Loved In The Wrong Light Chapter 05
“Elena?” David’s voice brought me back.
Only then did I notice I was holding my fork
Motionless over the food. “Sorry. Zoned out for a second.”
“It’s fine,” he said, sliding the plate closer. “Here. Their specialty.”
I took a bite. It was really good.
“Good, right?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
He smiled and went back to his food. No More words.
After dinner, he drove me home. When we pulled up outside my building, he stared at the shabby entrance and asked, “You live here?”
“Yeah,” I said.
He didn’t say anything else. He just nodded. “Call Me if you need anything.”
“Okay.”
With that, I went upstairs. At the third–floor landing. I glanced out the window. He was still there, standing by his car. He raised his eyes to where I was. A second later, he turned and left.
That night, I lay in bed and thought about a lot of things.
I thought about the lights that night, about Jason down on one knee in front of me, about how his eyes went cold over the years, about him at the county clerk’s office, telling me to hurry up.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was a Whats App from David. [Filming starts tomorrow. I’ll come pick you up.)
I replied, [No need. I can get there myself.)
[Six a.M. is too early to be out alone.]
I paused. I hadn’t told him I was leaving at six. How
did he know?
I scrolled back through the chat. Yesterday, talking about the shoot, I had mentioned needing to be up early. [First bus. For the night commuter shots.]
He’d actually remembered. Jason never remembered things like that.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t remember. He just didn’t care to.
[Okay.] I sent. (Thanks.]
[Goodnight.] he replied.
I stared at that word for a long time.
How long had it been since someone said goodnight to Me?
In three years of marriage, Jason had seldom said goodnight to me.
Most nights, I said it. He’d respond with “OK” or silence. Eventually, I stopped saying it too.
My head was too full. I cut it off, turning off the lamp and pulling the covers up.
That night, I dreamed about the light show.
In the dream, Jason was on one knee, his eyes bright.
“I’m going to be good to you,” he said. “Forever.”
I reached out to touch his face. The Moment My fingers met his skin, he dissolved.
It was the seventeenth day of filming. At four thirty in the morning, I was at a bus stop, watching for an old Man who came every day at this hour to catch the first bus. He took breakfast to his wife in the hospital.
As I aimed the camera at him, a cup of hot coffee was
held out to me.
“Before it gets cold,” a voice said.
I lifted my head. There was David, standing in the Morning Mist, wearing a black jacket, his hair damp
with dew.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
“Just passing by,” he replied.
I smiled. He lived on the east side. This was the west side. That was some “passing by.”
I took the coffee. It was just right. Warm, not scalding.
“How much do you have left?” he asked.
“Nearly done. Just need a few more stories.”
“I’m coming tonight,” he said. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.
I accepted.
He’d been around a lot lately. Sometimes with food. Sometimes just standing nearby, watching. He never said Much, never pushed, and never made me feel uncomfortable.
One night, we were shooting in a subway underpass. filming a busker. By the time we finished, it was almost midnight. David offered to walk me to the subway station. I said no, but he walked with me
anyway.
When we reached the station, he suddenly stopped.
“Elena.”
“Yeah?”
“Someone’s here for you.”
I followed his gaze and froze.
It was Jason.
He was standing under the glow of the subway lights, wearing a black coat, holding a bouquet of red roses. Exactly like that Christmas night. “Lena,” he said.
I hadn’t heard that name in so long.
“How did you know I was here?” I asked.
“I’ve been looking for you.” He stepped closer. “After you moved out, I went to your office, asked your friends. I asked everyone.”
I stayed quiet.
“Here. These are for you.” He held out the roses.
I didn’t take them. His hand stayed there, suspended. Finally, he pulled it back. “Sorry, Lena,” he apologized. “I know I was wrong.”
“Wrong about what?” I pressed.