Inevitably You

by Abby Brooks

  "You've been gone for nine months." The thought of letting Claire anywhere near this man is enough to make me braver than normal. She's the whole reason I left him in the first place.

  "And now I'm back."

  Panic tastes like pennies, drying out the back of my throat and sending lightning through my veins. I didn't press charges the night Russell pulled the gun on me. It was one of the promises I made to make him agree to a divorce. What's worse, I didn't have enough money to hire a lawyer, so I downloaded the divorce paperwork online and filed it myself, agreeing to each and every one of Russell's stipulations just to encourage him to sign on the dotted line. The demands he made were outrageous. Shared parenting instead of full custody for me, with zero financial obligation on his part. I knew he'd disappear the moment it was final, so I let him off without a fight. It didn't matter what the paperwork said because he'd be out of our lives forever.

  Except here he is. Very much back in our lives.

  "Michelle?" Lexi appears from around the corner, takes one look at my face and comes to stand directly behind me.

  "Who the fuck are you?" Russell juts his chin, eyeing my friend.

  "More importantly, who the fuck are you?" echoes Lexi, not one to let anyone intimidate her in any way, shape, or form.

  Russell turns back to me, dismissing Lexi with a harsh laugh. "I want to see my daughter."

  "No." I press my hands into my hips so he won't notice them tremble. "We're about to leave for the park and she is in no way ready to see you."

  "I'm her dad. She's always ready to see me."

  Lexi scoffs. "Just a suggestion from someone who's been around for the last year. If you want to do something good for your daughter, you could start with some child support or something." She steps even closer to me and I swear I'd fall down if she wasn't there to prop me up.

  Russell throws his head back and laughs. "Nice try, but I don't owe Michelle a damn thing."

  "You owe her more than you could ever comprehend."

  Lexi's trying to help, but Russell comes pre-installed with an anger button the size of Texas. The more she pushes him, the more he's going to push back. If she doesn't back down, things are only going to escalate until it all explodes spectacularly on my front porch.

  I hold up my hands, a peace offering. "Of course you deserve to see her," I say to the man who made my life more miserable than I ever thought possible. "And you know she'll be ecstatic." That's a lie. Claire has told me more than once that life is so much easier now that Daddy's gone. "But we've got such a big afternoon planned and she'll be disappointed to miss it. Wouldn't it be better if you could have a whole Daddy-Daughter day for yourselves?"

  It wouldn't be better. Not at all. But I'm banking on the hope that by the time he gets back to wherever he came from, this misguided burst of parental give-a-shit will die off and he'll be gone again. If I had thought, even for a second, that he would end up on my doorstep someday, I would have fought for full custody.

  Russell takes a step back from the door, pinching the bridge of his crooked nose. "Whatever. The next time I show up, you better hand her over to me or I'll call the cops."

  "How ironic," I bite off. "You calling the cops on me."

  My bravado is all show. Inside I'm quivering like my legs are made of marshmallows. Can he even do that? Am I outside of my legal right by keeping Claire from him today? I don't remember what the paperwork even says because I never thought it would matter. I thought he was gone for good.

  He makes a face, not used to this new, bolder version of me, and then turns his back and walks away, more swagger in his step than he deserves. He climbs into a brand-new Chevy Sonic—complete with an obnoxious yellow paint job and thirty-day tags—and I let out a long, shaky breath when he peels out of the driveway and hits the gas so hard his tires spin. I wish I'd been strong enough to fight for what I wanted, for what I deserved, during our divorce. I wish I had pressed charges on his stupid ass and sent him to jail and gotten him out of our lives the right way instead of the easy way.

  "I'm so sorry." I can't look Lexi in the eye. Not yet.

  "No babe. I am. I'm sorry someone like you ever had to put up with someone like him."

  I lean my head against the doorjamb. "Do you think she heard?"

  "Who, Claire?"

  I nod.

  "Nope. She and Gabe are in her room having a dance party. They couldn't have heard a plane fall out of the sky over the hilarity that's going on in there." Lexi takes my hand. "Come on. Let's grab those kiddos and head to the park. We can talk about what happened once we're there if you need to." She gives my shoulder a squeeze. "Or not at all. Whatever makes you the most comfortable."

  I nod again, a dust storm of anxiety burying my voice. I can't think through all that's going on in my head, so I go on auto-pilot, plastering a big smile across my face and following Lexi's lead as we pack the kids into her car. She turns on the radio and they all sing along, while I focus on deepening my breaths and reminding myself that Russell is more bark than bite. The more distance we put between ourselves and my house—between the one place Russell knows where to find me and the happy sounds coming from the backseat—the more I relax. I can make it through this day without letting the confrontation with Russell ruin our play date. After all these years, I'm a master of putting one foot in front of the other, of smiling and laughing despite tormented thoughts and the constant throb of what if in my head.

  By the time we make our way to the park, I've got the encounter with Russell tucked into one of the far recesses of my brain, where I lock it up tight and lose the key. We're here. The sun is shining and this park is beautiful. The kids are happy. My best friend is with me. Right here and right now, everything is okay. We unload our snack-filled bags as the kids clamber out of the car and race off towards the playground.

  "Careful!" I call out as Claire almost collides with a dog sprinting through the open expanse of grass between the parking lot and playground to catch a ball thrown by its owner.

  My girl spins to face me but keeps running backwards. "I'm okay!" she says before turning around and sprinting past Gabe on her way to the swings.

  I pause to search out the owner of the dog, just to raise a hand and throw him an apology, and damn if it isn't David Carmichael. And double damn if he isn't walking towards me with a huge grin on his face.

  DAVID

  I would recognize those blond pigtails bouncing away from a near miss with Pogo anywhere. That hair belongs to Claire, and Claire belongs to Michelle, the woman I haven't been able to stop thinking about for the last week. With one hand over my eyes to shade them from the sun, I search the parking lot and find her just as Pogo comes running back to me, his ball abandoned in the grass. Pogo has plenty of room to run and play at the farm, but I need him to listen to me even when he's distracted. I bring him here where all the people coming and going keep us on our toes.

  "Come on then," I say. "Let's get that ball." He bounds along beside me, bumping my hand with his wet nose as I bend to pick up his toy. I straighten and glance at Michelle.

  I don't like her reaction when she recognizes me. First, she freezes. Then she smiles, a lovely thing that quickly becomes a frown. And after that? She sighs, her shoulders slumping under the weight of something awful. Talk about mixed messages. Her friend—Lexi, I think? She notices Michelle's reaction, freezes, follows her gaze until her eyes land on mine, and then beams.

  Well, that's more the reaction I'd hoped for, only from the wrong woman. I wave and they wave in return, and we cross the distance between us like two armies converging on the battlefield.

  "Well, hey there," says Michelle, crouching down to offer Pogo her hand.

  "Oh, I see. Say hi to the dog, not the man." I sigh heavily. "At least I know where I stand."

  "You know what they say." Michelle scratches Pogo behind the ears and chuckles as his tongue lolls out the side of his mouth. "Don't ever do anything that might encourage a stalker."

 
"You're still stuck on that stalker stuff? How can I be the stalker when you always show up after me?"

  Michelle straightens. "That just proves how good you are. You're obviously advanced, using next-level techniques that mere mortals like me don't understand."

  I laugh, all my senses lit up and twinkling like a clear night sky in the country. I want to run my fingers up her arms and into her hair, discover for myself what it's like to have it cascading through my hands. I want to bury my nose in her neck, breathe her in and see if she smells as sweet as I think she will. Trail my lips down her throat...

  Well, shit. With thoughts like that in my head, maybe I am some kind of next-level stalker.

  Michelle's friend holds out her hand. "I'm pretty sure we met last week, but just in case, I'm Lexi."

  "Yep." I grip her hand and then let it go. "David, in case you forgot."

  "Oh, believe me. There's no forgetting you," she says before turning to Michelle. "I'm going to play with the kids. The universe couldn't be more clear that it wants you guys to spend some time together and who am I to argue with divine plans?" She throws up her hands, smiling, and then heads off towards the playground, an overstuffed bag bumping against her legs with each step.

  "Walk with me?" I ask, gesturing towards the large pond on the other side of the playground.

  Michelle bites her bottom lip, takes a breath like she wants to say something, and then nods.

  "It is strange that we keep showing up at the same places," I say after a few silent steps. "I don't know if I'll go all the way to divine intervention, I don’t really go for all that mystical crap, but you have to admit that this is one hell of a coincidence.”

  "It really is." She glances up at me, her eyes searching mine. "Especially because they're all my favorite places."

  "No way." I give her a funny look. "I can't believe we haven't run into each other before, then. Because these are all my favorite places, too." I pause to attach Pogo's leash to his collar before he launches himself into the water in a misguided attempt to herd the Canadian geese into the middle of the pond.

  "The animal shelter is one of your favorite places?" Michelle slides her hands into the back pockets of her shorts.

  I pat Pogo on the head before standing, doing everything I can not to noticeably stare at her legs. "For sure. I got this guy there. And I adopt all my barn cats there. It kills me when there are more animals in the last-chance cage than I can take home. Every creature deserves to be loved." I shrug. "Maybe I should build another barn."

  Michelle brushes a stray hair off her face. "How many barns does one man need?"

  The sun breaks through the clouds as we start walking towards the pond again. "Well, your average man doesn't even need one barn. But as you can tell, I am not an average man." I lead Michelle towards a bench that looks out towards the water.

  "Okay, then." She laughs and rolls her eyes at my lack of humility. "How many barns does an above average man need?" She sits and crosses her legs, her perfect posture reminding of how proud her daughter was to proclaim her mother used to be a ballerina.

  "Me?" I take a seat next to her. "I'm a farmer. So, I don't know. A few?"

  "A farmer?" Michelle's eyes go wide. "You don't look like a farmer."

  "I wasn't aware that farmers had a look." I infuse my voice with my typical sarcasm. Pogo plops his head on my lap and I scratch behind his ears.

  Michelle blushes from head to toe and ducks her chin so her hair covers her face from view. "I'm sorry. I guess that was silly of me." She tucks her hair behind her ear and plays with the hem of her shirt before peeking up at me, those big blue eyes wide and so very beautiful. "I didn't mean to be insulting."

  Usually, she's so witty, catching my little sarcastic jokes and throwing them right back at me. I just assumed she'd play along again today. I put a hand on her knee. She jumps at the contact, and I run a finger across her skin to soothe her. "Hey.” I lean forward to look her in the eyes. “No need to be sorry. I was just playing."

  "That's good. Sometimes I put my foot in my mouth." She drops her gaze to where my hand still rests on her knee and the corner of her lips twist up in a smile. "So. A farmer, huh? I'll be honest, I've always been attracted to that lifestyle. At least what I think of as that lifestyle. Getting up with the sun. Living with my hands in the dirt. Knowing that all my work goes right back into making life better for me and Claire."

  "What do you mean? Isn’t that the way all jobs work? You work, you get paid, you use that money to provide a decent life for you and your family." I slide my hand from her knee and drape my arm over the back of the bench, shifting to face her.

  She bites her lip and looks at her hands. "I guess, in my head, it’s different somehow. With a normal job, you work for money that allows you to provide for your family. But with a farm, I always imagined that what you provide would come more as a direct result of your work. Like, fruits and veggies you grow would end up on the table. And even though the work is hard and money might be tight, at least you're self-sustainable in a crisis." She glances at me. "I could be way off base."

  "You're not that far off. Although if you do it right, money isn't all that tight." I run a hand through my hair. "But it is a lot of work. A lot of sweat. A lot of dirt finding its way into the weirdest places. Farm life isn't as glamorous as being a ballerina."

  Michelle laughs. "You remembered that, did you?"

  "How could I forget? A beautiful woman with a unique past? You might be the most memorable person I've ever met."

  Her eyes search mine as wind rustles the leaves of a tree behind her. "Life in the ballet world is far from glamorous," she says. "People see the beauty and perfection of the finished product but no one ever thinks about all of the hard work, early mornings, late nights, and lack of social life." She stares out over the water, watching the Canadian geese paddle towards the shore.

  "Sounds a lot like life as a farmer. Hard work. Early mornings. No time to socialize." I tick off the points on my fingers and then shrug and drop my hands. "But, I find the payoff outweighs the challenges."

  "You must love it to put up with all of that and still be happy."

  It's a weird thing for her to say, considering she just admitted to putting up with all of the same things as a dancer, but I let it slide.

  "I do." I smile and bob my head. "I'm almost completely self-sufficient as far as food and energy go, and I'm able to give back a little, too. My to-do list is unending, but I fall into bed happy at the end of a day, no matter how tough it was. That feeling of contentment is what reminds me I'm on the right path, you know?"

  "Kind of." Michelle licks her lips and I couldn't drag my eyes off her mouth if I wanted to. "I felt that way when I was dancing just for myself." Her eyes go to mine and I force my gaze up to meet hers. "But being part of a professional company was different. I put too much emphasis on what other people thought of me, and that whole industry is a little twisted. As much as I loved it, I ended up hating myself. I couldn't handle the pressure of trying to be everything everyone wanted all at the same time."

  "Is that why you started teaching? Because you decided to take control and step out of a situation that wasn't good for you?"

  Michelle gives a little shake of her head and then tosses her hair over her shoulders. "I wish it was because of something that self-empowered, but no. My Achilles tendon ruptured and that pretty much put a hard stop on pointe shoes."

  I cringe. "Yikes."

  "Yeah, it was bad. But luckily, my mom owns a dance studio, so I came back home and I teach for her now. It's wonderful to still be part of that world." She sighs, the light in her eyes fading as she looks out over the expanse of water glistening in the sunshine.

  Her answer doesn't ring true, but I let it slide like I let the other comment slide. Something tells me she's not very happy in her job, but I’m not ready to call her on her bullshit. Not before I get to know her better.

  "Maybe you can create your own little non-toxic corner
of the dance world at your studio. You know, teach your students to always dance for themselves and never give a shit about what anyone else thinks."

  Behind us, children squeal with laughter and Michelle grins. "I hope so." She runs a hand up into her hair and shakes it out over her shoulder. "I’ve made it my mission to be a positive influence in my students’ lives. If they don't leave a class or rehearsal with a smile on their face, then I need to reevaluate how I run that class."

  Several of the Canadian geese make their way out of the water and come waddling towards us. Pogo leaps to his feet and I wrap the end of the leash around my wrist in case he decides to take off.

  "I always think they look like tourists," says Michelle, uncrossing her legs and shifting on the bench.

  "What? The geese?"

  She smiles. "Yeah. Look at them. Wandering around in large groups, looking confused by everything they see." She sits up even taller and does an impersonation of the geese, stretching her neck and looking around her with wide eyes.

  I study them as they waddle their way out of the water and damn if she isn't right. They look just like a herd of confused Midwesterners trying to navigate Times Square. "I will never look at them the same way again," I say, laughing.

  "I giggle every time I see them." She taps the side of her head. "It's a strange place up here."

  Sunlight filters through the tree behind her, shining in her hair, catching the swoop of her eyelashes and the curve of her cheeks. I wonder if she knows how beautiful she is. How alluring I find her downcast eyes, her quiet words, the blush that flares across her skin nearly every time she speaks. She's nervous, that much is clear. Is it because of me? Or is that just her nature?

  "You know," I say as Pogo settles down in front of us, ears up, eyes on the geese. "Lexi might be right."

  "She usually is." Michelle crosses her legs and turns to me. "Just ask her. What's she right about this time?"