Hell in a Handbasket - The Journey (11 page)

I was
wrong,
again, it wasn’t
important, it was Ryder.

“Maeve, I’m sorry. I would like to explain myself to you.
If you’re there, please
pick
up, I want to make sure
that you made it home okay…” Silence fell over him, me, and the house. I
refused to pick up the phone. He cleared his throat, “Maeve, I am truly sorry
for hurting you, call me back, please.” And then the line went dead. Yeah,
snowballs had a better chance of surviving Hell than he did of me returning his
call. I may have been born at night, but I wasn’t born last night…well, then
again based on today’s behavior, maybe I was born the night before last…
idiot
!

* * * *

Ryder called me every day, three or more times a
day,
and I let the machine pick up all incoming calls. Each
time he left a message, and each time I deleted the message. I guess he, too,
was under the wrong impression that if it was important they would leave a
message. A couple of times I seriously thought about talking to him just so I
could get my purse and stuff back. I really didn’t want to have to go to DMV
and get a new driver’s license or the hassle of getting a new bank card and
credit cards. God help me, I was so stupid. Gram would have said that I was
getting my come-uppance for now contributing to the hand basket the rest of the
world was traveling to Hell in. Yep, come-uppance hurts!

Once again the phone rang and I sat there hoping it was a
bill collector. It wasn’t. I heard Ryder’s voice telling me to answer the door.
I looked at the phone as if it had grown wings and horns. Then I heard the
front door bell ring. Now the door had grown horns, and those horns were
attached to Ryder.

“Maeve,” I heard in a weird echo, as he said it through the
door and the phone just a second or so behind each other.
So
weird.
But, I wasn’t going to answer either one, so I just sat on the
couch. “Maeve, please I know you’re home. I just want to talk to you, please.
I’m sorry. I brought you your belongings. I have them with me if you would just
let me in.”

I cleared my throat, not sure if my voice would betray my
pain.

“Go away, Ryder. Just leave my stuff on the porch. I’ll get
it later.”

The phone line disconnected and I thought that he was actually
going to do as I asked.

“Maeve, please?”

“Ryder, go home.” I hung my head. For a few minutes I
thought that maybe he hadn’t heard me, but then I heard his shoes scuffing
across my porch and then down the steps. I didn’t realize that I had been holding
my breath, until a sob broke through. And just like that, the tears fell out of
my head.

I don’t know how long I sat there and cried. When I was
finally able to get control of the waterworks, the sun had shifted and was
making long shadows across the room.

I got up and went to the door. I looked out to make sure
that Ryder wasn’t waiting for me to open it. I didn’t see him anywhere. I
quickly opened the door, grabbed my carry-on bag, my laptop case and my purse,
and jerked them over the threshold and slammed the door shut, locking it just
for safe measure.

I dragged everything back into the living room and slumped
back onto the couch. Well, that was that, wasn’t it? The only connection I
still had to that man was that he was my publisher. Maybe I could get out of my
contract and find another publishing house to contract with me. I’d have to
check into that, later, right now I needed to unpack my stuff.

I left my purse and laptop on the table in front of the
couch and trudged my carry-on up the stairs to my room. I flung the bag onto my
bed and skulked over to it. I briefly debated whether to dump everything out or
carefully remove my stuff and put it up. Not being responsible led to my heart
being broken, so careful won out. About half way through, I grabbed a small
box. It was a fragile little box, a dark shade of a purplish-
blue,
it had a delicate design embroidered in gold thread, and felt as if it were
made entirely of velvet. It wasn’t mine, and that meant it was Ryder’s. That
sneaky son-of-a-bitch! Did he think he could just
buy
my forgiveness?
That giving the poor girl a pretty little bauble would make me
forget
that he had stalked me and lied to my face?
No, not this girl.
Not only was I going to send it back, I
wasn’t even going to open it and give him the satisfaction.

* * * *

Early the next morning, I took the fragile little box to
the UPS store. I wanted it returned absolutely, positively, as soon as was
humanly possible!

With a heavy sigh that mirrored my heavy heart, I headed
back home. It was so odd, even though that box was oh-so light, my hands felt
incredibly empty without it.

* * * *

Two days later, a FedEx delivery guy rang my doorbell. He
smiled as he handed me a box that looked similar to a flower box. I checked the
return address. It wasn’t from anyone I
knew,
I didn’t
recognize the name of the company. I opened the box, and there inside was the
tiny fragile box Ryder had slipped into my stuff.

“Hey, wait!” I screamed at the delivery guy. I ran up to
his truck, waving my arms like a crazy person to get his attention so that he
didn’t drive away. I couldn’t believe that I was out of breath in that short of
a run.

“Wait, I don’t want this.”
Waving the box
at him expecting him to just take it from me.

“Then you have to return it.” His smile was gone, and he
wouldn’t take the box from me.

“Really?
I have to pay out of my pocket to return this thing?”
waving the box at him harder, like that would make a difference.

“I’m sorry
Ma’am,
I can’t take the
box back. It’s against company policy. You’ll have to take it to the office and
reship it. Perhaps if you contact the sender, they may refund the cost you
incur from returning it.”

“Fine.”
In a move that mirrored my face, I dropped my arm holding
up the box, and dragging my feet, I slowly walked back up to the house. Damn it
all.

Grabbing my keys and my purse, I drove to town, to the
FedEx office. The clerk was helpful. At least she was able to return it without
it costing me anything other than gas money.

* * * *

Three days later, my U.S Postal Carrier rang my doorbell.

“Miss Bendis.” He nodded in my direction.

“Hi Mr. Sampson, how are you?” I smiled at him.

“I’m fine thank you, and you?” His smile was genuine as it
rang true in his eyes.

“Doing good, thank you.”
I nodded.

“I have a package for you.” He extended a package towards
me the size and shape of a shoe box.

“Really?”
After the FedEx experience, I was a little apprehensive.
“I didn’t order anything.”

His smile never faltered as he continued to hold out the
package.

“What if I don’t want it?” arching my eyebrows in a look of
quizzical confusion.

“You don’t want it? Why don’t you want it?” Now his face
was wearing my little girl lost look. If I hadn’t been so concerned over the
package, I might have found his expression funny… … …
… .
.

“I’m not sure if I want it or not. I don’t recognize the
person who sent it or address. Can I open it and decide if I want it?” I made
my eyes as big as I could in a silent plea.

“Normally I would tell you it’s against policy, but your
grandmother was a good woman and I’ve watched you grow up, so if you’re having
doubts about accepting this
package, then yes, open
it
and if you don’t want it, I’ll mark it as refused.”

“Thank you. Thank you, Mr. Sampson. I really do appreciate
this!” Relief flooded my whole being. I reached just inside the door and
grabbed my keys. Using my key like a knife, I split the clear tape holding the
box closed. Pulling the top off, and glancing inside, I saw the tiny fragile
box.
Seriously?
Seriously?

Mr. Sampson saw the look on my face and peered down into
the box.

“Well it’s just another tiny box. But judging by the look
on your face, I’m guessing you don’t want to accept this package?” Mr. Sampson
gingerly reached for the package, and I let my grip on the box go slack.

“Thank you Mr. Sampson.”

“So what’s in the box? You know, it’s insured.”

“I didn’t know it was insured and I don’t know what’s in
the box. It’s a long story, Mr. Sampson.”

“Do you want to open it and see what’s so important?”

“No sir, I really don’t want to know.”

“Well then, let’s classify it as refused, and get it
returned to its sender, shall we?”

“Yes, sir.
That would be nice.” Smiling the only smile that seemed to
be in my repertoire, a weak, watery smile, I released the box, and with slumped
shoulders, I shuffled my feet back into the house. At least this time I
wouldn’t have to drive into town to return it.

* * * *

Three days later, I was headed out to run into town, when I
tripped over a box someone had left on my porch. I stared at the box big enough
for an enormous flat screen TV, as if it had a zombie hidden in it. I looked
around and couldn’t see anyone who might have left it. Maybe it wasn’t the box
from Ryder, maybe this was a coincidence, maybe it was a mistake…well,
there
was only one way to find out…I was going to have to
open it. Damn it.

Looking it over, I didn’t see a name or return address.
Once again, taking my keys, and using them as a knife, I cut the tape holding
the box together. I slowly opened it as if the hidden zombie might jump out and
eat what little brains I obviously had. Inside I found another box.
Seriously?
I carefully opened it and inside I found a
smaller box.
Really?
This wasn’t even remotely funny.
Although I had a pretty good idea who had sent this conglomeration of
aggravation, I had to make sure it was indeed from Ryder, so I opened this box
too. Sure enough, there inside this last box was the tiny fragile box Ryder hid
inside my belongings a little over a week ago.
You have got to be kidding
me!
 
Well, obviously the only way I
was going to be sure that he got this damned box, and kept it, was if I took it
to him myself, and told him in no uncertain terms, where to put it!

Chapter Eight

I didn’t pack much since I wasn’t planning on staying. An
overnight-carry-on bag, my purse, which housed that damned tiny fragile
box,
and I was set. The cheapest round-trip ticket had me
staying overnight. Hell, I’d sleep in the airport lobby if it meant Ryder would
stop sending me that blasted box.

I stuffed my carry-on into the overhead compartment and
shuffled into my seat. I think it was bad luck that I got a window seat. I
really didn’t like flying, and preferred the aisle seat, but on such short
notice, I had to take what I could get.

Settling more into my seat, I made sure the window shade was
drawn tight. If we were going to crash, I didn’t want to be able to see it
coming. I closed my eyes and practiced the deep breathing techniques my
therapist had taught me after my Gram died.

Deep
breath
in for a count of
four, and then out for a count of five.
In-four, out-five,
in, out.
I was on my fourth deep breath when I heard a sweet yet oddly
familiar voice say in my direction.

“Haven’t we met before?”

I glanced up and nearly wet my pants. It was Gertrude, the
little old lady from the airport where I first met Ryder.
The
one who got paid to spy on me for him.
What in Holy Hell was she doing
on my plane, in my row, sitting next to me now? That Son-of-a-Bitch! How in the
hell did he know I was going to fly out to see him today, and on this flight?
This is just beyond crazy!

Not wanting to upset her, though Lord only knew why, I
smiled sweetly.

“Yes, we met a little over a week ago. On a plane ride, I
was going to Boston.”
Still trying to find a smile that
wasn’t full of the doubt and disbelief that I was feeling.

“Oh yes, I remember now, that sweet young man asked me to
find out why you were so infatuated in your lap thingy.” Her smile was warm and
friendly and I was having a hard time remembering that I didn’t really trust
her right now. “So, tell me about that sweet young man, are you two friends
now?”

“Not really.” My smile faltered and I felt my face fall
into a weird smiling frown.

“I’m sorry, dear, he seemed like such a nice fellow and he
really seemed to take a real interest in you. I had such high hopes for the two
of you.” Her expression was genuine and I could see she meant what she was
saying.