I wanted to spit back at her. I'm not a size 0 like you, and you'll never let me forget it.

I looked up at my reflected in the big bay windows that faced Main street. Dull, flat, dark blond hair that stubbornly refused to style. A few years ago I had it cut to my ears because I was sick of fighting with it. Gray eyes greeted me, a little dark and stormy, but with a twinkle hidden in their depths. Could this dress make me feel beautiful inside? Would it make me feel prettier than I had the last time I had worn one – the night of my high school prom? I couldn't bear it if I looked like a fool – not in front of Elijah.

"A flattering design is important," I said instead, smiling ever so sweetly at her. I stood up and went to the counter. "Wendy? What about this one?" I called.

Wendy Corisant, the boutique's owner and one of 2 employees (the other being her husband) appeared from the white curtain that separated the showroom from the stock in the back. She took the book from me and glanced from the picture to up and down my wide frame.

"I think this will look wonderful, if we trim the tulle to allow for your figure. Pretty sure I have this in the 3x, believe it or not." She handed me back the book. "Be back in a jiff" and disappeared behind the curtain again.

"While she gets that, I'm going to try on my gown, k?" Alicia said, and without waiting for an answer, ducked into the tiny dressing room.

While I was waiting, my phone buzzed – a text from Elijah: hope dress shopping is funner than this bow tie.

I punched back: It's "more fun" dork, and why do I have to wear pink again?"

His reply was swift: It's her day, make her happy. Gotta go, the dick with the needle is back to fix these sleeves

I laughed, putting my phone away, disappointed that my mirth faded quickly. It was always "she."

"Ta-da!" Alicia burst out of the dressing room, and onto the platform surrounded by six long mirrors. "Whaddya think, bestie?"

Ugh, I didn't even bother correcting her. But that dress looked fantastic on her slim, fit frame. It was a wrapped style, with white satin twists and turns that accentuated her long torso. The low neckline was the right length to bring out her flat chest, but not so long that that it minimized them. Long, lacy white arms that hooked around her middle finger, like a medieval princess, completed the floor length gown.

"Wow, it's really beautiful," I said. Honestly, it was. "I mean just, wow, Elijah is going to love you in this. It's so simple and elegant." I was no fashion designer, but this consignment wedding dress looked brand new, as if it was made to fit her body.

Every dress I had ever owned had always just fit like a garbage bag.

Wendy appeared with my dress. I glanced at the time on my phone. "I have to hurry with mine; I have a meeting with the owner of Barb's Barbs, the piercing shop on 9th, for an article."

Rushing into the dressing room, I shed my clothes and stepped into the pink floor length gown. I had to have Alicia zip me, which was no easy feat, because it didn't fit over my breasts, no matter how many deep breaths I took. The zipper only went up about halfway.

"Well, you'll have to start hitting the gym with me, or wear a corset. The first option is the healthy one, of course."

I smiled; because opening my mouth would have been dangerous at this point.

Wendy stood by the platform, ready to make some alterations. "We'll just work on the bustier for now, since you're in a hurry," she told me.

After a few measurements with the zipper, she asked me, "What do you think about getting rid of the zipper altogether, and going with an adjustable lace up for the back? I have some ribbon that's the same shade as the dress, or we could go a shade darker, if you'd like."

I thought about that. It would mean no deadly corset, but I'd still have to endure comments from Alicia. Comfort over silence? Yeah, I'll take the comfort. I nodded to Wendy. "Yeah, I think that will work just fine."

"Okay," she said, and made a few more marks with her chalk pen. "You can go change now," she finally told me.

I got dressed and made arrangements to come back in a few days. Small town life also meant quick turn-around time, which was an asset considering our rushed time frame.

# Chapter Five

We swirled around the dance floor, our drinks drained and set aside. The DJ was playing Garth Brooks, or something. My world only consisted of one man right now.

"You surprise me every day, Ro," he said, spinning me to Garth singing about Thunder.

"Whatever do you mean?" I smiled.

"You're the only girl that can take me out to a strip club, tuck dollars in a g-string, and finish the night with a trip to a country bar. Talk about a bachelor party!"

"The finest the best wo-man can provide!" I said loudly as I spun back to meet his upheld open hand. The sounds of the storm echoed in my ears as the song ended and we sauntered back to our table, where Tim, Alex, and Aaron were waiting.

"Heineken?" Elijah shouted over the new rap music that had crowded the dance floor. I nodded.

When I got back to the table, Aaron nudged me. "Some best man," he said, his elbow in my ribs. "Jocking the groom's..."

Asshole. Why had I ever dated him? I took in his close-cropped dark hair, 5 o'clock shadow on his chin, and brown eyes that were too big for his face. The dimples at the corner of thick lips that had kissed me - whether I'd liked it or not. His immaculate shirt collar was starched and buttoned firmly at the top, and his black slacks were freshly ironed with a crease, even though we'd been out for a few hours. Oh yeah, he was a perfectionist, a neat freak, and the world's biggest jerk. "I'm going to see if Elijah needs some help," I said, as I pushed my way to the crowded bar.

Before I could find Elijah, a voice to my right announced: "Why, if it isn't Rochelle Adams. Still playing at the magazine game, Adams?"

"Well, well, Ryan Gonzales," I addressed the assistant editor of The Tribune. He was dressed impeccably as usual, in a suit and tie, even at a bar full with jeans and shirts. My boys were dress in polo shirts and jeans – except for Aaron, as usual - and I was in a purple silk blouse with a little black skirt over leggings and the only heels I enjoyed. But Ryan, he was something else. He paraded a gray silk blend suit that shimmered in the flashing blue and red lights from the dance floor, a white shirt that glowed neon under the bar's black light, and a black tie. His shellacked nails were carefully trimmed as he took a sip from his glass, probably scotch, if I remembered correctly. That was Ryan – always immaculate, always put together, and always, always, a self absorbed jerk.

"Playing magazine? You mean my magazine with more worldwide readers than your small town newspaper, with over 40 issues and running 4 years strong? That magazine, Ryan?"

He smirked, gulping the contents of his glass. "Guess so, smarty pants," he shrugged. "Online numbers don't mean shit," he slurred.

"I have a staff now, and an office; we're taking steps one at a time. Come a long way from working out of my garage," I said. Why was I even giving him the time of day?

"Sure, but Amazon started in their garage... and well, honey, you are no Amazon." He lifted his hand with his index finger up to the bartender.

I bristled to retort when he changed directions on me: "You with someone tonight, Adams?"

"Yeah, Elijah."

"Elijah Baker?"

"Yes, my assistant editor."

"I offered him a job once," Ryan said, his glass refilled with amber liquid.

"Really?" I didn't care.

"Yeah. Turned me down, said he had a better paying option. Guess you pay pretty well."

I didn't. "Yeah, well, he's mine."

He tipped his glass towards me. "I wouldn't count on it for long. Word is he's been looking around. But I must digress, as I see your editor has found you. Have a good night, Ms. Adams."

"So you gonna take this or what?" Elijah whispered in my ear, so loud that I jumped. I turned to see him juggling 6 of the delicious green German beers. I took three from him and we jostled our way through the crowd back to the boys.

A little shaken from my conversation with Ryan, I wondered if he noticed that his rescue had calmed me from an intense conversation with Eli.

We reached the table and Tim took a beer from me. "About time," he said, clinking the long neck against mine.

"Yeah, well, Ryan Gonzales was up there, drinking scotch as usual," I said.

"Ryan?" Tim replied, "That guy is uber creepy."

"I saw him," said Elijah soberly. "He is a creep. Good thing you have a wingman," he nudged my shoulders with his. He leaned in and whispered, "Let's dance, Ro."

I could tell he was drunk from the smell of his breath. How many was it? Two, three? Four more at the strip club? I'd only had a sip of my second one of the night. I usually prefer to have my fun sober, and I knew two was my limit. As it was, I would have to call a cab. While my head was on straight his was not; but the desire that burned in my stomach took over any rational decisions.

One more dance, just one more, I told myself. The song was "Get Down" - some upbeat rap song that I didn't care for. Ah, what the hell. It wasn't a slow dance, so it would be alright.

"I hate dancing," I yelled over the thumping bass. "I'm no good at it!"

"Naw, you'll be fine," Elijah yelled back.

I took his hand, and we stepped onto the wooden plank dance floor, keeping a foot of distance between each other as we swayed to the hip hop lingo.

"Rochelle, you--"

Before he could finish his sentence, the DJ blared: "Here's the throw back from the 90's, an oldie but a goodie!"

And "I'll Be" started playing.

A song from high school, the first time my heart was broken.

I remembered it so well...

# Chapter Six

James had been the star basketball player of the school. Parents loved him, cheerleaders stalked him, and coaches worshiped the ground he walked on.But what a lot of people didn't know was James sat beside me every Sunday in church, helped out at the soup kitchen with me on Saturdays before practice, and volunteered at the food bank on Monday nights.

But high school is a place where fears are realized, and insecurities are extenuated. Being overweight in high school made it near torture; I had only survived with careful avoidance of the popular crowd, and clinging to my small group of friends. I'd rather die than to ever tell him I thought he was cute; mind you, not that such a boy as the almighty James Werther would have looked twice at someone like me.

We were strangers on the weekdays, inseparable on the weekends.

I convinced my friend Rachel to go to one of James' games with me, and we sat in the second row of bleachers. I hated those seats; so designed for a skinnier butt than mine. To my surprise, James, who was on the team's bench 2 rows in front of us, turned and waved. Even more shocking, he blew me a little kiss.

I was pretty shocked, but a little elated. Could it be? Did James... like me? My teenage brain flew in a flurry of directions, aided by an absurd amount of hormones.

I squirmed in my seat and nudged Rachel. "Did you see that?" I whispered.

Rachel blushed. "Sure, I did," was all she said.

After an overtime game where James pulled the winning 3 pointer, he wrapped a towel around his neck and bounded up the rows to wear we stood, getting ready to leave. He invited me to meet him after the game, and I told Rachel to head out without me.

I had found my way to Mr. Year's classroom easily enough. The science class was dark and deserted, the door oddly unlocked. I let myself in, spooked by the shapes of test tubes and stations in the dark classroom. Feeling a little rebellious, I hoisted myself onto the desk – no easy task! I covered my giggle. If only Mr. Year could see me. Wait, no, that would be bad.

I tried to cross my legs – that's what all the sexy women in the movies did – but my thick thighs wouldn't allow it. I settled for crossed ankles instead. I wished I had a skirt on to hike over my knees instead of my navy blue corduroys, but I would just have to deal.

A few moments later, James entered the classroom, closing the door slowly, softly behind him. He crossed the distance between the door and the desk in 2 steps, and pressed his lips to mine. It was my first kiss – embarrassing to be 16 and never kissed, but boy didn't like the bigger girls – and I still remember the details today. It was messy and passionate, fierce and soft. It was everything I had imagined, and more. His tongue pried open my lips, dancing with mine in a sweet embrace.

He pushed me down on the desk and kissed me again, down my neck, the collar of my shirt, and behind my ear. His hand snaked up my shirt, under my bra, and touched my large firm nipples, his hands so gentle, so passionate.

My fingers fumbled with his shirt, and I pulled my lips away to come up for air as he slipped it over his head. I ran my hand through his brown hair, and my other undid the button of his jeans.

Oh God, was this really happening?

We sought each other with the reckless abandon that only comes with the feeling of youth, and the imminent sense of being caught. My pants fell to the floor, and his thumb expertly slipped under my panties and ripped them away. He turned me around, and bent me over the desk. I could hear the foil ripping as he sheathed himself. He entered me from behind, sharply. My womanhood punctured easily, with a small pinch. I whimpered, and he grabbed my waist, and breathed into my ear: "You better enjoy this, you fat slut."

Alarm spread through my body, and I realized I'd made a mistake as slammed into me so hard I grabbed the edge of the desk to keep from falling off. Pain shot through my back, his hands gripping my waist so hard I knew he'd leave marks.

"James, please, you're hurting me," I begged him to stop, then, crying with the agony he caused. It wasn't supposed to be this way.

I was answered with another hard and brutal plunge that caused nearly paralyzing pain. "No," he said. "I've been waiting a long time for this." Tears streamed down my cheeks. Was this the price I paid for being me? I remained silent, knowing if I told him to stop he would be mad; I didn't want to lose him.

I felt his hand on the back of my head, pushing me into the desk to quiet me. He held my head down for what seemed like hours, my forehead pounding and my nose bent cruelly. Then he withdrew and flipped me over on the desk, onto my back. Mounting me, he shoved into me harder than ever, his eyes fixated on the chalkboard behind us. I sobbed quietly beneath him. The pain and ecstasy blended until my mind and vision were fuzzy. He finally shuddered above me with his own release, thankfully ending his assault.

But in matters of heart and hormones, there is little room for rational decisions. Our teenage lust was a pool from which we could not see the bottom. Waiting three years of high school for a boy to notice me had addled my sense of reason; I knew if I told James to stop, I would never get this opportunity again.

So each time he grabbed my wrist and yanked me into the closet at the Salvation Army on our break, I knew I'd cry afterwards. Sure enough, even though there was little room, and his strong arms had to hoist me up, my tears flooded his shoulder. I felt forced, empty, miserable, but longing for the pleasure he provided, wishing for it to make me feel better inside.

Often he would chuckle, and tell me it made him feel good when I cried; it told him he was good at what he did.

The bathrooms at school after the bell rang were our go-to every day, where he bent me over the toilet in the stall, and once on top of the sink. It was so brutal and fast, often it was over before it had begun. I never asked him to stop, because this was my atonement.

There were even times I never felt pleasure, only pain, as he roughly jerked out from behind me, buttoned his pants, telling me to hurry up and pull down my skirt before someone came in and saw me "being a whore." I listened to the bathroom door bang with his departure as I struggled to regain my composure and choke back tears.

But still, the thrill of nearly being caught was a heady drug.

He was rough and powerful each time; oddly, he rarely looked at me or faced me – a common ailment I figured linked to my unattractive face. Our time together often left me with wobbly legs and a bit of blood. He shrugged when I told him, and asked if I wanted to stop. Of course I couldn't.

The man was a god. And I was drunk on his deity status. Drunk, and addicted.

But never filled. Every encounter, every mind-blowing experience, left me empty and broken inside. I cried so often during, that James would tell me to stop being a baby and learn to enjoy it.

I tried, I really did. In just a few weeks, I had come to believe I deserved this. I had waited so long for someone to love me, and if this was the only form of love I would get, I would have to learn to accept it.

So I went to formal with James. I bought the most expensive dress I could find, and shoes to match. It was the one time I wanted to feel worthy.

I made my grand entrance with no fan fare, except the excited giggles of a few friends, who looked fantastic in their taffeta dressed, with poofy princess shoulders that clearly marked our 90's high school days.

I waited for James, and wandered over to the punch bowl. After 20 minutes, he still hadn't walked through the doors. This dress was squeezing me to death, and my heels already hurt my feet. Where was he?

I wandered out of the gym, ignoring snooty Mrs. Alan's shout that students had to remain here. I walked the quiet dark halls, eerily silent without students crammed against lockers and teachers calling for order. I heard some familiar giggling near the cafeteria.

"Oh, stop it!"

Rachel?

I rounded the corner, my heart beating so loud my head was starting to pound.

There was Rachel, pushed up against the lockers. James was kissing her how he had kissed me just a few days ago, and his hand was up her shirt.

I shuddered, remembering of the feeling him inside me. Recalling the vivid details that I had given my all...

And she was making no effort to stop him... and she... was enjoying it.

With my... well, what were we? Had we just fucked? Was I an opportune moment of practice, a release for his sexual energies? Did my life lack so much meaning?

"Holy shit," came out of my mouth before I could think. Tears spilled down my cheeks as they both turned to look at me. Caught in the act, James dropped his hands to his sides.

"Rochelle... it's not... I mean, Rache and I..."

"You were what?" My hands were balled at my side, and my chest heaved with every word. "Let me guess, she wasn't breathing and you were giving her mouth to mouth? Get real, James."

I turned and stalked back to the gym. I needed to call my dad. This night had turned to hell in one heck of a minute.

I reached the doors, where "I'll Be" was blaring from inside. Through the frosted windows I could see Stephanie and Jason, holding each other close as they swayed to my favorite song.

More tears came, running down my chest and staining the front of my white dress. It should have been me.

It will never be you, my severely damaged self-conscious answered.

James grabbed my wrist before I could escape through those doors.

"Rochelle, listen to me."

I turned to him, wiping away the tears, embarrassed he had to see me waste them on him.

"Let me go, I'm so freakin' done."

"No, listen," his grip was strong, just like every time he had dragged me to the closet, his car, the bathroom. "Look, I wanted to like you. You're such a giving and sweet person, and the time we spent together was pretty great, but I can't, I mean... you know I have my reputation to protect. What would the guys think if they saw me with a fat girl?"

I was stunned; those last two words wounded my soul more than anyone ever had. "But... I gave you everything... even..."

"I know, but I needed the practice," he said, and to my horror, laughed. "Surely, you didn't think that was my first time, did you? You def won't be the last. Besides, I knew Rachel would be here tonight, but I wasn't sure if she'd accept me. So I asked you, hoping you'd introduce us, cuz ya'll are so tight. She's so thin and sexy, she'd be an easier fuck than you, I bet, and a whole lot tighter."

I slapped him, then, hard – the sound had been a tinny echo reverberating on the empty metal lockers around us. "You worthless piece of shit!" If no one in the gym heard me, it would have been a shock. "Don't ever, EVER speak to me again."

I pushed through the doors. A little piece of my identity would always belong to him, lost in those innocent moments in Mr. Year's classroom. I was a shell to be used and thrown away – worthless.

# Chapter Seven

I'll be your crying shoulder,  
I'll be love's suicide  
I'll be better when I'm older,  
I'll be the greatest fan of your life...

My head was resting on his shoulder, and his shoulder was damp with my tears of remembrance. James had tainted the rest of my life. It had been many years since James, but still every man I ever dated was a "James." Hard, controlling, and abusive to one degree or another. Dominic had been the last, the worst of them all, in his cold indifference and inability to love. I had been relieved when I came home one day and he was gone, without a word. Each one of them had taken a part of me, and left me empty.

But there was one man that had healed me, taught me to laugh, and showed me how to live again.

"Elijah," I murmured.

His hair brushed my cheek; his head was on my shoulder, too. Our bodies were pressed together, his hands on my waist, as the song played on.

"Yeah?" he whispered into my ear, softly.

"Mmm," I murmured. His voice sent chills down my spine, and I shuddered in his grasp. I rarely danced like this. I was floating in a dream, reluctant to wake. In a bubble that I prayed didn't break.

I had fallen down the rabbit hole.

We moved together like one, stepping on each other's feet on occasion, and laughing quietly.

As the song came to an end, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"Mind if I cut in?" It was Alex.

Elijah handed me over. We shared a look. His was urgent, questioning, confused. I had slow danced and cried on his shoulder. This time... it was different. I shrugged, and I could see his shoulder relax. He winked, and turned back to our table.

As Elijah went to grab his beer, Alex took my hand to a more upbeat, current song. Thankfully it wasn't as loud as the others. Alex looked spectacular tonight, dressed in a purple polo shirt with a black and plaid collar shirt thrown over it, jeans, and polished oxfords. His wavy black hair was tousled, and he was constantly pushing it out of his eyes. We danced for a few minutes, and his expert moves made me smile. He giggled at what he called my "white girl moves."

That was Alex.

"So, what's your deal, with Elijah?" Alex was never one to dance around the bush. I stifled a chuckle, as I realized that in reality, Alex played for a different team that avoided bushes as if they were on fire.

"Why, you jelly, bro?" I tried to laugh, but the remnant of my emotional state choked my throat. I laughed, a little too high and clipped.

"Oh please, girl," Alex replied. "Elijah's not my type. I'm talking about this, what the guys and I just watched happen - in silence - during that last song. You know he's taken, right? Not just taken, hon, he's engaged. And he's getting married next week. Rochelle, what're you doin'?"

"Oh, come on, Alex. We're just friends. We've always been friends; you should know that, you went to school with us."

"And I knew back then ya'll weren't friends. There's something about you two..."

"Well, he's a good friend, and we're not interested in each other," I protested. "Besides, you know he's only into athletic people. He'd never be ..."

"Interested?" Alex interrupted. "Yeah, because he loves Alicia! I've seen it," he dropped his voice. "Don't get hurt, Ro. He's not worth the tears."

"I'm so tired of people harassing me about this," I said. I dropped his hand as the song ended. "No more, do you hear? I'm done. He's my friend." I spun on my heel and walked to the ladies room.

God, I needed to get a hold of myself.

# Chapter Eight

Elijah

The problem with journalists is we like to have too much fun. We never do anything half-assed.

Nope, it's balls to the wall when it comes to us.

In my case, that didn't happen often.

Bottoms up, bottoms, up.

I thought about the dancers at the "gentleman's club" before coming to Ricky's Bar. Of course, this damn town was so small we only had one strip club. Some of the girls dancing there I went to high school with, and I had never wanted to see them naked back then. And I hated seeing girls dance – Rochelle knew that I found it insulting to women of all size and age – but she'd made us go anyway.

But Rochelle made it great. Her excitement, enthusiasm, she turned a boring night in a small town into one of thrill. I smiled as I slugged probably my 5th beer of the night – I don't know, I'd lost track somewhere between Alex's hilarious uncomfortable tuck of a dollar bill in a g-string and the dancing I'd done with Rochelle.

It was good to dance, but kinda creepy when it was with a girl who for all intents and purposes, was my brother. Still, she did all this for me, she deserved to feel great for once.

Ever since Matt... she'd been the only thing I had in the world. I remembered Matt and I as kids, curled up on his bed reading sports scores, playing Nintendo way after bedtime, swinging too high at the park by the lake, and pulling extra time at the gym as he prepped for boot camp. High school years when he'd chase off the bullies in the hall, and our video conferences from the base when he joined the Army.

God, I missed him so much.

I cursed those insurgents for the 100th time in the last 2 years for taking him from me.

I drained the rest of my beer, in time to watch Rochelle stalk across the dance floor before the song had even towards the bathrooms, leaving a bewildered Alex to return to our table. I chuckled, knowing there'd be a line – always was with women.

"Way to go, man," I saluted Alex with my empty beer as he returned to our table. "You pissed off our chaperone. Now I have to buy my own beer, what the hell?"

Alex flipped his chestnut hair out of his eyes, a useless effort when it just fell right back into its original place. "Whatever, Elijah," he rolled his eyes. "She's always pissed off."

"Observant" I tried to say. What I heard had a curious lack of vowels: "Obsvnt..."

I couldn't decide if I needed another beer or not. My world was pretty cloudy already. I vaguely remembered dancing with Rochelle. Had I put my hands around her waist? She had murmured some dude's name. Hopefully it was her new boyfriend; she needed one, it had been a while. I couldn't even remember the song that was playing; I was concentrating on not falling on my ass.

Yeah, I think it's time to call a... that thing with a driver...

Tim looked pretty uncomfortable. I had a hard time figuring out if he even liked girls, or if he fit in better with Alex's side of society. Our resident web designer was dressed in a t-shirt that said "Computer geeks do it on a desk" and wrinkled cargo pants with too many pockets that looked full. His dirty blond hair was messy, but he looked wide awake, despite it being at least one or something in the morning.

He was still a party pooper. I actually think he was sober, but whatever.

I must have swayed then, because Aaron gripped my upper arm and said, "Whoa, buddy. How much have you had?"

A voice that didn't sound like mine said, "Um... teen."

"Yeah, you need a cab, man." He nodded at Alex, and let me go. "I'll get ya one."

Alex was smirking at me. "Drunk is so not a turn on, E."

"Neither is bein' a homo, but you try pretty hard," Was I seriously slurring? I was not that drunk!

"Speaking of hard..." he said, and pointed at a blond woman that was walking over to me.

"Hey, are you drunk?"

It was Alicia! Wait, Alicia had grown some boobs. Well, cool. I wanted to touch them. Oh crap, she wasn't supposed to know where I was. I told her we had been at the Caberat for dinner and a show. Bet she's pissed.

"Aaron called a cab for him," Alex said. Dammit, was he giggling at me? Why, I...

Alicia laughed at me, and downed the beer I swear I had just been holding. She grabbed my arm. "Come on, buddy, let's get some air."

I don't remember leaving the club, but I still felt pretty good. I mean, my stomach was a little... woah...

But Alicia was there, her hand on my shoulder, and in my hair, holding my head as I heaved the contents of my stomach on a nearby bush.

Oh man, so fuckin' embarrassing. I swore I'd never let her see me like this. She was a good woman.

Then, a shiny yellow thing pulled up, and blinded me with round headlights when it stopped at my feet. Everything was blurry and watery, and my head was pounding. My bed sounded fantastic. Alicia pushed me in, but it was so hard to sit up straight. So tired.

My head found her lap. Her warm hand tousled my hair gently and her other arm draped over my chest. "I haven't seen you this drunk since... Matt..."

Matt, oh god, I did not want to talk about Matt. But all I managed was "No..." I turned and looked up at her. Her face was blurry, and I swear her eyes were bigger than normal. Pretty sure she got a hair cut too because it used to be pretty long and now it barely brushed her shoulders. And her hair was lighter. It wasn't bad, actually.

"You're pretty," I told her. She was the prettiest girl I had ever seen.

A few tears dropped onto her cheek, I could literally hear them splash on the front of her shirt, just above my forehead.

"Hey, now," Was she angry enough to cry about it? I was in so much trouble. I racked my brain on how to solve it.

I pulled myself into a seating position, and pulled her into my arms. She struggled to resist. Was she that mad? She fell limp, heavy, in my arms. Her bare arms were so silky against my fingertips. I placed a gentle kiss on her upturned cheek, where the tears had fallen.

"Don't be mad," I whispered, praying to God I wasn't slurring too much.

"I could never be mad at you," she said, and lifted her head to meet my lips.

Her kiss was new, and fresh. She was minty, and soft. She pressed so lightly it was like being kissed by an angel. I tried to tell myself to ask her later where she had learned to kiss like that. It was so unlike her normal hard and passionate kisses, so awkward and inexperienced, even after three years.

I kissed her back. In my inebriated state, it was wonderful. I had never been kissed like this before. The clumsy kisses of high school were uncomfortable, and many of my girlfriends had been all teeth, or all tongue - one even drooled. This was simple, sweet, and elegant.

I made a mental note that if I hadn't been drunk, and we hadn't been flying down the highway in the back of a cab, I could have taken her right then and there.

But the kiss faded, and she snuggled her head in my lap. And all around me, mint, softness, and her lips.

# Chapter Nine

Rochelle

You're a piece of work, Rochelle, I said to myself.

I clenched the sides of the sink, willing myself to look into the unfamiliar mirror. My hair was disheveled, with bits of dried pink vomit that clung to my blond tresses. My make-up had run, leaving me with dark black circles under my eyes and remnants of gold paint at the corners. My eyes were dark, so dark, like a thunderous day about to burst with a humid downpour. The lipstick had long ago smeared, the light magenta hue ringing my full lips. My shirt blouse was ruined, missing a few buttons from where he'd been so eager to get if off, and smelled faintly like my stained hair. My skirt was rumpled and refused to hang right.

I look like I'd just been hit by a train.

Or a train had hit me.

What had I done?

Home wrecker, my reflection yelled. Her eyes were closed and her fists were wrapped in her hair. Her mouth was open in a silent scream. You know you're just a fucking home wrecker.

I couldn't take her piercing gaze anymore. I sat on the closed toilet with my head in my hands. I didn't dare leave the house like this, but did I have any other option? I glanced at my phone, and saw that I still had enough time. I had more than enough time.

I had to take the time, because I couldn't go out looking like this. What if people knew? What if they could tell? I imagined walking into the office, and wondered if they'd all be talking behind their hands, whispering about what happened Saturday night. Telling each other what a weak person I was, how I couldn't say no. "She'd never been able to say no," Aaron would say, and as I thought about it, he sounded a lot like James. "How could you?" Marion would say, so disappointed. And worst of all, Alicia's gaze burning into me. Would she slap me, punch me? Or just pull her pitiful self and run away?

I felt naked even though I had thrown my clothes on in haste. God, I was so ashamed, I felt like I was in the bathroom with James all over again, and I was rushing to hide my internal agony.

But, if there's one thing James had taught me, it was better to look like I had just arrived then I was just leaving. I shed my clothes, and tossed my ruined shirt in the small garbage. With it buried under a few layers of toilet paper, I started the shower. As the steam filled the bathroom, my shoulders slumped. I wanted to cry, or scream, or feel anything. I stepped into the shower and let the water rush over me, stinging my skin with the warmth. I longed for the hot water to wash it away, but I was so numb. The guilt just consumed me. I stood under the stream so what seemed like hours, waiting for it to cleanse me, but it never did.

And then as if my soul had betrayed me, a smile crept onto my lips. I touched them gingerly. He had kissed them. My hands rubbed my bare arms. He had touched them. The memories flooded in then, and I was consumed with the passion we had shared. It was all I had wanted for so long.

It was just the worst timing in the world.

Worst of all, it was all my fault. 

# Chapter Ten

Elijah

I woke up the next morning, embarrassingly snuggling Alicia's giant stuffed panda, Mr. Fluffy, that she insisted share our bed. Chico, her little dog, was curled up at my feet, and I nudged him off the bed.

Oh my god, my head was pounding. I grabbed my phone off the nightstand to check the time. Noon?! I hadn't slept until noon since high school final exams. The envelope symbol told me I not one but TWELVE text messages – and 15 missed calls! All from Alicia.

Where are you?

Then, I told you no later than midnight were followed by, You're an asshole, it's 1am and I am still here alone. WTF.

Finally: Got called in, pulling a 12'er at the ER for Nancy, she's sick. Be home about noon.

I tossed the stupid panda aside. I quickly called her, but big surprise; it went to her machine, which meant her phone was dead. Typical.

I pulled her up on speed dial, ready to apologize my ass off to a machine, hoping it would save me a tongue lashing when she got home.

But then it hit me: Alicia had taken me home last night. Clearly, she had been upset, found me, and got me home in a cab.

The details were foggy. Had I puked? Pretty sure I had puked. Shaking my head at the horror; that one I'd actually not like to remember, thank you very much.

But, I remembered her tears. When Alicia was mad, it was like a tornado – fast and furious, and some shit usually got destroyed in the end. I loved that spark about her, it kept things interesting. What could have upset her so much that she would have been so quiet, so tearful?

I remembered I had kissed the tears away, and she had kissed me back. It was one of the best kisses of my life. We had held each other, and probably more after I had passed out in bed. God, I loved that woman, she never ceased to amaze me!

I dialed her number. "Hey, it's me," I told the machine, "I had a lot of fun last night, love you, baby." Then, I sent her a text with the same message, in case she didn't get a chance to check her voicemail.

I decided to needed coffee then, and made my way down to the kitchen.

As I passed the hallway bathroom in our tiny duplex, I realized the shower was running. I opened the door a crack, and steam hit my face, wet and humid. Alicia must have thought I was still asleep and had just jumped in the shower. After an all-nighter at the hospital, I knew she'd want to do nothing but shower and crawl under the covers.

But last night still lingered on the corners of my brain, and I wanted to surprise her. The thought of her steaming, naked, finely muscled body had me breathing raggedly as I stepped in the bathroom and shut the door without a sound. I shed my clothes as quickly as I could, and stepped in the fogged-up shower door.

"Elijah! Oh my god!" A voice shrieked. "Get out!"

No glasses, no contacts, I couldn't see shit.

Rochelle?

Holy.

Shit.

I couldn't even move. Why in the world was Rochelle in my house, my shower...

And she was naked.

"Rochelle! Did we... oh my god. Please tell me we didn't..."

"Get out!" she screamed again, trying desperately to cover her soapy body with her chubby arms, but it wasn't very effective. One breast peeked out from under her crossed arm, and I was distracted... and still frozen.

She moved her hands from her body, and I caught a full glimpse of her curves. She slid the glass door open with a ringing clang that made the other door reverberate. Then she pushed me with both hands. "Getoutgetoutgetout!"

Okay, so I got out.

And panicked.

Grabbing my clothes, I ran to my bedroom in my birthday suit, hopped into bed, and pulled the covers up to my chin. No. No. No. No. this was NOT happening.

It occurred to me what would happen if Alicia got home in the next few minutes. I felt like I was going to have a heart attack, just envisioning her face turning red, and her balled fists by her side. I glanced at the window; I had just replaced it! I jumped as my phone, still on the nightstand, buzzed with a new text message. "Hi baby, glad you're okay. I'm off, going to stop for lunch, do you feel like Chinese or Indian?"

Thank God for small miracles. "Indian sounds great to chase a killer hangover" – with only one Indian place in town, I also knew they took forever to prepare their take-out meals.

The shower turned off, and after a few minutes, Rochelle emerged into the hallway, fully dressed in a tank top and only her skirt from last night. Her short blond hair was wet, and clung to her head. She looked to the left, and then right into my bedroom, and we shared a look.

I could tell talking to me was the last thing she wanted to do. For a minute I thought she would bolt down the stairs and right out the front door.

And momentarily, I actually hoped she would.

But I was worried, that we actually had slept together, and it would ruin our friendship. Worse - that I couldn't remember. The image of her curvy, voluptuous body was burned into my brain. It didn't even gross me out, like I thought it would. She actually had looked... sexy.

For fuck's sake, get a hold of yourself! I wanted to punch myself in the face. I even pinched my arm and closed my eyes, hoping it was a horrible, horrible nightmare.

I opened my eyes, and she was leaning against my bedroom doorway, looking at me sideways. Her arms were crossed under her chest, making her huge breasts hike up. She bent one knee-high booted foot up against the frame.

Damn it, all I could see was her naked.

I closed my eyes and shook my head, willing the vision to go away.

When I opened my eyes, I tried to catch her gaze. But her eyes flitted about the room, glancing from the bed to the dresser, the open closet, and the heavy wardrobe.

"So..." she said, and I could see the beads of sweat on her forehead, "It's very pink in here."

I took in the pink bedspread I was clutching, the two dozen pink throw pillows that surrounded me. The dresser was pastel pink, the wardrobe was blessedly oak, but had pink knobs. The zebra striped pink curtains covered the window.

I realized I hated pink.

"Well, except for that," she pointed to my 49'ers poster, hung oddly as the only non-pink thing in my room.

I sat up, the comforter falling in my lap, still very much aware I was still naked.

She stared.

"Ro, you act as if you've never seen me like this before," she'd seen me with my shirt off lots of times.

"I know, it's... never mind." She shook her head.

"Buddy, we didn't... please tell me..." I couldn't even look her in the eye. "If we did, was I any good?"

She actually chuckled. "No, E. We didn't."

I was so relieved. "Why are you here? Why were you in my shower, then?"

"Well you puked on me, do you remember?"

"I puked on you?"

"Yeah, it was quiet disgusting, and you suck. My blouse is ruined, and you owe me another one."

"You can take it out of my pay," I said, offering her a lopsided grin.

"I'll let it slide this one time. This one time," she held up a finger as if to demonstrate.

"It's payback for that time you threw up on me on graduation night," I chuckled thinking about that wild night.

"What?! Look, you were the one who wanted to take shots of tequila and chase it with Heineken!"

"As I recall, you needed cheering up anyway," I said. She had broken up with... who was it? She called him jerk face, now. But I couldn't remember. My head was still pounding.

"Ya know, most people just buy flowers and cards and candy to cheer people up."

"Why would I buy that for a dude?"

"I'm not a – you're an ass."

"We both know perfectly well you're a guy."

"Not a guy. I have boobs."

Oh god, boy, did I know that. I shook my head a little, hoping I could wipe that shit out of my head. "Yeah, well, some guys have boobs."

"I'm a girl; we've been over this before."

"Pshaw, you're not a girl. Trust me, I don't hang out with girls. They're full of drama and crap about their nails and stuff. All you want to talk about is video games and Shakespeare."

Her retort was cut off by the sound of the front door shutting downstairs.

We both jumped. Rochelle looked like a deer in headlights; braced to run as quickly and as far as possible. I probably looked the same; but at least she had clothes on!

"Elijah? You still in bed, you lazy butt?"

Alicia. Oh shit.

Rochelle's slate eyes searched mine frantically. I shrugged, as anxiety overtook me. "Just go with it," I mouthed to her, and she nodded, her face flushed and her glossy eyes filling with panic. I was naked with my best friend in my bedroom. We both knew exactly what this looked like. We heard Alicia's footfalls on the stairs. "I don't suppose you can dive under the bed," I whispered.

"I oughtta smack you," she mouthed back, but she didn't move.

"So the Indian place was closed today, and I got Chinese but couldn't remember if you wanted -- "

She stopped at the top of the stairs. "Rochelle? What're you doing here?" She took a few steps toward her, craning her neck to see me, half-covered by her hideous pink bedspread. I waved.

"Eli, what is she doing here?" In two strides, she pushed past Rochelle and stood at the foot of our bed.

I glanced from Alicia, to Rochelle, and back again. "Alicia, I – she's --"

"What is going on?" She repeated.

Seeing I was tongue tied, Alicia turned to Rochelle. "Why are you in my bedroom?" Alicia smiled then, and it was not a happy one.

"Calm yourself, Prima Donna," Rochelle said, throwing her head back on the door frame and laughing. She unfolded her arm with a jangle. "I drove his truck over this morning."

Alicia's tense shoulders visibly hunched, and she sighed, crossing her arms.

"Still doesn't explain you in my bedroom," she said skeptically.

"I banged on the door a few times, but no one answered, so I let myself in with the key behind the brick."

I had forgot she always knew where I kept the spare key.

"I think I scared the crap out of poor Elijah, him waking up to the sound of someone coming up the stairs."

Alicia looked at me for confirmation. I rubbed my eyes for effect. "Sorry, I must have slept in."

"Must have been some dinner and a show," she murmured, mostly at me.

Rochelle's looked at me, eyebrows furrowed. "We had wine..." she said.

Oh, great.

"Sweetie, you know you're not supposed to drink. It goes right to your head, every time and you always get disambiguation. Remember last time when we --"

I remembered my issue with amnesia all too well.

"Okay, then, well, I'm outtie," Rochelle said, obviously not wanting to hear the end of that sentence. "I'll see myself out."

I waved to her. "See ya at the office tomorrow."

"See ya," and she ducked out. From her uneven heavy footfalls, probably took the stairs two at a time.

"Hey, do you need a ride?" Alicia politely called after her, but her voice was strained.

"No, I'll walk, it's cool!" Rochelle yelled, the front door slamming loudly after her.

Alicia turned to me, her petite brown eyes narrowed. She walked to the side of the bed and leaned over me. "Get dressed; you shouldn't be laying around this time of day, anyway."

"Yes, ma'am," I laughed, trying to break the tension. I pulled her down for a kiss, and it was hard, and all teeth, just like normal.

Last night must have been a dream.

# Chapter Eleven

Rochelle

The screen door shut behind me with a slam. I pushed away my tears and shoved my hands in the pockets of my jacket.

My boots pounded on the pavement, the heels echoing loudly, as I started the 4-block walk home. The neighborhood between their duplex and my tiny house was deserted, normal for a Sunday morning in this town. Manicured lawns marked the few apartment complexes I passed, rose bushes and ferns marking the landscaped edge of the property, woody bark dust surrounding their roots.

I stopped.

The soft fern and thorny roses were a good match. They co-existed in rocky or poor soil. But the bark dust protected the roots, so the elements didn't destroy the plants. Take away the bark dust, and they would be left exposed, forced to weather the storms. Would they be okay without the bark dust? Would they survive? Were their roots deep enough?

A sob choked in my throat. He didn't remember.

I managed to hold in my sobs until I let myself in my house. My living room was bleak, and bare, a demonstration of what little time I spent at home. A dolphin poster with bright blends of blue hues hung over the black leather love seat that faced the TV system. It seemed silly that I had surround sound and 3-D action – when did I ever entertain? Half moons and stars decorated the kitchen walls, with a few plaques of cute coffee quotes my mother had insisted as a housewarming gift. The only appliance that sat on the counter was my well-used coffee maker; the espresso part that had long been overworked and given up the ghost, but yesterday's coffee was still clinging to the carafe on the coffee side. The black ooze was calm and ignored.

I stumbled past my tiny office, filled with filing cabinets, an ancient desk, and a smooth black leather desk chair. I remembered when I had bought this house – just after Aaron and I had broken up - and envisioned a nursery, a smooth white crib and changing table would have fit nicely in here. I had just needed to find a man, and my dreams could come true. But then I met Dominic, working as a teacher's assistant on campus my senior year. He had been a freckle faced red-head, who loved to quote obscure fantasy novels and could play the piano like a dream. He hadn't wanted kids, focusing on his ridiculous computer programming classes and that occasional self-proclaimed "good hack session." It was he who insisted on the home office set up. There was still a bare wall where his computer used to be, the one he built for our late night gaming sessions, even though he'd moved out a little over three years ago. I still wondered if our torrid romance, which lasted about 9 months, only lasted while I had high speed internet. He rarely slept in the bedroom, preferring to crash on the couch. When he moved out and left only a note written in horrible English, I was actually relieved, and wore I would be more picky the next time around.

But in three years there hadn't been a next time.

Now it was an empty office with memories I didn't want to think about. The touch lamp my father gave me when I was six years old sat next to the ancient desktop computer I kept meaning to upgrade, but I always invested in a new tablet or laptop for work. The lamp was gathering dust - the geese on it giving me the evil eye of failure.

My bedroom was an equally depressing sight of my single status. Immaculate bed with black comforter was spread tightly across a wide queen size bed, with a nightstand and just held a few empty prescription bottles, Chap Stick, and a glass of water. The wall was decorated with a few posters of purple hued dragons and dolphins and one of Shakespeare quotes – the latter a gift from Elijah on my birthday last year. An ornate Celtic cross above the bed that I'd picked up on my trip to Ireland after graduation. A small TV sat on tall dresser in the corner, a stack of sad DVD's next to it: musicals, romantic comedies, and a few dramas.

This whole house felt so empty.

I was tired of feeling so empty.

The only one who made me feel worthy was Elijah... and he wasn't mine. More than the guilt of what we had done was the depressing thought that it was all just a mistake. Of course, he loved Alicia. He would have never been with me sober... right? It's not like I didn't give him many chances over the years. It's like James had said 14 years ago - who could ever love someone who looked like me?

I ran into the bathroom across the hall, huge choking sobs flooding my chest. I grabbed the corners of the cream porcelain sink and swallowed hard, my tears dissipating as fast as they have threatened to flow. What had Alex said last night? He wasn't worth the tears. He wasn't, he wasn't. It was over – he wouldn't remember last night. The weight of my lie crushed my heart; I felt the heavy pieces, shattered like so much broken glass. I had a beautiful, fun filled night with my best friend.

Only, I was the only one that knew about it.

How could I hide it? How could my face mask what I had known for years? How could last night stay my secret?

Shakily, I turned on the cool water, and splashed my face. My reflection greeted me in the mirror. Huge, red rimmed gray eyes, red ruddy cheeks, plump pink lips, wide chin and forehead. My bobbed hair hung to my shoulder in a cascade of straight and boring locks, still damp from the shower at Eli's.

I was a special kind of mess.

Popping open the spring-loaded glass cabinet mirror, I rummaged past old birth control bottles, anti-anxiety medications, half empty bottles of shampoo, and various hues of nail polish. Finding the bottle I needed, I blew the dust off the lid and slipped off the child-proof cap, knocking one into my hand.

I filled up a nearby glass of water from the still running sink and heavily swallowed the morning after pill. The last thing the rose and the fern needed was a little root poking up through the bark dust.

With my hand on my stomach, I went into the bedroom, my bed both a horror and a comfort. I slipped off my boots and climbed into bed fully clothed, my tears my only comfort as I yielded to the sandman.

# Chapter Twelve

"Hey, thanks for driving his truck home the other night," I leaned in to whisper to Alex the next morning. "You're a lifesaver." I nodded as Marion took a seat across the table.

"Hey, I got your back," Alex whispered. "What happened, that night? Spill the gooey gossip, girly."

Later, I mouthed to him. Elijah ducked into the room. It was certainly not the place.

Alex winked. I knew later he would make me spill my guts.

Work had been... less than comfortable today. Elijah had done his best to avoid me, only speaking to me to tell me that Alicia wouldn't be coming in today.

When I got coffee this morning, Lucy, our regular barista, asked why Elijah wasn't with me. I told her he wasn't feeling well.

"That man is never sick," she eyed me, but didn't say anymore. "You want his to go?"

"No, he's on his own today."

Lucy eyes widened, but she remained silent – thankfully. My hangover had spilled into day two, but I wasn't entirely convinced it wasn't stressed induced; I certainly didn't feel like explaining anything to the lady who made my coffee. I took my latte and crossed the street to our small office.

I was a little excited to make it to the office, despite it being Monday. The weekend had been a tumultuous roller coaster ride of emotions, and the office promised some form of normality.

And I'd be lying if I wasn't anxious about seeing Elijah. My phone had been oddly silent in the last 24 hours, which was rare. Not a day went by that we didn't make some effort to converse, even if it was electronically. But I tried not to worry, and I was determined to start this week on the right foot. I skipped a little coming in the door.

Marion, Alex, and Tim looked at me, and Alex had an eyebrow raised.

"I love Mondays," I said, breezing past them.

"Well, at least someone does," Marion murmured.

Just as I was finishing hanging up my coat and scarf beside my office door, Elijah walked in.

"Hey," I said to him, thinking his hangover had got the best of him.

He didn't even look up, and settled in to his desk.

This awkward shit wasn't going to fly with me. I had spent all day yesterday in bed, wallowing in my own self-pity. Today was going to be different, and he wasn't going to ruin it. He was my best friend, and I wasn't going to lose him. I certainly wasn't going to let Friday night come between us.

I crossed the small office floor to his desk, and hoisted myself onto it. "Good morning, sunshine," I said, kicking him in the shin playfully.

"Good morning," he said solemnly, looking at his screen.

"Missed you for coffee," I began.

"Alicia made me some – we're saving for the wedding, and mochas really add up." His eyes were fixated on the blue keyboard in front of him.

God, he knew how to knock a girl off her pedestal. "Oh," was all I could say.

"I have a lot to do," he said.

It stung a little to be put off. "Oh. Well, I'll be in my office if you need anything."

"Yeah, I know."

The day went downhill so fast I wondered what jerk had brought the luge to the party. The office was so hushed by 10am. No laughing over the water cooler, nor any dirty jokes around the quickly emptied and then refilled coffee pot. The team went on with their work, with a sense of uneasy stillness. The place emptied for lunch with no arguments over sandwiches or gyros. Elijah jetted at 5pm on the dot, without a word. By 5:30, I was left to my own devices, the clock in the main room ticking loudly.

I packed up and got home by 6, and spend a few hours trying to occupy my mind. My hand flew to my phone ever few minutes. I itched to send him a text message. I finally decided that whatever was going on, if he wasn't talked to me, I wasn't talking to him. Two could play at that game.

Tuesday dawned dark and dismal, with rain in the forecast to ice over the light dusting of snow we had just before the weekend. Heavy gray clouds hung in the sky as I pulled up to the office. I was a little restless that morning, and had arrived a few hours before my team would.

Elijah's red Subaru was parked by the door.

Why was he here so early? I wondered. He rarely came in on time, and was so punctual about not reporting promptly, I was a little alarmed to see his car there.

The sky rumbled, and sprinkles dotted my windshield, as I rushed into the office to avoid getting soaked.

I found him at his desk, leaning into his screen. His glasses were on the desk next to him. His head rested on one hand, and he lazily typed on the keyboard with the other.

"You're here early," I said quietly, hanging up my coat. I flipped on a few more lights and went to the start the coffee maker. Out of the corner of my eye, he rubbed his eyes, and slipped his glasses back on.

Leaning back in his chair and stretching, he said, "Yeah, finishing stuff up. Hoping I can leave early today."

My back was still to him. I was terrified to turn around... I hadn't heard his voice so flat, so emotionless, since the day of the funeral. "Yeah," I said, for a response was needed, but not required. I longed to discuss movies, books, articles, games, anything. Anything would have been better than this horrible silence between us. I slowly started the coffee, hoping he would say something else to end it.

But he didn't, and I went into the office, and shut the door silently. I pressed my forehead against the frosted glass for a moment, and took a few deep breaths. Was this the end? I rubbed my arms against a sudden chill. My stomach burned with the guilt of what we had done. Where there any way to move on?

# Chapter Thirteen

Elijah

I watched her go into the office and the door shut slowly behind her. My breath came out in a rush.

Why was I so terrified of speaking to her?

I could still hear Alicia's voice in my head: I swear, if you so much as speak another word to her, I'll leave you.

It wasn't that I was terrified to be alone – I'd had a few years between girlfriends, and when left to my own devices I was quite creative. But I loved Alicia, and I couldn't afford to ruin this.

I ran my hands through my hair and sighed again. Yesterday had just been pure hell, and I didn't know how I could do it again today. I might as well just try to go home early, and avoid the whole thing. I was such a coward, and it made me feel like a fool.

Could I really throw away an eight year friendship with Rochelle, just to keep Alicia? It didn't seem fair.

"Hey," Marion said, drawing me out of my thoughts.

I pushed back from the computer. "What's up?"

She blinked at me. "Really?"

I grabbed a pen from the desk and chewed on it absently. "Really, what?"

"Really, no 'Go away, M' or 'you smell funny, M' or 'how's the brats, M'... you feelin' okay, Elijah?"

"Sure," I said. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because today was the second day in a row that you and Rochelle didn't come in at the same time."

"So? We don't live together, M."

"Yeah, but you and Alicia do, and you have never come in together."

"She has a weird schedule..."

"Well, I'm just sayin'... it's weird, Elijah. When you guys aren't in sync, none of us are."

I really didn't have an answer for her.

"Alex and Tim have been raving about the party on Saturday night; they say it was really a good time. No one got too drunk, and everyone got home safe."

I nodded; she didn't need to know I didn't really remember. "It was a good night."

"So what happened?"

"Nothing, that I know of." It was the truth.

"Elijah, come on, something happened, else you'd still be talking to each other!"

"Look," I said, leaning forward and lowering my voice. "Alicia asked me to focus more time on her, since we're getting married in a week. Is that really so bad?"

"No, but..."

"And I do spend a lot of time with Rochelle, right?"

"Well, outside the office I don't..."

"Marion, the face is, Alicia is my fiancée, and Rochelle is a good friend. I have to get my priorities straight."

She shrugged, and her eyes darted about the room. "Okay, well, I hope whatever is going on doesn't last long, because I just don't like my friends not talking to each other – for whatever reason, okay?" She turned to go.

"Marion," I stopped her. "I need you to do something for me."

# Chapter Fourteen

Rochelle

Elijah left around 9am, after tossing his completed articles unceremoniously on my desk without a word.

I braved the work day, hidden in my office. Tears threatened, and sobs thickened my throat more than once.

I cried that night, and wondered how I could fix this. I wanted everything back to the way it was, but it never would be. I knew then that he had remembered, and hated me for it. My dreams were nightmares of our time spent together gone horribly wrong.

The pastor stood stoic and silent behind his podium, his hands clasped on the Bible in front of him. He was decked in black, from shiny shoes to the dull black tie tight around his neck. His eyes avoided the crowd as they wheeled the casket to the platform. It seemed ironic that it was covered in shades of yellow, orange and pinks. Pastels had a difficult assignment: to ring in both new life and death. They struggled to be bringer of both good news and bad. Washed-out colors were appropriate for the fragility of life.

Matt would have hated them all and would have preferred camouflage or sports jerseys. The oak casket was closed. The mine hadn't let much to bury, but far too much to mourn.

Elijah stood next to me, gripping the seat in front of him so hard his knuckles were white. Tears splashed to the faded red cushions, and his body shook with the effort of his control.

It was the first time I'd ever seen him cry so hard. And I prayed it would be the last.

I slipped my arm around his waist and leaned my head into his shoulder. The black veil that covered my face was no match for the tears I shed. I'd always believed Matt was in a better place, but my heart broke for Elijah.

Even then, I longed to heal it.

I spent the night with him after the funeral, because he didn't want to be alone and his mother was grieving in her own way. In real life, we had curled up on his futon, trying to watch comedic movies to forget our sorrow, though it took us years to really heal.

But this was a dream, a nightmare from the recesses of my brain. As we looked into each other's eyes, he would lean in to kiss me, and the room would fade away. His kiss would be painful, like many of the men I had dated, and I would push away, my lip wet with the blood of a bite. Much to my horror, I realized we floated on a couch in a sea of lava that carried us to our doom. My skin burned, and he threw his head back and laughed at my agony.

I woke with the smell of singed flesh still in my nose and the touch of his kiss on my lips. Shuddering, sleep was impossible to find again that night.

I lay away until the sun crept over the mountains, the purple and blue hues matching the bags under my eyes. The mirror told me what toll the dreams had taken on me – from black circles under my eyes to abnormally paler skin. My eyes were dull; my hair was flat, and refused to cooperate. I pulled a navy blue beret over my short locks, and forced a smile onto my face.

# Chapter Fifteen

When I got to the office, I was running a bit late. An extra shot of espresso and some additional make up had done wonders, but made me a few minutes late. Marion informed as soon as the door shut behind me that Elijah had called in sick, and that he'd said he would email assignment updates later in the day.

I was okay with that, because I wasn't sure how I felt about seeing Elijah that day.

At noon that day, I received a blow that escalated the situation. An e-mail from Alicia that told me, in not so many words, that I was no longer welcome to be part of the wedding, but she gave no explanation.

Well, it was clear to me that Elijah had come clean with her and told her what had happened. I was a little surprised to find the wedding was still going on, but Elijah was the king of charm, and in the end, I could see him apologizing to her and making it all okay.

In fact, if I knew anything about Alicia, I would say that she had probably just forgiven him with conditions, and one of them being that he wouldn't talk to me at work.

It explained his behavior, but my wound was still there.

I let the email go unanswered, for now. I was a little relieved. I wanted Elijah to be happy, not have to deal with my jealousy at this point. Besides, I had no right to feel this way... I delved into work that day, again spending as much time as I could in my office.

I closed the email, so tired of dealing with this. If Elijah wanted to end an 8-year friendship, then so be it. There would be...

Oh, who was I kidding. There would never be anyone else but him. I sunk in my desk chair, with my head in my hands. I hadn't a tear to shed, but my heart hurt and I'd give anything to heal it.

A pop-up dinged on my screen alerted me to a new email. Exasperated, and praying it wasn't from Alicia again, I opened it. Rochelle, your frequent flyer miles are waiting for you. What's keeping you! Said the subject line.

Absently, I clicked on it.

I had been so careful with my savings and loans. It had taken me nearly 3 years to pay off the business loans I had taken out to get the magazine off the ground, and it was always nice to see my statements had such a low balance. I rarely went out, and when I did, it was almost always on Elijah's tab, who insisted it was his gentlemanly duty. We took turns buying coffee every day, and once a month I set aside a small portion of our profits for our lunch meeting at a local restaurant.

I really never paid attention to flyer miles. Where would I go? Everything I ever wanted was here. My job, my life, my...

Maybe it was time I stepped out of my fragile bubble.

Clicking through the email, I realized I had accumulated an astonishing 10,000 frequent flyer miles on my business loan, which was only a few hundred dollars from being paid off. It was a special "thank you" for being such a consistent customer.

Without giving it any thought, I started looking at airline tickets.

At first I thought of Florida. The sunny weather and a visit to some friends from high school would be rejuvenating. But I hated humidity. I looked at Nebraska, and contemplated seeing my retired school teacher father - that would be a welcome change of pace, to spend a few weeks on the farm with him.

But then I figured, why would I stop there, with a ticket virtually paid for anywhere in the world?

London, Madrid, Dubai. I could go anywhere.

Why should I spend another Christmas around my tree, sipping apple cider and contemplating my loneliness, when I could be snapping pictures of Stonehenge, or climbing the rock of Gibraltar?

Writing about all my adventures, maybe getting a gig as a travel journalist.

The problem with journalists – we always, always want to see the world.

My gaze floated to my tall bookcase, tucked in the corner behind the door. Journalism and psychology text books, references books, three different dictionaries, hard copies of Time magazine, Martha Stewart, and an encyclopedia crowded the shelves. My French dictionaries, from a long year I spent abroad. A framed copy of my first published story in Writer's Review sat next to copies of my degrees, including my journalism degree from the University of Paris years ago, a few honor societies, and certificates of works I had published over the years.

But next to that bookcase in the middle of the wall under the clock, sat my postcard, hanging in a carefully construction oak frame. The one I had sent home from France when I had studied my last year in graduate school. My father had given it to me on my graduation day, to remind me of how far I had come.

My life was told in a serious of framed plaques.

The flight was booked quicker than I could have thought, with surprisingly no blackout dates the week after Christmas.

No sooner had I hit print, then a knock on my door, startling me. With a quick click of the mouse, I closed the windows on my computer, and hit the "sleep" button on the keyboard, just to be safe.

# Chapter Sixteen

No sense in stressing people out about this so soon.

Alex opened the door slowly. "You got minute, Ro?"

"Yeah, I guess." I felt guilty, as if he knew was I was doing, as if he knew I was going to run away. "What's up?"

"I'm just checkin' in on you," he said, crossing his legs in the armchair and wrapping his laced fingers around his knees. "Things were a little... weird today."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know. You and Elijah always come in at the same time, you're both here when we all leave, you guys always joke around. Today was just... quiet."

"Hmm. Guess we were busy."

"Rochelle, really, honey, what is wrong?"

I shook my head. We were not talking about this.

He gasped, putting a shocked fist to his lips. "Oh my god, did you guys sleep together?"

"No!" I said, adding: "Gross!"

"Something happened, what was it?" He rolled his eyes. "You know you'll feel better if you told me."

"Alex, I know we've been friends for a while, but this is not something we are discussing. I hate gossip, and I hate drama. I'm not doing it."

"Oh, you're doing it, alright," he said, smiling and winking all at the same time. "I don't know who the lucky guy is, but it's someone. You breezed into this office on Monday, flushed and excited. But by Tuesday, you fizzled out fast. Girl, I wish I knew what was wrong."

"I had an extra shot of espresso that morning, that's all," I looked down at my folded hands in my lap, "must've been a sugar crash."

"Well, if espresso does that, I want to know where you're getting your coffee."

I chuckled, briefly, wanting this conversation to be over. "I think it's time to lock up shop."

"You're right. I'll walk you out," he said.

"Okay, give me a minute."

As he left to get his coat, I grabbed my face down flight reservations from the printer, folded it twice, and tucked it into my pocket.

It burned there, my own little secret. It was very rare that I had one all to myself.

Alex offered me his arm as we braved the ice in the parking lot at the back of the office.

"Elijah's been strange this week," he said, his voice quiet but earnest.

"Strange? How do you mean?" I figured ignorance was always bliss, right?

"Rochelle, he's hardly talked to anyone this week." He tiptoed around a large puddle that had frozen over since the sun disappeared.

"Hmm."

"Including you."

"Why do you care, Alex?"

"Because, honey, you are both miserable, you're both my friends, and I don't know what's going on. What happened?"

We reached my car, and I took back my arm to unlock it. I turned to him with my hands shoved in my pockets. Our breaths came out like smoking dragon's fire.

"Alicia may have caught us together the morning after the bachelor party."

His eyes flew wide at my statement. "Was ya'll wearing clothes, by any chance?"

"I was, he wasn't."

"Oh, my." He smirked behind a gloved hands held to his mouth.

"It's not like that," I protested. "Nothing. Happened."

"Something happened after I dropped the truck off, because you went back into their house."

"To take a shower!" I blurted, and my hand flew to my mouth. That was more than I wanted anyone to know.

"Why? Feeling dirty for sleepin' with a taken man?"

"No!" I knew my voice was rising, and I could feel the heat in my cheeks. "No," I repeated. "He threw up on me at the club. I had a 5-block walk home and I didn't want to do that with puke in my hair, okay? Alicia got home early..."

Alex put his hands up defensively. "Okay, so nothing happened – so you say – but you have to admit, it looks bad."

"I know, I know." I took my hands out of my pockets and studied them for a while.

"I mean, if I had a nickel for every time I'd been alone with a naked guy in my bedroom..."

"Alex, stop..."

"I'd be broke, of course."

That was more than I ever needed to know.

"I'm never wearing clothes when there's a sexy man piece in my bedroom."

"Alex! Oh my god, seriously?" I couldn't help but smile. "I love you man, but sometimes - I just would rather not picture that!"

He struck a dramatic pose, with a hand behind his head and one knee bent. "You're just jealous because I have all the tools and I know how to use them."

I really had nothing to say, so I opened my car door. "On that note, I'm really just going home now."

He gave me a peck on the cheek. "G'night, boss lady." As I slid into the driver's seat and cranked the engine, he added: "Don't be too hard on Elijah, remember we're all just guys, and we often think with our little head before our big one."

I laughed. "Okay, um, thanks?"

"All I mean is, when it comes to matters of the heart, logic rarely has much to do with it – so go easy on him."

A truer statement had never been spoken. I blinked back some tears. "G'night, Alex," I said, and he nodded, shutting my door.

I went home that night and sent one of the hardest text messages of my life – mostly because my throat hurt too much to say it to him. I held my flight reservations in my hand, and convinced myself that if he responded and we could make amends, I wouldn't go. But if our friendship was over, I'd leave. I could face my world here without him.

Technology can be both a blessing a curse sometimes. As soon as my message was sent, my phone told me he'd seen it. Then it told me he was typing a response.

And then, nothing.

I waited, worried my message had somehow bounced back, so I sent it again.

Message not received.

I stared at my phone in disbelief. I dialed his number without thinking. "The caller you are trying to reach is out of service."

Oh my god. He blocked me from talking to him.

I couldn't even make it right, whatever I had done. On a whim I called Alicia's number, and got the same message. They had both cut me out of their lives.

I packed, then. I needed something to occupy my thoughts. Rage, anxiety, stress, it was all flooding in at once. My hands shook as I tuck light, but functional, with slacks, sweaters, and blouses into my large rolling suitcase. My mind still raced, and I spent the wee hours of the morning researching different places to visit and stay, and worked through a few language tutorials on YouTube to brush up on my rusty skills.

The next morning, Thursday, Elijah beat me to the office. I waved hi, and he turned back to his computer, without a motion or a word.

My heart burned so badly. As the day wore on, I realized: he probably remembers, and hates me for lying. Considering that he'd removed me from being able to call or message him, well, I think that was a definite goodbye. He'd turned in his formal resignation last week, and his final day would be December 30th. That was fine with me. If he wasn't talking to me, then so be it.

Our friendship was crumbling, and all I could do was watch.

It's amazing how one interaction can change that entire mood of the workplace.

Our weekly meeting that afternoon, accentuated the somber tone of the week. It was dour and drab, with awkward lapses between discussions, and silences that made my eye twitch.

"Just a brief reminder, we're down to the wire, but I'm pushing article deadlines until next week. We're hoping to publish mid week, so we can hold the... party... next Friday."

Friday of course, was going away party/engagement party for Elijah and Alicia.

I'd be on a plane headed east before the party ever began.

All around the circular table, blank stares greeted me, Elijah's was the only one I could see. As soon as I looked at him, he looked away.

A few collective groans greeted me as well.

"Okay who died and made you Ebeneezer?" Alex spoke up.

"Yeah, I mean, Christmas is Saturday!" Tim said nasally, blowing his nose loudly into a tissue.

Marion looked at me and shrugged. "I'm done."

Everyone looked at each other and nodded.

"Is everyone either done or close to being done?" I asked, looking at my meeting notes instead of his crystal blue eyes. "I'm using the holiday to work so I'll probably be here..."

There was silence at that, then a few murmurs.

I switched the subject. I cleared my throat, looking at Alex. "Plans okay for the..." I searched for the right words, and forced them out: "boy voyage party?"

He nodded.

This meeting was dragging on. "So, um, how are we doing on our assignments? I've finished Barb's Barbs, and the expose on the local Christmas celebration at the resort is done. Let's go around and check in."

Silence.

"M, why don't you start?"

Marion looked me, blinking.

"M?"

"Oh, um, the Christmas dessert article is done, today I should finish the bacon article as well. Did you want the crepes recipe in the international section?"

"Yeah, that would be fine." I looked at Tim.

"Edits to the webpage?"

"Yeah, they're fine."

"How about you guys?" I looked pointedly at Elijah and Alicia.

Elijah shuffled his notes, staring intently at them. "Announcers articles are done, Coach Smith interview just needs to be typed up. Alex, you have the pictures?"

My photographer nodded. "Yeah, just shoot me the interview and I'll put the pictures in."

"Okay."

Alicia stared at me, not saying anything. Her glare was harsh, almost hostile. Elijah nudged her. "We have the accident reports from last year I've compiled, and some health and safety tips for the holidays. I'll get those to Alex."

I looked at Alex. "So I need the articles in PDF format submitted by the close of tomorrow, so I can get the final editing done on Wednesday. Tim, I'll have the file formatted for upload Thursday morning, if we have no other hiccups."

I looked at my team once more, knowing this was the last time I would see them all in one room.

It was bittersweet.

They all looked back at me.

"Meeting adjourned." I banged my gavel just once, for the last time. The quiet shuffle out of the room was deafening.

Tomorrow was Christmas Eve.

# Chapter Seventeen

As the hour hand was dangerously close to 5pm, I poked my head out my door. "Marion, can I see you in my office for just a sec?"

"Yeah," she said.

I motioned for her to close the door. I knew I had her full attention when I didn't use her familiar nickname. My serious tone had her on alert right away.

"Marion, how long have you worked with me?" I asked as she took a seat.

"Three years now, boss man," she smiled. Her folded hands in her lap twitched slightly.

"How many food editions have you done solo?"

She thought about it. "The Christmas special last year, the Bacon edition a few months before that, and the dessert one we did a year back. Why, Rochelle?"

"Because I'm taking some time off. You're my new editor."

"What?!"

She stood then, her face a mix of confusion and elation. "Why? Where are you going?" She pushed her pink rimmed glasses up her nose.

"I just have to get out here," I said. My hand flew to my abdomen, glad for the high desk that blocked it from her view. "A change of scenery, maybe do a little research. Consider it a sabbatical."

"I can't do this on my own."

"Nonsense," I said, shuffling some papers around aimlessly. "Tim can do the web design, and Alex is taking over the graphics publishing. All you have to do is use your amazing leadership abilities during the weekly meetings, and check our staff progress. Write a few articles, maybe."

"But you do so much more..." she protested.

"I'll have my tablet, and we can Skype – weekly – if you have any problems. You can do this – there's no one I trust more."

"Please tell me you're leaving after the wedding."

"No. I fly out Monday morning. I've made a list for the meetings, and I just e-mailed you the spreadsheet of articles for the next couple of editions..."

"Rochelle." She dropped her voice. "Does this have to do with whatever this thing is between you and Elijah? The tension has been sky high around here; you could cut it with a knife. You two hold us together, and when you're not in sync, none of us are!" Then in almost a whisper: "Have you told him?"

I glanced beyond her, where Elijah's assistant editor desk sat next to the frosted window. Elijah sat hunched over his computer, with Alicia peering over his shoulder, pointing at the screen. He turned to face her and planted a kiss on her lips.

"I really don't think he'll care."

"He cares," Marion said. "Besides Alicia, you are his world."

That was precisely why I needed to go.

"You sure you can't fix this?"

My insides fluttered. I lowered my eyes. "No."

"Okay," she conceded. "Go get your fresh air; I'll hold down the fort, the best I can."

"Thank you," I told her. "I know you will do fine."

"Just promise me one thing," she said her hand on the door. "In three years, you have taken this publication far beyond you have thought possible. I am so proud of you. And you know he is a big part of your success. Don't lose him."

I nodded, too afraid my emotions would betray me if I spoke. But that was part of my inner pep talk today. Losing him was the healthiest thing I could do.

I lifted my coffee cup to her as she left. "Here's to vacations."

She smiled. Half way out the door she turned to me, and said, "Hey, what are you doing on Christmas?"

# Chapter Eighteen

Elijah

I reached over and turned the radio up. Some rocky Christmas crooner was belting on the Satellite radio about the presents under the tree. It reminded me that it was Christmas morning, but did little else. I shrugged into my coat, hoping she'd let me turn up the heat, but also to block out of droning. My breath fogged the windows, as we sped down the highway on route to her parents' house.

It's not that I didn't want to hear Alicia talk about her latest patients at the hospital; I just had other things on my mind.

That I really didn't want on my mind.

But Rochelle was there, none the less.

I would never forgive myself for how cruelly I had had to treat her over the last week. I prayed she was strong enough to hold on a few more days so this whole thing could blow over. I hoped she knew that if I wanted to save my relationship with Alicia, it meant setting a few bridges aflame.

But could I put this one out?

I honestly didn't know.

The song had changed and was talking about kissing Santa clause. Alicia turned it up, humming quietly to the tune. I cringed, hoping she wouldn't sing. I glanced at her and felt my mood soften. The long chestnut hair splayed down her shoulders, and her thin fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly at the top. She turned and caught my eye, smiling.

I loved this woman.

But... it wasn't the same. I'd started my novel this week, and I had no one to tell about it. No one to look it over, no one to discuss character development. I had tons of ideas for the upcoming editions of the magazine, but no one to share it with. There was a hole in my life that Alicia wasn't filling, and I wasn't sure how to fix it.

The song ended, and Alicia turned down the radio to discuss a recent triage episode on her shift last night.

My life was a triage, who was I kidding? I looked out the window at the blur of tall trees on the side of the two lane highway that weaved its way over the white-capped mountains. The shades of green and brown in the forest were moving too fast for me to see the details of the strong pines, which had stood strong for so many decades. Their mossy tops blended with the gray storm clouds that threatened the arrival of more snow. The two-lane highway was empty except for us, the pavement a haze that matched the sky; I knew Alicia would be pushing 80 miles per hour, or more. A wedding in a week, a move in two, and hopefully a new job down the road. Everything was changing, and it was honestly looking like a bit of a wreck.

Rochelle would have said that the most beautiful wreck has a silver lining.

"Wha'cha thinking about?" Alicia broke the awkward silence.

"Oh, just work stuff," I said, rubbing my hands together to invite warmth. "Can we turn the heat up?"

"I'm so glad to be out of here and on with our lives, don't you think?" her voice held no mirth, no spark.

"Yeah," I agreed, blowing into my freezing gloved hands.

"I have some good news for you," she said, eyes on the road.

"Really?" Stop talking. "And where's that heat?"

"I signed those papers for the condo on the coast we looked at on the net."

The one with a price tag equal to our income? "What?" I exclaimed. I turned the heat up, deciding she was ignoring me.

"Yeah, with the private hot tub and full pool access..." She turned the heat off.

I looked out the window, my hands turning to icicles. "We hadn't decided on anything, Alicia," I was very angry. "And we can't afford that place."

"Oh, we can, I mean, as soon as you get a job it will be fine."

"I thought I was going to work on my novel for a while." The cloudy circles of my breath crowded the window.

"Well, I mean, you're not getting paid for it yet so you might as well look for work until it gets off the ground."

"Maybe," my teeth were clenched.

"And besides, we both know it's never going to go anywhere. Medicine, science, logic. That's where the big money in writing is, after all." She hummed along with the radio's tunes of the Christmas trees.

That hum had never irritated me so much in my life. Despite the fact we were speeded down the highway, I just wanted to punch out the window, leap from the car, and hike all the way home.

"Turn up the heat." I said quietly.

"It's not even cold in here." Her eyes fixated on the blurring pavement, as we careened around a corner.

"It's freezing, it could snow any moment."

"Some people have all the heat they want, and they still can't be satisfied with what they have."

"Well, maybe the heat makes them feel warm and comforted, like no other heat can."

"Maybe the heat isn't what they need and it's not what makes them happy!" The small car was no match for her rising voice.

"Maybe the heat is exactly what I need and you aren't!" I'd never yelled at her. Not in 3 years. In a quieter tone, I said, "I'm cold, turn up the heat."

"No."

I sighed, and gave up. It was Christmas, and I could only imagine what the visit to her parents would be like if I continued this conversation.

Fuming, I slid my phone out of my pocket for something to deter my attention. Maybe she'd said Merry Christmas. Something, to open the channels of communication – the silence was killing me. I browsed my messages absently, looking for one from her. Mom, Marion, Alex. A friend from high school. Alicia. And this one? The sender was "unknown."

So, our lives take us in different paths. And so it's meant to be, because I cared about you more than either of us would even admit. I miss our friendship; my hurt hurts that I can't fix this. You know me, I want to fix everything. My life without you is bleak. You were my friend during a dark time when I needed someone the most, and you inspired me to start writing. You were there the first day our business opened. You taught me not to care what others thought, and showed me chivalry I thought died long ago. I'll never forget you, and it's been an honor to call you my friend. No matter where life takes you, never forget to inspire others, live, learn, laugh, and love.

I knew from the tone it was Rochelle. But why "unknown"? I typed a response, my phone turned towards to window to avoid Alicia's peering eyes.

Rochelle, this sounds like goodbye? It doesn't have to be. You are my best friend, I don't say that lightly. Life will never take me away from you, because we always end up coming back. We can fix this, we just have to give this time...

My clumsy cold fingers slipped off the "e" on the fragile touch screen and hit send. Almost immediately, a ding alerted me that the message was not sent.

Now I was seething.

"Alicia." My teeth ground so loudly I thought my head would explode.

She glanced at me, then back at the road.

"Alicia, turn... the... heat... UP."

"I said no."

"Alicia, I mean it."

"You need to learn to live with it, because it's better for you."

"Alicia, did you block Rochelle from my phone?"

She was silent.

"I swear to God, Alicia, turn up the heat!"

"NO!" she yelled. "You need to learn that your little whore isn't what you really want!" She slowed to a crawl around a sharp corner, thankfully actually following the recommended 25 mile per hour speed for once.

I grabbed the wheel and yanked it from her hands, spinning the car out of the control. The front tires caught the edge of the highway and sent the car rolling. Three times my head smashed against the window until it finally shattered, spraying pointed glass into my cheek and all over my lap, before everything went dark.

All I wanted was heat.

# Chapter Nineteen

Rochelle

Thwump!

I jumped as the basketball bounced harmlessly off my windshield, and rolled onto the grass in the front yard.

"Ma! Aunt Rochelle is here!" Levi, Marion's 11 year old son, yelled at the front door, picking up his ball. "Sorry."

Well, the jig was up, and I'd have to go in after all. I got out of my car and hoisted my box of gifts from back seat. The sport store had made a killing on my credit card yesterday.

As I walked up to Marion's brightly lit 2 story house, Liam popped his head out an upstairs window. "Aunty Chelle, did you bring cookies?"

I looked up that tall, gangly 14 year old. "Sorry bud, no, but I have fudge!"

"I'll be right down, gotta get pants on!"

Marion flung open the door, dresses in a shimmering crimson skirt, a black blouse, and a neon green and red apron tucked over it. She hugged me. "I'm so glad you could come!"

She leaned me to the side as a football went barreling past, narrowly missing my ear. "Luke! You better not be playing in the house!" she screamed, and I swear it was directly at me, and not into the recesses of the house.

I found myself wondering why in the world I had agreed to this chaos.

Oh yeah, because spending Christmas alone again was the worst feeling in the world.

I remembered last year, curled up with A Christmas Carol and drinking hot chocolate, spiked with coffee. Okay, it was mostly coffee. I still didn't know why I needed a six-foot tree, but Christmas had been such a big deal in my family as a kid, it seemed wrong not to have the biggest and the best. Elijah had begged me to go with them to Alicia's parents, but I had declined to serve as third wheel, especially on the holidays. I had went shopping on Christmas, when the stores were blessedly empty and stress-free, and treated myself to a prime rib dinner at a local diner, where I was one of three customers that the tired waitress served. At the end of the day, I was still alone, curled up under my blankets, and grateful the day was finally over.

It was a far change from four years ago, when Alex had cleaned obsessively for 3 days, just to have Alicia and Elijah over, who had just started dating. My relationship was Alex was fading by then, and even though he'd been distant and unaffectionate, he'd gone to great lengths to feign his physical attraction for me still existed. I never knew why, but it had made Elijah especially uncomfortable – I could see it in his eyes, the way he sifted in his seat, and his constant pacing in the living room. I had thought it was because he was in a new relationship, and Alex and I had been together for a little over a year, and the differences were too great. Now I always wondered if it had been something else.

Three years ago had been a little better, when it had just been Dominic and I, his parents being two states away and our college checking accounts on the negative side. Our tree was filled with crowds of tiny boxes containing memory sticks, jump drives, and CD's, the only thing he knew how to shop for. He hated Christmas movies and was a vegetarian, so our dinner had been tofurkey on top of gluten free rolls. I'd fallen asleep alone that night, as I did most nights, to the sounds of him hacking and slashing away on his video games.

So the next year, when Alicia had started her job at the hospital, and picked up double overtime on Christmas, it was just Elijah and I for the holidays. We had baked cookies and a turkey, danced around the Christmas tree, and laughed to the Muppets. It was one of the best Christmas memories I had, and I held it close to my heart. It was almost enough to make up for my loneliness the year before, and the year after.

Christmas and I just didn't get along these days.

Seventeen year old Luke came barreling in from the back yard, muddy cleats leaving icy brown remnants on the clean kitchen floor. Marion held her hands out to indicate the marks, then held them up. "Really, son?"

Luke looked behind him, tossed his long red curls, so close to his mothers, out of his face. "Whoops, sorry, Ma." Then to me, "Hi, Aunt 'Chelle."

"Take them off, and come get this box from Aunty."

He did, and went about putting them under the already crowded tree. "It's just some football gear and gift cards in really big boxes," I whispered to Marion.

"They'll love it."

"Weren't they just toddlers yesterday?" I sighed. Luke frowned at me.

"Yeah, they were. I remember when Liam was still trying to climb on the table for fudge that one year, and we caught him.

"I still like fudge!" the teenager called from the stairs. He barreled down them, two at a time, and flew at me in a hug. The boy was taller than I was!

"Geez, M, what do you feed them?" I laughed, clapping Liam on the back. We moved towards the kitchen, where a timer was shrilling.

"Not blondes!" Luke called after us.

Marion shot me a look that just said, boys! "I swear, Rochelle, if you ever have a teenage boy, keep him away from girls! Or pray to God he doesn't think he's God's gift to women like Luke does!"

"Present, Ma, I am a present, it's Christmas," Luke called, the back door slamming behind him.

"I don't know how you do it, M," I said, taking a seat at the wide breakfast counter that was laden with cookies of every shape, size, and color. I chose a particularly tasty looking one akin to a candy cane. The peppermint and white chocolate flavor was exquisite.

"I need a nanny," she said, pulling more treats out of the oven.

"If I have four boys, a nanny would be at the top of my Christmas list!" I exclaimed, devouring a chocolate looking sweet.

"Watch, just watch, you'll have all girls, and they will all be smart and gorgeous, just like you."

"Ma!" Levi called in the front door. "Da's here, he's bringing in firewood!"

Less than a minute later, both Leo, Marion's husband, tramped through the door in heavy boots. He still had on his bright orange reflective vest, and through the frosted glass of the oak front door I could see his power truck parked safely in the driveway, the white ladder tucked nearly on top. He was a big man, with a belly built of whiskey and a head of shoulder length blond hair he tied back in a ponytail. He had a stack of 5 split logs in his hands, that he dumped in the bin by the roaring fireplace.

"Hallo, Chelle," he nodded towards me. "My boys causin' ya some trouble?"

"No, although I did almost suffer death by football the minute I walked in the door." I smiled. Although they had immigrated here about 10 years ago, Leo O'Malley had retained nearly perfect accent. It was a refreshing.

"Football?" he stripped off his vest, hanging it in the closet behind the front door. His boots echoed heavily on the floor. He grabbed a handful of cookies as he crossed to the back door. "Lukey m'boy, toss one to ya ol' Da!" and shut the door behind him. Liam and Levi jumped up to join them.

"Man of few words, he is," I said to Marion.

"I could be so lucky a wife," she replied, pushing her thin framed glasses up on her nose.

"I hope I can find a man like that – strong, silent, and hard working," I said wistfully, without realizing I had said it out loud.

"Aye, I love my Leo but sometimes I wish he wasn't a' dumb a' a bag o' rocks."

I stared. My mouth was probably open.

"Oh, don't ya look a' me like that," Marion chided, putting the large bird in the oven. "He's good for the boys, and puts this roof over my head. But just sometimes, I wish we could discuss Hemingway or Hughes, Stephen King or James Patterson. He's just not much on th' talkin'... or the thinkin', really."

Hemingway. Elijah and I had discussed "Hills like White Elephants" forever, debating the real meaning behind the dialogue. Our heated discussion had turned to laughing hysterically over what kind of beer they were drinking. Good times.

"I supposed I'll just take a man who works hard but also likes to read. I'd be happy with that." I'd be happy with Elijah.

Marion only smiled.

After a few more snacks and a glass of sweet red wine, it was time for presents. Even Luke, a senior in high school, squealed with delight at his video games, football helmet, and new cleats. Levi and Liam was excited to find a new basketball hoop for the garage, and a video game system. The living room was littered with paper, boxes, and shreds of sticky tape before long.

Dinner was a delicious roasted goose, while Leo complained of the price of a good bird in America. There was broiled cabbage with cracked pepper and fresh shaved garlic, wild rice with bacon and cranberries, parsley and butter laded mashed potatoes, and never ending wine that flowed for the adults. Marion was an amazing cook, and I was delighted to pass on my compliments to the chef.

It was a meal fit for royalty, and a day that celebrated all that was good about the holidays.

As I went to leave, Marion and Leo stopped me while I shrugged on my coat. "This is for you," Marion said, pushing a small package into my hands. "Open it later," she whispered in my ear.

I nodded, and thanked them for a wonderful Christmas.

Backing out of the driveway, I finally allowed myself to cry. It was the best going-away party a girl could ask for.

As I waved good bye to the American Coastline on Monday morning, the plane tilting with its accent, I wiped away the tears and urged my ears to release pressure. I was leaving so much behind, but I had so much to look forward to.

Just before the Electronics Nazi – some called them stewardesses – made us shut down devices, a text message from Marion beeped on my phone:

I just got a call from Elijah's mom. He and Alicia were in a car accident, and are in the hospital, he's unconscious, looks bad –

"Excuse me," the stewardess said, ripping my phone from my hand and holding down the power button. "ALL electronics off, please," and threw my phone in my lap.

I was frantic. Oh my God, Elijah. I had to go back; I had to see if he was okay...

The rush of the engines clouded my sensitive ears as we rapidly soared into the air, and I realized there was no going back.

THE END OF BOOK ONE

Continue the story by reading the rest of the romantic

Postcards from Paris series by Author Rebekah Dodson.

Book Two: The Runaway

Book Three: The Dependent

Book Four: The Independent

Book Five: The Choice

Book Six: Heart and Soul

Be sure to "Like" Rebekah Dodson on Facebook and find out

early when her next books will be released!

<http://www.facebook.com/realrebekahdodson>

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