Part 46 (2/2)
I turned back around. Cordelia was standing in my doorway.
”You deserve something better than sneak attacks in the middle of the night,” she said.
”Yes, I do,” I replied. ”And I won't tell you to go away.”
She walked over to my desk and put a check on it.
”What's that for?” I asked.
”Services rendered.”
”Karen's paying me.”
”For after you got shot. This is for before. When you saved my life.”
I didn't pick up the check, but sat at my desk, shaking my head.
”You didn't hire me,” I finally said.
”I know. And I know you're too d.a.m.n proud to take money. But it's all I have to give.”
”No, it's not,” I replied.
We looked at each other across the width of my desk.
”I've got to go,” she said, more to herself than to me. She turned to leave.
”Cordelia,” I said and got up. She kept going. ”I can't run after you. I'll hurt myself trying,” I called, limping stiffly around my desk.
She stopped at my doorway and looked back, still poised for flight.
”One question,” I said. ”And then you can leave if you want.” I stopped halfway across the room, leaning on my cane. ”Are you still going to marry him?”
She turned to face me. ”No,” she said softly. ”I've learned my lesson. I thought I could put my life in a neat little box, isolated from shock and pain. But that's not possible.”
”No, it's not.” I knew. I had tried outrunning it.
”It's a nice sunset,” she said, looking out my window.
”It is,” I replied.
”And you're a hero. You should ride off into it.”
”Limp, I'm afraid.”
* 301 *
”Yes. And you should get the girl. That's the way it happens in books. But this is real life and the girl is scared and confused.”
”Truth be told, so is the hero. I think real life is spending a lot of time scared and confused,” I said.
”I like you, Micky. Beyond that...I don't know. I've run into people's arms before, thinking that they were the solution to my loneliness. It would be very easy to run into yours. But I'm not going to do that. Not this time.”
”Just don't run away,” I said.
”I need time to think. I'm taking a few weeks' vacation. I'm going to get on my bike and ride. Maybe the Natchez Trace. Somewhere where it's just me and the road. I don't know how long it's going to take me to sort things out. Maybe a long time.”
”I'll be here.”
”I'm not asking you to wait,” she said.
”I know,” I replied. ”My choice.”
”No promises.”
”One.”
”Yes?”
”Your happiness. Find your happiness,” I said, looking at her. ”Or as close as you can get. I would like it to include me, but if it doesn't, it doesn't. Just promise me you'll look for it.”
”I promise,” she said. She crossed the room to me, took my face in her hands, and gently kissed me. ”For what it's worth,” she said, breaking off, ”this isn't easy.”
”It's not supposed to be,” I replied. She turned to go. ”Cordelia, whatever you decide, tell me.”
”Of course. It may take time. Take care of yourself, Micky.” Then she walked out of my door.
I watched her descend the stairs. A shaft of golden sunlight caught her for a moment. She paused, unaware, in it and glanced back at me, her eyes blazingly blue. Then she was gone.
I stood where I was, listening for the final echoes of her footsteps.
They faded and I limped back to my desk. Waiting is the hardest part. I stood for a moment, watching the deepening shadows.
Don't wait. Don't just wait, Micky. She might not be back. Find your own happiness, with or without her. No one has it for you.
I looked at the check that Cordelia had left on my desk. My first * 302 *
thought was to throw it in the trash, but she would know I did that when it never cleared.
I picked it up. In the lower left hand corner was written, ”partial payment of debt.” Nothing more. She didn't use her t.i.tle, just Cordelia James. Cordelia Katherine James, I thought. I turned the check over, endorsed it and wrote, ”debt paid,” under my name. The money was a gift from her. To reject it would be to reject what she chose to offer.
I looked at my forlorn record collection, one of my three versions of Beethoven's Ninth facing me. I needed to listen to the ”Ode to Joy,”
<script>