Free Within a Man's Heart by Tom Winton Page B

conversation is all. Thanks.”
    He gave me a good long look , slowly nodded his head; then started walking toward the store’s entrance.
    I turned my face back to Gina and she turned to me. I was trying to think of one last nasty thing to say before going next door to get my SUV. But nothing would come—not from my mouth anyway. Instead Gina dropped her head, and a tear fell from her eyelash. I saw it land on the taut breast pocket of her beige blouse. Then she looked back up at me. Her beautiful face was flushed, but she fought to keep her composure. Her voice cracked when in a low tone, a much calmer tone now, she said, “Look, Chris . . . I’ve got to get home. Like I told Carla inside, I’ve got dinner on—chicken casserole. Why don’t you come over and have some? Please . . . just give me this one chance to explain everything.”
    I felt like a heel. I couldn’t stand to see a woman cry, and I’d brought all this on. I wanted to say, sure, let’s go work things out. But I didn’t. An invisible wall of self-pride held back those words. Instead I said what was in front of that wall. With a gentler voice, but still firm, I said, “No thanks, Gina. I can’t. I’ve got things to do back at my cabin. Sorry.” Then I turned away and walked quickly across the library’s front lawn.
    I didn’t look back—not until I climbed into my Volvo in front of the secondhand shop. Gina’s truck was no longer parked in front of the library. She was already at the four-way stop. Barely slowing down for it, she cut her wheels hard to the left and hot-footing it up Portland Road. Her tires squealed as I slid my key into the ignition, and I felt absolutely miserable. By the time I turned onto Portland Road, I was feeling even worse.
    “You’re a real hard-ass!” I scolded myself as I picked up speed heading for home. “She actually cares, you jerk!”
    Then I thought, Maybe she had a legitimate excuse for what she did at the party. You should give her a chance to explain. No, forget it! There’s no excuse for ignoring me the whole time. Move on with your life, man. Forget about her .
    I kept going back and forth like that , as I steered along the deserted, two-lane. And as if that wasn’t enough, there was yet something else complicating things. For some reason, visions of Elyse’s loving face began slipping through my stream of thoughts. None of her images lasted very long, but they kept flashing in and out of my head like a nostalgic slide show. “Why,” I asked myself, “is this happening right now?”
    Was my subconscious mind playing games with me? Had it turned sadistic? Was it cackling as it made my decision even more difficult? Maybe it wasn’t! Maybe my inner mind meant no harm and was only trying to console me. Maybe it was telling me that Gina’s deserting me at the party , the argument we’d just had, the feelings I’d had about her—none of it really mattered anyway. Was I being told that, even if I wanted to, I could never again love another the way I loved Elyse? I just didn’t know. It was all so confusing.
    Then, as I got closer to Gina’s road, something else happened. All jammed up as my head was, I started hearing things in there. They were shouts—loud and clear shouts. Upset as I was by now, I didn’t know whose voice it was. I thought it was my own but wasn’t sure. It demanded, Go see Gina! Go see her right now! Listen to what she has to say! Allow yourself this one small chance to possibly love again!  
    I just didn’t know what to do. I needed more convincing. Then it came.
    You don’t meet a woman like her every day! You may never again! She wanted to make up with you, stupid!
    Gina had been too far ahead and driving too fast for me to see her truck. But then as I passed her dirt road, I did see dust settling in the shade of the pine trees.
    “Oh hell,” I said to myself, “I can’t do this! It isn’t right! I’ve got to talk to her.”
    I hit the brakes hard, hung a