Finding Home Read online

  Copyright © 2013 by Aine Kelley

  Cover Design: Sarah Hansen from Okay Creations (www.okaycreations.com)

  Photographer: Regina Wamba from Mae I Designs (www.maeidesign.com)

  Editor: Madison Seidler (www.madisonseidler.com)

  Proofreading: Chelsea Kuhel (www.madisonseidler.com)

  Interior Design: Angela Mclaurin ([email protected])

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  All rights reserved.

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  For My Family—thanks for all your love and support.

  I look at my phone for what seems like the hundredth time in the last hour and a half, since I’ve been sitting in the airport. Negative thoughts begin to creep in my brain. My anxiety is at an all-time high. My heart feels like it’s in the express lane in overdrive mode with the rate it’s beating. I told Jenny to wait, but she’s never been great with keeping her word, especially when it comes to my love life. She seems to think that I need a push in that department.

  I look around again, having little hope that he’ll miraculously show up. I think back to the past six weeks. Everything felt so real to me. It was real, wasn’t it? Maybe it wasn’t as real as I thought. I will him to come, like it’s some sort of mantra. This is not happening again. I can’t believe I let this happen again. Clearly, I haven’t been thinking, because if I had just followed my plan of not getting involved, then this wouldn’t be happening. I close my eyes and think about him. I let my fantasy of him play out in my thoughts.

  I’m in a movie, the kind where the guy goes after the girl he loves. He’s stopping her from leaving because he can’t imagine his life without her. I can see the scene so clearly with him in it. His car races through traffic to get to me. He runs through the terminal and reaches for my arm just as I approach the security checkpoint. Then it happens, our eyes lock in on each other, and we silently express our true feelings as only lovers can. He reaches out to me and looks deep into my eyes—so deep it sends shivers down my spine. Suddenly, his arms embrace me, and the kiss he delivers is made from movie magic. There are no words; none are needed because the look in his eyes and his kiss say it all.

  I snap out of my daydream remembering the two things I firmly believe in when it comes to love and how to gauge its authenticity: the eyes and the kiss. Number one, the eyes. The way a man looks you in the eyes should tell you everything you need to know. They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and I believe it. Number two, the kiss. The kiss can express all of his feelings—emotionally, spiritually, and physically. In just one kiss you know how a person truly feels about you. That’s how it was with him. His eyes and kiss said it all. Oh God, how he could kiss. It was the kind of kiss that you felt down to your toes, the kind that ignited your body. And his eyes, the way he looked at me like I was his dessert, was a feeling that I had never experienced before. It was the first time I felt truly loved. If I admit it to myself, it was the first time I really understood love.

  Women everywhere want their happy endings and happily-ever-afters. That’s what I want. I want the boom box over the head of the guy playing the song for the girl he loves. I want my Say Anything moment. Is that really so much to ask?

  A loud female voice startles me back to reality. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning the boarding of Flight 1226 to Boston. Please have your tickets ready.” Yep, it’s official. I’m an idiot and a hopeless romantic. I know movies aren’t real, but a part of me still hopes and believes that what we have is genuine. Looking back at the way my life has been the past few years; I think I need to face the facts. I need a reality check, so to speak, and my check was Ben Foster. But I’m not ready to face the facts. Instead, I just sit here and silently pray that he will come for me. I try to hold on to that last piece of hope, as ridiculous as it is. I allow the inner movie to play on repeat in my mind. I allow him to run after me and catch me.

  “Attention passengers, this is the final boarding call for Flight 1226 to Boston-Logan Airport.” I vaguely hear the call, since I am so distracted by my own movie. God, Sam, get with the program.

  “Excuse me, Miss, it’s time to board,” the gate agent says to me, but the words aren’t quite registering yet. I’m still partially in my dream. “Miss, you need to board now, or the flight will leave without you.” She looks at me with an annoyed expression on her face.

  “Please, I just need one more minute!” Her face is now full of sadness or pity, and she nods her head. Am I making the right decision? Yes. Time to face the truth. He can’t give his heart completely to me. He can’t love me the way I love him. It’s time to go home. Idiot! I slowly lift my hand to the agent and give her my boarding pass. I fight back the tears I can feel burning behind my eyes. I will not cry, I will not cry. But it is no use; the tears fall hard as I walk down the gateway and onto the plane. Keeping my head down so that no one can see my pain, I quickly find my seat.

  I am not getting my happy ending like you see in the movies. No, in my world, I go on the plane and head home. No happily ever after for me—nothing new there.

  Placing my headphones on, I try to focus and block everything out. I need to forget about the last six weeks. I need to forget how he made me feel and how his touch and gaze consumed me. I need to forget that I let my heart get broken.

  This is the story of my life. Why is it that every relationship I ever have ends like this? I told myself that I would not let my heart break again. When I arrived in Napa Valley, I promised to stick to my life plan.
I needed to keep my heart safe. It only took one look from him, and I found myself wanting to overturn every decision I made about love. Well, I broke it big time and now look at me. I’m crying on a plane while I head home, with no idea what I’m going to do when I get there. I couldn’t stay here and be around him; it would be too much. It’s time to go home, even though he felt like home. As much as I want to, I can’t love enough for both of us. Love and relationships apparently aren’t in the big picture for me. I laugh to myself when thinking about how we started and ended. I don’t want to think about him, but the memories are there, just waiting for me to overanalyze.

  The flight attendant announces I have to turn off my music while we take off. I reach for my magazine to try and focus on anything else but him. I look out the window below and watch the lights of San Francisco lose their brightness. Closing my eyes, the memories come crashing into me—his face, his piercing blue eyes, the small scar above his left eyebrow that he got from playing rugby, and his strong jaw line. The way his full lips touched my skin and how my hands grabbed hold of his thick brown hair that always looked so messy. Just thinking of his touch melts me. “Fuck,” I silently whisper. This is going to be a long ass flight.

  “I wish you were here. I miss seeing your face every goddamn day.” My body betrays me as I start to shake. “You are always on my mind. Everyone says I need to get past this, but I don’t think I can. You’re still too real to me. You haunt me in my dreams as if you’re still here.”

  I look around—feeling like a pussy—because not only am I shaking, but my eyes are watering, too. “I see you everywhere and in everything. On my way to work, I pass by the movie theatre where we would sit on rewind nights and watch classic 80s and 90s movies because you loved them.”

  My hand moves and presses against my chest to try and stop the sharp pain. “Just the other day I walked by your favorite ice cream shop that always knew your order by heart. You never changed it. It was always chocolate ice cream with Reese’s peanut butter cup mixed in.” I laugh, thinking how they could never remember my order, but knew hers.

  Looking up into the sky, I pause and take a breath. “I even see you in different people I meet. It may be their mannerisms or something in their eyes or smile. It’s like you never left.” A few lonely teardrops fall, and I quickly wipe them away. “I don’t know how to move on. Why did you leave me? We had such big dreams, and now I have nothing.”

  Standing in my usual spot, I wait for something to happen, some kind of shift or a sign that tells me she’s still with me. But nothing happens; it never does. “Beth, I feel like I’m losing my grip here. I want to keep you close to me, but people are right. Maybe I need to open myself up more and take a chance.” I wipe away my tears and look down to the ground. “I need your help, Beth. I need to know if I should take a leap of faith and move forward with my life without you. Just tell me or show me, ‘cause right now life sucks, and I don’t think I can live like this anymore.”

  Kneeling down, I succumb to the sadness and touch her headstone. Placing a single red rose on top, it’s like I am reliving the fact that my Beth is gone. Softly, I say her name, “Elizabeth Rose Daniels,” while I kiss the etched letters. Letting out a long sigh, I turn around and walk away from her.

  As I near my car, I try to mentally prepare myself for the upcoming weekend with my family. I am lucky to have a family who loves me, but I am not in the mood to hear anything from them regarding Beth. For most of my adult life, Beth was it for me—there was never anyone else. She’s still as much a part of me today as she was yesterday. I know I need to try and move on. I just don’t know how. She was my world for so long.

  Today, however, is a big first step for me. To even think about getting my ass in gear is a major milestone. Deep down I know I have to try. Living my life this way is not cutting it anymore. Thoughts of Beth and our life together are overwhelming me, and it’s becoming a bad addiction.

  My parents and sister don’t understand the pain I live with daily. They want to help, but I need to do it on my own time and in my own way. I think of her every morning when I wake up and go to bed every night thinking of her. Family and friends have suggested I talk to someone to help me deal and get a grip, but I’m not ready. Hell, my friend, Jack, told me that I may just need to get rip-roaring drunk, pick up a random girl, and get laid.

  Jack. He would be happy to hear that I am trying to take that first step toward moving on. I just don’t think it should involve a girl and fucking her. His words, not mine. As I head north out of San Francisco to Napa, I think about how her loss still affects me. Giving in to these thoughts is not good for me. My hold on the steering wheel tightens, turning my knuckles white. Jesus, it’s been two years, and I still feel like she was never taken from me.

  As I cross over the Golden Gate Bridge, I allow more memories to cloud my brain. I reflect on what we were to each other and how our lives were before that fateful night. I curse myself for even remembering what happened to her. It’s not like it doesn’t appear in my dreams on a regular basis. This has to stop because it’s slowly killing me.

  Instead I shift my focus on how she looked when she would come in the door after work. Even after a long and tiring day she looked beautiful. She would walk right into the apartment, throw her purse and keys on the table, greet me with a quick kiss on the cheek, and turn away. Our evening ritual was always the same, but she still acted surprised when I would reach out for her wrist. She knew a bigger kiss was coming, and not just a quick peck on the lips. It was a long, slow kiss that would leave her winded. Her eyes would go hazy, and she’d playfully smack me on the chest. She’d continue her walk to the kitchen and grab us two beers from the fridge. I’d be waiting for her on the patio with my feet up. She’d sit on my lap and say, “What’s up Benny Boy?” I’d pretend to get mad at her, but she was the only person I would allow to call me that, and she knew it. We were content with just sitting, drinking beer, and basking in the quiet. I smile, thinking of the memory.

  A car horn brings me back to reality. “Shit, I need to pay attention to my driving,” I yell out to no one. Looking at the traffic ahead, I decide to take a quick break at the approaching rest stop. It’s time to get my head in the game. Taking a break, I get out of the car and stare out over the bay. The fog is rolling in, and eeriness comes with it. It’s almost like my life—one big haze surrounding my heart.

  What is my next step? I honestly haven’t a clue.

  The ugly feeling in the pit of my stomach begins to fester again. Moving forward. Is that even possible for someone as confused as me?

  Being surrounded by family this weekend is going to be tough. I’ll have to sit there pretending to listen, nodding my head when appropriate. If I throw in the occasional guttural sound it will appear I’m actively engaged in the conversation.

  At some point this weekend I need to make it clear that they need to back the fuck off and let me do things my way. Ah Christ, who am I kidding? They’re family, so they never back the fuck off. Shit, how am I going to make it through the weekend?

  “Get your head out of your ass, Sam!” my friend, Jenny, yells to me as we’re working our shift at the university’s pub. My look turns evil, conveying my annoyance with her right now. “What? Oh come on, they’re cute! The one in the green shirt is totally checking you out. You need to get over yourself and get up on that.”

  “Okay, who are you right now? You know I don’t ‘get up on that’ the way you so eloquently stated. I have my heartbreak plan, and you know that I’ve sworn off men, especially ones in our pub. They are a bunch of drunken assholes.”

  I know Jenny’s just looking out for me, but some days it’s too much to take. We’ve been friends since meeting at Mad Dog Pub at Northeastern University in Boston during our sophomore year three years ago. We both applied for jobs, and Mic, our manager, liked us both, so we were in.

  We’ve been inseparable since then. She’s my roommate and knows firsthand how horrible my last
break up was. Jenny has become my personal cheerleader when it comes to love, but I don’t want to hear it right now. With graduation looming, my focus is on finishing school, working at my teaching job, and trying like hell not to get involved with any men.

  The reality of Jenny leaving me is scary. She’ll be going home soon, and I won’t have her around to keep me on my toes. The fact of the matter is that I’m scared to be without her. Jenny is like family to me since my real one can’t give a shit.

  I move behind the bar to pour two pints of beer for my table. Mid-pour I think of my parents and how their divorce fucked up my life. I was like a ping-pong ball, moved from one house to the other at their convenience.

  The beer starts to spill over onto my shoes before I have a chance to stop the tap. Shit. Placing the drinks on my tray, I remember how my dad traveled all the time and was always too busy for me. He was constantly in between girlfriends and never really settled down until my stepmom, Megan, entered the picture six months ago. When he would call, our conversations were brief and usually in regards to grades and money.

  My mother, on the other hand, went from one boy toy to another. I could not keep up with where she was living or with whom. She took the term cougar and made it her own. The last time I was graced with her presence was when she was with Michael. I thought I was going to vomit on the table at the restaurant. I didn’t need to see her being mauled while I tried to eat.

  It made me sad to think how we used to be. We were close when I was younger. I remember having movie night every Friday. Mom would introduce me to romantic movies from the 80s and 90s. We would eat popcorn mixed with M&M’s—the perfect combination of sweet and salty. I can’t help but smile when I think of those nights. Then Dad’s business took off, and the money came rolling in. My parents turned into people I didn’t know anymore.

  My hip bangs into the side of the bar as I turn the corner with my beers, sloshing the liquid over the edge. “Damn it.”