Greg kept his word. He didn’t bother me at all other than mostly to say good morning or goodnight, just simple and polite pleasantries. I slept on the sofa. He had offered me the bed, but I thought better of it. To me, that was like inviting him to bed. After all, it was his house. What’s more, I didn’t want mixed messages.
Dad made no efforts to come to the house. Apparently Greg had made it very clear that he was to keep his distance from me. I could see it was stressful to Greg, but he said everything was okay. As long as he fulfilled his church duties, what he did at home was his business.
It was more than clear: Not only was I through with Dad, he was through with me. Sometimes I think he actually believed he was a chosen prophet of God. He was that cocky.
Greg could have easily gone that way, but I think that he truly did love me, and that alone had kept him from becoming the total insensitive jerk that Dad had become. For that, I was grateful. It was clear to me that Dad never really loved Mom. I am sure that was one of the things that had made it easier for her to leave. She knew it.
I finally got a job – at the library, which was only four blocks away, walking distance. I think Greg was relieved on one hand, and on the other, he knew that as soon as I saved enough money that I would be moving out. It was a good thing too, for I had long run out of money and didn’t have enough for gas for my car. Greg, however, had lent me money for gas, enough for job-hunting. I promised to pay it back as soon as I received my first paycheck. He said it wasn’t a problem. He knew I’d pay him back.
And I did.
One check wasn’t enough to move out yet, but I figured I would have enough in about two months. So, I eagerly tucked my money in a new checking account for just myself. That way I knew it was safe and untouchable by my dad or my husband. At that point, I know Greg wouldn’t have tried to take it anyway. Dad, on the other hand, might have come up with some self-righteous reason to try and bleed it out of me.
I was actually beginning to feel good about myself, for the first time in I couldn’t remember when. In fact, I wasn’t sure I had ever felt so good about myself, not in my entire life.
The reason being was I having a taste of freedom. I loved it!
There were busy days at the library and not so busy days. On the days when most of the books were put away and it was slow, I would find a book to browse through or surf the internet. Mrs. Peters, Miranda, the elderly head librarian, didn’t care. She let me know more than once that she had always wanted a daughter. She’d had two sons, Rob and Michael, both married and living in Los Angeles. But I was like the daughter she never had.
There were a couple of other girls who worked there, Mae and Elsie, but they were kind of immature and were always talking about clothes, hanging out at the mall, and carousing, and didn’t seem to think life was about anything else. They were the total opposite of me. Not that they were in the wrong, just very different. Miranda said I was refreshingly diverse, like the air on a spring morning. I told her she was sweet, and she gave me a motherly hug.
Of course, my being around Miranda made me miss my own mother. Where was she? Would I ever see or hear from her again? I was truly beginning to fear that I wouldn’t.