Let Go of Loneliness

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Jonah leaned on the railing of his balcony, watching the moving van pull into the parking lot below him. A dark sedan, in desperate need of washing, drew up beside it as the men from the van got out. One went behind the van, raising the door. While he took out a dolly, the second man walked to the car.

From his viewpoint, six stories up, all Jonah could really tell about the car’s owner was the fact his hair was going gray, and in desperate need of cutting. He appeared to be on the tall side—at least compared to the mover he was talking with.

“New blood for the ladies,” Jonah murmured when the man walked toward the back entrance of the building. From where he stood, he lost track of the man at that point, but suspected he’d unlocked the door and then put the doorstop under it to keep it open. Meanwhile, the movers began taking furniture from the van.

The first items were a dark blue sofa, two chairs sitting on it, and an armchair that matched the sofa, all of which were placed on the dolly and rolled into the building. A good ten minutes later, the movers returned. After watching them put a dining table, its top wrapped in bunting, on the dolly, along with several boxes, Jonah decided he had better things to do than stand there observing the whole van being emptied and went inside.

When he got to his desk he turned on his computer to go online. His email was, as usual, half spam, which he deleted. Then he opened the mail from his sister, Sophie, to catch up on what was going on with family—hers and theirs—since she was the only one of his siblings who kept in touch. She had taken over doing so after their mother had died two years before, soon after the death of their father.

“She couldn’t live without him,” Sophie said at the time, and Jonah knew it was true. His parents had adored each other. He often wondered if he would ever find that kind of love. “Not likely,” he whispered, while replying to her mail.

He wouldn’t be thinking about it at all except the next piece of email was from his ex, Collin, who was fifteen years his junior. They had broken up over a year ago when Jonah decided—among other things—their age difference was too great. Collin, at thirty-nine, had not wanted to admit he was getting older and spent much of his free time at the gym, “Keeping the body in shape,” as he put it. Jonah had gone with him on occasion and was somewhat appalled at how Collin had shown off in front of the other patrons. When he commented about it, Collin shrugged, telling Jonah he could get the same admiring looks if he’d take better care of himself.

“I did take care of myself. I still do, damn it.” Jonah ran his hand through his gray-brown hair—another bone of contention with Collin, who had wanted him to dye it to cover the gray.

After reading the mail from Collin, Jonah shook his head in disgust. No, he typed in reply, I am not going to loan you one red cent. You still owe me more than enough from when we were together.

Unfortunately, as far as he was concerned, he knew that was the real reason Collin had fought so hard to keep them from breaking up. Jonah had money, due to an inheritance from his grandfather and because he owned a real estate business which focused primarily on the sale of expensive homes to wealthy clients. As far as Jonah was concerned, money was only important as a means to live comfortably, so he had been willing to loan some to Collin—until it got to the point Collin seemed to think paying it back wasn’t necessary, because of their relationship. The last time Jonah had pointed out Collin needed to start repaying him—only to have his words ignored—it had been the final straw. Jonah told him in no uncertain terms they were finished and severed all ties with his younger lover.

Now, somewhat maliciously, he ended his reply to Collin’s email by saying, I’m no longer your personal banker. Find a new sugar daddy. After clicking Send, he settled down to the business of answering to emails from clients.

* * * *

Byron stood to one side of the room as the movers put the last of the bedroom furniture in place. Most of the living and dining room furniture was already set up, except for the bookshelves. Those he had to put together first. His desk and the ready-made bookshelves were in the smaller bedroom, which he planned on using for his study.

“That should do it,” one of the movers said.

“It does. Thank you,” Byron replied, walking with them to the front door of his condo. He gave each man a generous tip, earning him gratified thanks before the men left.

“Now all I have left, other than the bookshelves, is dealing with all the boxes,” he grumbled, returning to the bedroom. Three wardrobe boxes stood beside the closet so he tackled them first, then unpacked the ones holding the clothes which belonged in his dresser.

From there, he went into the kitchen, groaning at what needed to be emptied there. But he did it, feeling a sense of accomplishment when all the cupboards were full and his small appliances stood on the granite-topped counters.

Deciding it was time to fix something to eat—since he’d stopped briefly at a grocery store on the way to the building—he put together a thick sandwich, grabbed a beer, and went out to the balcony off the living room. While he ate, he studied the skyline of his new hometown. The downtown buildings stood tall against the mountains behind them. The park below him was lush and green and even from the tenth floor he could see people walking, playing, or just lounging on the grass or the steps of the pavilion.

I never thought I’d end up out here. But then, why not? Fresh air, sunshine. He grimaced. “Probably won’t get much of that, cooped up in the history museum all day.” As an archivist—hired three weeks previously to replace the retiring one—his job was primarily to appraise and authenticate historical documents. Definitely not an outdoor job. On weekends however, he intended to go to the mountains as much as he possibly could.

He finished eating, washed the dishes, and then went into the study to start shelving the books which wouldn’t end up in the two bookcases in the living room.

* * * *

While Byron was setting up housekeeping in his new condo, Jonah finished with the emails from his clients and then left to meet one of them at the home the man and his wife were considering purchasing. It was in an area of the city where only the most privileged people could afford to live.

Jonah arrived just as the perspective buyers, Mr. and Mrs. Conklin, got out of their Mercedes. He joined them, walking with them up the curved path to the porch and then ushering them inside. An hour later, after touring all three floors—including the seven bedrooms, the basement rec room, a huge living room, and a kitchen which would make a premier chef jealous—the Conklins announced their intention to make an offer on the house. Jonah set up a meeting with them on Monday at his office to begin the paperwork.

With nothing on his agenda at the moment, Jonah decided to stop for a very late lunch at his favorite deli. It wasn’t fancy, despite its location in an upscale shopping area, but the food was excellent and there was plenty of it.

He walked in, to be greeted by a cheerful, “There’s our favorite customer,” from Sandra, one of the young women behind the counter.

“Until the next person walks in,” Jonah replied, grinning as he went over to study the menu. He settled on the pastrami Reuben, his usual, with a side of potato salad and a soda. While he waited, he perused the meat counter, deciding he’d get some jalapeno brats to take home with him.

With his meal finished, and a bag of brats in one hand, Jonah started back to where he’d parked his car. A display of art glass in a shop window waylaid him, so he stopped in to check out what was there. A blue, modernistic sculpture caught his attention—until he looked at the price. If I sell the house I showed this morning, then maybe…He wandered a bit more before remembering he should get the brats home and into the fridge.

He pulled into the lot behind the condo complex, just in time to see the newest tenant unlocking his dirt-spattered car. The man turned momentarily, looking Jonah’s way, smiling before getting into his car and driving away.

“Hope you’re going to the carwash,” Jonah muttered with a shake of his head. Between the car and the man’s too long hair, Jonah figured he must have moved down from the mountains. Probably a miner who hit the mother-lode. He chuckled at the idea, grabbed the bag of brats, and went up to his condo.