out laughing. But it was true—being a lawyer was my fallback plan. I kept it to myself around my hard-charging female friends, but what I really wanted was to be a wife and a mom. What I really wanted was a house to call my own, bedrooms bursting with children, dinners around the same table every night. But I certainly wasn’t going to tell Landon James that, or any guy, for that matter. “I’m just kidding,” I said. “I really like law school, and I’m sure being a lawyer will be great.”
“What now?” Landon asked, leaning in, kissing me again.
“You should go,” I finally said. “I can drive you home.”
“I was a Boy Scout, remember?” he said. “I’ll find my way.”
“Last time you tried to find your way home, you must have gotten lost. I didn’t see you for four years.”
“That’s not going to happen again.”
“How can I be so sure?” I said, leaning in and kissing him.
“Because when I want something, I go after it. And right now I want to see you in your Girl Scout uniform. And I’m not going to rest until I do.”
“Maybe I’ll even put my hair up in a bun,” I said, gently biting his lower lip.
After he left, I lay on my back on the floor where we had just kissed and called Angie. “He’s perfect,” I said.
“Take a breath,” she said. “No one’s perfect.”
“He is, Ang. Seriously, I could die.”
The next day I woke up early and showered because I didn’t want to miss hearing the phone when Landon called. By noon the phone still hadn’t rung. By midnight I had checked for a dial tone umpteen times, and still no call. At first I honestly couldn’t believe it. And then I did. Two more days passed—on campus, in class, at home—and I barely managed to cut through the thick fog of my days. “Are you okay, Mary?” friends asked. I nodded but couldn’t speak. It was happening again. Landon had reeled me in and then let me go. How could it feel so right to be with him and then this? Angie called, almost on the hour. “It’s better to know now, Mare, what kind of guy you’re dealing with.”
“Maybe something happened,” I said, excusing his abominable behavior, giving him the benefit of the doubt that perhaps he was in a car crash, or suddenly struck mute.
Angie only sighed.
It wasn’t until the fourth day that Landon called. “Hey, you,” he said. “Wow, what a busy week. Been thinking about you, though. Are you free this Saturday night?”
The previous four days had been torturous. Physically, I suffered—nausea, fatigue, insomnia. Mentally, I shrunk—my self-worth boiled down and scorched. I had rehearsed what I would say to him a thousand times, “Go to hell!” being at the top of my list. Yet when I heard his voice, the heroin rush charged every atom of my being, and I bargained that maybe a busy week excused his behavior. I was desperate to see him again. I was desperate for another hit to take the edge off. “Sure,” I said. “Why not?”
CHAPTER NINE
Deserving of Love
IT’S BEEN NEARLY A MONTH since my conversation with Landon about the photo and I’ve been saying a novena every night. Tom’s busy at work and, while the kids are intuitive, they’re also blessedly self-centered. They don’t seem to notice that I’m preoccupied, clumsy, and accident-prone. They don’t seem to notice that my head is dizzy with thought. They don’t complain when I burn the French toast, or drop a plate, or allow them a soda for dinner instead of milk. My sister Angie is the only one who questions me. “You’re acting
weird,
Mare.”
So far the threatening photo of Landon and me hasn’t shown up. Each day I flip the channels between Fox, CNN, and the local news. I search Landon James on my laptop for new stories. I read blogs, listen to radio commentaries. The photo hasn’t surfaced. But still, I feel sick. What if. What if the photo does show up and I have to explain to Tom what I was doing in DC that day with Landon? Tom doesn’t
“What now?” Landon asked, leaning in, kissing me again.
“You should go,” I finally said. “I can drive you home.”
“I was a Boy Scout, remember?” he said. “I’ll find my way.”
“Last time you tried to find your way home, you must have gotten lost. I didn’t see you for four years.”
“That’s not going to happen again.”
“How can I be so sure?” I said, leaning in and kissing him.
“Because when I want something, I go after it. And right now I want to see you in your Girl Scout uniform. And I’m not going to rest until I do.”
“Maybe I’ll even put my hair up in a bun,” I said, gently biting his lower lip.
After he left, I lay on my back on the floor where we had just kissed and called Angie. “He’s perfect,” I said.
“Take a breath,” she said. “No one’s perfect.”
“He is, Ang. Seriously, I could die.”
The next day I woke up early and showered because I didn’t want to miss hearing the phone when Landon called. By noon the phone still hadn’t rung. By midnight I had checked for a dial tone umpteen times, and still no call. At first I honestly couldn’t believe it. And then I did. Two more days passed—on campus, in class, at home—and I barely managed to cut through the thick fog of my days. “Are you okay, Mary?” friends asked. I nodded but couldn’t speak. It was happening again. Landon had reeled me in and then let me go. How could it feel so right to be with him and then this? Angie called, almost on the hour. “It’s better to know now, Mare, what kind of guy you’re dealing with.”
“Maybe something happened,” I said, excusing his abominable behavior, giving him the benefit of the doubt that perhaps he was in a car crash, or suddenly struck mute.
Angie only sighed.
It wasn’t until the fourth day that Landon called. “Hey, you,” he said. “Wow, what a busy week. Been thinking about you, though. Are you free this Saturday night?”
The previous four days had been torturous. Physically, I suffered—nausea, fatigue, insomnia. Mentally, I shrunk—my self-worth boiled down and scorched. I had rehearsed what I would say to him a thousand times, “Go to hell!” being at the top of my list. Yet when I heard his voice, the heroin rush charged every atom of my being, and I bargained that maybe a busy week excused his behavior. I was desperate to see him again. I was desperate for another hit to take the edge off. “Sure,” I said. “Why not?”
CHAPTER NINE
Deserving of Love
IT’S BEEN NEARLY A MONTH since my conversation with Landon about the photo and I’ve been saying a novena every night. Tom’s busy at work and, while the kids are intuitive, they’re also blessedly self-centered. They don’t seem to notice that I’m preoccupied, clumsy, and accident-prone. They don’t seem to notice that my head is dizzy with thought. They don’t complain when I burn the French toast, or drop a plate, or allow them a soda for dinner instead of milk. My sister Angie is the only one who questions me. “You’re acting
weird,
Mare.”
So far the threatening photo of Landon and me hasn’t shown up. Each day I flip the channels between Fox, CNN, and the local news. I search Landon James on my laptop for new stories. I read blogs, listen to radio commentaries. The photo hasn’t surfaced. But still, I feel sick. What if. What if the photo does show up and I have to explain to Tom what I was doing in DC that day with Landon? Tom doesn’t
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