Chasing Rainbows A Novel - By Long, Kathleen Page 0,16
slid through me. I peered at the dent in the desk and frowned. While denting Ryan’s desk gave me a small measure of satisfaction, I wasn’t sure whether he or I’d be getting the piece ultimately, so I decided to pursue Plan B.
I cradled the trophy in the crook of my arm then piled the additional trophies on top. Two. Three. Five. Seven.
Perfect.
I hurried out of the office and into the hall. Poindexter stuck his head out from beneath the bed, took one look at me and ducked back out of sight.
I made it down the steps, to the back door and out onto the patio in record time. A pair of squirrels paused mid-frolic, watching as I lined the trophies along the back wall of the house. I hoisted the first above my head, and the squirrels dashed for the fence, scaling the vinyl and disappearing over the top.
Everything around me grew still, as if my impending rampage had lowered the cone of silence. No birds chirped. No tires squealed. No horns honked. No planes soared overhead.
When I released the crystal statue, I heard nothing but the satisfying crash of Ryan’s cherished prize shattering against the concrete.
Then my conscience kicked in. Loudly.
I’d looked away to protect my face from flying glass, but as I turned back, the glistening shards provided none of the gratification I’d expected.
Shame and guilt tangled in my gut.
Was trashing Ryan’s trophies that much higher on the maturity scale than burning his office? And what had the trophies ever done to me? None of these little swimmers had impregnated the future Mrs. Murphy.
“Is everything all right?”
I winced as Sophie Cooke’s voice sang over the hedge that divided our properties. Did the woman miss nothing?
Was everything all right? I stared again at the countless splinters strewn before me, the perfect symbol for just about every facet of my life.
“I’m fine, Mrs. Cooke.” Liar. “Just dropped a glass.”
Ten minutes later, I’d swept up every last trace of my transgression. But instead of carrying the surviving trophies back up to Ryan’s old office, I set them on the kitchen table. Then I tracked down a sturdy box and a roll of bubble wrap in the garage.
Carefully, meticulously, I wrapped each swimmer as if somehow I could make up for smashing their counterpart into smithereens.
When I finished, I placed the sealed box next to the front door. After a few minutes of sitting on the steps staring at the taped up cardboard, I knew I’d made a mistake.
The box looked pathetic waiting for Ryan to come back.
Poindexter settled on the step behind me and rested his chin on my shoulder.
“What do you think, buddy?”
He nudged my cheek with his cold nose, and I nodded in agreement.
“You’re right.”
I crossed the foyer, hoisted the box into my arms and carried my cargo to the garage.
I cleaned off a shelf then placed the box in its new home. I scrounged around for more empty boxes and totes before I headed back inside.
I worked the rest of the morning, packing, padding, purging.
Poindexter studied my every move as I cleared and cleaned each surface in Ryan’s office.
Once the boxes sat stacked in the garage, I returned to the office, now empty. The paint had faded, leaving marks where Ryan’s diplomas had hung.
I couldn’t sort out whether melancholy or satisfaction welled inside me. In the end, I decided it was loss--not hope--that consumed me still.
I didn’t know what the future held for the office anymore than I knew what the future held for me. I smoothed my hand across the empty desk then left and shut the door behind me.
Maybe closing the door would make my new life a bit easier to find. If nothing else, there would be one less reminder of the life my husband had left behind.
o0o
By Friday afternoon I knew I had to do something to fill my time or I really would have a breakdown. I’d be damned if I’d let that happen. After all, I had zero intention of proving either Ryan or Blaine McMann right.
I’d scanned the online job listings and found nothing matching my skills, so I headed for the only business where I knew the owners--Diane and David’s ice skating rink. Diane’s car wasn’t out front when I pulled into the lot, but I found David in the office.
“She’s not here--” he shook his head “--said she didn’t feel well.” He twisted up his mouth as if her pregnancy symptoms were harder on him than on her.