Where We Meet Again

by Wilson, A. M.

  He follows my gaze to the coffee pot, but his body doesn’t move. “Cami,” he says low, and if I’m not in such deep denial, kind of hot.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s ten minutes. One cup. Let’s talk so we can move on. Don’t make it any harder than it needs to be.”

  My mind struggles for another excuse. Anything to convince him to leave. The only way is to put my foot down like an adult and demand he go. To prepare to shift into a bitch and threaten to throw him out if he continues to refuse.

  And I know deep down into the part of my heart that still loves Law, I could never do that.

  I mutter my acquiescence beneath my breath. “Fine.”

  Giving in isn’t hard, but the next task seems impossible. I need to make a pot of coffee, and in order to accomplish this task, I have to cross to the other side of my kitchen. Which means squeezing by Law, preferably without touching him.

  I inch across the room. Our arms brush together, brief like the kiss of a butterfly’s wings. The contact stiffens my spine, and images of him drawing me into his broad chest flash in my head.

  “You okay?” Law asks me steadily, confirming he maintains his control.

  “Mmhm!” My voice sounds high pitched. It requires all my strength not to fidget and drum my fingertips along the counter while I wait for the water to heat. As soon as the coffee drips into the carafe, I select two mugs from the cupboard directly above the machine and move them one after the other beneath the stream.

  “In a hurry?”

  “I thought I’d get some caffeine to you before you fall asleep in my kitchen.” I extend a mug his way, careful to avoid contact with his skin.

  Eyebrows raise at me over the rim as he sips. Nerves steal over me. The panic restricts blood to my hands. I change my grip from the handle to the heated porcelain body of the cup.

  We sip in silence. Seconds pass like minutes. “How’s the hand?”

  “Oh.” I bring my hand to my face, inspecting the fresh gauze I’d forgotten about until his question. “It’s fine.” I shrug.

  “Good to hear.”

  Silence descends again while I struggle for something to say. “Thanks. For, um…” I flap my bandaged hand in the air. “You know.”

  Why does he have to be so fricken hot? Even in the cheesy uniform, he looks confident and calm. Relaxed against my countertop, one booted foot rests over the other, and he grasps his mug by the handle in front of his stomach. He examines me. Not like I confuse him and he can’t make sense of me. No, he studies me like a puzzle. When he draws another drink and swipes his lips with his tongue, my attention snags on his mouth.

  “Cami,” he calls softly. His tone isn’t warm, but it isn’t ice either. The tenor feels like a crisp breeze on a fall day when winter is nearby. The hair on my arms stands on end.

  “Yeah?” My answer isn’t soft. The one word is high. Maybe a little pleading.

  “What happened to you?”

  He comes right out with it, not beating around the bush, not playing nice. Law doesn’t pretend not to have some idea of why I disappeared now that he knows about Evelyn. But, for the prior decade and a half, he lived without a clue.

  How do I tell him the truth without giving him everything?

  “You know what happened. You’ve seen my daughter, Law. I—you can put it together.”

  His grip tightens subtly on the mug. “What I can put together is that you got pregnant and took off. What I’m missing here is why? I don’t want the watered-down PG version. I want it all. I’ve always wanted it all with you, Cami. Don’t hide it from me now.”

  As he utters the word pregnant, his mouth twists in disgust. Can I blame him for finding me revolting? Not when I feel the same about myself.

  Rather than look at him, I busy myself with tracing my index finger around the rim of my mug. Steam condenses on my fingers. “I did something stupid, and that’s all that matters.”

  “I won’t ask you again. I have a right to know why you left me.”

  I flip out a hand. “I don’t think you do. We were kids. Now we’re not. A long time has passed since then.”

  “Dammit, Cami. Tell me! Tell me why you crushed me all those years ago. Tell me why I’ve spent the last fourteen years haunted by the ghost of the love of my life,” he spits bitterly.

  Flames lick my insides, chasing away the perpetual chill. “You didn’t want to be with me. You wanted to see other people.”

  “I didn’t mean permanently, and you damn well knew that.”

  “Law-ˮ

  He cuts me off. “Lawrence.”

  “Lawrence,” I amend, hating the chasm using his full name puts between us. “I was a sixteen-year-old girl. Back then, it was the most unimaginable thing to happen. I’d already lost my dad, my mom was practically a piece of furniture, and Ritchie–”. Saying his name in context to a time when he was alive chokes me. I blink back the heavy wave of tears threatening to fall.

  “You were all I had left,” I whisper.

  “Christ,” he bites out and examines his boots.

  “I was lost.” The dryness of my throat and the regret obstructs my ability to speak. “I felt unwanted and lonely. I know how this makes me sound. If it were my daughter, I’d be so sad and ashamed of her behavior, but I just wanted to feel something other than hurt and unwanted all the time.”

  His head snaps back up. “Yeah? Did you find what you were looking for?” His anger stokes my fire. The tears in my eyes evaporate.

  “Yeah, actually, I did. Obviously, not from you. Not from him either! I found my love in Evelyn, and as much as this all sucks, I wouldn’t trade her for anything.”

  “Typical words of a parent. Must be nice to have shit on everyone around you and still come out on top.”

  His words slap me in the face. “What is that supposed to mean?” I throw up my hands and slosh coffee over the side of my mug. The fiery liquid runs down my hand, soiling my bandage, and drips to the floor.

  His torso lurches toward me. “What it means is you’ve got a fancy house, nice clothes, obviously a good job. You got someone to love you. Looks to me like everything worked out for poor, sad Cami.”

  “How dare you?” I seethe. “You don’t know the first thing about me, or what I’ve been through.”

  Law doesn’t bother with an answer. He dumps the rest of his coffee down the sink drain and slams the mug beside it. His hands clutch the edge as if trying to regain some control.

  Watching him fascinates me. The setting sun from the window transforms his broad back into a silhouette and outlines the tension in his shoulders, once again defining how much stronger he is than the boy I used to know.

  All signs of rage vanish when he turns, replaced by a haggard sadness that doesn’t come from a minor disappointment. For the first time since he returned to my life, I see the toll of my choices and mistakes.

  I was right before with what I said to Kiersten; I was the catalyst for all of this. Not Law.

  “You don’t either,” he starts cryptically, and I redirect my attention so I don’t miss what he imparts.

  “Because you didn’t wait around to find out. It took me less than a month to realize what a stupid mistake I’d made. You didn’t take me back, because you were already knocked up. It’s all coming together now. You let somebody fuck you so you could feel an ounce of love? Well, I did it too.

  “The difference between us is that you were already gone in a way I knew I’d never have you again. So, I settled for the closest thing.” His eyes glint when he sees the shock on my face. “I got back with Steph. She became what I needed when I was wrecked from you. And after my dad got that call that you moved to Maine, I went from wrecked to pissed. I needed somebody to wash away the taste of you, and that somebody was Steph.”

  Oh, God. My stomach cramps from his words. The parts of my heart that remained beating wither with every word out of his mouth.

  Swiping his palm over his face, he drops his hand limply to his side and
continues. “I let her consume me and that made me stupid. A month before graduation, I got her pregnant. The day after we graduated, we got married at the courthouse. Two weeks after that, I took a job as an apprentice laborer at a construction company to support my new family.”

  “Please, you don’t need to tell me this,” I beg as old wounds bleed fresh again. So lost in his memories, he doesn’t even hear my plea.

  “The work was shit. We built houses from sunup until sundown, six days a week. My new wife reaped the benefits of my paycheck, while I worked myself to the bone. I hardly ever saw her. Which is why when I got hurt on the job one day and came home early, she was shocked as shit to see me. As was I to find her naked in our bed with my best friend.”

  An appropriate response escapes me, so I remain quiet. I fear that if I open my mouth, I’ll either cry, yell, or vomit. The guilt for my own choices eats at me like an acid as I listen to the domino effect my decisions had in Law’s life.

  “She begged for a second chance. I was too young and proud to file for a divorce so soon after we got married. I was holding out for my baby. I thought once we were a real family, the marriage would fix itself.”

  He pauses as if lost. The story seems over. Is he still married to her now? With a child, maybe several, waiting at home for him to get done working? I force myself not to search his hand for a ring. I don’t have the right to care, even though I do.

  He finds himself then, continuing to tear open old wounds.

  “The same day I found out I was having a son, I learned that instead of a baptism, we’d be holding a funeral.”

  The breath catches somewhere between my nose and my lungs, and a sob forces its way out. A shaky hand compresses my mouth. “Law.”

  “Doctor saw some terminal abnormality on the scan. Nothing could be done. After that, Steph and I fell apart. Took me six years to get rid of her. We both grieved hard, and I wasn’t a big enough asshole to leave her like that. After a couple of years, we tried again but nothing stuck. She had five miscarriages before we both agreed enough was enough. We weren’t in love. We were both just trying to fill voids in our lives with each other.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but he’s not finished eviscerating me.

  He shoves off the sink. “I thought I could do this with you, patch old hurts and move on. I can’t. I’ve got six little angels that never got to take that first breath and an ex-wife in a wake that was left behind because of you. Because. Of. You. And you’ve got everything. One beautiful baby girl who loves you and is your entire world. I’d be foolish to give you the chance to steal it all out from under me again.”

  A jumble of defenses and apologies swell in my throat, but they all stick on my tongue. Nothing I claim in this moment will relieve any of the pain he’s resurfaced. As he grabs his bag and walks himself out, it cuts me deep, but I stand back and let him.

  There isn’t anything else for me to do.

  8

  I told myself that’s the last of Law.

  After he left, Evelyn called from practice and begged to have a sleepover at her best friend’s house. Even though it was a school night, after what went down in my kitchen, I claimed the Mother-of-the-Year Award and granted her wish. Then, I spent a night in my quiet, lonely house drowning in the half remaining bottle of bourbon.

  I’ve consumed more alcohol this week than I have in nearly fifteen years. I just can’t stomach listening to the short version of Law’s life story and remain sober. His voice replays in my head, the horrible things he experienced with just enough blame threaded in his tone to inform me he’ll never forgive me.

  As an adult, I can understand the shitty things that happen in life. He made choices just as I had, and those choices hadn’t panned out the way he planned. Mine hadn’t either. Choices have consequences, and there are some things beyond our control. I have to stow away his pain in a compartment of sympathy, nothing more.

  Even a few shots in, I can’t extinguish the guilt. The ‘what-ifs’ and ‘if-I’d-only.’ We used to be so close that almost anything that happened to him felt like my own. His joy caused me joy, and his pain stung me, too.

  Time and several shots of bourbon pass, but I’m I eventually able to lock the guilt away with all the other emotions involving Law.

  * * *

  Three weeks pass, and I haven’t so much as seen him.

  I also haven’t found any mice, and I believe Evelyn imagined them.

  “Sweetie, are you up for school?” I call to her from outside her bedroom door. She’s becoming increasingly less productive as the holidays near. What I would give to be a teenager again. My job has been the opposite. Stupid accidents are at an all-time high during the holidays. Slick roads and an increase in holiday celebrations are the biggest contributing factors.

  I knock louder. “Evelyn?”

  No answer.

  My stomach turns queasy as I thrust open her door. Even with her excitement for school break, she isn’t a lazy kid. The minute I locate her lying in bed, I know. Call it motherly instinct. I don’t even need to press my hand to her forehead for confirmation, but I do it anyway. She’s burning up.

  “Are you feeling sick, honey?”

  “Yes.” The moan is pitiful.

  “I’ll call you out of school. Be right back.”

  Thankfully, I trust her to stay home alone, which means I won’t have to call out of work. I have sick leave saved, but we are such a small town that only a few of us work in rotation. If I can help it, I don’t want to inconvenience my coworkers. The bad news is she has more than a minor cold, possibly the flu. My heart breaks for her and that I can’t stay with her.

  I confirm we’re well stocked on canned soups and crackers and leave her with her phone nearby and instructions to call me if she needs anything.

  * * *

  The slow day allows me to answer Evelyn’s eight calls and take care of her fires without jeopardizing my job. Nathan, my regular partner and other best friend, is ridiculously cool about me dealing with my sick kid. He’d lost his wife two years ago to breast cancer and understood better than most balancing a job and family illnesses.

  My poor girl sounds miserable. This has to be the start of the flu. The actual flu. Not the sniffles people get in the winter and call the flu. I’ll need to arm myself so I don’t get sick too.

  At the end of the day, I can’t escape fast enough. During one of her many phone calls, Evelyn requested popsicles for her sore throat. So I drive the extra fifteen minutes to the grocery store. I run straight for the frozen treats section, choose a box of her favorite cherry, and then stroll to the pharmacy. After adding an arsenal of cold and pain soothers to my cart, I contemplate dinner.

  Evelyn would want soup, but something more appealing than the Campbell’s in the cabinet might entice her to eat. The front left wheel of my cart squeaks noisily as I stride to the deli.

  For a small-town grocer, this store carries everything. They stock the deli fresh daily with some of my favorite foods. I often come by late Sunday night and pick up some pre-made meals for weekday lunches. A half-gallon of soup can last Evelyn and me the entire week. I’ll see if they have some creamy gnocchi or maybe a roasted squash to get some healthy stuff in her, and a loaf of French bread for dipping.

  Just as I can almost taste the deli from the aroma surrounding me, the front of my cart jerks to a stop. My stomach collides with the handle and the cart lists to the left. I lock my hands to save it from crashing to the floor, but the weight and gravity overpowers me. The cart drags me down with it when someone reaches out and steadies us.

  “Careful.”

  I suck breath back into my shocked lungs when I glance up and lose it all over again.

  “Lawrence. Thank you.”

  Rocking back on his heels, he inserts his hands in his pockets and nods.

  “I know it’s not my business, but you’re still in town.”

  He scans my face. I feel as if I’m under a microscope. Like everything in
side me is exposed.

  “Is there a question there?”

  One thing’s for certain, he’s still pissed. I better wrap this up and get home to my Evelyn. I have more pressing issues than entertaining his insults. “Not really, I guess. I’m surprised to bump into you is all.”

  “I gotta eat, just like everybody else.”

  “Right.” I lower my gaze. I shouldn’t be surprised he doesn’t want to strike up a conversation with me.

  I shove my cart to maneuver around him, but the damn thing doesn’t move. I close my eyes and summon patience.

  “Your wheel’s broken.”

  My eyes pop open, and I inspect the wheels. “Well, that’s just great.”

  Law walks to the nearest end cap and returns with a shopping basket. Without asking me, he transfers my items from the cart. “Are you always this dramatic?”

  “Only when I’m trying to get home to my sick daughter,” I snap.

  He hesitates with the box of popsicles in his hand. Turning only his head, he searches my face. “She okay?” As he waits for my reply, he straightens, and my now full basket of items dangles from his fingertips.

  My heart aches knowing the direction his thoughts must have gone. Law’s right. I am dramatic. “Yeah, she’s okay,” I murmur. “It’s just the flu. I need to get her some soup for dinner.”

  Law strides over to the deli counter. I reluctantly follow as he still holds my basket. During our exchange, the line disappeared as they helped other customers. He hands my items over to the employee. “Hey, Cory, can you ring these things up? We also need some soup. Cami, what does your girl like?”

  Several things happen at once, and my brain can’t keep up. Like how he knows the employee’s first name. Or the way he asks me what soup Evelyn likes, as if he’s ordering for me. Last, the fact he’s being friendly at all.