life, leave him be. Once the strongest man she’d ever known, he hated to be so dependent on others.
“I know, Daddy, I know. The Fix-It Lady is on the job now.”
God help her.
Packing took her back five years ago to when she’d stared at the piles on her bed and cried, trying to decide whether to return to Conn or not. Ultimately, she’d decided not to return to campus.
Now, the piles of clothes were different. No flirty mini-skirts and low-cut, tight shirts, fashionable girly clothes. She’d outgrown such silly outfits a long time ago. Truth be told, she’d never cared much for them, but when one was at college, one dressed the part. Or so she’d thought.
She had a tall stack of jeans and tee shirts, a few long-sleeved denim and flannel shirts, a pile of plain everyday underwear and socks, all sensible working clothes.
Yet not suitable for a fix-it mission with the sexiest man she’d ever known.
Her closet wasn’t much better, containing only several boring church dresses and a few blouses and skirts that looked like they belonged in her mother’s closet. She hated to shop, and it showed.
Gritting her teeth, she selected a few of her nicest church dresses and tossed them on the bed. If the last five years had taught her anything at all, it was that she couldn’t pretend to be anything but herself and expect to pull it off for long. She might be able to fool herself a month or two, but the truth would shine through eventually.
If the dresses were nice enough for church, they’d be nice enough for Miss Belle’s dinners. Even though her feminine side longed for some kind of slinky black evening dress to bring Conn panting to her side.
In the far back of her closet, she found a section of clothing she’d forgotten. In the months after returning home from college when she’d still had Conn on her mind and Richard hadn’t stepped into the picture yet, she’d bought several outfits. One was a long burgundy velveteen skirt, loose, flowing, and stitched with ribbons like a crazy quilt in loops, daisies, and chains. Matched with a frilly, gauzy white blouse, she’d felt like a grown up lady and not an awkward college kid. Richard had hated the outfit, and so she’d stuck it in the back, never to see the light of day again.
Rae tossed the velveteen skirt on her bed and stuffed the staid church dresses back in the closet. To find a pair of dress shoes, she had to get down on her hands and knees and crawl clear to the back of the closet where she found black patent leather flats. And then she dragged out something else.
What a dark memory for such a small piece of clothing.
The simple white cotton mini-skirt in her hand brought that last day of college roaring back. She’d worn it the very last time she’d gone to Dr. Connagher’s office. She’d known he hated the skirt and wore it anyway just to bait him. She might as well have grabbed a tiger by the tail. No wonder she’d tossed it on the floor in the utter depths of her closet.
She sat on her bed, staring at the skirt in her hand and the useless clothes left in the closet, each a piece of her life, a testament to the storm of changes she’d endured the past five years. She could see the ravages of time and heartache and maturity in those clothes. Leaving the college girl behind; marrying the wrong man; changing herself to try and make him the right man.
Aching for the first man she’d loved—and lost—so much that she wanted to die.
Wiping her cheeks, she got up and packed her suitcase. Of course, she grabbed the poetry books she’d kept all these years from Conn’s class and her beat-up college laptop with the journal of letter after letter to him over the last five years that she’d never mailed.
If only she could write the turmoil of hope and terror, dread and need, pain and desire out of her system. Then maybe she wouldn’t crumple into a needy mess as soon as he touched her.
To remind herself of those days, she tossed the white
“I know, Daddy, I know. The Fix-It Lady is on the job now.”
God help her.
Packing took her back five years ago to when she’d stared at the piles on her bed and cried, trying to decide whether to return to Conn or not. Ultimately, she’d decided not to return to campus.
Now, the piles of clothes were different. No flirty mini-skirts and low-cut, tight shirts, fashionable girly clothes. She’d outgrown such silly outfits a long time ago. Truth be told, she’d never cared much for them, but when one was at college, one dressed the part. Or so she’d thought.
She had a tall stack of jeans and tee shirts, a few long-sleeved denim and flannel shirts, a pile of plain everyday underwear and socks, all sensible working clothes.
Yet not suitable for a fix-it mission with the sexiest man she’d ever known.
Her closet wasn’t much better, containing only several boring church dresses and a few blouses and skirts that looked like they belonged in her mother’s closet. She hated to shop, and it showed.
Gritting her teeth, she selected a few of her nicest church dresses and tossed them on the bed. If the last five years had taught her anything at all, it was that she couldn’t pretend to be anything but herself and expect to pull it off for long. She might be able to fool herself a month or two, but the truth would shine through eventually.
If the dresses were nice enough for church, they’d be nice enough for Miss Belle’s dinners. Even though her feminine side longed for some kind of slinky black evening dress to bring Conn panting to her side.
In the far back of her closet, she found a section of clothing she’d forgotten. In the months after returning home from college when she’d still had Conn on her mind and Richard hadn’t stepped into the picture yet, she’d bought several outfits. One was a long burgundy velveteen skirt, loose, flowing, and stitched with ribbons like a crazy quilt in loops, daisies, and chains. Matched with a frilly, gauzy white blouse, she’d felt like a grown up lady and not an awkward college kid. Richard had hated the outfit, and so she’d stuck it in the back, never to see the light of day again.
Rae tossed the velveteen skirt on her bed and stuffed the staid church dresses back in the closet. To find a pair of dress shoes, she had to get down on her hands and knees and crawl clear to the back of the closet where she found black patent leather flats. And then she dragged out something else.
What a dark memory for such a small piece of clothing.
The simple white cotton mini-skirt in her hand brought that last day of college roaring back. She’d worn it the very last time she’d gone to Dr. Connagher’s office. She’d known he hated the skirt and wore it anyway just to bait him. She might as well have grabbed a tiger by the tail. No wonder she’d tossed it on the floor in the utter depths of her closet.
She sat on her bed, staring at the skirt in her hand and the useless clothes left in the closet, each a piece of her life, a testament to the storm of changes she’d endured the past five years. She could see the ravages of time and heartache and maturity in those clothes. Leaving the college girl behind; marrying the wrong man; changing herself to try and make him the right man.
Aching for the first man she’d loved—and lost—so much that she wanted to die.
Wiping her cheeks, she got up and packed her suitcase. Of course, she grabbed the poetry books she’d kept all these years from Conn’s class and her beat-up college laptop with the journal of letter after letter to him over the last five years that she’d never mailed.
If only she could write the turmoil of hope and terror, dread and need, pain and desire out of her system. Then maybe she wouldn’t crumple into a needy mess as soon as he touched her.
To remind herself of those days, she tossed the white
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