Chloe (22 page)

Now he knows he has crossed a line from which there is no
return. He cannot take it back.

Chloe has obviously lost her appetite. She throws down the
menu on the table with more force, rattling the wine and water glasses. “I used
to feel safe around you!” she says, tears spilling down her flushed, furious
cheeks.

The sight shakes James to his core. He wants to reach out
and hold her, but at this point it would only mean disaster for the both of
them. He has no idea how to deal with her anymore. He cannot let her walk on
him. He has to stand firm.

Chloe chokes. “I used to feel normal when we were together,
doing whatever. No matter what happened between us, you were always the one I
could count on! But you are just like
everything
else in ma’ life! I
can’t give you what you want, or what you need, so obviously I’m the one with
the problem!”

James, blindsided and aching, does nothing to stop her as
she leaves.

•

The beach’s beauty is lost on Chloe’s grief. She does not
know why she chose this place to run to, given that this is where James first
professed his love. She does not care about the waves breaking on the shore, or
how beautiful the glittering sharps of shells look as they catch the last of
the daylight. She focuses on the lonely calls of the gulls and weeps.

So true that one never knows what one has until it is lost.
James was her only friend, her only confidant in an otherwise ugly, unkind
world… and she managed to push him away too. She has never felt such isolation.
Chloe watches the sun go down alone. She cries into her knees.

•

James sits alone in his room with a bible open in his lap.
The sun has set. He can see the lights of the city through his window, given
that their house is situated on a slope. He tries to read an old familiar
psalm, seeking comfort. He slams the bible shut. He stares out over the city
instead.

That same night, Chloe sits before her laptop in her
bedroom. A sense of profound peace has come over her. She has cried out all her
tears. She is finished fretting over what James thinks. The screen is blank,
cursor blinking, waiting for her fingers to start working their magic. She
starts typing.

•

It is the end of another very long day at the precinct. The
last of the police personnel are filing out of the building. Some of them are
headed to some big hit at the theater. They invited her to go, but she is just
too exhausted.

After shutting her computer down, Meryl takes a deep breath
and stretches her arms above her head, cracking her spine. She brings her hands
down and massages her greying temples. Her desk is a mess. It is a wonder she
can even find anything anymore.

Tomorrow is her day off. She supposes it would not hurt to
spend an extra thirty minutes tidying up so she does not have to start Monday
in a sea of clutter. She starts organizing stacks of paper and sticky notes.
She alphabetizes the files in her cabinet, adding those strewn over her desk to
the compartment. She throws away unnecessary documents and report drafts.

When she reaches the bottom of the clutter pile, she finds a
sticky note attached to an article involving a car accident. Meryl’s brows knit
together. She stares at the name on the note for a long moment.

She reboots her computer.

Instead of a measly thirty minutes, Meryl spends an extra
two hours at the station. She is the last to leave. Even the janitorial staff
is done before her. She takes notes throughout her digging, piecing together
information like parts of a puzzle. This case is uncharacteristically ill
explored and she will have a thing or two to say to the team who compiled the
data and wrote the report come Monday.

That is, if any of them still work at this precinct.

•

The calendar reads “Sunday”.

Chloe looks at freshly printed manuscripts of her
screenplay. She touches them gingerly, dusting her fingers over the warm pages,
smelling the ink as though a piece of her heart is contained within that stack.
She gets up and finds the Writers Market. She sits again and opens the manual,
browsing through for Screenplay publishers.

The same day, Kathleen is delivering the word. James sits
alone in the front row. He looks longingly at the empty seat beside him.

Later that day, Chloe packs up the manuscript, addressing
it.

On Monday morning, she treks to the post office.

That same afternoon, Chloe also stops off on James’ street.
Chloe rings the doorbell and waits. Kathleen opens the door.

“Chloe,” the woman says, eyeing the girl on her doorstep.

“That’s me,” Chloe says, sliding her hands into the pockets
of her jeans.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Kathleen continues
skeptically.

Chloe nods, shuffling her feet. “It’s been kinda weird, but
I guess you already know that.”

Kathleen fixes her in a very deliberate glance, raising her
eyebrows. “Oh yes.” But she is referring to something different than Chloe is.

“Is James here?” Chloe inquires, quickly altering the
subject.

Even if James was here, Kathleen has her doubts that she
would tell Chloe that, however unchristian that may be. The girl has caused him
enough grief. James has not said a word since she left him at their booth.
Given time, he will heal. But the wound will be reopened every time he sees her
face.

If Kathleen has learned anything about Chloe, the girl makes
appearances when it is convenient for her, not when it is convenient for
others.

“For the past few days, he’s mostly been out,” she tells her
truthfully. “I have no idea where he is.”

Chloe starts to nod. “Thanks.” Chloe walks away. Kathleen
watches her for a moment, then closes the door.

•

James is sitting on the park bench, feeding birds. He takes
handfuls of pale green pistachios from a bag in his lap—cracking them open one
by one to sprinkle onto the path. Pigeons, or the infamous rats with wings,
scuttle around, fighting others for a nibble.

James does not look up when Chloe comes and sits beside him.
James has to wonder why she is here, why she would come to him more than a week
after their last encounter.

What does she have to say? What does she want from him
now?

“How’d you find me?”

Chloe hooks her hair behind her ears. She is wearing it
down, which kills him. “Just had to look in all the places I thought you would
be. This was ma’ last stop.”

The words ring out through James’ mind, resonating with the
same words he said to her on the beach. Curtly, “I’m not going to apologize for
telling you the truth.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

He is surprised. “So why are you here?”

Chloe takes some unopened envelopes from her hand bag. James
recognizes their format. “Sent out some letters to producers and agents while
we were apart. I used that book you gave me. Got some replies, but I’m afraid
to open them alone.”

“You want to do it here?” Yet again, more words that give
credence to their past. She wants to do this here? Now?

“Why not? It’s a nice view. There’s a garbage bin right
there.” The painted, caged cylinder is hunkered down beside a tree across the
pathway. “It’s the perfect place to get rejected.”

Something about the way she says that sounds like an
apology. Something about the way she says that makes him think she might be in
pain too.

James was rejected by Chloe more times than he can count. He
scrounged up every cent to treat her whenever he could. He drove her around. He
gave and gave. She thought she refused, but she really took and took. Used or
not, James would pour his heart out to her, even now.

Seeing Chloe cry like that at the diner, and doing nothing
but watching, was immensely hard on him. He did not think he could feel such
guilt. And as the nights passed, and he did not hear from her, it only
compounded.

As a friend, James should have gotten her help. But as a
lover, he should have been there to help her, even if she would rather beat him
off with a stick.

It just hurt so much to be around her and not be
with
her.

James smiles and sets his mostly empty bag of pistachio nuts
aside on the bench. He takes the envelopes and begins opening them. The first
is a rejection letter. He crushes it and throws it at the bin, missing it. The
birds scatter, the beating of their wings startling Chloe slightly. She is
nervous. Jumpy.

The second is also a rejection letter. He crumbles it and
gives that one to Chloe. She throws it at the bin and misses, the wad bouncing
off and landing with a soft thud in the grass.

The third, fourth and fifth are also rejections. He and
Chloe take turns to try and make a basket using the bin.

Sixth, seven, and eight are also crushed and thrown at the
bin. But in spite of the letdown, they are enjoying themselves. Chloe’s
laughter is like a chorus of silver bells. Finally, there is only one envelope
remaining.

“You should open this one,” James say, pushes it into her
hands gently.

Chloe shakes her head, forcing a smile that is much less
genuine than the few she displayed in the last few minutes. “I don’t think I
can. No, you open it.”

“But the score is tied,” he reminds her, knowing that both
of them have made three baskets. “This is your chance to pull ahead.”

Chloe, trying to keep her focus on the chance of winning
their basket game rather than reading another rejection letter, takes it. She
takes a deep breath and tears the envelope open, already preparing herself to
crumble it up. She pulls out the letter, pauses, and opens it hurriedly. She
skims the first two sentences. Then she begins to read, backtracking. The
tension leaves her hands.

Her expression remains neutral as she looks up at James from
the letter.

“Think I’ll keep this one,” she says. He can see something
dazzling bubbling up just beneath her skin.

James’ heart leaps. “You sure?”

“Sorry James,” she says, calling sadness to her face.

James’ heart drops. Did he read her wrong? “For what?” he
says softly.

A grin explodes over Chloe’s face. “You’re not the only one
who loves ma’ writing anymore.” James is ecstatic. He immediately grabs her up,
stands, and spins her around, embracing her. She holds him tightly, clutching
the acceptance in one hand. Their excitement and laughter are contagious,
feeding off one another as they celebrate in the middle of the park.

James finally sets her down.

No sooner have Chloe’s feet found the ground when she jumps
up on James and plants one square on his kisser. James is so stunned that he
does not respond immediately. One would think, with how many times he has
fantasized about that exact scenario, that he would have been more prepared.
Chloe quickly breaks from the kiss and drops back.

Their joyous moment turns a bit awkward. They shuffle their
feet, exchange sheepish glances, and chuckle some. They go back to sitting on
the bench and resume their former conversation. James is trying to pretend that
did not just happen because his brain might explode if he believes otherwise.
And he thought Chloe was going mental…

“May I?” James asks. Chloe hands him the paper. James reads
the letter.

He shakes his head, unwilling to hide the stupid, slaphappy
grin on his face that he would rather blame on the acceptance than the fact
that Chloe just kissed him. He can hardly wrap his brain around that. It must
have been the spark of the moment, the happiness that couldn’t be contained. It
was nothing more than that.

Certainly, it did not mean she has any feelings for him.
Right?

“Producers want to meet,” he announces after reading the
line where it mention that. “Guess you’re going to Los Angeles!”

Chloe sits on her hands, kicking her feet up, beaming. He
has never seen her so happy. So free. “Guess so.”

Suddenly, James realizes what this means. Chloe is leaving.
She is leaving town. She is leaving them all.

Chloe will finally escape her mother, Sandra, and everyone
else that serves as dead weight. She can shake off this ghost hunting business
and move on with her life. The problems will get better. The delusions will go
away. She will be free.

But then again…

Who knows when he will see her again? Some of the brightness
dims in his heart, but he tries to keep all the excitement and enthusiasm and
pride in his face. Chloe needs optimism, positivity. She needs the old James.

“Negotiations could take weeks. Maybe even some rewrites.”

“Yeah,” Chloe muses. Was it his imagination, or did he see a
flash of sorrow pass over her eyes too?

He swallows thickly. “I’m gonna miss you.” He reaches up and
hooks her hair behind her ear, his fingertips dusting over the skin of her
cheek.

Chloe bites her lip. “Maybe you won’t have to.”

Her words hang in the air. James does not dare to breathe.
He waits for her to get up and leave, or flash him one of those impish smiles,
indicating that she was joking, or even recoil and with a
Not like that!

But she does none of those things.

Instead, Chloe gazes into his eyes with the upmost sincerity
and James finds himself floundering in their vibrant hues. She seems
affectionate in this moment, receptive to the adoration he so freely exudes. A
lifetime of feelings and desire and passion race back to him.

He loves her. He has always loved her. He has forgotten why
he was angry with her. He even doubts he has the capacity to be angry with her
anymore.

She is excellence. She is his dream girl. All of a sudden,
they are walking down the street once more with ice cream in their hands, the
picture-perfect couple. She sways, dances, over the stones.

She has never regarded him like this in all the time he has
known her. She is looking at him like… like… James gradually smiles. Chloe hugs
him. They meet in a second kiss. This time, James dips her back, pressing
against her lips for all he is worth.