Julia's Journey (A Coming Home Again Novel Book 2) (15 page)

Chapter
Nineteen

Greyson

Today is a great day! My pants are starting to get snug and
that’s money! Man, I feel like a million bucks. I’m finally not waking up tired
and achy. I can make it through the day without a nap like a flipping baby. I
feel like a man again. And it’s something I never plan on taking for granted
ever again. You certainly don’t know what you have until you lose it. Lesson
learned with my health. I know there was nothing I could do about ending up
with cancer, but I never really appreciated my health before getting sick. It
was always just a given before. Now that I’m in remission, I plan on
celebrating it daily.

The high calorie shakes and oatmeal have become my go-to
breakfast. Julia is eating the oatmeal too, although I’ve not shared with her
that I also have premixed a vanilla flavored protein powder in it as well.
She’s looking healthier, and that brings my caveman-pride out. I want to beat
on my chest and growl with knowing I’m taking care of her. I’m finally strong
enough to do the one thing I’ve wanted since I met her.

After I dress, I head out of the bathroom and find the
dining table set with two bowls of oatmeal and coffee, and I can’t wipe the
smile off my face. My day just got better. Sharing a meal is one of the
simplest pleasures Julia has denied herself for far too long. I guess it goes
back to the self-inflicting pain.

After doing some research on my laptop late at night about
rape over the last month and the disorders that coincide afterwards, I’m just
glad Julia is a model. Cutting is one of the leading self-harming disorders.
Julia has stayed away from that one for obvious reasons, but my girl is
resourceful. She inflicts inner pain with the starvation, alcohol, and drugs.
She’s being a champ, though. I think she is finally breaking away from some of
the restraints of it, but I’m not dumb. I know a road trip isn’t going to cure
her. I notice times where she gets quiet with the fidgetiness. But it’s gotten
a lot better.

I’m lost in these thoughts, staring at the table, when Julia
speaks and snaps me out of it.

“Good morning, honey.” She sets a protein shake by my bowl
before sitting down. She’s wearing a nightshirt and her hair is all rumpled,
and I swear she looks like she’s ready to pose for a sleepwear ad. She’s
flat-out gorgeous.

I join her at the table. “Yes, it is.” I gesture towards the
food. “Thanks.” I notice her bowl is not even half-filled with oatmeal and mine
is all the way to the top, but it’s still progress and I’m thankful. I bow my
head.
“Thank you, dear Lord for another day—a great day.
Please bless this food to the nourishments of our bodies and our bodies to your
will. Amen.”

I raise my head and catch Julia doing the same. That’s
another first. This day just keeps getting better and better.

She takes a sip of coffee and asks, “What’s the plan for the
day?”

“Baseball game,” I answer between bites.

We make quick work of breakfast and Julia goes to get
dressed for the day. Thirty minutes later she comes out of the bathroom in a
sundress and heels.

“What are you wearing?” I ask as I pull on a Yankees hat.

She does one of those prissy twirls and I catch a nice whiff
of her floral perfume. “What does it look like?”

I inhale deeply to steal more of her scent. “Didn’t you hear
me when I said we are going to a ballgame? Did you mistake me saying a dance?”

“This is what women wear to games these days, I’ll have you
know.” She’s got her hand perched on her hip in aggravation. I’m right there
with her.

“That’s just the stupidest thing. You need a pair of jeans
and a T-shirt and a hat.” I gesture towards my outfit. “That’s proper wear for
a ballgame. We’re there to cheer on the players—not to give a fashion show.” I
walk into the bedroom and come back out with some proper clothes. “Here. This
will be much more comfortable.”

Julia gives me one of her,
humphs
. Bet you can’t guess what
this chick does next. Yep. She strips right before me and changes. Don’t worry.
I painfully remember to be the gentleman my mom raised me to be and turn
around. I think about fussing with her about the stripping thing, but decide
not to since she is changing into more practical ballgame attire without
whining about it. And Julia not whining is a pleasant first.

We make it to the game with time to spare. Julia looks
around at the recreation field curiously. I grab her hand and head to the ticket
booth.

“I thought we were going to a pro-baseball game.”

“No. We are going to watch some genuine all-American
baseball today. Plus it’s for a charity with all the proceeds going to a local
children’s home.” I pay for our tickets and we walk on towards the bleachers.

“What’s wrong with pro?”

“This is real baseball in my opinion,
Thorton
.”
I gesture towards the field where men are warming up by playing catch and
chasing ground balls. “This isn’t about an obscene paycheck or social status.
It’s all about the love of the game.”

We stop by the concession stand with me snagging a bag of
boiled peanuts and a root beer and Julia only selecting a diet pop. As we walk
around to the guest bleachers, I continue my rant. “We’ve got the whole
importance of things backwards. We pay millions for someone to entertain us,
but we barely throw pennies at other careers that really matter. People moan
and complain about paying daycare workers less than minimum wage to raise their
children, but have no qualms about paying more than those workers
earn
an hour for a movie ticket.”

I pause to pop a salty peanut in my mouth before picking
back up. “And don’t get me started on teachers. Those are the ones who should
bring home the big bucks instead of a celebrity. Teachers get paid nowhere near
what they are worth to mold and shape the future participants.”

“Wow, Stone. That’s pretty hypocritical.
Such
prolific words coming from someone who makes millions for entertaining the
world with his beautiful face and body.”
She sits on the bleacher beside
me and scans the field. She’s wearing one of my ball caps and is wearing it
well.

“I’m just stating the facts. I’m thankful for the career and
doors that opened from modeling. But facts are facts. No matter how pretty or
ugly they are. I can’t even begin to go near the whole unfairness of a nurse’s
salary. For someone who cares for you and bravely holds the tub while you vomit
all over it and her, then selflessly comes back during her lunch break to hold
your hand just because she wants to lend some comfort.” I shake my head in
frustration. “Nurses should make bank, too. These professions should be top in
pay instead of someone who can merely read a movie line or pose for a picture
or hit a homerun.” I feel my cheeks warm up as I get upset. I don’t know why
that just hit me so hard. I take a few breaths to calm myself.

Out of the corner of my eye I notice Julia looking towards
me, but I keep watching the players take their positions.

“You had good nurses?” I hear the worry in her voice.

“The best,” I answer. And it’s the truth.

“I bet you had nurses lined up to take care of your sexy
self.” I know she’s baiting me, but I’m not in the right frame of mind for it.

“There was nothing sexy in those days,
Thorton
.
Nothing
.”
I
shake my head and glance over at her.

“I wish you would have let me be there for you.” Julia
frowns and looks away.

“I’ve always wanted to be your Superman. I didn’t want you
to see me that way.” I reach over and tuck a few white wisps of her hair back
under the hat. That’s not enough, and so my fingers steal a few touches more of
her cheek and neck before returning back to my lap.

“You ever thought maybe I would have wanted to be your
Superwoman?”

I nudge her leg and she looks back to me. “You’ve been some
great medicine for me during this trip. Thanks.”

Julia peers up skeptically from under the bill of the hat.
“Really?”

“The best,” I repeat, making her smile.

We settle in and watch some real baseball for the next
couple of hours. I grab us hot dogs after the first game and we find a spot in
the grass to picnic. I hand Julia a hot dog and keep three for myself. She
pulls the dog out of the bun and nibbles. I know it’s to appease me. She eats
about half of it before setting it down. At least she ate some…

I’m polishing off my second one when she asks, “How did you
get into the modeling world in the first place?” This catches me off guard.
We’ve known each other for so
long,
you’d think we
would know everything about our history by now.

I swallow my mouthful before answering. “I got dragged to
this open modeling contest by this girl I was dating. I was just going along
for moral support for her, but I ended up being selected and she didn’t.”

She smiles over at me. “I bet they wasted no time snatching
you up.”

I shake my head at the memory of that fateful day. “I had a
signed modeling contract by the end of that very day. Needless to say, I got
dumped that same day, too.” We laugh at this. I set in on my last hot dog and
mumble between bites. “I’m thankful for the opportunity, but I’m glad the
modeling chapter of my life is done.”

“What? Greyson, you just can’t walk away from it. What will
you do?” Julia looks genuinely upset by this.

I ball up all of the food wrappers and toss them back into
the bag. I down the rest of my second root beer before answering. “I’ve had a
college degree for several years, just sitting around collecting dust. I’m
ready to use it.”

“The Masters in Computer Science and Business?” she asks,
and I’m impressed that she remembers.

“Yeah.
I also bought in partnership with Ignited right before I
was diagnosed. They have agreed to send work my way. I’m starting up my own
advertisement firm.
Just something small.”
I stand up
and help Julia to her feet so we can go catch the next game. “Plus, I still
have ad royalties rolling in just as you do. No worries in the money
department.”

“I’ve missed you not being a part of things for the past
couple of years. I don’t think I like it being a permanent change,” she mumbles
with her blonde brows pinched together. I say nothing to this because I’m one
hundred percent done with modeling, and I can’t ask that of her.

For now I enjoy my company on this late summer day. I’ve
promised myself to live in the now for now. I don’t want to think what will
happen with
Julia,
or us for that matter, at the end
of this road trip. It’s coming faster than I had expected. For me trying to
take things slow, time sure is racing right along.

Chapter
Twenty

Julia

All of a sudden and all at once, time has sped up and I beg
it to slow down. But it isn’t listening. I’m scared for this trip to end. I
feel like I’m at some kind of crossroads in my life. It’s time for a change. I
just don’t know what kind yet.

We have finally crossed the line into Georgia and are
spending the day in an apple orchard. It’s been great so far. We are loaded up
for a hayride through the orchard and this place is just breathtaking. The
apple trees are lined in wavy rows alongside the hills. I tilt my head up to
the sun and take in the sweet smell of the hay mixed with the aroma of ripening
fruit. The guide is sharing some history of the orchard in a thick Georgian
twang. It’s soothing.

Greyson must be on the same page with me because he leans
over and whispers, “Say
ain’t
.”

I laugh quietly as I look over at him. “No.”

His green eyes dance with mischief. “Guess I’m going to have
to figure out how to scare you again just so I can hear that sexy southern
drawl from your lips.”

I actually blush. Me? Greyson Stone just made
me
blush.

“Knock it off, Stone.” I shove into his side and he puts his
arm around me and keeps me there. I have to say, this
simple
gesture feels really nice. Such a new concept…

The tractor stops every so often so we can pick some apples
for our baskets. These babies are bigger than my fist—larger than any apple I
have ever seen in the market. Greyson is picking apples like he is starved for
them. The man is just too adorable.

“Good grief, Stone. You really need that many apples?” I
place one in my nearly empty basket as I inspect his almost brimming over
basket.

“An apple a day keeps the doctor away,” he says with a
smile.

My heart feels like it stops for a beat at his statement.
Most of the time, it’s like the cancer was just a bad dream he told me about.
The reality of him being sick keeps slipping away from my thoughts.
And when it does resurface, it’s like a slap in the face.

His face drops when he looks over at me. “What?”

I brush past him and try to shake off my fears.
“Nothing.”

After the hayride, we have a picnic under one of the larger
apple trees. Greyson picked us up chicken salad with chunks of apples tossed in
and apple cider for lunch from the orchard cafe. I’ve already had an apple on
the hayride and now Greyson is practically force feeding me the chicken salad.
He’s so cute about it, so I give in and eat a couple of bites just for him.
It’s hard to deny a man as good looking as he is the right to spoon bites into
my mouth.

He goes on and on about the conversation he had with the
orchard guide. Greyson doesn’t meet a stranger. If you had witnessed him
talking away with the guide earlier, you would have thought they were old
friends. The guide gave him the inside scoop about this BBQ joint, claiming it
to be the best around. I’m beginning to wonder just how many
best
BBQ joints there can be. Greyson
has already tried to help me understand the variations in regional BBQ. I’m
really not interested, but I get a kick out of how worked up he gets over it.
He has some list he’s checking off about BBQ, too.

I know I should be listening, but I’m just mesmerized by the
sweetness of the moment—us being stretched out under an apple tree while a
sweet breeze plays in his unruly hair. I touch a lock of my own hair and smile.
We’ve both left our more polished versions of ourselves somewhere down the
road. His paleness has been completely bathed away from all of the abundant
sunshine we’ve been in lately. It’s already hard to remember what he looked
like a few months ago. He looks like Greyson again and not a zombie or vampire.
He looks healthy and alive. He’s talking animatedly as he takes a bite of salad
from the plastic container and then offers me another one. It feels like this
is the most natural way to be spending my day.
Like we have
been here a million times on a million afternoons doing this simple act a
million times together.
Simple and easy—what a new
concept.

The picnic is unrushed and we eventually explore an open air
market that has anything apple you can imagine: Ciders, dips, cakes, pies,
breads, jellies, butters, cobblers. If you can think it, they have it. Greyson
has gladly sampled everything that has been offered to him and has spent a
small fortune. We both end up with our arms loaded down with his purchases.
He’s so giddy and happy that I don’t bug him about it. Or I don’t until we
reach the mopeds with two huge baskets of apples and a half dozen or so cloth
bags filled with more apple goodies.

He just stands there for a few beats. “I guess I didn’t
think this through.”

“Nope.
You sure didn’t, honey,” I say as I try to figure out how
to cram some of the bounty into the under-seat compartment.
 

We cram and tie things down the best we can with me
constantly teasing him about it, but still lose a few apples on the ride back
to the campground.

Later tonight we are sitting at the picnic table as the sun
is setting. I look around and have to admit, Georgia is just as beautiful as
the other states we have visited. It’s a shame it’s taken me all these years to
notice. We open our journals and laugh at the same time. We have both left each
other the exact same Bible verse tonight. Psalm 17:8
-
Keep me
as the apple of your eye;
hide me in the shadow of your wings
.

I added under the verse in Greyson’s journal,
you have become the apple of my eye
.

He has added in mine too.
Let God be the apple of your eye and He will free you of the unhealthy
.

We are both caught off guard at the unexpected addition. The
laughter has ceased. I look up and find him staring at me with his head tilted
slightly as he does when he’s listening to me. This time it’s more like he’s
trying to figure something out. I just stare back, because there is a lot I’m
trying to figure out with Greyson Stone, too.