Page 16 of Anders and the Girl Worth Fighting For
“Yeah.” He looked me up and down slowly, but otherwise, didn’t move. He didn’t offer me anything else, clearly leaving room for me to continue. Maybe. Oh, shoot. I took another deep breath and tried again.
“I’m Grace Witherwood, well it’s Sheppard now, or it will be soon. I hope.” I was rambling. I tried again. “We write — well, we wrote. We haven’t in a while and I don’t know why you stopped writing me…” I fumbled for a moment as I extracted the bundle from my coat. This was not going well. “I have our letters. Well, your letters to me, of course. You would have my letter to you, hopefully. Maybe you don’t. I don’t know what you did with them.”Stop. Talking. Grace.The very helpful voice in my head practically shouted at me and I squished my lips together to stop myself from talking more. It didn’t work.
“See, these are all of them. I need help and I didn’t knowwhere else to go.” I held the letters to him as proof of our connection, as desperation clawed at my throat and closed it up. This was a mistake. He wasn’t smiling anymore. I shouldn’t have come here. It turns out I had something to lose. It hurt. He stopped writing me for a reason and I should have accepted that.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
“Grace?” He took the letters from me and leafed through a few of them, seeing that they were indeed his. I couldn’t have made them up, though I suppose someone could have stolen them from me, but I had an ID to show him if he needed to see it. That would be a lot of someone to do just to pretend to be me.
He looked at me again, and it was like he actually saw me this time. I tried to take stock of what he saw. The rain soaked my hair, turning it a dark blonde and plastering it to my face. It dripped onto my coat and my pants had at least four inches that were soaked through at the bottom. I was shivering. It didn’t get too cold here in Savannah, but the rain was never fun to be in. My eyes were likely red-rimmed and puffy from crying the whole way here. At least I skipped makeup today and it wasn’t running down my face, though I’m sure I looked pale and tired with concealer to cover the bags under my eyes.
He turned into his house after he got a good look at me and I thought for sure he was going to shut the door in my face. Of course, he wouldn’t help me. I was a rain-soaked stranger standing on his porch, begging for help. It couldn’t get much worse than this. I braced myself for the worst and prepared to take a step back, admit defeat, and accept that I was well and truly alone in this world. Tears stung my eyes already. I needed to get out of here.
“I can’t believe it’s really you,” he said as he turned back to me. The letters were gone. Before I could react, he grabbed me, wet coat and all, and wrapped me in the tightest hug I’d ever had. Those muscular arms I had just been admiring wrappedaround me and pulled me in out of the cold and rain.
I couldn’t respond for a minute. Of all the scenarios I’d thought up in my head, this was not one of them. He never seemed like much of a hugger in his letters. Maybe I just didn’t think of marines as affectionate. I didn’t know. I hoped he’d listen for a minute, maybe offer some advice. Not even in my wildest imagination did he hug me. My imagination needed work.
I didn’t hate it, though. He smelled like fresh sweat and grease and citrus. The smell wormed its way into me and settled somewhere deep in my mind. I didn’t realize how cold I was until his arms came around me and the warmth of him seeped as equally deep as his smell. He melted my insides, warming me up body and soul. My arms went around him to return the hug before I realized what they were doing.
“Come in. Sit down,” he said as he ushered me inside and helped me out of my coat. “What’s going on?” I looked around the space. It was clear only a man lived here. There was a massive TV, one couch, and no pillows. Something in me loved that fact.
“Sorry to just show up,” I said as I took a seat on the couch. “I didn’t know where else to go.” I fidgeted with my coat zipper, trying to decide where to start. “I left Bill. A while ago, actually.” I decided I needed to set my story up so he would understand.
He sat down near me on the small couch. He turned towards me with his arm slung over the back behind me. I wanted to curl into the opening this left.
“About fucking time. Guy’s an asshole. Have I told you that yet?” Anders interrupted me with what was probably the most perfect thing he could have said at that moment. It cut through the tension building in me. I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me at that. I turned towards him, loosening up a little at the familiarity of that sentiment.
“Yes,” I said with a small smile, “you’ve told me. I think in your very first letter, and every letter after that.” I rolled my eyes but kept smiling. “Anyway, things have been — difficult — but in a good way, you know? I went no contact with my parents shortly after. Just like I knew they would, they took Bill’s side in the divorce. I got a job with an accountant and live in a tiny studio apartment above his office.” My situation didn’t embarrass me, but I still worried about what people would think. That wasn’t an easy habit to break. “It’s my place,” I said firmly. I don’t know who I was trying to convince. “And I get to do whatever I want with it.”
He didn’t respond and just let me talk. His eyes never left me and little zings of electricity ran through me at his undivided attention.
“Frankly,” I said a little more boldly than I had been speaking earlier, “I wish I would have done it earlier. It’s been very freeing not having to answer to him or deal with his anger or worry about his neglect or all the little things that used to set me on edge and wear away at my being.” The words rushed out of me. It was so much more than I planned on telling him, but it had always been easy to tell him things. Even before I sat here with his eyes on me.
My smile grew, and I thought about my little place. The grime that coated the bathroom and cobwebs that inhabited the rest of the space were long gone, and I had filled the space with a table and even a small couch. I put fresh flowers on the table every week and loved the soft, colorful look of them when I had come home from work every night.
“I’m glad to hear it.” The sincerity in his voice warmed me, adding to the lingering warmth from his hug. Heat spread through me. Ugh, I wasn’t here for a crush.Get it together, Grace.
“So, what do you need my help with?” He shifted on thesmall couch as he said this, and it took me a moment to pull my focus away from the brush of his knee on mine.
“Oh,” I said, momentarily dumb. Again. “Yesterday, while I was at the shop, two men stood outside. They looked so familiar, but I couldn’t place them at the time.” I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the rest of my story. “They just stood there, staring at me as I practically ran home. I thought I was safe.” I took another breath, squeezing my hands into a fist, trying to stop their shaking. “I remembered this morning where I recognized them from. They came into my work recently, asking all kinds of bizarre questions. I didn’t think too much about it, it’s not usual, and they left easily enough when Mr. Jones stepped out and spoke to them. Then this morning, I found this under my door.”
I pulled out the envelope I had stashed in my coat, which sat perched on my lap to avoid getting his furniture wet. Certain niceties would never leave me. My hands shook as I handed him a photo of my by with a target placed squarely on my his chest.
Mr. Jones was a kind old man, and he had been so generous with me when I left Bill and in the months since. He’s become like another grandparent in my time working for him. He filled a hole in my life that I didn’t even know I had. I couldn’t bear to lose him, too.
“The photo was specifically slid under my apartment door, and not the business door. You have to go up the stairs and know which door is mine to get to it,” I clarified as he looked at the photo.
“I take it this man is someone important to you?” He asked, and I realized I hadn’t even told him who it was.
“Yes,” I said, my voice shaking, “It’s my boss, Mr. Jones. He’s been so good to me.”
“Was there anything else with it?” He had switched to a firm and commanding voice that would intimidate anyone. Hehad straightened up, and I mourned the loss of his knee against mine. I didn’t realize how much that small point of contact calmed me.
“No. That was it,” I said, anxiety creeping back in.
“What did the guys say when they came into your work?” He asked as he turned back to me again. His knee pressed against mine. He didn’t even seem to notice it, but the contact calmed me. That was bad news. I didn’t need to associate him with safety.
“I don’t know,” I said. “They kept asking about money and some trust.” I shrugged my shoulders. “That’s why I thought it was about Mr. Jones. He is an accountant and deals with these kinds of things all the time. The only reason I thought it was suspicious at the time was because people don’t really walk in without an appointment. Accounting isn’t really that kind of business. They didn’t even ask to see Mr. Jones before the questions began.”
