Read Online Griffith Tavern (Taryn's Camera Book 2) by Rebecca Patrick-Howard - Free Book Online
Authors: Rebecca Patrick-Howard
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There was no reason why she should’ve been standoffish to him. He seemed okay and he was nice-looking. As a woman traveling alone, and without a wedding ring, she got hit on a lot. At least this time the guy was easy on the eyes, and close to her age. She felt a little ashamed at herself for not talking to him more. It wasn’t his fault, after all, that she was awkward.
She wasn’t a stranger to dating since Andrew’s death. In fact, it was her past experiences with dating that made her hesitant to pursue anything. About five months after Andrew died Taryn found herself going out on a date. A client set her up with a man whose fiancée had recently called off their wedding. Taryn knew it was a bad idea the moment she agreed to it, but she was lonely and everyone kept telling her to “move on” and that Andrew would want her to see other people and be happy.
The date was average at best: dinner and a movie. She couldn’t even remember what they’d seen. Afterwards, they’d gone for a walk around a lake. He was charming in a simple kind of way and had complimented Taryn a lot over the course of the evening. Somewhere between skipping rocks and talking about music, she found herself making out with him. She had no idea how it happened, but they ended up on the ground, her jeans pushed down around her ankles. It was nothing but sex, and not even very good sex when it came right down to it, and it was over before she could catch her breath. In fact, during the whole time she found herself singing Kelly Willis’ version of “Don’t Come the Cowboy with me, Sonny Jim” the whole time–especially the part about counting cracks on the wall. As she’d stared at the sky and watched the stars she couldn’t help but think, this is the same lake Andrew and I had a picnic at a year ago.
She didn’t see the guy, Craig, again.
That didn’t stop her from seeing other people, though.
She’d repeated the same scenario at least three more times.
Finally, one night as she was sitting in a rocking chair in her living room she received a text message from the latest man. It was full of sexual innuendo–some of it badly misspelled. She figured it was supposed to be sexy and turn her on. Instead, it made her angry.
She knew she meant nothing to these men. But worse, they meant nothing to her . She’d turned something she’d once thought sacred and magic into something base and crude.
“It’s normal,” her therapist had told her. “Many people react to the loss of a loved one in this way. It’s as if you’re proving you’re alive by engaging in intimacy. And, because you know you’re going to feel guilty afterwards, you might also be punishing yourself for the accident.”
Taryn hadn’t seen the therapist again.
There were no more dates for Taryn after that, though. Still, she made the mistake of telling Matt what was going on, and instead of being supportive or at least listening to her, he’d lectured her.
She’d cut him off, too.
Once completely alone, she’d gone on a tear through her house, removing pictures, bagging up clothes, and pushing most of the furniture that reminded her of Andrew into one room. After several months, when even that hadn’t helped, she’d put it in storage and found a new place to live.
Taryn had been single for almost five years without even a casual date. She and Matt made up. But she still couldn’t trust herself. Maybe she was punishing herself. Maybe all of her wires were just crossed.
Maybe she didn’t know how she felt anymore.
H er turkey sandwich all but forgotten, she attacked her canvas with aggression. The lighting was good, despite the threat of rain and the storm clouds looming overhead, and Griffith Tavern rose before her, bleak and naked in the field. It was more imposing today and Taryn used this to her advantage. She was feeling dark and impassive herself. The paintbrush was light in her hand as she mixed colors, blended on her palette,
She wasn’t a stranger to dating since Andrew’s death. In fact, it was her past experiences with dating that made her hesitant to pursue anything. About five months after Andrew died Taryn found herself going out on a date. A client set her up with a man whose fiancée had recently called off their wedding. Taryn knew it was a bad idea the moment she agreed to it, but she was lonely and everyone kept telling her to “move on” and that Andrew would want her to see other people and be happy.
The date was average at best: dinner and a movie. She couldn’t even remember what they’d seen. Afterwards, they’d gone for a walk around a lake. He was charming in a simple kind of way and had complimented Taryn a lot over the course of the evening. Somewhere between skipping rocks and talking about music, she found herself making out with him. She had no idea how it happened, but they ended up on the ground, her jeans pushed down around her ankles. It was nothing but sex, and not even very good sex when it came right down to it, and it was over before she could catch her breath. In fact, during the whole time she found herself singing Kelly Willis’ version of “Don’t Come the Cowboy with me, Sonny Jim” the whole time–especially the part about counting cracks on the wall. As she’d stared at the sky and watched the stars she couldn’t help but think, this is the same lake Andrew and I had a picnic at a year ago.
She didn’t see the guy, Craig, again.
That didn’t stop her from seeing other people, though.
She’d repeated the same scenario at least three more times.
Finally, one night as she was sitting in a rocking chair in her living room she received a text message from the latest man. It was full of sexual innuendo–some of it badly misspelled. She figured it was supposed to be sexy and turn her on. Instead, it made her angry.
She knew she meant nothing to these men. But worse, they meant nothing to her . She’d turned something she’d once thought sacred and magic into something base and crude.
“It’s normal,” her therapist had told her. “Many people react to the loss of a loved one in this way. It’s as if you’re proving you’re alive by engaging in intimacy. And, because you know you’re going to feel guilty afterwards, you might also be punishing yourself for the accident.”
Taryn hadn’t seen the therapist again.
There were no more dates for Taryn after that, though. Still, she made the mistake of telling Matt what was going on, and instead of being supportive or at least listening to her, he’d lectured her.
She’d cut him off, too.
Once completely alone, she’d gone on a tear through her house, removing pictures, bagging up clothes, and pushing most of the furniture that reminded her of Andrew into one room. After several months, when even that hadn’t helped, she’d put it in storage and found a new place to live.
Taryn had been single for almost five years without even a casual date. She and Matt made up. But she still couldn’t trust herself. Maybe she was punishing herself. Maybe all of her wires were just crossed.
Maybe she didn’t know how she felt anymore.
H er turkey sandwich all but forgotten, she attacked her canvas with aggression. The lighting was good, despite the threat of rain and the storm clouds looming overhead, and Griffith Tavern rose before her, bleak and naked in the field. It was more imposing today and Taryn used this to her advantage. She was feeling dark and impassive herself. The paintbrush was light in her hand as she mixed colors, blended on her palette,
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