This Place Only

Chapter Fourteen - Poem

Chapter Fourteen

Poem

—the small, white box containing a chocolate-raspberry cheesecake. I picked the package up by crisscrossed twine and stared at it I wonder.

Standing, I slammed the car door shut and looked around. Downtown Monroe was nearly asleep now. The soft drone of traffic played backdrop to the gentle sound of geese from the Mill Pond and Crane Park. And then…

The bells of St. Theresa’s Church, filling the evening with singular beauty, reverberated off the storefronts before dissolving into the grape twilight. I took full, deep breaths. Bakery smells. The pizzeria. The nearby pond. Autumn leaves and chimney smoke. It was my most favorite time of the year.

Home again, I took my first steps as if walking on the thinnest glass, fearing the moment it would shatter. Incredibly, I managed to cross the parking lot and stopped at the empty street. Looking both ways, I looked again. And again. I recalled with dread what happened the last time I attempted to cross.

With no traffic in sight and the same evening hush upon me, I took rapid, deliberate steps until I reached the other side. Letting out my breath, I shuddered and turned toward the stairs that led to our apartment. Two at a time, I took the fourteen steps to the landing and pulled the keys from my pocket.

The key won’t fit!

Of course it will.

He’s still playing games with you.

No! He promised—

A promise? Are you kidding?

But the key did fit, sliding easily into the lock and I entered my one cherished refuge.

Locking the door behind me, I stepped quietly into the kitchen and placed the dessert box onto a clear space on the counter.

“Did you go out?” Lauren asked from the hallway entrance.

I spun around and there she was. I couldn’t move. That fragile glass floor was beneath me again. But Lauren came toward me, dressed in warm, flannel pajamas, and took me into her arms. She had no reason to fear the floor. It would not break beneath her.

“I just went out to get the cheesecake,” I said. I could find no internal reference with which to measure how long it actually felt that I was gone. Years didn’t even begin to trace the gulf of time.

“Cheesecake sounds great,” she said with a yawn. “Let’s eat.”

And so we sat at my painstakingly prepared table and enjoyed the most delicious Chicken Parmesan we’d ever eaten. No uncontrolled vomiting, I’m happy to report. We drank red wine and ate garlic rolls and salad with special house dressing. I felt like I could eat for weeks. After the cheesecake, Lauren eyed me suspiciously.

“You’ve been acting strange ever since I got out of the shower. Is everything okay?”

I realized that I’d been staring at her ever since she entered the kitchen.

“I can’t describe how much I love you,” I said, fumbling for words, any words, but only sounding like an adolescent.

Lauren took my hands in hers and squeezed them.

“Almost forgot,” she said, then picked up the envelope up from beside her. “This is for you. Something I’ve been working on for a long time. I started it just after Mom died.”

She handed me the envelope with the all-too familiar words upon it and an odd current ran up my arm. Opening the flap, I pulled out a small bound book with the words This Place Only printed on the cover.