Broken Wings

Part Thirty Seven - step by step

Chapter Thirty Seven

Aaron had intended to spend most of the weekend at Long Beach, but his absence at work had left a gaping void that no one could fill. But him. Apparently. He had to fly to Boston early Saturday morning, and wasn't back Sunday evening. He had called and sent dozens of text messages to Julia, all were replied jovially, but it didn't stop him feeling guilty. He'd abandoned her when she was at her weakest. He knew that she had to do things herself, but on the flip side, he'd hoped to be her distraction, her oasis in the storm she was negotiating. Instead he was downgraded to sending the odd witty text.

Shaking his head, he reached for his phone. It was just after ten on a Sunday, he had no idea if she'd be awake.

Think Boston is the loneliest place when you're in some shitty hotel room.

It was rather self-deprecating, there was no wit, but he felt raw, exposed. He felt useless and that wasn't something he was used to. Within a few seconds his phone pinged. Before opening the reply, he poured two fingers of the good quality whisky that the concierge had sent up at his request an hour ago.

He took a long slug before he opened the message. A photo, two tanned legs, stretched out on a lounger, Cliffy and Coco stretched out on her thighs, fast asleep, the moonlight hitting the sea in the distance. It was perfect, Julia, the dogs, and the eternal infinity of the sea ahead.

With a sigh, he typed a quick reply.

Thanks, feeling shit and you just punctuated it!

To add proof, he snapped a pic, his sock covered feet, up on the coffee table, the lights of Boston through the window in front of him. Sad, lonely. But before he over processed that, he pressed send.

Immediately a row of smiley emojis came back to him.

Aaron Harding is wearing odd socks? This is obviously more of a crisis than I ever imagined. But the 'whisky for one' is a bit sad I'm afraid.

He glanced at his feet, they weren't odd socks, but the toes were dark grey, the rest of the sock black. On his right foot the sock wasn't straight, so the grey tip wasn't visible. Adjusting them he snapped again, then resent it.

Dishevelled but not a fashion disaster, and the W-4-1 is a great malt. Nectar for my stressed life.

He sent that, and grimaced, he sounded SO needy. But he was despondent. Maybe a trip to the gym would help. He was deciding on that when the phone rang, Julia's name flashing on the screen.

"You're never a fashion disaster, but usually you are maybe a little too groomed..."

He laughed out loud, "too groomed? Hit a man when he's down, why don't you?"

She chuckled back at him, "you own more suits than Abi has shoes...that is making a statement, Mr Harding!"

It was his turn to laugh, "in that case, if that's the criteria, I'm guilty as charged."

Julia sighed, "I know you feel bad, that you think you've abandoned me, but honestly, I'm good."

He didn't reply, he couldn't. She was being honest, open...Julia who'd hidden behind so much. It was a start and he had to appreciate that.

"You've given me a haven, you've done nothing but help me. I'm staying at a beach front apartment, with nothing more to worry about other than feeding two of the laziest dogs in the world. They wouldn't go out today, Aaron. Got to the patch of grass outside the front door, they each had a pee, then dragged me back inside. Lucky I'm not agoraphobic or something, cos then I'd really be struggling." She laughed at herself then added, "and before you ask, I'm eating. Lots. So there."