Stages of Grace - By Carey Heywood Page 0,57

myself. When my eyes open, I know that Jon is watching me, waiting for me to respond."I didn’t think you cared anymore." I’m unable to keep my voice from breaking at the end.

Jon hurries over to me and pulls me into a familiar, though long absent, hug.

"I'll always care about you, Grace."

I nod my head against his chest.

"I just wanted to come tell you that." He slowly releases me, gently wiping a stray tear from my cheek.

"That means so much to me."

"So that guy?" He nods toward the door.

"Ryan?"

He looks at the floor. "Are you two?"

"What? No" I say quickly, too quickly.

Jon looks at me like there is something else he wants to say before turning toward the door. "I should go."

"You don’t have to."

"I don’t want to get in the way. Will you call me, when you get to Florida?"

I don't know what else to say. "I can do that."

I walk him to the front room, giving him one last hug before he leaves. Afterward, when I turn to face Ryan and Nikita, I notice their expressions. Ryan looks wary, like he isn’t sure what to do and Nikita looks concerned, worried Jon's visit may have upset me.

"Have you guys eaten yet?"

They both nod and I help myself to a cinnamon raisin bagel with cream cheese. Holding half of my bagel in one hand, I grab a small box and head towards my car, taking bites as I make my way down the stairs. My car keys are in my pocket so I inhale the rest of my bagel to grab them. I pop the trunk and set the box inside. Ryan and Nikita are right behind me with more boxes. We are able to fill every single spare inch of space in my trunk before moving on to the back seat. The TV goes in first, its screen facing the backseat, and boxes and bags stacked behind it. The last couple of boxes and our duffle bags prove to be somewhat of an issue.

One bag eventually ends up in the foot area of the front passenger seat, and the other rests on top of the middle console. As Nikita and Ryan do a final sweep, I walk over to the leasing office to get someone to do a final walk through. The extra leasing agent is showing an apartment so I have to wait a couple minutes before someone can help me. When I get back to the apartment, I see Nikita and Ryan trying to figure out how to fit the rolled up air mattress in the car.

"Don’t worry about it. Nikita, do you want it? If you don’t, we can just toss it."

"I don’t really need an air mattress," Nikita says, crinkling her nose.

"I could use one," the leasing agent ventures.

I think about it for a moment. "If I pass the walk through, you can have it."

"Well, let's take a look."

I follow the leasing agent through each room. I'm not worried about her finding anything wrong. It's not like Jon or I had put any holes in the walls or stained the carpet. Once the inspection is complete, and I’m given my carbon copy of no issues found form I hand the air mattress over. Then Nikita surprises me by getting teary again.

"I'm gonna miss you, Grace." Nikita pulls me into a hug.

"You'll have to come down and visit me then."

"Can we go to Disney?"

"Um, sure."

Nikita leaves not long after that, and Ryan and I hit the road. I drive the first leg, since I’m familiar with the area. We're starting later than expected, with Jon stopping by and me having to wait for a leasing agent. Where we stop that night depends on how traffic is and how many stops we make. We’re only on the road an hour before we make our first stop. I'm now regretting that cup of coffee. We go ahead and eat lunch while we’re stopped to avoid another. Ryan asks about Jon.

I look away. "Jon just wanted to say goodbye."

"He seemed upset."

"He said he would miss me."

"That was nice of him to say."

He sounded so sincere. I look at him, and he shrugs. I wonder why he seems so interested in Jon. I change the subject and ask him about his business and who's managing it while he's gone.

"I've got a couple of longtime guys that can handle everything for a couple of days."

"It's just so cool of you to do this. Seriously, thank you."

"Anytime, Grace, really."

I believe him.

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