Page 83 of Something that Could Last

It’s been almost a month since Jacob went home, and things have settled down quite a bit. My emotions are still all over the place, but I’m coping better with his absence. I resigned from my job at New River Adventures. The owners didn’t even try to persuade me not to leave. In truth, I think they were glad to be rid of me. Luckily, one of the servers at Rosie’s graduated from nursing school and got a new job at the hospital, so she increased my hours. With tips, I make more there anyway.

Caleb was sentenced to twenty-eight months in prison for what he did to me; not nearly long enough, if you ask me. I still have nightmares about that night. I probably will for a long time. It makes me sick thinking about what he could have done to me. My stomach churns at the thought of him getting me alone and doing whatever unspeakable acts he had planned. Bile rises in my throat just thinking about it, the bitter taste hitting the back of my tongue, but I manage to swallow it down. I drink a glass of ice water to wash the taste out of my mouth and the sensation calms.

I get ready for work and head to Tiff’s house to pick her up. She hops into the car with her usual enthusiasm and pulls out her lip gloss. I want to tell her not to overdo it like she obviously did on her perfume this morning, but I keep that comment to myself. She may be in a good mood right now, but it’s easy to piss her off, and I have to work with her all day.

As soon as we walk through the back door of the restaurant, the smell hits me. Burning grease and fried chicken. Yuck! How have I never noticed that stench before? My stomach does a little flip again and I cover my nose with my shirt to keep from gagging. Luckily, I make it through the rest of the day without feeling that way again.

Tiff asks if I want to come in when we pull up to her house after work. I feel the exhaustion that I’ve gotten used to sinking in, but I say yes anyway. We end up painting each other’s nails and giving each other facials, something we haven’t done in a long time.

“How are you doing?” she asks as she swipes coral polish over the nail of my big toe. She doesn’t raise her eyes, but I know she’s gauging my reaction with her peripheral vision.

“I’m okay.”

She sighs and screws the lid back onto the bottle of nail polish. “Really,” she admonishes with a stern softness only she can project. “How are you doing?”

Tears well up in my eyes and spill down my cheeks. “I miss him,” I confess. “I miss him so much it hurts.” I sniffle. I’m not going to ugly-cry in front of her like I’ve done alone in my bed every night. “And he hardly talks to me lately. We text back and forth every day, but I’ve only spoken to him a few times this past week.” Tears continue to roll down my face. “I’m afraid he’s lost interest. Now that he’s gone, the allure of me is gone, too.”

“Oh, honey. I’m sorry you feel that way, but I’m sure that isn’t the case. I saw the way he looked at you,” she tries to assure me. “That man is crazy about you, but he leads a very busy life, just like you do. His dad is a senator, for crying out loud! I can’t imagine the pressure he’s under. He must be pulled in a hundred different directions on a daily basis.” She wipes my tears away and pats my hands. “Cut him a little slack.” She gives me a crooked smile. “Even though he’s damn near perfect, he’s still a guy.” This makes me giggle, and it feels good to laugh.

Tiff stands abruptly and holds out her hand. “Come on. There’s a whole pint of Rocky Road in the freezer.” I take her outstretched hand and let her pull me to my feet. “And you and I are gonna demolish that sucker.”

UGH, LATE NIGHTice cream was a bad choice. Especially coupled with early morning running. I slow my pace to a jog, and then to a brisk walk. When that doesn’t do the trick, I stop and bend over, trying to catch my breath. If I just breathe through it, it’ll go away. The only problem is it doesn’t. The Rocky Road is about to make a reappearance. My stomach clenches and I press my palms to it, willing it to calm. It doesn’t work. I heave and spew last night’s indulgence and this morning’s sports drink all over the pavement. It splatters up onto my shoes and shins, which makes me heave again.

Once everything is expelled from my stomach, I dry heave for what seems like an eternity. My face is flushed and tears prickle my eyes. I splash cold water from my bottle all over my face and wipe it with the bottom of my shirt, then I pour some in my mouth and swish it around before spitting it out. I’m afraid to drink any of it, so I don’t swallow a drop.

When it feels safe to move again, I turn towards home and jog back slowly. I hadn’t made it halfway through my run before getting sick, so I’m back long before I have to get ready for work. I sit in the air conditioning for a while and sip ice water before running a bath and soaking my tired muscles in it.

Feeling immensely better, I realize a long, relaxing bath must have been what I needed. I dry off, get dressed, and tentatively nibble on a piece of toast. My stomach doesn’t protest so I eat a banana on my way to Tiff’s. When she gets in the door, she turns to me with a look of concern.

“Are you okay? You’re looking a little pale.” She studies my face for a moment. She knows I must feel bad if I’ve lost some of the color on my tan face.

“I’m fine now. That ice cream did me in, though.”

“Ugh, for real. I woke up hella bloated this morning. You should’ve stopped me after that first bowl.”

“Yeah, same here.”

The rest of the day is uneventful, albeit busy, and my body is worn out when I pull into my driveway after work. I sit at the table with my grandmother and eat supper in silence.

“Abigail, I’m worried about you. You hardly eat, and I know you’re not sleeping well. I can tell by the dark circles under your eyes. Plus, you look like you’re losing weight.”

She’s right, I’ve lost nearly seven pounds since Jacob left. That’s a lot on my small frame. “I’m okay,” I tell her, though I’m not sure if it’s the truth or a lie. I’m doing better, but I’m not doing well. I just don’t want her to worry. I force myself to eat most of my dinner, hoping that will ease some of her distress.

I fall into bed early that evening, not even bothering to take a shower. I just don’t have the energy. I’ll get up early tomorrow morning and strip my sheets and wash the restaurant grime away.

But I don’t wake up early. I snooze my alarm a million times. I don’t get up until the increasingly familiar sensation overtakes me and I leap out of bed, barely making it to the toilet in time before vomiting violently into the bowl. I retch until my stomach is empty and my throat burns, a nasty film of bile covering my tongue. I must have overdone it last night at dinner after eating so little for so long. I flush the toilet, brush my teeth, and turn on the shower. I step into a stream of tepid water and let it cool my overheated skin. I feel feverish. I must be getting sick, probably a stomach virus. I’ve only felt this way one other time and I ended up having the flu.

I take some Pepto and pop a couple Tylenol when I get out of the shower. I’m shivering not only from the cool water but also from low blood sugar, no doubt. I can’t stomach the thought of eating anything right now, so I sip some orange juice and grab a granola bar for the road.

I perk up around twelve-thirty, just in time for Tiff to show up for work. I need the extra money, so I volunteered to come in early to fill a gap in the schedule. She strolls up to me at the counter and we wait for our orders to come up.

“Hey, you wanna head to The Red Stallion tonight? It’s Ladies Night, so half price drinks.” She sings the last three words in a lilting soprano in an attempt to entice me.

“I don’t know, Tiff. I’m not really feeling it.” Not to mention the thought of alcohol makes me want to barf, and drinking in public scares me since the incident with Caleb.

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun.”

I know she’s only trying to get me out of my funk. We haven’t been out in weeks, not since Jacob and Luke left. I just haven’t felt up to it. I guess she feels like my mourning period is over. She pleads with me, using those big, blue, baby doll eyes, folding her hands together like a begging child. She mouths, “Please” and I lose my resolve. Manipulative hussy.

---