“Not necessarily,” Bella told her. “From what I understand, they’ve just merged with another company. A lot of times, according to my supervisor, corporate businesses will send their people to classes like mine just as a…” She searched for the right word. “Like a refresher-type thing. You know?”
“Night class?” Amy asked.
Bella wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, which I’m not thrilled about. But it’s only for six weeks. I’ll live.” She spread cream cheese on a bagel and said, “Truth is, I’m a little nervous.”
Amy and Heather scoffed at the same time, which made the trio laugh. “That’s ridiculous,” Heather offered.
“I’ve never taught this before.”
Amy waved her off. “Heather’s right. Don’t be ridiculous. You’re gonna be great. You’re trained to run it, right?”
“You’ve probably memorized all the information. I’ve met you.” Heather shot her a grin and Bella had to return it because Heather was right: she’d read every single thing she could find on the subject of conflict resolution, going so far as to search her old laptop and find a paper she’d written in grad school on the topic. She was more than ready.
“You’re right,” she said. “I know what I’m doing. I think I’m just nervous in general.”
“I get that,” Amy offered. “Standing in front of a group is different from dealing with somebody one-on-one. Is it a big class?”
Bella shook her head as she chewed. “Six.”
Amy made a sound like pfft. “No biggie, then. You got this.”
“You do,” Heather agreed and started to stand. “More eggs?”
“No!” Bella and Amy said together, more forcefully than necessary.
Heather squinted at them as she slowly lowered herself back onto her chair. “You guys are subtle.”
***
“Okay, girls, I know dinner’s a little early, and I’m sorry about that. But Mama’s got to teach a class tonight, remember? So, we need to move it along. All right?”
Lucy looked up at Bella as she chewed. Slowly. Like she had all the time in the world. Ethel, on the other hand, had done a terrific impression of a vacuum cleaner and was now doing her best to lick the paint off her ceramic bowl.
“Come on, Ethel. Outside.” Bella slid the back door open just as her cell rang from the kitchen counter. “Hey, Mom,” she said as she answered, leaned against the counter next to Lucy, who was maybe almost finished.
“Hi, sweetie. What’s new?”
“Not a lot.” Bella put the phone on speaker and set it down so she could gather her things together. “I’m teaching a class tonight and I’m trying to get Lucy to eat a little faster than she would if she lived her life in slow motion. Which she does.” She leaned down and said the last three words closer to her dog. Who blinked at her, unimpressed, and moved not one iota faster.
“I will not have you spreading lies about my granddoggies,” her mother teased. “Grandma loves you, Lucy-bear.”
Bella rolled her eyes good-naturedly as Lucy finally finished her dinner and sauntered toward the back door. “No, no. Take your time, Luce. Don’t mind me. It’s not like I have anything in life besides you.” She slid the door open and let Lucy out into the small backyard.
“I almost FaceTimed you,” her mother said.
Bella laughed. “Not until you figure out where the camera lens is on your phone. Last time, I talked to your forehead for twenty minutes.”
Her mother chuckled, a sound that surprised most people with its huskiness, given that Michelle Hunt could only be described as petite. “I only have a few minutes tonight, so you lucked out.”
“Working?” Bella’s mom had been waitressing at the same diner for more than twenty years. It was exhausting, thankless work, but she had regulars who loved her, considered her part of their routine. She would never think to inconvenience them by taking time off or changing her hours.
“I’m on my break. Got about ten minutes left.”
“Mom, you have more than enough seniority to request only the day shift. I hate you working at night.”
“I make better tips for dinner than I do for lunch. You know that.” Michelle’s voice was light, cheerful, like it always was, despite the fact that they’d had this same conversation a million times.
“I know.” Bella kept her sigh as quiet as she could. “How’s Dad?”
“He’s good. Strained his back a little bit the other day helping to lift something at work, so he’s taking it easy tonight on the couch.”
“Has he been taking his meds?” Bella’s father had been on pills for arthritis for as long as she could remember, but he didn’t always take them like he was supposed to. Because he was a stubborn, stubborn man.
“He’s been pretty good about it.” Translation: not always.
“I’ll call this weekend and get on him.”
“When will we see you?” Her mother’s voice held a hint of wistfulness that never failed to make Bella feel guilty for not visiting more often.
“Soon, Ma. Soon. The girls and I could use a road trip.”
“Good. I have a couple of steak bones in the freezer I stole from the diner.”
Bella grinned. It wasn’t the first time her mother had snagged steak bones from a customer’s plate and saved them for Bella’s dogs. “You’re a good grandma.”
They chatted a bit longer before Michelle had to get back to her customers. As with so many people, Bella’s perceptions had grown and changed around her parents as she became an adult. When she’d been young, part of her was embarrassed by them and their working-class jobs. They’d never had much money. Bella’s clothes were often from thrift stores, which was horribly embarrassing when she was a teenager. Now she was still embarrassed, but with herself for being so self-centered as a kid. Now she admired her parents for how hard they’d worked to give her what she needed. No, she’d never had designer clothes, and she was still paying off the student loans she’d had to take out as she put herself through college, but she understood that her parents had loved her more than anything, had done their best to keep her fed with a roof over her head and a mom and dad who adored her. Now she wanted to protect them from so much hard work, always had to remind herself that her mother was an adult, an intelligent woman who could make her own decisions about what shifts she preferred to work. The biggest realization that comes with being an adult is understanding that your parents are merely human. It took Bella a while to get there.
Both dogs stood at the back door looking in wistfully, like children peeking in a store window. Children with barrel chests and the huge square heads of pit bull mixes, but children just the same. Bella grinned at them and let them in. Ethel went right for the toy basket, as was her after-dinner routine, and pulled out a tennis ball. Lucy headed to her bed in the corner of the living room, as was her after-dinner routine, and curled up to watch Tennis Ball being played.
“Okay, but this has to be quick, E. I have to leave in, like, twenty minutes.” The way her small house was laid out, if she sat on the floor at the end of the living room, there was a straight shot across the room and down the hall to the front door. Not super long, but long enough for Ethel to get a little jog in as she chased the ball. Bella grabbed a folder out of her bag so she could take a quick look at her notes for tonight, then plopped down in her usual seat on the floor and tossed the ball down the hallway. Lucy watched Ethel lope after it, then trot back with it in her mouth, her head turning as if she was watching a tennis match. Bella opened the folder as Ethel dropped the ball in her lap.
They went on like this for a while, until Bella was satisfied that she was fully prepared for the class. Before she closed the folder, she glanced at the list of expected attendees and one name caught her eye, made her do a double take.
Easton Evans.
“Noooo,” she said softly, drawing out the word as Ethel whined and nudged her with a nose. “Can’t be the same person. What are the chances?” She tossed the ball without l
ooking, squinted at the paper. Easton Evans was not a common name, but still. The last time Bella had seen the Easton she was thinking about was fifteen years ago and about three hundred miles away. “Can’t be her.” Bella shook her head with certainty and closed the folder. Ethel was back with the ball that was now a little wet and squishy, and Bella grabbed her head with both hands, lovingly ruffled the short fur and floppy ears. “Just a coincidence, right, E?”
Giving the ball one more toss, Bella pushed herself to her feet.
“Has to be.”
Chapter Three
Framerton High, 2003
Changing schools was awful enough, but doing so in the middle of the school year, junior year, was beyond horrendous. Izzy didn’t have a ton of friends at her old school, as she was quiet and shy and kept to herself. But there were a few. When that school closed—some budgetary thing she didn’t really understand—all the students were split up and integrated into different schools in the area. Izzy had ended up at Framerton High. Which felt huge, like she’d been dropped in the middle of the ocean with no idea which direction she was supposed to swim to next.
She’d found her locker and it had opened on the first try; that was a relief. But now she had to figure out how to get to her lit class. She knew it was in room 217b, but beyond that, she was lost. Standing in the middle of the hall with her books clasped tightly to her chest, she felt a subtle panic start to build. It began in the pit of her stomach and worked its way out, like an octopus reaching its tentacles to all her organs, squeezing them one by one. Perspiration broke out across her forehead just as she was jostled from behind.
“Nice outfit,” the jostler said, her tone snide. She shot Izzy a look of condescending pity over her shoulder as she continued down the hall and stopped at a locker thirty or forty feet away. She was tall and had chestnut brown hair that was expertly (and Izzy would bet expensively) highlighted, and at first glance, she’d probably be considered pretty, but her expression was cold. Icy. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
Izzy swallowed and looked down at her clothes. There was no way that girl could know they were from Goodwill. Was there? There were three other students at the locker where she stood. Two guys, both with dark hair and the broad-shouldered build of football players, laughing and swearing loudly. And another girl…a girl Izzy couldn’t pull her eyes from, even when she tried. She was blond and Izzy could see her enormous blue eyes even from this distance, how they were lined with black. A weird feeling curled in Izzy’s stomach, a flutter of sorts. A tickle, but a tight one, like a coiled snake waiting to strike, and as she watched the blond girl throw her head back and laugh, Izzy’s mouth went dry.
What is happening?
Izzy’s panic only grew as she watched them, not wanting to stare but filled with the desire and wistfulness she’d almost grown used to, it was such a common emotion in her arsenal. That longing to have what she didn’t—money, friends, status—to be what she wasn’t—pretty, popular, charismatic. It had started with junior high…that slice of school when kids were no longer friends with everybody. When they started to break off into groups. Cliques. When labels appeared out of nowhere, and suddenly everybody had a descriptor. Jock. Geek. Goth. Artsy. Nerd. At least at her old school, she had a handful of other nerd friends because they’d started out together, but now? The other dozen kids that had also been transferred into Framerton had labels that differed from Izzy’s. They were kids she barely knew, not friends, so she was on her own here.
The budding panic was still there, and in the next instant, all four of those kids were looking her way.
“Jesus, stare much?” the jostler said, loudly enough for others in the hall to hear and also look in Izzy’s direction, and a few snickered.
Shit. Now she’d done it.
As she yanked her gaze from the foursome, she was horrified to feel her eyes well with tears. The panic bloomed large, exploding like a firework, churning her stomach and threatening to expel the toast and peanut butter she’d had for breakfast. Yeah, that was all she needed: to throw up in the middle of the hall. Or burst into tears. Or both. That’d seal her fate completely for the next two years.
There were so many kids in that hall, so many looking her way, and Izzy was only certain of one thing: she’d never felt so utterly alone in her life.
***
Not for the first time in her life, Easton was confused by her own emotions. The notification of the completion of her divorce had thrown her for an unexpected loop and she was having trouble understanding why.
The first thing she’d done was text Shondra, who’d done her best to comfort her. It’s a big deal, she’d typed. It’s the end of a major part of your life. There are feelings around that. Big ones. It’s okay to feel them.
But it’s not a surprise, Easton had explained back. I wanted this.
That’s what she had trouble swallowing. She’d wanted it. She’d been the one to ask for a divorce. If it had been up to Connor, they’d be doing their best to work things out, but Easton knew that would never happen. Not if she was going to be truly happy.
So why did that simple piece of mail fill her eyes with tears and her heart with sadness?
Easton pulled into a spot at the Hallman Wellness Center and shifted into Park. She was actively fighting the urge to cry when her phone rang and a check of the screen on the dashboard told her it was Dr. Stephen Evans. Her grandfather. Relief flooded through her and she hit the green button.
“Hi, Grandpa,” she said, then cleared her throat.
“Hey there, Buttercup. What’s wrong?” His voice was soft and kind and made it easy to understand why his patients were so comfortable with him. Easton could picture him, seventy-six years old but looking a good fifteen years younger than that, his thick silver hair probably a little too long, his purple stethoscope hanging around his neck. His blue eyes were magnetic, the color stunning and the warmth in them almost surprising.
“How do you do that?” Easton asked, with a self-deprecating laugh.
“I know you,” he answered simply. “You okay?”
Grandpa Evans was one of the only people in Easton’s life that she talked to. Really talked to. She wasn’t sure how a man born in the early 1940s could so completely understand his granddaughter who was born in the mid-1980s, but he did. He got her. She discussed nearly everything with him. He was the first one she’d told when she realized medical school wasn’t her thing (much to the dismay of her parents). He knew she was pregnant before she’d even told her husband. He was the first person (and still one of the only people) who knew why she’d left her marriage. He got her.
“My divorce is final.”
“Oh, Buttercup, I’m sorry. That’s a hard one.”
“But why? Why is it hard? It’s what I wanted. It’s what I asked for. I don’t have the right to be sad about it now.”
“Says who?” Easton could hear the rustling of fabric, the groan of a chair, and knew her grandfather was sitting back at his desk. She could picture it clearly in her mind. She’d even bet he’d just taken off his glasses. “It doesn’t matter who ends a partnership or why. It’s still the end of a big part of your life. I know for some people in dire situations, it can be a relief. And I know that for you, it was the right decision. That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to mourn. To grieve.”
“Mourning.” The proverbial light bulb went on in Easton’s head. “That’s what I’m doing, that’s what this is. I’m grieving the loss of my marriage.”
“Of course you are. It only makes sense. And it’s okay to do that. You know that, yes?”
Maybe he and Shondra were right. Maybe it was just the final slamming of the book on her marriage that she was having a hard time swallowing. And that’s okay.
“I don’t know why I don’t just call you in the first place,” she said, with a chuckle. “You always make me feel better.”
“I don’t know why you don’t either.” Grandpa’s laugh matched hers. “How’s every
thing else? Work? Emma? I’ve got four more minutes. Give me the abridged version.”
Easton did. She told him about Emma’s school issues—“She’s a smart girl, she’ll learn the lesson.” She told him about her staff—“They just need time.” She ended with the fact that she was in the parking lot, about to head in to her first conflict resolution class, to which Grandpa groaned.
“You don’t need that class. You do just fine.”
“I know. They sent all of us, though. A good faith gesture, they said.”
“Bah. That’s new-agey crap.” But his voice was light, and Easton could hear the humor. “I’ll be interested to hear how it goes.”
“I’ll keep you posted.”
“Last patient of the day is here, Buttercup. Gotta run. Come visit sometime soon.”
Easton promised she would, then they said their goodbyes and she hung up.
She turned the car off and sat there for several moments, stared out the windshield. While she felt better after talking to her grandfather—she always did—the melancholy from before he called seeped back in slowly. This was not where she’d expected to be at thirty three, that was true. When she’d married Connor, she’d convinced herself that was it. That was her life, how it was going to be. Just like her parents wanted for her. Expected of her. She’d failed them by not following in their medical footsteps, she’d be damned if she’d fail them by messing up her marriage as well. What was that saying? The road to hell and all that? She sighed heavily. Starting over with her seven-year-old daughter had never been part of the plan.
And now this. Conflict resolution. She didn’t need to be here. Grandpa knew it. She knew it, and her bosses knew it. But her job was important to her, so she would do what was asked of her, even if it meant giving up Wednesday evenings for six weeks. With a resigned sigh, she yanked open her car door, grabbed her purse, and headed into the two-story brick office building.
The Do-Over Page 3