Chapter 1
Jonathan June 1996
It’s been six months since she’s been gone. When I thought I was done grieving, I would find things that kept reminding me of her, such as her favorite fork when we brought home takeout or letters we had written to each other when she was in college—all stored in a drawer in the kitchen.
I haven’t really taken any time for myself since she died. My friends and family told me I needed to grieve. I grieved on my own time. I go to work and try to live my life one day at a time. After reflecting on what I’ve done since then, perhaps work could allow me to take some time off so I can clean this house and get rid of anything and everything that reminds me of her. Part of me doesn’t want to throw anything away. It would feel like I’m throwing away memories we had. I don’t know what to do.
Then I realized I was standing in the kitchen, holding the fork, daydreaming about the things we had done together. I walked up to the trash can, put my foot down, and opened the lid. I tossed the fork in, and the lid closed automatically.
I walk away and find myself in the dining room, staring at my desk under the window. There, I used to write short stories about our adventures. I haven’t sat in my chair in months since she was killed. I take a seat and wipe away the dust that has been collected on my notebooks and computer. Then, I began reading what I had written before Liz passed away. I smile while reading my notes. Writing was my passion. With an imagination like that, I can create stories in my head and make them feel real. Most of the time, what I wrote was accurate.
I took some of Liz and I’s real adventures and put them on paper. You see, our adventures weren’t all about traveling, but instead traveling with little to no clothes. I use a pen name so that others don’t combine two and two and figure out that Liz and I were in those stories. How embarrassing would it be if her family read my work? My mother, on the other hand, isn’t embarrassed by what I write. I use fictional characters to describe my work. She came to me and recognized me.
My pager starts beeping on my hip as I look to see whose number it is. It’s my mother who wants me to call her. I grab the desk phone and dial her number.
“Hi, honey. How are you doing? I didn’t know if you were at work, so I paged you.”
“I’m good, Mom. Do you need me for something?” I ask.
“What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
“I can hear it in your voice,” she said.
My mother knows me just by hearing my voice. She can tell when I’m happy or at a low moment in my life.
“You’re thinking about Liz again, aren’t you?” she asks.
“How can I not? All her stuff is still here. Every time I see something of hers, it brings me down.”
“Maybe you need.”
I stop her before she finishes her sentence.
“I decided not to get rid of her stuff just yet. I think I’ll put it in storage for now. When I’m ready, I’ll donate everything.”
“That sounds like a good idea, honey.”
“Mom, I need to get ready for work.”
“You do that. Love you,” she said.
“Love you back. Bye.”
I get to work and park my car in my regular spot under the orange tree. I work for a local grocery store called Jimmy’s as a dairy manager. There, I fill out everything related to dairy, including eggs, milk, cheese, and any other products from the dairy department. I also place orders when inventory levels are low.
I walk over to the time clock, pull my card, and slide it under as it stamps my time.
“Jon!”
“Yes, sir,” I said as I walked into the main office.
“Good news or bad?” he asks.
“Good.”
Both of your trucks just arrived in the back simultaneously. The bad news is, with your help, Tim called in today. That means you’re alone all day.”
“I’m ok with that anyway. I like working alone.”
“Get started on those trucks, and if I find someone, I’ll send him your way.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said, leaving the office.
I see a girl wearing knit gloves in front of the customer service desk. I shake my head because it’s the start of summer here in Tampa, Florida. Either she has thin blood and is always cold, or she likes wearing gloves.
After a couple of hours of work, I needed a milk report to show what had been sold so I could place an order for my next milk delivery. I walked past the registers and saw the girl from earlier being trained on the express lane. She had a name badge on a Jimmy’s vest for cashiers and training. I smile as she looks at me and then looks back down. She had only one glove on this time, which was on her left hand. She had a tanned complexion with brunette hair with blonde tips that fell softly on her shoulders. Her eyes had a light green tint that made her appear quite attractive.
“Hey, Rob. Can I have the?”
“Already did them for you,” he said, handing them to me through the employee window.
“Thank you, sir. Who’s the new girl working express?”
“Her name is Deanna. She’s a transplant from Colombia who’s back in the States and needed a job,” he said. “I wonder what kind of panties she wears under that?” he said, clicking his tongue against his teeth.
I ignore the comment. “Why is she wearing gloves?” I ask.
“I couldn’t tell you. She told me it was a personal issue.”
“Ok. Thanks for my reports,” I said, holding them up.
I finish my milk reports in the back office, where I hear a lot of laughing. So, I go to investigate what’s funny. I go into the breakroom and see the new girl sitting by herself with Ben, Brian, and Stan standing over her.
“She thinks she’s Michael Jackson with one glove on,” Ben said.
“Don’t let her get too close to any fire. Her hair will catch on fire,” Brian said, laughing hysterically.
“Maybe she’s Billie Jean he sang about. Except, you’re not his girl,” Stan said.
“What are you three doing? Are you still in high school and can pick on somebody with one glove?” I said with a stern voice. They looked at me like they got caught stealing. “Breaks over. Get back outside and get those carts,” I said, pointing to all three. “Next time I catch you fucking with her, I’ll have you fired for harassment.”
All three of them ran out of the breakroom.
“Are you okay?” I ask, looking at her.
“I’m fine, thanks. I can take care of myself,” she said, not looking at me.
I step closer to her. “My name is Jonathan. “I run the dairy department,” I said, extending my hand.
She tucks her left hand under the table and looks up at me. I still had my hand out when she took my hand and shook it.
“I’m Deanna,” she said, barely holding my hand.
“First day on the job?” She nods her head. Don’t worry about them anymore if I find out they've been messing with you. I’ll have their asses.” She smiled a little and looked up at me.
“I’m sorry. I’m new here from Texas. I’ve only been here for a few days.”
“What brings you to Tampa from Texas?” I ask.
“I needed to leave.” That was all she said.
“Okay. I’ll get back to my truck and probably see you before I leave,” I told her. She nods as I walk back out.
It took me several hours to finish putting away my order, but I finally completed it. I didn’t see Deanna when I clocked out, so she must have already left.
