by Celeste, B.
I think about the one she was talking to before she helped me bail. “Did you get that guy’s number at the end of the event? The one who looked like a sexy Santa?”
She laughs loudly. “A sexy Santa,” she repeats, her smile widening. “That isn’t too far off, is it? I didn’t. But he got mine, so I figure if it’s meant to turn into something, it will. Don’t you worry about me.”
Looking down at our hands, I let out a long breath-turned-sigh. “When you first told me about your husband, I kept thinking to myself that I shouldn’t be so sad about what happened to mine.” I feel bad telling her that, so I give her an apologetic look, expression wary. “I’ve been grieving my marriage for two years now, always wondering what I did or how I could have made it better. Hunter was good to me. I was happy. Taken care of. Everyone said we were the kind of couple people wanted to be like.”
“Look at me,” she says gently. When I do, she’s giving me the same look my own mother gives me when she wants to make a point. “There isn’t one single relationship out there that doesn’t have its problems. Everybody struggles from time to time, and sometimes it’s fixable, and other times it isn’t. And if it isn’t, and a choice has to be made, then grieving that loss—that change—is part of the healing process. Just because Hunter is still out there doesn’t mean you can’t feel sad every once in a while because he’s not here with you. Then you’d be depriving yourself of the memories you shared with him, and they weren’t all bad, were they?”
I shake my head.
“Exactly. Take it from me, sweetheart. Death isn’t the worst loss in life. It’s not living that’s the most tragic thing any of us can do. So, don’t make excuses as to why you can’t go out and have some fun and don’t guilt yourself for doing things out of the ordinary. You’re young, beautiful, and smart. You deserve to make friends, date, and be happy however you can find that happiness. Do you understand me?”
I feel like I’m getting lectured by my mom, but it’s oddly comforting. “I understand.”
She pats my hand before letting go. “Good. Now, I have to ask, what are you going to do about Hunter sending you things? How does that make you feel?”
Cracking a small smile, I ask, “Are you doubling as my therapist now?”
She grabs her coffee and winks at me. “I think we all have a built-in therapist in our friends, don’t you?”
I huff out a tiny laugh. “Yeah.” Thinking about it, I lean back in my chair. “I don’t know what to do. Or how to feel. It’s been over two years, so why now? I promised my family and friends I wouldn’t wait around for him. I’ve done everything in my power to take control of my life, and I don’t want him reaching out to derail anything.”
She nods. “Sounds reasonable. You said that you stopped working after you got married, right?”
I press my lips together. “I finished school, took all the tests I needed, and started applying for jobs when I got a few substitute teaching positions for the experience. I liked being in the classroom, and my professors told me I’d make a great teacher. When I was about 25, I’d gotten an offer to take over a second-grade class, but Hunter had just gotten back from overseas and was being relocated to a new base. Taking that position would have meant staying separated for even longer, and neither of us wanted that. So, I turned down the job and moved to a house on base with him. We talked about it, and he said he’d provide for us. That I wouldn’t have to worry about anything.”
Truthfully, I didn’t mind being a stay-at-home wife. My cooking skills improved, I learned how to crochet, and I had time to read again since school and work always took up most of my free time. I’d even made friends with a few other military wives who lived nearby and would go out with them occasionally for drinks and dinner. I didn’t hate that life.
Bex lets me keep talking, absorbing every little realization I come to. “Ever since taking the job here in Stanton, I’ve realized how much I would have loved being in charge of a classroom. The kids always make me laugh, and I love being able to teach them new things. It wasn’t that Hunter wasn’t supportive necessarily, but I think he preferred being the one who took care of everything. And it made me feel…” My words fade as I lick my lips.
Inadequate.
My husband, the man I loved and vowed to in sickness and health, made me feel inadequate.
“I like working,” is what I tell her with a lift of my shoulders, voice thick. “I like knowing that I can take care of myself, because for too long, I let somebody else do it for me.”
That’s the truth.
Hunter wasn’t a bad man. He just held on a little too tightly, and I was the woman—the wife—who let him.
I’m not willing to do that again.
That sinks in deeper and deeper as I stare off and repeat those words. “I don’t want him back in my life if he’s not going to change,” I tell her in a tone above a whisper. “Just because he’s sorry doesn’t mean he’s willing to do things differently.”
Bex’s smile is light. “I think you made your decision then.”
I blow out a breath.
Then nod. “I guess I did.”
We finish our coffee, I offer her dinner, but she says she needs to get going. When I wave her goodbye at the door, I notice a line of different cars parked along the street in front of Fletcher’s and Dominic’s house. It’s the first time he’s had a ton of people over from what I know, and a familiar red BMW is one of them in the lineup, driven by a woman who sometimes drops off Nicki.
Fletcher’s ex-wife.
I try not to wonder what’s going on over there because I know it isn’t any of my business. With a weight off my shoulders thanks to Bex, I close the door, lock it, and take my first real breath since…I don’t know when.
Sonia practically bounces into my classroom after a long day of teaching. My hormones have been dragging me down thanks to my period, so when she gives me a pleading look like she’s about to ask me for something I don’t want to do, it only makes me wary.
“Hear me out,” she begins with. “A bunch of the teachers are going out—”
I groan. “Sonia, no.”
“I asked you to hear me out,” she cuts me off, stopping at the edge of my desk. “Miles won’t be there because he’s going to some concert with a blonde he met who’s apparently in grad school to become a teacher. So, he’ll be too occupied to hit on you.”
That does make it a little more tempting, I’ll admit.
“And I won’t try setting you up with anybody or anything. We’re not even doing the bar thing this time. The winter carnival is in town, and we thought it may be fun to go together. Since this is your first one, you shouldn’t miss it. There’s food, games, and homemade hot chocolate and cider. Please come?”
She doesn’t do the puppy dog face thing as well as Bex. Still, the idea of this carnival I’ve seen advertised on flyers around town and in the grocery store does make me interested in checking it out. “It’s outside?”
Sonia nods. “Yeah, you’ll need to bundle up because there may be a cold front coming this weekend. But, the food is hot, the drinks hotter, and we’ll have fun, so we’ll be too distracted to think about the chill. So, are you down?”
I’ve made plenty of excuses as to why I couldn’t hang out with her since the last time we got together, and I have been feeling a little bad about that. “Can I ask my friend Victoria to go? I think you two will get along.”
She beams. “Absolutely. The more, the merrier. It’s a town event, so I’m sure we’ll see parents and kids too. Half the proceeds go to the tri-county food bank, so it’s a good time for a good cause, too.”
I smile at that. “Count us in then.”
“You owe me a new shirt,” my best friend grumbles, hugging herself as she looks around the town square where booths are set up and people are lingering and chatting in groups. “It’s so cold I think I tore through this one with my nipples.”
I snort, smacking her when a few younger kids pass by u
s. “Behave yourself. We’re in public. I’ll take you shopping another day.”
I spot a few people from the school and wave when I get their attention. Anton and Maggie, another newer faculty member, wave back.
Vickie sighs, her breath forming in front of her. “You’re buying me hot chocolate too.”
“Deal.”
Anton greets us first when we make it to where they’re standing. “Glad you could come. Sonia said she’s running late, but I think once she’s here, that’s all of us.”
Ten minutes later the woman in question shows up disgruntled with twice as many layers on as Vickie. “Mother Nature couldn’t hold off for one more day, could she?”
Vickie nods. “Such a bitch.”
The group laughs, I sigh, and Sonia instantly perks up at my friend. Wrapping her arm around Vickie’s, my coworker says, “I like you already.”
Forty-five minutes later, the group has their second warm drink in hand and some sort of food bought at one of the many vendors, when we all start splitting up. Vickie and Sonia gossip about some celebrity I’ve vaguely heard of while my eyes search the various games, all of which I’d be horrible at playing. When we were teenagers, Hunter and I would do date nights at the local fairs in the summertime, riding every ride, eating as much fried food as possible, and trying to win prizes. I always failed but buried in a box somewhere in storage is probably the stuffed penguin he’d won me years ago.
I’m walking toward a booth selling jewelry when I hear, “Hi, Ms. Foster!” Turning at the sound of my name, I smile when Nicki walks up to me, holding a caramel apple in one hand and a stuffed bear in the other. “Look what Dad won me.” He wiggles the bear that’s wearing a red bow tie.
“Hi, Nicki. Cute bear. Having fun?”
The little boy bundled in a thick jacket, gloves, scarf, and knit hat nods. “I had to beg Dad to bring me because Mom couldn’t come even though she promised.”
Fletcher catches up to his son, sidling up behind him and putting a hand on Nicki’s shoulder. “I’m sure Ms. Foster doesn’t need to hear all of that.”
I don’t say either way. “I’m glad you were able to come. If you haven’t had the hot chocolate yet, it’s delicious.” I stop for a moment, flicking my eyes upward to the much taller man, before adding, “As long as you’re allowed to have that sort of thing.”
Fletcher chuckles, the first real low laugh I’ve ever heard from him that makes the corners of my lips curl into a pleased smile. “I think he’s had at least three cups already on top of the candy he’s convinced me to buy him.”
“I have a sweet tooth too.”
Nicki takes another bite of his apple. With his mouth full, he says, “It’s good my mom isn’t here because she’d never let me have all of this stuff.”
His father murmurs, “Nic.”
Nicki shrugs. “It’s true.”
“She probably just doesn’t want you to get cavities. My mom used to limit how much sweets I had too. It’s because they love us.”
Nicki gives that some thought then nods. But it doesn’t stop him from saying, “True, but I’m still glad Dad is the one who brought me.”
My lips waver to stop a smile from forming when Fletcher sighs. I love how carefree Dominic is in his responses. Most kids are, but I know his case is slightly different. His dad is lucky that it isn’t worse. At least Nicki is honest in a kind way.
“Are you having fun?” asks the man with a deep voice. I don’t realize he’s looking at me until I lift my gaze.
“Yeah, I am. It’d be nicer if it were warmer, but I’m glad some of my coworkers convinced me to come. I think I ate a little too many sweets myself, though.”
A ghost smile tilts his lips. His eyes go to the jewelry displayed on the table next to us. “His mom wanted to come, but she works as a nurse in the city over. Keeps her busy.”
I’m surprised at the free information he gives me. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”
Fingertips brushing the homemade necklace closest to him, he clears his throat. “I know.”
We fall to silence.
For some reason, I feel the need to ask, “Was it somebody’s birthday the other day? I saw some cars around your house.”
He stops searching the table and looks back over at me, an eyebrow arched. I instantly feel stupid for asking. Fletcher probably thinks I spy on him in my off time.
I blush, looking down at the slightly browned grass I’m standing on. “Sorry. That was rude. It’s none of my—”
“I have poker nights,” he tells me, cutting off my rushed apology. “It doesn’t happen often, but I like to try getting some people I know together to play a game or two.”
Oh.
He adds, “I would have invited you. A few other neighbors come over once in a while, but I didn’t think you’d be comfortable. Some old colleagues of mine like to show up and try emptying my pockets as payback for the drills I used to make them do.”
Colleagues.
Double oh.
He means some of the men he used to be in charge of. “That’s okay.” My voice sounds funny even to me. “I’ve never even played poker before, so I wouldn’t have been any good.”
I don’t expect him to say anything, so when he does speak, all I can do is stare. “I would have taught you.”
He stares back.
A moment passes.
Two.
The wind picks up, blowing some hair into my face that I tuck back behind my ear.
Fletcher murmurs, “I can teach you.”
Can. Present tense.
“If you want,” he tacks on.
I blink. “To play poker.”
He nods once. “If you want.”
He can teach me to play poker if I want.
Huh. “I suck at simple games like Go Fish,” I inform him.
That smile reappears.
“Most games I suck at,” I murmur.
Vickie shows up at my side. “It’s true. It’s almost painful to watch her play anything. I think her dad still lets her win out of pity when we have game nights.”
I’m not sure how much she heard, but I have a feeling she was eavesdropping for a while.
My friend sticks her hand out. “I’m Victoria, Stevie’s best friend, and wing woman. Not that she seems to need one.”
Face heating, I shoot her a look. “Not now. You promised you’d behave.”
She smiles innocently. “I promised no such thing. You just assumed I would.”
Fletcher takes her hand and shakes it. “Fletcher Miller. I’m a neighbor.”
Vickie’s eyes fill with interest. “Are you now?” Subtly, she turns to me. She must remember the few times I’ve brought him up because something clicks in her head. When she glances down at Nicki, who’s eating his apple and not paying attention to the adults around him, she glances back up at the man her hand is still connected with.
And I don’t like that.
Why don’t I like that their hands are still touching?
“And is this your son?”
Fletcher nods before letting go and lowering his hand back down to Dominic’s shoulder.
I nudge Vickie. “Dominic is in my class.”
I hope the comment is enough for her to drop whatever scheme is rolling around in that brain of hers.
Thankfully, she gets the hint. “Well, it was very good to meet you both.” She shoots me a wink as she wraps her arm around mine. “And I’m sure Stevie would love to take you up on your offer to teach her poker, and whatever else you’re willing to show her. I have a feeling your talents aren’t limited to card games.”
Oh God.
The implication isn’t lost on me, but I hope to Jesus it is on the man whose eyes slowly move between Vickie and me. His gaze lands on me and stays there before he dips his chin.
All he says is, “Have a good rest of your night, ladies. Try to stay warm.”
I offer a smile before pulling my friend away and squeezing her arm. Once we�
��re out of earshot, I hiss, “What was that?”
“That,” she replies with a mischievous grin on her face, “was me trying to hook a girl up. The way that man looked at you had even my ovaries quaking.”
Fletcher? “What?”
She groans dramatically. “You were always blind when it came to other men. Hunter broke you or something, but don’t worry, something tells me that man will fix you right up.”
I’m too busy thinking about what she said to absorb the rest of her commentary.
Patting my arm, she guides us to another food booth where we load up on more sugar that neither of us needs. “Sweet, naïve, Stevie,” my friend sighs.
The rest of the night, all I can wonder is, how was Fletcher looking at me?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The invitation comes in the morning when I’m out getting my mail. Like most mornings, Fletcher is out walking Admiral. This time, Nicki is absent from the routine, and I wonder if he’s with his mother.
I don’t get a chance to wonder for long because the man who I used to see in military greens stops in front of my driveway in his usual jeans, boots, and T-shirt, but this time, with a bulky jacket on over top of it. A similar shade of green as the trademark he was trained in. “Do you want to come over later? For poker. Dominic is with his mom this weekend and won’t be back until tomorrow night.”
I’m unsure why the nod I gave him was slow and hesitant because he’d seemed serious when he offered at the carnival to teach me. But when the slightly confused, “Sure?” came out, he’d simply nodded, told me what time, and then said he’d see me later before walking away.
That’s how I find myself standing in front of a door I’ve never knocked on before, staring at the doorbell off to the side, and wondering if I should have brought something with me.
Alcohol, snacks, something.
But I don’t get a chance to turn around and go back to find something before the door opens and Fletcher appears. “Come on in.”