Regrert Page 5

  This is where I noticed something. As I pressed the right arrow button over and over again, flipping from one picture to the next, I saw a progression taking place. Jenna and I had had a good time; that I was sure of. But looking through the pictures, I saw something forming--other than increased levels of sweat and noticeable tiredness in my body language. With the pressing of the arrow button making the pictures slide by one by one, I was able to see Jenna and mine’s relationship forming before my eyes.

  It was there, plain for anybody to see. The first picture, taken in front of The Eagle itself, was of me by myself, with my arms crossed and a crooked grin spread on my face. The next three, at The Statue of Liberty, were again just me. Each time, I had handed the camera to Jenna and then let her direct me into a proper pose, often joking and laughing through the whole ordeal. Then, as the day went on, and Jenna and I had spent more time together, time we used to talk and joke and well…I have to say it, flirt, the pictures started to change. They weren’t just of me anymore. No, six pictures after that first one in front of The Eagle, was of Jenna and me.

  At first it was kind of awkward looking, me on the left side of the picture and her three feet to my right. To anybody looking at it, it would be very clear we were not an item. But then, as the day got longer, we got closer--both emotionally and physically. Two pictures later we were standing side by side--not touching, but no large gap separating us. Two more pictures later and I had my forearm resting on her shoulder. Not an intimate touch, but just a showing of…friendship? That’s what I said to myself as I sat on the bed, suddenly feeling warm again despite the air conditioner that continued to hum quietly.

  Something else stuck out to me on the picture where I had my arm resting on Jenna’s shoulder, an object that was a simple sign and reminder that I needed to cool my jets a bit. There on my left hand, third finger after the thumb, was my wedding band, shining in the sunlight.

  I put my camera down and grabbed my cell phone out of my other pocket. I pressed the speed dial button for home.

  Amy answered on the third ring. "Hey, Hunny! How’s The Big Apple treating a country boy like yourself?"

  Her voice was every bit as sweet as the first time we met, and I knew I still loved her

  (Would that be enough?)

  more than anything.

  We talked for about ten minutes. I told her about my day--sparing the details of how up close and personal Jenna and I had started to get--about all the things I saw and all the places I went. She asked about Jenna, of course, and I easily picked up the curiosity and little bit of jealous concern in her tone and questioning. I’m pretty sure she meant for me to hear it.

  I did a good job of being simple yet convincing that Jenna was very nice and friendly and that she had been very willing to show me around all day. I didn’t tell Amy I was about to have dinner with her in a nice restaurant. Questions about my meals never came about.

  I knew I had to get ready for dinner--I was feeling disgusting and sweaty, in desperate need of a long shower--so I told Amy I needed to do just that. Shower.

  "Ok," She said. "You’ll probably be in bed not long after that, huh? Long day and all."

  "Yeah, probably." I lied.

  "Well, g’night, Hunny. I love you."

  I told her I loved her too and we hung up. I stood up and tossed the phone onto the bed and headed towards the bathroom for my shower.

  That was the last time my wife ever told me she loved me.

  I took a steaming hot shower and then dressed myself in the suit I had brought and had planned on wearing to meet with my publishers the following day. I arrived down in the lobby early, greeting the host who stood at the podium by the entrance to The Nest, and when asked if I wanted to wait for the rest of my party or go ahead and be seated I was hit with a vision of the elevator doors opening at the opposite end of the lobby and Jenna stepping out, followed by thirty seconds of us just looking at each other, me probably with a goofy grin on my face, as she crossed the lobby floor to the restaurant, like a bride meeting her groom at the alter. Call it preconceived awkwardness.

  "Go ahead and take me to our table." I said. The gentleman turned and headed through the doorway and into the restaurant.

  It really was a pretty nice place. Hardwood floor and the same chandeliers as the lobby, along with a fireplace in the far corner--unlit, being that it was summertime. The tables were set with white tablecloths--just daring you to spill something--as well as china and silverware the likes of which you never see at Applebee’s or Texas Steakhouse. In the middle of each table was a single tall candle inside an oblong glass globe. Most of the tables were full of people eating and talking quietly. A few waitresses and waiters were maneuvering about like pros. The host stopped at a tiny table for two in the rear corner of the restaurant and asked if it was suitable. I said that it was and took a seat.

  I sat alone and stared at the unlit fireplace for a moment, and then looked up to the mantel where there were half a dozen framed pictures of celebrities dining in The Nest. David Letterman was among them. It was then that I started thinking about the day's events and for the first time realized just how far away I was from home.

  It was while I was lost in these thoughts that Jenna appeared like an apparition at the table.

  "Dan, I’m so sorry." She said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I started reading in the bath and completely lost track of time." She gave me a What can ya do? shoulder shrug accompanied by an apologetic grin. "That ever happen to you? Forget the rest of the world while you read?"

  I nodded at once. "Even more so when I’m writing. I can lose a whole afternoon real quick."

  I spoke, but my mind wasn’t focusing on words, it was focusing on Jenna. It's amazing what a change of clothes can do to your opinion of a person’s level of attractiveness. Earlier, as you may remember, I stated that Jenna was attractive, nothing to write home about, but attractive. She was cute in many ways, some that I picked up on at first, and others that I noticed more as we spent the day together. But now, standing in her heels in front of our dinner table and apologizing to me for being late, she was knocking hard on sexy’s door.

  She wore a purple dress that clung to her tightly and stopped just above the knees. Her calves, flexed from standing in the heels, were strong and appealing. The low cut neckline revealed just enough to wake up your imagination and make you start wishing that it were cut just a little lower. She wore her hair down, freshly washed and shining.

  Add on top of that the little bit of makeup she’d dabbed on and the smell of her perfume--sweet and not too strong--and we had a winner.

  A quick glance over my shoulder proved that I wasn’t the only one that thought so. I saw three out of the four other men seated at tables around the restaurant quickly turn their heads away.

  Jenna took her seat, setting her little matching purple purse at her side, and asked, "So, you hungry?"

  Appearing at that instant, and with as much stealth as Jenna had, our waiter was at the table--dressed in a white shirt and black slacks and black non-slip rubber shoes--and was handing out our menus and the evening’s wine list. He gave off a pleasant sounding "I’ll return shortly," and then headed in the direction of the tables behind us.

  I opened my menu, eager to have my eyes focus on something other than Jenna. "So what’s good here?"

  Jenna grabbed the wine list from the table and flipped it over. "Honestly? Everything. The food here is delicious. I didn’t choose this place just for the convenience factor. In my opinion its one of the best restaurants in the city."

  I glanced up and our eyes met.

  "But, if you want specifics," she said smiling, "I know for a fact that the duck is excellent. The lasagna rivals Italy and the T-Bone… well lets just say you’ll never be satisfied by another steak again."

  We laughed and I closed my menu. "T-Bone it is."

  She flipped the wine menu back over to the front. "What kind of wine do you like?"

&nbs
p; I hated wine.

  "Oh, no favorites really. What do you recommend?"

  As promised the waiter returned, this time with two glasses of water and a basket of warm bread. "Have you all had enough time to decide on your meals for this evening?"

  Jenna took the lead, starting off by spitting out a date and then some words I didn’t understand, I guessed French. I assumed it was the wine order. Then she ordered the roasted duck for herself. When she was finished I delivered my T-Bone order and then the waiter was gone again.

  We had barley had time to strike up a conversation before the waiter was back with the wine. He sat out two glasses first, then, after opening the bottle with a trained hand of one who does that sort of thing for a living, he poured first Jenna’s glass full, and then mine. "Enjoy," he said, sitting the bottle between us. "Your meal will be out shortly."

  "I think you’re going to like my choice," Jenna said, setting the bottle to the side of the table. I watched her pick up her glass and swirl the wine around just a bit before she touched her lips slowly to the rim and took a small sip. She swallowed and then closed her eyes and took another sip, this one longer--deeper almost. It was a motion that was simple--common even--but was coming off to me as slightly erotic. By the time she opened her eyes I had downed half my glass. It was disgusting, just as I had anticipated, but either the bitter aftertaste or the presence of alcohol helped to loosen me up a bit.

  "So thanks for showing me around the city today. I’m sure people from here get tired of sight-seeing with the virgin tourists like myself."

  She was mid-wine sip and had to keep herself from spraying me with it as she laughed. When the wine was safely swallowed, "Virgin tourists? Wow, only a writer would come up with such a term."

  I held up my hands. "Guilty."

  (Not yet I wasn’t)

  "Seriously, it was no problem," she said reaching for a piece of pumpernickel. "I had a great time. I wish all the ‘Virgin Tourists’ I got to show around were as fun to be with as you are."

  I drank the rest of my wine and Jenna refilled my glass.

  It was only a few hours after this that I awakened naked in Jenna's hotel room, her body pressed against mine under the sheets of the bed, and had then been propelled into the unbelievable and despair-filled horror that would become the rest of my life.

  Chapter 8

  Restraining the urge to jump in my Jeep and follow Amy down the street like some sort of scene you’d see on COPS!, I managed to keep my composure and my head and attend instead to the matter at hand--the smoke detector.

  I opened both the windows in the kitchen, letting the smoke make its way out to wider spaces. Just as I was about to hop up on a chair and remove the batteries from the smoke detector, it stopped beeping on its on. Finally.

  I got the broom and quickly swept up the burnt toast and rogue crumbs that had spread themselves all across the kitchen floor when Amy had demolished the toaster, and emptied the dustpan into the trashcan.

  I picked the toaster up and examined it, looking inside the slots to see what had happened, almost as if I was shocked that my ancient, only half-way working toaster had finally toasted itself. The evidence was clear. One slot was fine, looked like it always did, but the other was charred black. All the coils on one side looked as if they had been barbecued. Whatever had happened, the result had sent Amy over the edge in her anger with me. For that, I would forever blame myself even more. To think that something as simple as purchasing a new toaster could have made all the difference in the world--would have kept me from even writing this--makes me feel increasingly worse every single day that I live.

  After tossing the toaster into the garbage can at the top of the driveway, I went back into the house, pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and switched in on. I knew it was useless; there was no way she was going to answer yet. Might not answer all day. Or the next, for that matter. It dawned on me then that I wasn’t sure when I would actually see Amy again. She did have Dillon with her, so that was a plus--premature thinking, oh yes--and all his stuff was at our house. She had to come back to at least pack him and her a bag if she intended to stay with friends, or her family in Baltimore. I doubted very seriously she’d consider staying in the same house with me after what I had told her and the way she reacted. And who’s to say it’d be her that was going to leave. I’d seen these things on TV and movies, it became increasingly more likely that she’d come home after teaching that day and wonder what in the hell I was still doing in the house, and that I’d better get out and start looking for someplace else to live because I’d never spend another night under this roof.

  I made the decision to leave my luggage in my jeep. Keep myself from having to pack again in a few hours.

  I was right, Amy didn’t answer my phone call, it went straight to voicemail. Her phone was off. Not only was she not going to accept my calls, she wasn’t even going to give me the dignity in knowing she knew that I was at least trying to talk to her. It’s a helpless feeling, having so much to say to somebody who doesn’t want to hear a word of it. Makes you want to scream at them, make them listen, because you just feel that if you could just have one minute of their attention, everything might be ok.

  I had two voicemails I noticed after hanging up on Amy’s voicemail with out leaving a message--I didn’t want to talk to a damn machine, I wanted to talk to her. I ignored them. I didn’t care what anybody else had to say.

  Just as I was headed towards my office the phone on the kitchen wall rang. Completely out of habit, and out of absolutely no desire, I picked it up on the second ring and gave off a cheerful, "Hello?" As if everything was just hunky-dory.

  "Mr. Dawkins?" a female voice answered back on the other end of the line.

  "Yes, this is Dan. Can I help you?"

  "Hi, Dan. This is Jodi Mueller, I work over at the Hillston YMCA. You’re nephew, Dillon, had joined us yesterday and I just wanted to know if he was sick today, or something."

  I leaned against the wall. "Sick? No he’s not sick. Actually he just burnt some toast before Amy and he headed out the door about an hour ago. Why?"

  "Did your wife say she was dropping Dillon off at the Y today?"

  I thought for a moment, recapping the morning’s events, and remembering everything that I had taken in while standing in the kitchen. "Well, come to think of it, Dillon didn’t seem to enthused about going back today. But I thought Amy made it pretty clear that he was. Did she never drop him off?"

  "No, she didn’t. It’s just that we are about to head out on a little field trip to the baseball fields over at Lakeside Park. I was just going to suggest that if your wife was running late dropping him off, she could just drop him off at Lakeside instead."

  "Oh…ok," I said, scratching my head. "I’ll let her know."

  "Alright, thanks! He’s a cutie, Dillon is. Bye."

  I hung up the phone. I didn’t know where Amy had taken Dillon, or herself for that matter, but with her cell phone turned off, I couldn’t deliver Jodi Mueller’s message, that much was a fact. With nothing left to do except beat myself up with my thoughts, and wait to maybe hear from Amy, I collapsed onto the couch in the living room--the bedroom feeling strangely off-limits--and fell asleep.

  The phone ringing woke me up. I sat up groggily and grabbed my cell phone, squinting at the caller ID to see who was calling. It was blank. I jumped up then, more awake and realizing it was the house phone ringing again. I picked up the cordless off of the table in the corner of the living room.

  "Hello?" I said, my voice scratchy.

  "Dan? Dan, is that you?"

  "Amy?" My heart started to pound, she was going to talk to me. "Amy, where are you? Come home, we need to talk."

  "Dan?"

  It wasn’t Amy.

  "Dan, this is Julia Deweese." Julia was a Chemistry Teacher at Hillston High School. She was short and round and always seemed to smell of chemicals, but I liked her. So did Amy. Amy was thrilled when she learned that Julia was teaching
summer school, too.

  "Oh, hi, Julia."

  "Dan, is Amy ok?"

  Absolutely not. And neither am I, really, thanks for asking. "Why? Did she leave the school early today?"

  "She never came in today, Dan."

  "I… uh… She never came in?"

  "No! She called me this morning, asked me to let everybody know that she was running a little late, had to drop Dillon off at the Y first, and then she’d be in."

  "Yeah."

  "Well, I got one of the secretaries to stand in for her, just watch the class until Amy showed, but Dan it’s after lunch now and she’s still not here. Do you know where she is?"

  I was about to spill the story to Julia, let her in on what had happened--and why not? The world would find out eventually--when there was a knocking at the door. It was hard, and rapid.

  "Julia, I have to go. Somebody’s at the door. I’ll call you if I find out where Amy is."

  As I was hanging up I could hear her saying, "You mean you don’t know?"

  I walked over to the door and opened it.

  Two police officers, one white and one black, both of them trying not to look me in the eye, stood on the sidewalk. My heart started pounding again and my stomach seemed to be joining it in the rhythm.

  "Dan Dawkins?" the white cop asked.

  "Yes."

  "I’m afraid I have some bad news."

  It was Amy, I knew it was Amy. The phone calls, they all hit me then. Dillon didn’t make it to the Y, and Amy never made it to work. Something had happened to them!

  I stood in the kitchen, the same place I had stood watching Amy speed off down the street and out of my life. I couldn’t force myself to ask the officers what the bad news was. All I could do was wait.

  "Sir, your wife…" He broke off, as if he couldn’t bear to say it. "You’re wife and nephew were in a car crash."

  My world started to turn gray.