Carmen always had sad eyes, but they had always been sad in a sort of loving way, like a child's eyes when a beloved pet has passed on. Sad, yes, but always with the basic understanding that everything was fine, that events had happened because they were supposed to.
Now, however, they were just sad. They stared blankly out upon the world without really seeing anything . . . least of all, me. But then, it was all because of me that she had that look. All because of that Valentine's Day night, one year ago.
We'd had a fight – another one – and I'd had a few too many glasses of wine. I can't remember what the fight was about, exactly, but I do remember that it was my fault. I mentioned something about her dress, which I knew an ex-boyfriend had purchased for her . . . it went downhill from there. She tried to explain, saying it wasn't the same dress, but that she liked the pattern so she had gone and purchased one just like it for Valentine's Day. It had something to do with what Carmen had called the 'spirit of love.'
But I didn't buy it. Wounded male pride was more powerful than the ability to understand and listen. I had stormed out, wanting to "clear my head." That had been a mistake.
Now, a year later, I was still paying for it.
She had moved to a new apartment, cut her hair. She used to dye it blonde, and it worked for her, considering her natural tan and soft features. But now her hair was short and dark, showing its natural curl. She had toned up, I could tell. But that wasn't surprising. Carmen had always dealt with things such as pain and grief through exercise. The first time we got back together after breaking up, she'd gained four pounds of muscle and lost an inch around her waist. She looked even more fit now.
I followed behind her as she headed down the street from her building. She didn't notice me, of course. I wasn't part of her life anymore, after all. But Carmen wasn't her usual outgoing self. She used to look people in the eye, even just casual strangers. Now, she lowered her gaze as people passed close by, especially men. She seemed uncomfortable with the way guys checked her out. That wasn't like her. Carmen had always been a casual flirt.
She still worked at the same restaurant, I realized as we got off the bus. The Last Chance Bar & Grille had always been Carmen's second home, at least for the two years I had known her. She had a lot of friends there, a lot of regulars. It was a nice place. Good food.
I hung back as she stepped through the door. I watched through the windows a few minutes later as, apron wrapped around her slim waist, Carmen approached her first party of the day. There was a smile upon her face, but it wasn't the same one she always had. She was faking it for the sake of her guests.
I felt a stab of vicarious pain through my chest. A year later, and my One True Love was still hurting. Hell, I could practically feel it.
It literally broke my heart that I was the reason why.
***
"Another one, Pete?"
I nodded after finishing the last of my Scotch. The sharp liquid was comfortably warm as it trickled down my throat. "Same thing."
The bartender, an older, overweight man, poured another belt of Glenfiddich over some ice, set the glass me. That's what I always liked about Scotch; no fanfare, no swizzle stick or garnish. Just pour and drink. Simplicity in a bottle.
"So what's her name?" he asked.
I chuckled at his bartender's intuition, picking up the glass. "Carmen."
"Wife? Lover?" he asked, then arched an eyebrow. "Someone else's wife or lover?"
I took a sip. "The only woman I've ever loved," I said.
"So what happened?"
"I left her."
He frowned, picking up a glass to polish. It was a slow afternoon. "Why'd you go and do a bonehead thing like that?"
I sighed, took another sip. "Take a long time to explain," I said.
He shrugged, glancing around the near-empty bar. "Not like I have anything better to do."
I just laughed.
***
I watched her for days, following her to work, as she went shopping. So many times I wanted to approach her, to say . . .
something
, anything. But what would I say?
"Hi, honey, miss me?"
Would she be angry? Glad? Would she slap me? Hug me? Somehow, I did not think she would be so easily forgiving for leaving her so abruptly. I had been gone a year, with no word. That's not a simple thing to overlook.
I noticed Carmen always went to one particular little grocery store a block and a half down the street from her building, even though there was a larger, better-stocked, one closer. I wondered why. Maybe they had something there that the other place did not.
I had to admit that it was a cozy little place. Pretty good selection of fresh vegetables and fruits, although the meat counter was lacking. But that wouldn't have bothered Carmen; if it wasn't chicken, it didn't grace her lips. She couldn't stand red meat and had a shellfish allergy since she was a teenager. She would eat cod or pike if I cooked it for her, but usually stuck to a mainly vegetarian diet supplemented by the occasional chicken breast.
I watched from beside the typical beer selection inside the coolers as Carmen took her basket of oranges, tomatoes, broccoli and some angellini pasta to the counter. There was a young man by the register, about her age, light brown hair, white T-shirt that draped off a muscular frame. And then I understood why she liked this store.
"That's all for today, Carmen?" he asked, showing dimples when he smiled. "We got some fresh spinach in this morning."
Carmen smiled, giving him a look that I had always thought was reserved for me: a soft-eyed, thin-lipped smile that took me months to learn to read. It was a look of desire. But the guy behind the counter hadn't quite figured it out yet.
"No, thanks. Not in the mood for spinach tonight."
He nodded, eyes lingering on Carmen's face for a moment before giving her a sheepish smile. He rang up her purchase. Their fingertips graced briefly as she handed over a twenty-dollar bill, then again as he returned her change.
"Thanks, Steve," she said, then headed out. We both watched her go, but only I noticed the movement of her hips. Yep, there was that wiggle.
I startled the kid out of his reverie as I slapped a Hershey bar and bottle of Coke on the counter. He blushed slightly, as if embarrassed at having been caught staring at one of his customers. "Anything else, sir?" he asked.
I nodded. "Pack of Camels. Box."
He produced the cigarettes, rang up my purchase.
"Attractive woman," I said, reading his face. His eyes weren't on me.
"Yeah," he said, a small smile on his face. "Comes in here every day."
