The Do-Over

by Georgia Beers

  The three of them sat quietly for a moment. When Heather spoke, her voice was soft, as if she didn’t want to ruin the silence. “Are you okay, Bella?”

  Bella took a beat or two to think about it before she gave a subtle nod. “Yeah. I will be.” She sat back on the couch so she could see both Heather and Amy without having to swivel her head back and forth. Her voice was low, factual. “I wish there’d been signs, because I’d have seen them. I wish he hadn’t felt so awful and alone. I wish he’d called me. I wish a lot of things. But wishing isn’t going to change any of it.”

  “I keep saying this, but you do know it wasn’t your fault, right?” Amy’s expression was sympathetic and serious as she laid her hand on Bella’s thigh.

  With a sigh, Bella agreed. “I do. In my head, I do.” She looked at Heather, at her sweet face and kind eyes. “I think it’s going to take my heart a while to get there.”

  “It will, for sure,” Heather agreed. “So, for today, since it’s raining and it’s Sunday and we’re your best friends, we have a girls’ day, and we watch movies. Sound good?”

  Thank God for these two. Bella could think of nothing else in the moment but how lucky she was to have these friends of hers. As she glanced down at her dogs, who hadn’t left her alone in a room since yesterday, she added them to her list of things to be immensely thankful for. “Sounds perfect.”

  Which was almost true.

  There was one more person she’d love to add to the mix, and then it would be.

  The next time, definitely.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Emma Elizabeth, I am not going to say it again!” Easton could feel her blood pressure increasing each time she asked Emma to pick up the boots, raincoat, and school bag she’d unceremoniously dropped on the floor near the side door before running off into the living room. In an enormous, and inexplicable, hurry to resume whatever adventure her My Little Ponies were on, she couldn’t be bothered to listen to her mother. Just like any typical seven-year-old.

  Standing in the kitchen, dish towel in hand, Easton forced herself to count to ten. Then she picked up a wet dish, dried it, and put it away. Shondra laughed at her when she pulled out her dish soap and towels. “Girl, you’ve got a state of the art dishwasher, right there under the counter. What are you doing, washing and drying those by hand?” Easton could hear her humorous disbelief, smiling as she picked up another dish. Truth was, washing and drying dishes helped her to relax, to calm herself. Maybe it was the mindlessness of it. Maybe it was the repetition. Easton wasn’t sure. All she knew was that after she finished, she was much less tense and entertained far fewer fantasies of shipping her daughter off to boarding school.

  It had been raining since Friday night, on and off. It was now Tuesday, and while the rain had eased up, it was still wet and muddy and gross outside. As evidenced by the raincoat and boots that still sat in a pile near the door. Emma was on a roll lately. Still. The teacher who ran the after-school program had asked to speak to Easton today. Again. Apparently, Emma was being mouthy to the teachers and snarky to her fellow program attendees. When Easton sighed in dismayed frustration, the teacher had gently asked if maybe it had to do with the divorce and said lots of kids acted out around a big change like that.

  “But it’s been almost two years,” Easton had told her, mystified.

  The teacher, a heavyset blond of about thirty, had tipped her head to one side, then the other and said simply and gently, “Sometimes it takes a while for this type of thing to appear. Sometimes it’s been bottled up for some time and finally needs a release.” She suggested maybe some counseling might help Emma cope with her frustrations better.

  Easton wondered if Bella could help with ideas around that.

  She blew out a breath as she folded and hung the towel on the handle of the oven. She wanted to see Bella. Badly. But she was super cognizant of pushing. Bella had gone through something awful. She needed time to deal with it. Easton knew that.

  But they’d had sex.

  Right there, her brain reminded her as she looked toward the living room and saw the couch. And then her stomach fluttered as her body remembered. Bella’s mouth on hers. Bella’s hands on her. Inside her. The sensations that shot through her body, somehow both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Her explosive climax. God, it had been explosive. Sex with Olivia had been good, really good, but Easton had never come that hard with her. Not once. There was something…perfect…about being with Bella, even that very first time.

  And then there was the way they’d fit so perfectly together as they’d cuddled. The sorrow Easton had felt as Bella cried in her arms was new as well. Olivia wasn’t a terribly emotional person, so she’d never really fallen apart around Easton, never made Easton feel needed. And Connor was a guy. So, aside from Emma, Easton had never been somebody’s soft place to land.

  It felt nice to be Bella’s.

  Yeah, Easton needed to see her again. Soon.

  She picked up her phone from the kitchen table, typed out a quick text. How are you? Doing okay?

  They’d texted a bit since Friday night. Not a lot on Saturday, as Bella told her she was seeing her boss—who served as her own therapist when needed—to talk about her client’s suicide. She’d gone quiet after that, and Easton had been worried, but hadn’t pressed. She sent a good-night text and went to bed. She didn’t hear from Bella again until Sunday afternoon. She said she was with her BFFs and they were helping her.

  She’d left it alone and was proud of herself for that. Monday had been services for Bella’s client, so Easton had sent a text or two but largely gave Bella her privacy. That course of action paid off, because this morning, she’d gotten a text from Bella saying good morning and that she was doing better.

  Thank you for Friday night. You took care of me and I really appreciated that. She followed it with an emoji that was blowing a kiss.

  “I think you took care of me,” Easton had mumbled with a grin as she texted back, I’m glad I could be there for you. It was the truth.

  Your texts have been wonderful. I’m sorry I’ve been less than responsive. Rough couple of days.

  Easton grimaced. No explanation needed. She thought about it for a grand total of three seconds before adding, Can I see you tomorrow? Coffee after class?

  A beat went by before Bella’s response came. I was thinking maybe a little making out, but I can do coffee instead. Sure. A winking emoji came next and Easton chuckled.

  I like your idea better.

  Me too.

  The weird sense of relief that washed over Easton surprised her. It occurred to her in that moment that maybe she’d been a little bit worried that Bella regretted what they’d done on Friday, but she hadn’t actually given it any attention. Interesting. Well, at least it seemed now like she didn’t have to worry. A glance at the side door made her wrinkle her nose.

  I have dealings with a 7-year-old, she typed. Talk later. She added an eye-rolling emoji, tucked her phone into her pocket, and—Irritated Mom Face firmly in place—marched into the living room.

  Emma wasn’t playing with her My Little Ponies. Instead, she was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the corner, one of the boxes Connor had sent home with Easton opened up, several of Easton’s past belongings spread out in front of her.

  Emma looked up at her. “What’s this stuff, Mama?” she asked with innocent curiosity. It was interesting in that moment: Easton saw much of Connor in Emma but didn’t often see herself. She supposed that was normal, made sense, but right then, the sight of Emma’s big, inquisitive blue eyes was like looking in the mirror. Easton felt pride well up within her.

  Easton squatted down and sat, making herself comfortable next to her daughter. “Well, let’s see.” She rummaged through the box. “Looks like this is stuff from my bedroom when I lived with Grandma and Grandpa.”

  “When you were little like me?”

  Easton pulled out a couple of yearbooks, a ratty old teddy bear, two cheerleading tr
ophies. “I was a bit bigger than you. In high school.”

  “Who’s this?” Emma asked with a giggle, picking up the bear. He was threadbare in some places, his brown fur completely rubbed away. One of his plastic eyes hung a bit loose, and his red bow was droopy. But Easton remembered him fondly, couldn’t count the number of times she’d gone to bed with him wrapped in her arms. He’d even made the trip to college with her.

  “That’s Gus. He got me through lots of sad times.”

  Emma’s smile slid off her face. “You were sad?”

  “Oh, sure,” Easton said. “When I had to go to bed and didn’t want to. When Grandpa said I had to take a bath. When Grandma told me to eat my broccoli.” She said the last line as if narrating a horror movie and added some tickles to it.

  Emma giggled. “Ew! Broccoli!” When the tickle party ended, she asked, “Can Gus sleep with me tonight?”

  “I think he’d like that.”

  “Well, my bed is definitely better than a stinky old box.”

  “You are very logical, my child.”

  “What are these?” Emma grabbed one of the yearbooks strewn across the floor. Three of them. Easton looked at the years and wondered why the one from her freshman year was missing, couldn’t remember if she’d even bought one.

  “That’s called a yearbook. You get them when you’re in high school and they are full of pictures of you and your friends.”

  Emma started in the middle, turned the pages slowly on the book from Easton’s senior year. When she got to the sports section, Easton pointed to a photo of the football team.

  “Do you know who that is?”

  Emma squinted, held the book closer. “Is that…is that Daddy?”

  “It is.”

  “Wow. He looks so different!”

  “He’s eighteen in that shot.”

  “And he has hair!” Emma said it with such wonder that it made Easton laugh.

  “He does.”

  “Was he good? At football?” Emma looked up at her with those eyes again, but this time, she saw Connor in the expectant expression.

  “He was very good.” Easton moved her finger to the cheerleading squad, posing in a pyramid. “See anybody here you might know?”

  Emma repeated the same moves. She squinted, held the book closer to her nose, then dropped her finger on the blond girl hanging off the right side. “You?”

  Easton nodded with a smile. “Me.”

  “You were really pretty.” Emma smoothed her hand over the photo.

  “Thank you, baby.” Easton kissed the top of her head.

  “Are there more pictures of you and Daddy?”

  “I’m sure there are.”

  They spent the next fifteen or twenty minutes flipping pages, Easton pointing to different pictures from different clubs. She found her younger sister in the freshman photos and Emma laughed hysterically at her aunt’s half-shaved head. There was a shot of Connor and Easton with their arms around each other, looking off at something Easton couldn’t remember now. It was labeled Cutest Couple. Easton smiled, feeling equal parts nostalgic and sad. They came to the senior pictures.

  “Are you and Daddy here?”

  With a nod, Easton said, “They’re in alphabetical order. See if you can find us.”

  Emma’s face went serious, her little brow furrowed as she searched, whispering, “D. D. D,” under her breath. Then, “There! Connor Eugene Douglas.” She looked up at Easton with wide eyes. “Daddy’s middle name is Eugene?”

  Easton laughed at the shocked horror on her daughter’s face. “It was Daddy’s grandpa’s name.”

  “Still.” They flipped more pages until they got to the Es, and again, Emma slapped her finger down on Easton’s senior picture. “Mama!”

  God, was I ever that young? Easton looked at the photo and, for the first time, could see the faraway look, the hint of sadness in the blue eyes. Most people wouldn’t notice it. For all intents and purposes, Easton was a happy, lucky young woman. She was popular, her family was well-known and had money, she was the head cheerleader dating the quarterback. Basically, in her senior year, Easton Evans was a walking stereotype of the All-American Girl. Nobody knew what she’d been dreaming of back then, who she’d been dreaming of, or how solidly she’d tamp those dreams down, lock them away for the next twelve years, until they exploded out on their own, taking her tidy little life with them. Looking at the photo now, Easton was sad for that girl.

  Emma turned the page, looking for “more weird hair.” Easton grinned and scanned the book, and all of a sudden, there she was. Kristin Harrington. Object of her very first sex dreams and the beginning of a very long journey for Easton. She tipped her head to one side, noting now that Kristin was actually kind of plain. Pretty but not stunning. Wholesome, with kind eyes and a gentle smile. Easton was filled with a fondness for this girl who had no idea—then or now—how much she’d been thought about. She gave herself a mental shake as Emma started to turn the page when another picture caught her eye and she put her hand on Emma’s, stopping her.

  What the…?

  Easton squinted at the photo. It wasn’t one of the nicer senior photos. There were no trees or lush green grass in the background. It was obviously an inexpensive shot, like a portrait you’d get done at Sears or Target. The girl was sort of huddled, her shoulders up slightly as if consistently bracing for a blow. She looked to be wearing a simple cotton top, not terribly dressy. Her dark hair was kind of limp, and if Easton thought her own eyes looked sad in her photo, she had nothing on this girl. Her eyes were filled with so much. Sorrow. Despair. Helplessness. Confusion. It was so weird to be able to see all of that from one photo, but it was the eyes that had snagged her attention. They were eyes Easton knew well. Uniquely hazel. Easton’s heart began to pound as she brought a hand to her mouth and muttered, “Oh, my God.”

  Emma ran her small finger along the name under the photo, then looked up at her, obviously puzzled by her mother’s reaction.

  “Who’s Isabella Marie Hunt, Mama?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Framerton High, 2004

  Izzy liked her job at Swirl most of the time. Seriously, what’s not to like about working in an ice cream shop? She hadn’t been there long, but she was getting the hang of it. She got to see lots of adorable little kids. She got to make really cool sundaes—her boss, Stacy, was very creative and there was always a new one to learn. And she was making her own money.

  Swirl was a cute little place, tucked in the middle of a strip mall between a karate studio and a fabric store. More than one night a week, they’d get flooded with kids in their gis, a word Izzy had only learned because a young boy had gently corrected her when she called it his “karate uniform.” Those were the best nights. Nobody appreciated ice cream the way kids did.

  It wasn’t super busy in the early spring. People were still working themselves out of winter, which often felt like it lasted nine months in the northeast, and ice cream wasn’t always the first thing on their minds. It would pick up by a lot once the weather really broke, Stacy had warned her, so Izzy took advantage of the quiet to catch up on her homework, and that was what she was doing when they walked in.

  Tara the Tormentor. That was her name, as far as Izzy was concerned. That was who she was in Izzy’s journals—which she continued to write in because if she didn’t, she’d go insane, but she hid them much better than in the past. Tara was accompanied by her crew, of course, because bullies never went anywhere without an audience. Tara’s boyfriend, Noah. Kayla and Blake. Easton and Connor. All six of them entered through the doors of Swirl, laughing and happy, the guys fake-punching each other, as high school football players seemed to do constantly for no apparent reason. The second Tara met Izzy’s eyes across the shop, her entire face lit up.

  Fuck. Izzy let out a long breath and resigned herself to the impending awfulness, hoping it wouldn’t last too long.

  “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Dizzy the Runt.” Tara approached the coun
ter, her face sporting its usual, evil expression of torment, the others followed slowly. Tara hurried Easton and Connor with, “Hey, E. Your lesbian admirer is ready to take your order.” As was always the case, she spoke the words “lesbian admirer” much louder and with more emphasis than necessary, and of the few customers that were already in the shop, a couple heads turned to look.

  Izzy felt her face heat up, damn it, and vowed not to even look at Easton Evans. Instead, she kept her eyes downcast and muttered, “What do you want?”

  “I want ice cream, of course,” Tara said, again, louder than necessary. “I would like a small blackberry cone. Noah wants a large chocolate almond cone. Please.” As if adding that last word would take away her horribleness.

  Blake ordered a hot fudge sundae to split with Kayla, and was nice enough about it. Connor ordered a sundae as well. “And Easton wants a small vanilla cone with sprinkles.”

  “Make sure they’re the rainbow ones,” Tara added with a wink. “The sprinkles of your people, right?”

  Izzy did her best to ignore them, got to work on the cones first. She handed Tara hers, wishing there was a way to do so without touching her.

  “Now, there aren’t any, like, gay cooties on this, right?” Tara asked, feigning hesitation over taking a bite. When Izzy didn’t answer, she leaned closer and prompted, “Are there?” Her eyes held a nasty spark.

  “No,” Izzy said quietly and turned away to make Noah his cone. He took it, held it up, and raised his eyebrows in expectation as Tara snorted a laugh. “No,” Izzy said again.

  “No gay cooties on my ice cream, guys,” he said to the others. “But you should probably double-check when you get yours.”

  Stacy appeared at that moment. She was young to own the shop. Barely thirty. Hip. Trendy. Her hair was in a ponytail, a streak of hot pink decorating the center of it. She had a diamond stud in her nose, an eyebrow piercing, and the edges of a tattoo visible at the collar of her shirt. She was super nice and funny, and Izzy liked her a lot. “Need a hand?” she asked Izzy, who, despite her fondness for Stacy, wished she’d just go in the back to her office so Izzy didn’t have to be further embarrassed. Without waiting for an answer, Stacy glanced at the computer screen and started on the two hot fudge sundaes. “I’ll make these together. You do the vanilla cone.”