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Description

As Long As I Have You

Lyn Harkeran stood silently as the taxi cab she had arrived in pulled away from the curb and molded back into the short line of traffic just down the street. For quite some time the young woman watched the passing cars, letting her mind roam to all the different people who drove them, and pondered upon their individual stories. Each faceless driver and passenger had a new experience to share, or special moments that defined them. Now as the evening traffic rush tilted to an even lull, the woman found herself guessing upon each of them. It was a pastime that the young writer often took pleasure in, seeing as it usually calmed her mind to a creative thrum. . . But today the normally soothing mental exercise wasn’t able to stop Lyn’s mind from racing.

After several more minutes, Lyn withdrew her dark gaze from the street and slowly turned from the curb. Her eyes were met with the familiar corner shop as she did so- immediately noting the strange crust-like roof of the establishment with accustomed ease. This strangely shaped building was markedly a unique business named The Pie Hole.

Without further hesitation the writer entered the one-of-a-kind structure and breathed in deeply as the fresh smell of fruit and pastries met her eager nose. The Pie Hole, most aptly named, was a café/diner of sorts where many different kinds of pies were made and served. It was a rather legendary spot, with lively décor of the loveliest greens, whites, and golds- with hard wood counters and tabletops. It was quaint, to say the least, and with the mouth-watering smells and promise of warm homemade pie, it was the most welcoming place in the world.

Lyn, who usually let herself get caught up in the scents and trimmings of the Hole, now mentally pushed them aside and walked towards one of the far corner tables. She sat down with preamble, placing her bag on the seat first before following suit. The café was currently empty seeing as it was past the dinner scramble hours, but Lyn preferred it this way. It meant she wouldn’t have to deal with excessive noise or bothersome patrons.

The young woman waited for several long seconds, seeing if Olive Snook (the designated waitress of the Pie Hole) would cheerily fly around the kitchen corner to engage her with harmless prattle. But the bouncy blonde didn’t come out to greet her, so Lyn let herself relax into her normal routine. With unhurried hands she brought out her notebook and pen from the recesses of her bag, and set them directly in front of her. Uncapping the pen, the writer flipped to a clear page and let a breath slide past her lips. Then she proceeded to write.

Time no longer had meaning and the outside world seemed to fade away into dull and muted flashes. Lyn didn’t know how long she worked, scribbling away, but for the majority of time she wrote, the woman felt an anxious tugging niggle at the back of her mind.

As the countless combinations of words poured forth and filled up the empty pages, the writer visibly fought with herself. Her brow remained furrowed in both thought as well as pain, and her jaw clenched with negative emotion as she penned her thoughts down as quickly as her hand would allow. . . Until finally, she shakily smoothed the page and placed her pen down. And as the pen cap was replaced, the woman leaned her head back against her booth, closing her eyes in trepidation. The weight that had been pressing against the writer’s chest now was close to the exploding point. A fresh string of regret building until it felt almost impossible to breathe. . . But just before Lyn could erupt with emotion she was brought back into the moment by a gentle clattering against the tabletop. Opening somewhat misty brown eyes, Lyn looked down at the plate of freshly baked apple pie that now sat next to her notebook, before regarding the one who had put it there.

Ned the Pie Maker stood with his hands tucked safely in his pants pockets, head ducked shyly, as little grains of flour clung to his white cooking apron. The Pie Maker had been blessed with good looks (handsome features, pale green eyes, and thick brown hair), but he had always been too humble and shy to take advantage of his birthright. He could have had most women due to his looks and sweet disposition, but his physical beauty was usually subtracted from due to his social issues, so he remained oblivious to the whole affair.

Usually, Lyn saw the man with puppy dog looks or timid smiles. But not today. Currently the Pie Maker only looked worried.

“I didn’t order anything-” Lyn began softly, but the man interrupted her nervously.

“I assumed you could use a boost. . . You looked upset.”

The writer couldn’t help the small smile that claimed purchase of her face in that moment, though it only lasted for a brief second. Though Ned was a bit on the awkward side of things, the man was religiously sincere about his comments and actions, and despite his floundering the writer was grateful to him for his care.

“Thank you, Ned, but I’m okay. . . Just a bit off today.”

The Pie Maker glanced at her, studying her face with wide eyes before he silently slid into the booth next to her. The action was rather unexpected so Lyn wasn’t able to scoot over quite fast enough. As Ned sat down his thigh brushed against the writer’s and they both jumped. The two blushed before Lyn patted his shoulder as a calming action and moved over for him.

Once they were settled comfortably, the Pie Maker bashfully gestured to the newly inked notebook. “May I?”

This wasn’t a usual request. Ned often read Lyn’s work, and had since they had met during one of his and Emerson’s Murder Cases. But this time the woman hesitated.

“I’m not sure you’d enjoy it, Ned. . .”

Ned smiled at her. “You say that for everything you write.”

“But this stuff is a lot darker than my norm,” the writer explained, glancing at the pen and paper disgustedly. “It has no happy ending to speak of. . . But if you want to read it, go ahead. I won’t stop you.”

The Pie Maker was quiet for a pause, gauging the woman next to him, before he gingerly picked up the notebook and flipped back to the first page she had written. For a moment, as he read, his expression was relaxed, but then his eyebrows shot up and he glanced wide-eyed at Lyn.

“This story is about you?”

Lyn nodded in affirmation. “But it’s not the first installment. . . . I’ve finally decided to start writing down my memoirs. . . Though I’m doing it in segments instead of a normal story format. I’m writing the memories as they come; the order isn’t defined as of yet. . .”

Ned’s eyes quickly returned back to the text, his gaze eating the words at a quick pace, and for several uncountable minutes he read in utter silence. At first Lyn watched him, her mind screaming at her to snatch the nasty account away from his innocent eyes and turn and leave the Pie Hole. . . But she couldn’t. She had been running from the past for so long . . . and she knew that it was time to stop and let the truth build or break her.

On the table the slice of pie went untouched (Lyn was too emotional and anxious to think of eating, and Ned was far too busy with the drafted manuscript), but the woman gratefully took the cup that had been brought with the plate. Without thinking the woman tipped back the cup, not seeing the color of its contents, and knew that if she could have smiled in that moment, that she would have.

It was Mountain Dew with ice. It might have seemed like a small gesture, but for a man who neither drank nor sold the caffeinated soda it was quite substantial.

Lyn continued to sip the Dew as the minutes continually ticked by, tears falling down her cheeks as she felt the Pie Maker stiffen next to her and saw his grip on the notebook visibly tighten. She was ashamed that she had let Ned read it. She should have had her sister Aora read it first- or better yet just kept it to herself. . . But she hadn’t, and now she had broken him as well. If there was one thing the woman had learned in her short span of years, it was that darkness loved company and that it bred in moments of weakness. Now that she had exposed the sweet man who currently looked at the written page with shocked eyes, the writer knew that she had ruined her relationship with him. Not that they’d ever come out and stated what kind of relationship they had (Lyn had called Ned her friend, and vice versa several times). But the thought of it being defiled by her secrets made the woman cried harder and she rested her head in her hands dejectedly.

After another ten minutes, Ned placed the notebook back to the table but continued to sit in silence. It had been heavy, the material he had read, and more than he had ever known about the woman sitting beside him. . . And he needed a moment to process it all.

But as the man wondered upon all that he had read, he looked over with dazed green eyes to see the shaking form of the woman- her hoodie pulled up hiding her head as she sobbed quietly. For a second Ned was still, before he reached a hesitant hand to her shoulder and spoke quietly.

“Lyn. Did . . . Did all of that really happen?”

It took her a minute to reply, but when she did the man cringed. “Yes. It’s all true. . . Though I’d give anything to say that it wasn’t.”

Ned’s brow scrunched sadly as he watched Lyn raise her head to look at him, her chocolate eyes now red with her tears. “I’m sorry for not preparing you. . . I shouldn’t have let you read it.”

Ned shook his head. “No. . . I’m glad you did. . . I’m glad you trusted me enough.”

Lyn laughed without humor as she took a deep shuddering breath to release some of the tension in her chest. “I should just walk in front of the next bus that comes my way. . . It’d be easier than all this regret and façade of a normal life.”

“Lyn!” the Pie Maker stuttered anxiously, “No, just don’t. . . That’s not funny. Don’t even joke about that.”

“I’m not joking, Ned. Because what’s the point of my existence?”

He looked startled by the question, as if it truly perplexed him. “You. Living. Breathing. Trying.”

“I’m tired of trying,” she said quietly, as more tears clouded her dark eyes. “I want to succeed.”

“Well . . . sometimes trying is all a person is capable of until things change and they’re able to rehabilitate and work out their problems.”

“ . . . That’s unacceptable. . . Or at least, it is to me. . . I can’t stay like this. . . This fragile shell of what I used to be. . . What I should be!” Lyn paused before she looked up at him again. “I’m tired of fighting to get back, instead of fighting to get forward. . . I’m afraid, Ned . . . and I don’t know how to conquer it.”

For a moment the Pie Maker looked at her, a thousand false hopes flooding his mind. He could have lied to her and said that there was nothing to be afraid of, or awkwardly try to assure her that everything would be alright soon. But instead, the shy man did something that neither he nor the emotional writer could comprehend. Ned reached over and draped his arm around her shaking shoulders and brought her hesitantly into the safety of his side. For a second Lyn froze up, before she in turn wrapped her arm around his middle and cried into the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m here, Lyn,” was all he said, as her fears continued to haunt her. “No matter what happened to you or what you’re going through, I don’t blame you. . . I’m not going anywhere.”

It wasn’t a fix-all promise, or an incredible response to her declaration of uncertainty and fatigue, but at that particular moment in time it was exactly what Lyn Harkeran needed, and she gratefully accepted the truth he had given.

“I love you, Ned.” She whispered, knowing full well that above her Ned was blushing and unable to answer her. But Lyn didn’t mind . . . and she wouldn’t. As long as she had him in her life.

Description

As Long As I Have You

Lyn Harkeran stood silently as the taxi cab she had arrived in pulled away from the curb and molded back into the short line of traffic just down the street. For quite some time the young woman watched the passing cars, letting her mind roam to all the different people who drove them, and pondered upon their individual stories. Each faceless driver and passenger had a new experience to share, or special moments that defined them. Now as the evening traffic rush tilted to an even lull, the woman found herself guessing upon each of them. It was a pastime that the young writer often took pleasure in, seeing as it usually calmed her mind to a creative thrum. . . But today the normally soothing mental exercise wasn’t able to stop Lyn’s mind from racing.

After several more minutes, Lyn withdrew her dark gaze from the street and slowly turned from the curb. Her eyes were met with the familiar corner shop as she did so- immediately noting the strange crust-like roof of the establishment with accustomed ease. This strangely shaped building was markedly a unique business named The Pie Hole.

Without further hesitation the writer entered the one-of-a-kind structure and breathed in deeply as the fresh smell of fruit and pastries met her eager nose. The Pie Hole, most aptly named, was a café/diner of sorts where many different kinds of pies were made and served. It was a rather legendary spot, with lively décor of the loveliest greens, whites, and golds- with hard wood counters and tabletops. It was quaint, to say the least, and with the mouth-watering smells and promise of warm homemade pie, it was the most welcoming place in the world.

Lyn, who usually let herself get caught up in the scents and trimmings of the Hole, now mentally pushed them aside and walked towards one of the far corner tables. She sat down with preamble, placing her bag on the seat first before following suit. The café was currently empty seeing as it was past the dinner scramble hours, but Lyn preferred it this way. It meant she wouldn’t have to deal with excessive noise or bothersome patrons.

The young woman waited for several long seconds, seeing if Olive Snook (the designated waitress of the Pie Hole) would cheerily fly around the kitchen corner to engage her with harmless prattle. But the bouncy blonde didn’t come out to greet her, so Lyn let herself relax into her normal routine. With unhurried hands she brought out her notebook and pen from the recesses of her bag, and set them directly in front of her. Uncapping the pen, the writer flipped to a clear page and let a breath slide past her lips. Then she proceeded to write.

Time no longer had meaning and the outside world seemed to fade away into dull and muted flashes. Lyn didn’t know how long she worked, scribbling away, but for the majority of time she wrote, the woman felt an anxious tugging niggle at the back of her mind.

As the countless combinations of words poured forth and filled up the empty pages, the writer visibly fought with herself. Her brow remained furrowed in both thought as well as pain, and her jaw clenched with negative emotion as she penned her thoughts down as quickly as her hand would allow. . . Until finally, she shakily smoothed the page and placed her pen down. And as the pen cap was replaced, the woman leaned her head back against her booth, closing her eyes in trepidation. The weight that had been pressing against the writer’s chest now was close to the exploding point. A fresh string of regret building until it felt almost impossible to breathe. . . But just before Lyn could erupt with emotion she was brought back into the moment by a gentle clattering against the tabletop. Opening somewhat misty brown eyes, Lyn looked down at the plate of freshly baked apple pie that now sat next to her notebook, before regarding the one who had put it there.

Ned the Pie Maker stood with his hands tucked safely in his pants pockets, head ducked shyly, as little grains of flour clung to his white cooking apron. The Pie Maker had been blessed with good looks (handsome features, pale green eyes, and thick brown hair), but he had always been too humble and shy to take advantage of his birthright. He could have had most women due to his looks and sweet disposition, but his physical beauty was usually subtracted from due to his social issues, so he remained oblivious to the whole affair.

Usually, Lyn saw the man with puppy dog looks or timid smiles. But not today. Currently the Pie Maker only looked worried.

“I didn’t order anything-” Lyn began softly, but the man interrupted her nervously.

“I assumed you could use a boost. . . You looked upset.”

The writer couldn’t help the small smile that claimed purchase of her face in that moment, though it only lasted for a brief second. Though Ned was a bit on the awkward side of things, the man was religiously sincere about his comments and actions, and despite his floundering the writer was grateful to him for his care.

“Thank you, Ned, but I’m okay. . . Just a bit off today.”

The Pie Maker glanced at her, studying her face with wide eyes before he silently slid into the booth next to her. The action was rather unexpected so Lyn wasn’t able to scoot over quite fast enough. As Ned sat down his thigh brushed against the writer’s and they both jumped. The two blushed before Lyn patted his shoulder as a calming action and moved over for him.

Once they were settled comfortably, the Pie Maker bashfully gestured to the newly inked notebook. “May I?”

This wasn’t a usual request. Ned often read Lyn’s work, and had since they had met during one of his and Emerson’s Murder Cases. But this time the woman hesitated.

“I’m not sure you’d enjoy it, Ned. . .”

Ned smiled at her. “You say that for everything you write.”

“But this stuff is a lot darker than my norm,” the writer explained, glancing at the pen and paper disgustedly. “It has no happy ending to speak of. . . But if you want to read it, go ahead. I won’t stop you.”

The Pie Maker was quiet for a pause, gauging the woman next to him, before he gingerly picked up the notebook and flipped back to the first page she had written. For a moment, as he read, his expression was relaxed, but then his eyebrows shot up and he glanced wide-eyed at Lyn.

“This story is about you?”

Lyn nodded in affirmation. “But it’s not the first installment. . . . I’ve finally decided to start writing down my memoirs. . . Though I’m doing it in segments instead of a normal story format. I’m writing the memories as they come; the order isn’t defined as of yet. . .”

Ned’s eyes quickly returned back to the text, his gaze eating the words at a quick pace, and for several uncountable minutes he read in utter silence. At first Lyn watched him, her mind screaming at her to snatch the nasty account away from his innocent eyes and turn and leave the Pie Hole. . . But she couldn’t. She had been running from the past for so long . . . and she knew that it was time to stop and let the truth build or break her.

On the table the slice of pie went untouched (Lyn was too emotional and anxious to think of eating, and Ned was far too busy with the drafted manuscript), but the woman gratefully took the cup that had been brought with the plate. Without thinking the woman tipped back the cup, not seeing the color of its contents, and knew that if she could have smiled in that moment, that she would have.

It was Mountain Dew with ice. It might have seemed like a small gesture, but for a man who neither drank nor sold the caffeinated soda it was quite substantial.

Lyn continued to sip the Dew as the minutes continually ticked by, tears falling down her cheeks as she felt the Pie Maker stiffen next to her and saw his grip on the notebook visibly tighten. She was ashamed that she had let Ned read it. She should have had her sister Aora read it first- or better yet just kept it to herself. . . But she hadn’t, and now she had broken him as well. If there was one thing the woman had learned in her short span of years, it was that darkness loved company and that it bred in moments of weakness. Now that she had exposed the sweet man who currently looked at the written page with shocked eyes, the writer knew that she had ruined her relationship with him. Not that they’d ever come out and stated what kind of relationship they had (Lyn had called Ned her friend, and vice versa several times). But the thought of it being defiled by her secrets made the woman cried harder and she rested her head in her hands dejectedly.

After another ten minutes, Ned placed the notebook back to the table but continued to sit in silence. It had been heavy, the material he had read, and more than he had ever known about the woman sitting beside him. . . And he needed a moment to process it all.

But as the man wondered upon all that he had read, he looked over with dazed green eyes to see the shaking form of the woman- her hoodie pulled up hiding her head as she sobbed quietly. For a second Ned was still, before he reached a hesitant hand to her shoulder and spoke quietly.

“Lyn. Did . . . Did all of that really happen?”

It took her a minute to reply, but when she did the man cringed. “Yes. It’s all true. . . Though I’d give anything to say that it wasn’t.”

Ned’s brow scrunched sadly as he watched Lyn raise her head to look at him, her chocolate eyes now red with her tears. “I’m sorry for not preparing you. . . I shouldn’t have let you read it.”

Ned shook his head. “No. . . I’m glad you did. . . I’m glad you trusted me enough.”

Lyn laughed without humor as she took a deep shuddering breath to release some of the tension in her chest. “I should just walk in front of the next bus that comes my way. . . It’d be easier than all this regret and façade of a normal life.”

“Lyn!” the Pie Maker stuttered anxiously, “No, just don’t. . . That’s not funny. Don’t even joke about that.”

“I’m not joking, Ned. Because what’s the point of my existence?”

He looked startled by the question, as if it truly perplexed him. “You. Living. Breathing. Trying.”

“I’m tired of trying,” she said quietly, as more tears clouded her dark eyes. “I want to succeed.”

“Well . . . sometimes trying is all a person is capable of until things change and they’re able to rehabilitate and work out their problems.”

“ . . . That’s unacceptable. . . Or at least, it is to me. . . I can’t stay like this. . . This fragile shell of what I used to be. . . What I should be!” Lyn paused before she looked up at him again. “I’m tired of fighting to get back, instead of fighting to get forward. . . I’m afraid, Ned . . . and I don’t know how to conquer it.”

For a moment the Pie Maker looked at her, a thousand false hopes flooding his mind. He could have lied to her and said that there was nothing to be afraid of, or awkwardly try to assure her that everything would be alright soon. But instead, the shy man did something that neither he nor the emotional writer could comprehend. Ned reached over and draped his arm around her shaking shoulders and brought her hesitantly into the safety of his side. For a second Lyn froze up, before she in turn wrapped her arm around his middle and cried into the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m here, Lyn,” was all he said, as her fears continued to haunt her. “No matter what happened to you or what you’re going through, I don’t blame you. . . I’m not going anywhere.”

It wasn’t a fix-all promise, or an incredible response to her declaration of uncertainty and fatigue, but at that particular moment in time it was exactly what Lyn Harkeran needed, and she gratefully accepted the truth he had given.

“I love you, Ned.” She whispered, knowing full well that above her Ned was blushing and unable to answer her. But Lyn didn’t mind . . . and she wouldn’t. As long as she had him in her life.