Chapter 14: I Owe You

Arthur proved that he could follow directions and sat in the pub drinking beer by the pitcher, waiting for a call from his grandmother. The longer he waited in adult time out, the more opportunity he had to reflect on how rude he had been. He did not know why; he just knew that whenever he was around her alone he felt inclined to verbally attack her.

“Come on, Grandma, call,” he said to himself after an hour of waiting and more pitchers of beer than he could remember. He was getting anxious and very concerned.

Several hours later and after his progression from beer to whiskey then to gin, his grandmother told him that he could come back, but Rachel did not want to talk to him or her, for that matter.

“I don’t think you realize how deeply you hurt her. She’s up there in her room probably wondering if she’ll stay or go.”

“Go?”

“Yes, leave and go back to the States. Whatever drove her away from America to Clovelly must have been a huge hurt. But trust me, what you said and how you said it to her must have been far worse.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. At first, I was just teasing, then things just got out of control, and the teasing became less playful and more...”

“More what?”

“More cruel. I had no reason to treat her that way, I know, but I only did it because I could, which makes it so much worse on my part.”

“For her also. You literally ripped her to shreds and stripped her of any self-confidence or self-esteem that she had re-built since she came here.”

There was a long, silent pause, then he confessed, “I think I like her,” he said slowly, realizing that possibility for the first time after the words came out of his mouth.

“Really?”

“Perhaps. First things first. I’ve got to get her to want to see me or at least listen to me to deliver a proper apology. Do you have her mobile number?”

“No, and I wouldn’t give it to you even if I did. That would be a breach of the trust between us not only as landlady and tenant, but would destroy our blossoming friendship. I don’t even know if she has a phone. No sir, you got yourself into this, you must get yourself out of it.”

“Okay.”

“You talked your way into it; just talk your way out of it.”

###

He took his grandmother’s advice about stopping for flowers first. He knew nothing about flowers, so he bought two dozen long stemmed red roses with a plan in mind.

He had helped with the steps as well as the room itself and remembered there were around 23 steps from the ground to the door of the separate entrance. More than a little tipsy, he ripped the packaging off the exquisite flowers and tried to put a rose on each step, leaving him with one to give to her as a peace offering.

“This has to work,” he prayed.

Once outside of her door, he felt paralyzed by nerves. No one had ever had this kind of power over him. He counted to ten and then knocked.

“Rachel,” he called out, “It’s Arthur. I’d like to...”

“Go away,” she cut him off mid sentence.

“Please, please listen, Rachel.”

She blasted music from her clock radio to drown out anything he said: good, bad, or otherwise in between. She was fed up of believing false promises. They served no purpose other than to let her down. Once on that path to disappointment, more tears were not too far behind.

He did not blame her for not wanting to listen to him after his earlier verbal attack.

“Look, I get it; you’re upset and you have every right to be, just please open the door just a crack, please Rachel. I’m so sorry. I want to apologize. I know I’m probably the last person on earth you want to talk to, but if you won’t listen, then how can I apologize?”

That got Rachel’s attention. She turned off the radio and unlocked the door all the way up to the chain. By leaving it on, she left the slightest little crack open sufficient for him to beg her pardon and gave her the equal ability and power to shut him out of the room and her future.

It also gave him the slightest little glimmer of hope with no guarantees that any of this would go his way. She was the bigger person of the two and maybe, with a little luck, she would listen to his apology, if nothing else. Her acceptance of it, however, would take a miracle.

He pushed his last long-stemmed, red rose, now wilting in his sweaty hand, through the door crack, watching several petals fall from her hand to the ground on top of her feet.

“Yet another thing in worse shape thanks to my touch, huh Rachel?” His tone was a gentle whisper, wanting more than a crack for communication but encouraged by it as opposed to nothing, nonetheless. He kept talking, not waiting for any other further invitation to start speaking or a signal to stop.

She looked him straight in the eyes from her side of the door. His eyes were red due to liquor; hers were red from too many tears.

“What do you want from me, anyway? I’m just an incompetent servant, not even worth your time or politeness.”

“Please. I’m sorry, please come out or let me in. I take it all back. I was playing around and then said many things I shouldn’t have. I’m not perfect, but I’m enough of a man to face up to his mistakes and beg for a second chance with you...as friends.”

After he said his final words she slammed the door shut. He turned to go down the steps a broken man when he heard the entire door creak open and saw the lights come on. She noticed the flowers then gave a lingering look in his direction.

“Did you do all of this...the roses on the steps?”

“I did.”

“Did Beatrice tell you to do this?”

“No, I, um, came up with it myself. I’ll climb all 23 steps on my bare knees pierced by their thorns, if that would prove how sorry I am and if you would just accept my apology, Rachel. I’m begging you. P-L-E-A-S-E? How I treated you was reprehensible.”

“Why is this so important to you? I’m a nobody, remember? Or at least that’s the way you treated me. Not as a guest in your home or your parish or your country, for that matter. Why should I bother to give you another chance? That’s all I’ve given you and you’ve gone from bad to worse, punishing me for things outside my control.”

“Rachel. I want to wipe the slate clean. Amnesty?”

“You reek of beer and cheap liquor. How do I know you won’t have forgotten any or all of this when you get up hung over tomorrow and begin chastising me all over again?”

Emptied of answers but full of alcohol, the ultimate truth serum, Arthur sighed, then said, “You don’t.”he paused then concluded, “But I do know I don’t want to think of spending a future without you in it.”

He successfully made his way all the way down the 23 steps, and was turning to go to the rest of the house when she shouted, “I accept! I accept your apology.”