The Ones That Got Away
Page 1
The Ones
That Got Away
Lou Mindar
Driftless House Publishing
This book is a work of fiction. Any reference to historical events,
real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters,
places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance
to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Lou Mindar
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book
or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
FREE STUFF?
To stay up-to-date on the author’s new releases, works in progress, and free books, please visit his website at www.LouMindar.com.
For Bill Breeden and Kristin Ferguson Kovach,
two wonderful friends gone far too soon,
and
For Shelby & Louis
The Ones
That Got Away
Table of Contents
Life 1
Chapter 1
Life 2
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Life 3
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Life 4
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Life 5
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Life 1
Chapter 93
The Ones
That Got Away
Life 1
Chapter 1
October 2004
S cott sniffed the October night air. The smell of burning leaves came from somewhere down the block. He sniffed again and detected the smoky-sweetness of meat on a grill. Winter would set in soon, and all those smells would be gone, a memory.
In the driveway, he stared up at the star-pocked blackness. His wife, Kathy, spent her days cooped up in the house, seemingly thinking of one issue she had after another. Her thoughts festered all day, and when he’d walk in, she’d unload. He’d have to go in eventually, but after a long day at the office, he wanted to put off the onslaught that awaited him inside as long as he could.
Kathy didn’t mean any harm. Scott knew that. She was frustrated, sitting at home all day with nothing better to do than think. And she missed talking to him. He was out of the house by 6:00 am and didn’t get back until 7:00 pm at the earliest. His job as an attorney specializing in securities contracts demanded long hours. Every day he was under the gun to please his clients without upsetting the Securities and Exchange Commission, and he had to do it all on an unreasonable deadline. The last thing he wanted to do when he got home was defend himself from his wife’s complaints about living in Connecticut, her pleas to visit her parents who had recently moved to Florida, and her appeals that they adopt a child. He loved her, but he wanted to unwind, not debate. He exhaled and bid farewell to the night’s fragrance.
Inside, the lights were dim. Music played. He didn’t recognize the instrumental featuring a soprano sax. Maybe Kenny G. The house smelled faintly of garlic. He hung his overcoat in the front hall closet and walked into the living room where he set his briefcase next to an end table that held a photo from their wedding. They were so young, so hopeful. It seemed to Scott that their wedding had happened in another lifetime.
In the dining room, the table was set for two, complete with candles burning brightly and a bottle of red wine, uncorked and ready. This was unusual, but nice. He was never sure when he’d be home, so his wife rarely put much effort into dinner. They’d order Chinese take-out, or more often, he’d have a couple of drinks and go to bed. He wasn’t sure what Kathy did once he was done for the night. Now that he thought about it, what did she do after he went to bed?
Kathy came out of the kitchen carrying a bowl of pasta in alfredo sauce. She smiled. “Tortellini Bianco,” she said, pronouncing the words with an exaggerated Italian accent. “Your favorite.”
“Wow, this is a nice surprise,” he said.
“Take your suitcoat off and come sit down.”
He did as he was told, hanging his suitcoat over the back of a chair. “Why all the effort?” A wave of panic jolted through him. Had he forgotten their anniversary or some other special event?
“It’s the kick-off to your birthday weekend.”
His birthday? He had forgotten all about it. He was a day away from turning forty-four. Birthdays used to excite him. The parties, the presents, the cake and ice cream. He hadn’t felt that way for several years. “Birthday weekend?”
“Since your birthday falls on a Friday this year, I thought we could celebrate all weekend. Maybe go into the city, do something special.” She handed him the bowl and he spooned pasta onto his plate. Cheese-filled tortellini covered in a creamy alfredo sauce, complete with prosciutto, peas, and mushrooms. It looked delicious.
Kathy handed him a small bowl of freshly grated parmesan cheese. He sprinkled it over his pasta and handed the bowl back. “I’m not sure. . .”
“Before you say anything, let’s toast.” She raised her glass of wine. “To forty-four years of life, and a fun-filled weekend.”
They toasted, and he sipped his wine, then cleared his throat. “I’m not sure I’m going to be able to do anything this weekend,” he said. “We’re swamped at the office and I had planned on working.”
“Not this weekend, Scott. It’s your birthday.”
“I know, but our clients don’t care.”
Kathy spooned a small amount o
f tortellini onto her plate and took a bite, chewing slowly.
“I’m sorry.” He wanted to say more, to promise her that the following weekend or the one after that they’d do something together, but he couldn’t make that promise. He took a bite of the pasta. “This is really good.”
Kathy pushed the food around her plate. She knew he usually worked weekends. If she wanted to do something special, then she should have told him weeks ago. This was so typical of her. Because she wanted to do something for his birthday, she expected everyone else would go along with it. Sure, it was nice of her, but it wasn’t how the world worked. How could she not understand that? Scott took another bite and felt guilty.
“There’s something I was hoping we could talk about,” she said.
Scott looked across the table at her. Here it comes. What would it be tonight? More about moving or adopting, or something new?
Kathy pushed her plate away. She stared at him, watching him chew his food, the look on her face a combination of longing and desperation.
Scott swallowed his food. He held his hand up to delay her, then took a generous gulp of wine. “What did you want to talk about?”
“Our future.”
“What about our future?” His voice had an unintended sharp edge.
“We’re fading, Scott. Our marriage is fading, and I want to do something about it before it’s too late.”
“How is our marriage fading?” Although his tone was doubtful, he knew what she was talking about.
“We never spend any time together,” she said. “You’re always working. And we never talk. Every time I bring up visiting my parents or adopting, you put me off.”
“All we ever do is talk about visiting your parents and adopting. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” His words were clipped, the volume of his voice rising.
“You saying that we’ll talk about it later or that you don’t want to talk about it isn’t having a conversation. A conversation involves actually listening to each other.”
Scott sighed and rubbed his face. “I’m tired. I come home, I want to relax, not be bombarded with a litany of reasons you’re unhappy. We have a beautiful home, plenty of money.” He gestured to the living room. “Lots of great things. What more do you want?”
“Our home is beautiful, but it doesn’t seem so great when I’m stuck here all day, alone. And we have more money than we need, but that money can’t hold my hand or talk to me about my day.”
In the early days of their relationship, they’d go for walks, holding hands and talking about their days. Sharing—really sharing—their greatest hopes and fears. There wasn’t this constant tension between them, this need she had to pull more out of him than he could give.
Scott struggled to compose himself. He was never enough for her. No matter what he did, it wasn’t enough. When they left Chicago and moved to New York, Kathy was the head of a non-profit that raised funds to combat childhood cancer. The money wasn’t great, but Kathy felt like she was doing something important with her life. Then she got pregnant and wanted them to move out of the city. The apartment was in a great location and was close to his office, but Kathy wanted a house, not an apartment, so he agreed to the move. He always gave her what she wanted. And she just kept wanting.
She quit her job six months into her pregnancy to stay home with the baby, at least for a while. But then she lost the baby. She went back to work, but the people were different, the charity different. Her heart just wasn’t in it. She went back to school to get her MBA, but it really wasn’t what she wanted, so she dropped out. He went along with the new job, with going back to school. He went along with trying to get pregnant again, including the fertility clinic, doctor visit after doctor visit. He went along with it all.
She wasn’t who he had married, but he agreed with her on one thing. This wasn’t the marriage he had signed up for.
“I’ve worked too long and hard to just give up my job, sell the house, and move to Florida so you can lay on the beach,” he said. “Maybe we can go see your parents around the holidays, but I don’t have time now. And I’m not interested in adopting some kid with physical or emotional problems. Is that enough conversation for you?”
Kathy scrunched up her face and fought back tears. “That’s not a conversation,” she said.
“I’m afraid it’s all I’ve got.” Scott pushed his chair away from the table and stood, the plate of pasta only half eaten. “I’m sleeping in the guest room tonight.” He stopped at the stairs and turned toward Kathy. She was crying now. “Thank you for the tortellini.” He wanted to sound sincere, but the words came out sarcastic instead. He turned, shaking his head, and walked up the stairs.
*
Scott could barely make out the whirring ceiling fan in the darkened room. He stared at it. His life had gone off-the-rails. Actually, that wasn’t quite true. Only his marriage was off-the-rails. Could you have a good life and a bad marriage?
He married Kathy because he felt the time was right. Most of his college friends married a year or two after graduation. But he was still single at the ripe old age of twenty-seven. Now, laying in the dark, twenty-seven didn’t seem that old.
Of course, he had to admit that, at the time, he was in love with her. Hell, he still loved her. He just didn’t like her all the time.
He was certain that, had he ended up with any one of the girlfriends he’d had a serious relationship with—Melanie, Holly, or Liz—the resulting marriage would have been better than what he had with Kathy. He didn’t fight with any of them the way he fought with her.
He shut his eyes. When he opened them, he was sitting on a park bench. Puffy white clouds surrounded the bench, and the entire scene was bathed in bright light. Even though he couldn’t see past the clouds, somehow Scott knew he was in Central Park. He was about to stand when his dad materialized from the clouds. His dead dad.
He must be dreaming. Even so, he was happy to see his dad, who looked young and fit, not like the last time Scott had seen him. A lifetime of smoking and desk work had taken their toll on his father.
“Dad,” Scott said.
His dad smiled and motioned for Scott to move over. Scott obliged and his father sat.
“How are you, Champ?”
No one had called Scott Champ since his dad died. “I’m good,” he said.
“I hear you’re having some marriage problems.”
Scott felt his face flush, and he looked away into the clouds. “Yeah, I guess. How’d you know that?” Scott was embarrassed, but he wasn’t sure why.
His dad smiled. “It’s a father’s job to know what’s going on with his son.”
Scott wanted to say, Dad, you’re dead, but was afraid it would insult his father or drive him away. Instead, he nodded.
His father sat back, crossed his legs, and ran his hand through his hair. “Wouldn’t it be great if you could live your life again—you know, have a do-over—and see what it would be like with those three other women you were serious about?”
The thought excited him. The old man must be able to read his mind. “That would be great.” Scott exhaled, and the excitement drained out of him. “But that’s not how life works, is it?”
“I forget, what were the names of those other women?”
“Melanie was the one I dated in college.” Scott smiled at the thought of his college flame. “Then Holly in law school. She was the one that called you Mr. T. And Liz was the last one, before I met Kathy.”
“That’s right,” his dad said. “The ones that got away. I remember them now.” His father stood and stretched his arms over his head.
“What are you doing?” Scott wanted to stand, to stop his father from leaving, but felt glued to the bench.
“Time for me to go, Champ. I’ll see you soon.” His father took one step toward the clouds and was gone.
“Dad,” he yelled. But the clouds and bench disappeared, and Scott was back in the dark.
Life 2
Chapter 2
April 1983
S cott lay with the covers pulled over his head. He felt Kathy beside him, but he remembered he went to bed alone in the guest room. She never crawled into bed with him after a fight.
“Are you awake?” she asked. Kathy’s voiced sounded strange.
He pulled the blanket off his head. A woman, young and naked, lay beside him. He sat bolt upright, his head thrummed.
“What’s wrong?” the woman asked.
Eyes wide, he stared at the woman’s large, full breasts.
“You goof ball.” The woman giggled. “What are you doing?”
It took a second, but Scott realized he was in bed with Melanie, his college sweetheart. “What are you doing here?”
“Wow, you must have really been drunk last night,” she said. “Don’t you remember me coming over after the bars closed?”
After the bars closed? What bars? He was in the bedroom of the apartment he shared with Dean during their senior year at Western Illinois. A bed took up most of the room. There was a built-in desk in the corner, and a scarred dresser against the wall opposite the desk, next to a small closet with a bi-fold door. “What day is it?”
“It’s Saturday.”
“No, I mean, what’s the date?”
“It’s the thirtieth,” Melanie said. Scott just stared at her, waiting for more. “Of April.”
“What year?”
Melanie giggled, then sighed. “What is with you this morning? It’s 1983.”
Scott faked a laugh, as if he was just playing with her. 1983? What the heck was going on? Was this still part of the dream he had about his dad? Scott closed his eyes tight and opened them again. Nothing changed. He did it again, but the result was the same.
Melanie put her hand on his chest and leaned to kiss his neck. Scott pulled away.
“Aren’t we going to have sex again?” she asked. “If we’re going to the bonfire tonight, I need to get home and study all day.”
“Sex? Again?” His voice was strained and unusually high-pitched.
“You’re the one who loves having morning sex,” she said, and tapped the sheet above his crotch. “It looks like you’re ready to go.”