Part 2

Without blinking, Rollie watched as Angie's face drained of all colour and she jerked her hand back. She kept alternating between looking at the contents of the box, and at his hopeful face. Finally, she just backed away from him, heading towards the door. With tears in her eyes, she said, "I... I can't. I'm sorry but... I just can't..." Shakily, she grabbed her backpack off a nearby ledge, leaving her jacket where it was. It would take too long to put it on. Then, she ran out the door and headed down the block, never once glancing behind her. She didn’t have a specific destination in mind. All she knew was she had to get away; fast.

****

A stunned Rollie stood in the doorway, watching the woman he loved flee into the dark, uncaring night. He had never expected this reaction. Shock and surprise maybe, but this? He thought this was what they had been working towards for the past several months. If she didn’t want a more permanent relationship, why hadn’t she said anything? She knew he wanted to get married someday, to have someone to grow old with, someone to share a family with. How could he have misjudged everything so badly?

He didn’t know how long he remained there, wishing to see her come back to him. Eventually, he gave up, and closed the door. Angie wasn’t returning, at least not tonight. And he couldn’t go after her. What would he say? He didn’t even know where she went? Did she go home? Or to a friend’s place? Wherever she was, he hoped she was safe.

Through his fog, he realized something didn’t feel right; there was a sharp pain in his right hand. He looked down and noticed he still have the open ring box clenched in his hand. The corners of the box had dug into his palm leaving deep imprints. Effortlessly, Rollie closed the ring box and hurled it towards a wall, not caring where it landed. It stuck with a resounding crash, dropping behind one of the many shelving units.

Grimly, he walked over to the kitchen area, and opened a lower cabinet door. He stared at the contents, reached out towards one of the bottles, then hesitated. Dismissing his doubts, he picked up the closest bottle. Good stuff, he thought. He reached above him and removed a tumbler from another cupboard. Having everything he needed, he sat at the kitchen table. Without thinking, he filled the tumbler to the brim. Immediately, he drank almost half the glass. His throat burned, and his eyes watered but he didn’t care. Nothing could hurt worse than his heart. He was actually grateful for the pain. It gave him something else to think about, a distraction. Anything to forget her reaction. This had to be the worst day of his life. Worse than when Rick died or Manny died. Or even when his mother had died. Back then, at least he knew we could go on. He wasn’t sure he’d survive this. He continued to drink until he had polished off the bottle. Unsteadily, he made his way back to the liquor cabinet and retrieved an unopened bottle.

*******

Sometime later, Rollie heard an annoying ringing sound. It took him several seconds to realize that was the phone. Angela!

"Blue, speakerphone," he slurred, a little to inebriated to talk clearly.

"Hey Rol. It’s Francis," the detective said, too cheerily for Rollie’s liking. "Just wondering if you'd like to grab a late dinner, maybe a game. Sarah and the girls are at her mother's place for the day."

"She said no" Rollie wailed.

"What are you taking about?"

"Angie, she said no."

"Said no to what? You aren't making any sense."

"She turned me down."

"Are you drunk?"

"Not drunk enough. I still remember Angie said she wouldn't become my wife."

By this point, Frank realized that Rollie had proposed to Angie earlier that day. Based on Rollie's condition, and strange statements, he assumed she turned him down. Man, he never would have suspected that. It didn’t make sense, he knew Angie loved Rollie. His wife had commented on that just a few days ago. She must have had her reasons, but this couldn't have been easy for her.

"Look Rollie, I’ll come over in a few minutes. We’ll talk, OK? I’ll be right there." Francis hung up and turned to face his partner who was waiting impatiently, her curiosity piqued by his side of the conversation. Mira arched an eyebrow as if to say, "Well, what did Rollie say."

"I think he’s drunk."

"Rollie? Drunk?"

"Yeah, he wasn’t making much sense. I think he proposed to Angie earlier and she turned him down?"

"What?!? That’s ridiculous. She’s been in love with him for years."

"I know. Anyhow, he’s in bad shape so I’m gonna go over there. Have a talk with him, ya know? You should find Angie."

****

Francis arrived at the workshop minutes later. Rollie met him at the door with a glass loosely grasped in one hand. The smell of alcohol was almost overpowering.

His first question was,"Don't you think you've have enough to drink?"

"No," Rollie replied emphatically, "I still remember she said no." He staggered back into the loft, taking another sip of his drink.

"Whoa, Rol. Here, let me take for you." Deftly, Francis removed the glass from Rollie. He took it into the kitchen, scooping but the bottle on the way, and poured the contents of both containers down the drain before Rollie could comprehended what was going on. "While I’m here, I’ll put on some coffee. You look like you could use some."

"Fine, whatever, do what you want." Rollie swept the air with his arm. His body followed his arm’s movement, causing him to lose his balance and stumble against the couch. He stayed there, lacking the motivation to right himself, until Francis returned with a cup for him.

"Drink," he ordered. Rollie obeyed.

"Do you want to talk?"

"What’s there to talk about? The woman I love more than life itself just rejected me. How do we keep working together knowing how I feel about her and how she feels about me?"

"I don’t know, Rol. She loves you. You know she does. Just remember that, and everything will work out, you’ll see."

Rollie thought his friend was being too optimistic, but stayed silent, as he might be right. The stress of everything finally caught up to Rollie as he sagged on the couch. "Come on, let’s get you to bed." Francis half-pulled, half-dragged Rollie into his bedroom. Propping him up against a wall, Francis removed the comforter from the bed. He then gently lowered the Australian onto it. Rollie’s was out of it before his head hit the pillow. Francis, carefully covered him with the blanket like he was one of his own children, and tiptoed out of the room. Seeing his friend like this made him appreciate what he had with his own wife even more. Glancing at his watch, he realized if he hustled, he could be home, waiting for her, when she returned from her mother’s. Maybe he’d even stop for some flowers on the way, just to show her how special she was to him. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do, he thought to himself as he exited the building. With once last glance at the darkened room where Rollie slept, Francis drove off.