Page 61 of When Fate Breaks
No. I’ve known for six years and I still know. I just need to accept it.
It’s over.
I let out a sigh, pulling open kitchen drawers and searching for some sort of notepad and pen. Everything for the greenhouse is done. The glass panels are all ready, the tables are all finished, the plant hangers have been delivered, the new tile flooring is in. Everything just needs to be put in place and cleaned up. I had an order in for all the plants I hand selected at a local nursery days ago. I’m sure if I work through the night and call them first thing in the morning that I can have the plants delivered and in place by midday tomorrow while she’s at work. It’ll be finished. I will have done my part.
I’ve known for over twenty years and have reaffirmed in the last week and a half that Evangeline never eats breakfast, always flying out of the house with not a minute to spare. I begin thinking of her flushed freckled checks and golden brown hair falling in her face as she does so, but catch myself, pushing the image away. Today’s Saturday, so, if she’s keeping the same schedule she did last week, she should be helping her parents out at the store all day tomorrow.
The store.
Her parents.
I swallow hard, realizing I’m not going to get to see it or them before I leave.
God, it’s been so long.
I begin to reconsider my decision but quickly recall the scene from just a few minutes ago. Her in his arms.No.
It’s over.
I scrawl out the note before I can stop myself, placing it on the least obvious kitchen counter so that she’ll find it when she gets back from Jacks tomorrow.
Last minute job came up back in Lake Placid. Not going to make the shower after all. Greenhouse is done. Thanks for everything. Tell your parents I say hi.
– Blake
I stare down at the note, knowing it’s all that should be said, but that it’s not even scratching the surface of what Iwantto say. I roll my lips into my mouth, bending over and starting to add one last line, but stop myself. No.Just leave it be, Blake.
It’s over.
I shove the note back further on the counter, leaving it out of plain sight, and head back to the guest room to pack up my things. The quicker that’s all sorted, the quicker I can get the greenhouse together and catch a ride straight to the airport to hop on the soonest standby flight back to New York.
Once I get into my room, I only get a couple of things folded and into my suitcase before I remember I ran a load of laundry earlier today. I quickly reenter the hallway, taking the long way around to the laundry room to avoid their room at all costs.
I make it into the absurdly large laundry room, quietly pulling open the washer and dryer and finding them both empty. I turn around, examining the ten plus hampers that line the wall, seeing what looks like my clothes folded and set atop the one furthest away from the door.
Dammit, Evangeline.
The worst host in the history of hosts,my ass.
Of course she had to give me another reason not to leave without even trying. I shake my head, gathering up the laundry. It doesn’t matter. I’m doing the right thing. My dad always taught me growing up that one of the most important things in life is to know when to walk away.
The other half of that statement isand to know when to stay and fight, but I’m just going to choose to ignore that part right now.
Sorry, Dad.
But it doesn’t matter. It’s not applicable anyways.
It’s over.
I grab my last stray sock from the basket, shoving it into the pile of clothes in my arms.I start to make my way out of the room when something catches my eye in my peripheral vision. I freeze in place, slowly turning my head back to the hamper directly next to the one I just pulled my laundry from. Back to the blur of color I swore I saw.
I lean over, seeing the hamper in question is entirely empty aside from one wadded up clothing item at the bottom.
There’s absolutely no way.
I shift my pile of clothes to balance only in my left arm, reaching out with my right hand to pull the blue fabric from the bin. I don’t even get it all the way up to my face before the rest of the clothes fall from my hand. The shirt is inside out, but it doesn’t matter. I can clearly see the outline of the numbers through the worn out fabric. Can feel the texture of the crackling wording.
I manage to shake the shirt right side out, feeling a pit deep in my stomach at the same time the biggest smile pulls at my lips.
