Jon waved goodnight and started driving away as the valet went to get my car. I typed Jon’s number into my phone while I waited and sent him a text message like he requested. There was no response—which was probably a good thing since he was driving. I didn’t know if he would respond at all. There was a chance that he was just being polite—or filling the silence with conversation since I didn’t have much to say. Regardless, I had accomplished my goal for the evening—I managed to network with one person.
Except now I’m thinking about something that doesn’t involve working for him—even though I know it’ll never happen.
I hadn’t been very lucky when it came to relationships. I dated a guy in high school, and like most young girls experiencing those emotions for the first time, I thought I was in love. He gave me every indication that he felt the same way until he got an offer to play football at one of the top universities in the country. I would have followed him anywhere, even if I didn’t get a scholarship to the same college he was attending. I thought it was meant to be, and we were going to overcome every challenge life put in front of us. Instead, I just ended up with a broken heart because he wanted to have fun in college.
There’s my car…
“Ms. Monroe, please drive safely—I hope you have a wonderful evening.” The valet stepped out of my car and held the door open for me.
“Thank you so much.” I gave him a nod—and realized he was probably expecting a tip, so I gave him a few dollars from my purse.
The other people at this party probably tipped him with Benjamin Franklin’s instead of George Washington’s.
The fallout that followed my high school relationship left me wary of guys in general—and for good reason. The immaturity that my high school boyfriend displayed after swearing he loved me every time I was in his arms was exactly what I found when I got to college. I spent a couple of years declining every guy that asked me out but as time passed, the wall I had built around my heart began to crack. I dated a couple of guys during my junior year and had a relationship that almost became serious during my senior year—but fear had a grip on my heart. I was scared to let anyone in because I knew what they wanted—the same thing my high school boyfriend wanted when he took my innocence.
I don’t want to get my heart broken again…
I turned on the radio and listened to the local station as I drove to my apartment. The rich and lavish homes disappeared—suburbia was left in the rear-view mirror—and then I was in the part of Carson Cove people called the other side of town. The beauty of Carson Cove still existed, even in the area where the less fortunate lived, but it was obvious that everyone there was getting by on scraps. The small apartment we lived in was fairly run down, the neighbors were loud, and getting a hot shower in the morning was often a game of Russian roulette. Still, it was a step up from the one I lived in before I moved to Carson Cove, which wasn’t saying much. There certainly wasn’t a valet anywhere in sight. I parked my fifteen-year-old Hyundai next to an old Mustang with a busted back window, and a Chevy truck that had been in more than one accident and prayed my car would still be there in the morning.
I swear my neighbors never sleep. They just audition for Riverdance twenty-four hours a day while they scream at each other.
“Hey, Mom…” I opened my front door and locked it behind me. “I didn’t think you would still be up.”
“I couldn’t get comfortable in bed.” She shrugged. “Someone else tried to stay up too—but she fell asleep waiting.”
“Of course, she did…” I smiled and walked down the hallway.
The real reason I was so protective of my heart was sleeping in the bedroom at the end of the hall. Her name was Charley, and she was four years old. She had her father’s hazel-green eyes—the ones I thought would always look at me with love in them—and the same tight blonde curls I had when I was her age. She was my whole world, and I was going to do everything I could to give her the kind of life I never had. I hoped that would be in Carson Cove—somewhere in suburbia where she could grow up in a house with middle class problems instead of wondering if we would have dinner that night.
“You’re home?” Charley’s eyes opened when I leaned my head into her bedroom.
“Yes.” I walked to the edge of the bed and sat down. “You were supposed to be in bed hours ago. Grandma said you tried to stay up past your bedtime…”
“I drew you a picture.” Her tired little squeak was cute, and she groggily pointed to her nightstand. “It’s you—working at a big building where you make lots of money.”
“Aw, thank you darling.” I smiled and picked up the picture. “You need to go back to sleep now.”
“Okay, Mommy.” She rolled over and pulled her covers under her chin. “Goodnight. I love you.”
“I love you too, Charley.” I kissed her forehead and waited until she was asleep before I stood.
I hope this picture comes true—I really do.
My daughter was getting old enough to ask questions I didn’t know how to answer. She was already in preschool and realized that she didn’t have a daddy like all of the other kids. We already had one rather embarrassing situation when she asked the guy behind us in the supermarket if he was her daddy. He laughed but played it off well. His very pregnant wife was not amused. It was the Monroe girls against the world—there used to be just two of us, but we were going to find a way to make it with work with three. I hoped I would fall in love again one day—with someone that could love her as much as they loved me—but it wasn’t a priority. I didn’t know if my future was going to be in Carson Cove or far away from the nice spring breeze I loved to feel on my face, but the only thing that truly mattered—was Charley.
Her future is much more important than mine.
Chapter Four
Jon
The next day
I still wasn’t used to going home to an empty house—or waking up alone. I didn’t know if that would ever feel normal. I never thought I would miss the sound of my girls arguing in the background while I rushed through my morning routine. I missed the little stuff too—a quick hug in the kitchen—kissing my wife goodbye before I ran out the door—intentionally forgetting my coffee on the table so I could sneak back in once the kids were in the car for one last
kiss that came with a few promises of what we were going to do with each other when we got an hour to ourselves. Those moments ended long before we signed the divorce papers, but I didn’t even realize how much they meant to me until the fact that they would never happen again finally registered. Alcott Manor used to be my home—but it turned into my prison.
The weekends are the hardest…