by Daya Daniels
“Yeah, a little.” He purses his lips, his gray eyes clear. “I slept pretty well last night.”
“Good. Good.”
“And I guess I’m excited that Ethan and Zac will be here soon.”
“Yeah, me too.”
With that, I’m reminded that school will be out for the summer next week and that the big July 4 celebration that we always have here on the beach will be coming up soon. The house will be full for the very last time before the boys disappear again, back to their respective lives and Noah will be gone. While I’m excited for them all to be here, often I feel like it just makes it all much worse when they leave.
“I miss them,” Trav admits.
“Me too.”
Trav wheels his chair to the edge of the stairs. I take a seat on the top one next to him as he runs his fingers through my hair that flies everywhere with the wind. My eyes narrow on the sight of two people trudging up the beach. A man and a little boy.
“Mrs. Stone!” Brandon shouts out, running up the winding path that leads to this house, waving his arms. Tucked beneath his left one is a colorful kite. “Mrs. Stone!”
Standing, I give him a wave and somehow, I meet Austen’s eyes. He keeps his distance but still waves at us, watching Brandon rush toward me.
Trav laughs at him when Brandon makes it to the first step. “Hey, buddy, take it easy,” he tells him.
“Mrs.-Mrs.-Mrs. Stone,” Brandon pants. “Good morning!”
Austen makes his way up the path behind Brandon. My insides turn to cement, but I try my best to stay relaxed, keeping my eyes on Brandon’s happy face.
I’d spent the last week and a half escaping after school days to Arthur Morris’ place out on Sullivan’s Island to see Austen, with takeout. Often, I went there just to talk to him, but usually we’d end up naked before I left to rush home and get ready for the next day.
Things had become intense...
In some strange way, I felt relieved after I accepted what we were doing. It felt easier, though no less wrong. I’d make it through the week at school without feeling insanely stressed out. I was even mentally more prepared to deal with Trav’s mood swings when they did come around.
At this point, I haven’t seen Austen since mid-week since he’s been spending more and more time with Brandon, which I expected. In fact, I’m happy about it.
But this...I haven’t anticipated this—the two men meeting.
“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Stone...” He breathes heavily, taking one stair at a time. When he makes it to the top, he reaches forward and shakes Trav’s hand, steps back, and gives him a harsh salute. “Sir,” he says.
Trav explodes into laughter and I laugh too at the sight of him clearly impressed by this seven-year-old boy, his eyes crinkling at the sides with amusement.
“My dad told me to do that,” Brandon admits.
“You really don’t have to.” Trav chuckles.
I keep my eyes on Austen as he moves up the path. His stride is purposeful. I realize he has no plans on stopping. He really is coming here...where I’m standing...where Trav is sitting.
Brandon grabs my hand and looks up at me with those big blue eyes of his. “We’re going to fly this kite and then we’re going to barbeque. Can you and Mr. Stone join us?”
Trav reaches out and ruffles Brandon’s brown locks. “I can’t, buddy, but Mrs. Stone is free to do so.”
I glance over at Trav, observing his sad smile.
When I face forward, Austen is still ascending the stairs, his expression impassive. He’s wearing a simple T-shirt and shorts. Sunglasses cover his eyes and in his left hand is a spool of kite string. “Sir,” he says in his deep voice, extending a hand out to Trav. “Callie.” He nods toward me as he shakes Trav’s hand. “It’s good to meet you, Mr. Stone,” Austen says. “I’ve heard a lot of amazing things about you.”
Austen’s relaxed demeanor is disturbing. In fact, it irritates me.
“Please call me Travis.” Trav looks at him with narrowed eyes, then smiles. “I remember your face. You had the dogs that morning—the ones that belong to Ivy and Greg.”
My ears perk up just as I figure something out.
“Yeah, yeah. I run sometimes in the mornings around here,” he says casually.
The Stalker Incident.
“I’m Greg’s brother, Austen.”
Trav nods. “Yesss, the brother he never talks about.” His chest shakes with laughter.
Austen smiles and runs a hand through his hair. “Yep, that one.”
“You two have met?” Trav asks, looking between both Austen and me.
Austen shifts and places his large hand on Brandon’s head, nearly engulfing the entire thing. “Yes, I guess you could say that. Brandon is in Callie’s class.”
“Remember, I told you,” I remind Trav.
“Ah, yes, right.” Trav smiles as Brandon steps closer to him, inspecting him. Brandon cocks his head to the side. “My dad says you’re a hero.”
Trav exhales harshly. “I don’t know about that.”
“Yep,” Brandon says firmly. “You’re a hero.”
Austen smiles and for a few seconds, I catch what I think is admiration on his face for my husband, instead of the jealousy and resentment I expected.
“Thanks, Brandon,” Trav says softly.
Austen checks his watch. “We should be going. It’s going to take me a little while to clean up lobsters we have before I can get them on the grill. Plus, Brandon wants to fly this kite.”
I look between Austen and Brandon, glad that Austen is doing as he promised with him. But he appears exhausted, as if the job of fatherhood is running him ragged.
Brandon jumps up and down with the kite still tucked under his side. “Mrs. Stone, will you come with us?” he asks.
I give Austen a look, wondering if he’d put Brandon up to this, but then I don’t think so.
“It was nice to meet you, Travis,” Austen says, descending the stairs. “Come on, Brandon.” He extends an arm out to Brandon, who follows while keeping his eyes on me.
“Go ahead, Callie,” Trav encourages.
“Trav, you love to fly kites. Come with us. Besides, I was going to make you lunch,” I whisper, readying myself to argue with him.
He waves me away. “No, you should go with them, bring me back some lobster and tell Greg and Ivy I said hello.”
“Travvv—”
“I have some TV to catch up on. Good stuff, really—can’t be missed.” He grins. “So, you should go with them, Callie, really.” He shoves me in the butt, forcing me toward the stairs. “Helen is here. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay.” I shuffle my feet a few times along the deck, then take each step one by one, occasionally looking behind me at Trav, who keeps his eyes on me.
I give him a wave before I set off down the path.
“Don’t forget the lobster, Callie!” he calls out, before I jog to catch up with Brandon and Austen.
Austen
WE WALKED A LONG distance up the beach until we made it to my cottage that’s just over the dunes.
Everything around us is crystal blue. The water. The sky. I drag my fingers in the white sand, feeling how soft it is between my fingertips. I move from an upright position and stretch my legs out, crossing them at the ankle.
“Wait for me!” Brandon yells.
Callie runs up and down a section of the beach holding on to the multicolored box kite that floats above her up in the sky. She sprints across the sand, laughing out loud as Brandon remains on her heels. Her long hair whips around with the wind and I can’t keep my eyes off her breasts as they jiggle in the thin T-shirt she’s wearing. She’s wearing white shorts that show off her toned thighs and calves that flex as her bare feet twist in the sand. She jumps one more time, giving me a quick peek of the creamy skin on her stomach.
I smile and crane my neck up to the sky, taking a much-needed deep breath. It had been a hectic week. Arthur Morris’ place was near sale-ready and a
few days ago I started working on the landscaping that surrounds the large home. I also bought a van and made it to the beginning stages of establishing “Lennox Restoration & Landscaping,” my own company. As far as an office is concerned, I’ll just work from home for now, drafting plans for clients.
I already managed to rustle up a few projects for the new year for fairly affluent clients in the area, which Arthur helped me with. I know I have to hire a few guys, which I already started working on as well.
I haven’t told Callie or anyone just yet what I’ve had in the works, but I have a feeling Greg knows, even though he hasn’t brought it up with me.
I know what the people who suck ass around here think of me. That I’m a piece of shit. I’m the bastard son of a whore and a man who didn’t even care about me enough to give me his last name. I used to play into the bullshit. It used to define me but not anymore.
For the first time in my life I’m out to prove them all wrong. I plan to be a good father to my son even though I’m still learning as I go. The most important thing I learned since being here with Brandon is that spending time with him means more to him than anything else.
In the last few weeks, I learned that Brandon’s favorite color is orange. He loves Fruit Loops and anything do with dinosaurs. He wants to be a fireman when he grows up and his best part of the day is when the moon comes out. Each time he told me something about himself, I stored in it my memory, feeling nothing but shame since I didn’t know these details about him before. I hate myself when I accept I failed to take care of someone who’s a part of me. There was only so much he shared in his letters, but you can only learn so much from a kid from letters. You actually have to be there to discover everything else that’s magical about them.
I want to be a more considerate human being overall.
Which is ironic, right? Since I’m fucking the wife of a handicapped, retired Navy SEAL. I’m not proud of it. I actually feel quite the opposite.
In fact, I’m not even sure which part about the entire situation bothers me the most... The realization that Travis Stone is a better man than me. Or, that he probably has every single piece of Callie that I’ll never have, even though I am the one who’s fucking her. I stare at the sand for a moment, my mouth tight with aggravation and self-disgust.
Lately, I’ve been frustrated with Callie, with the slow pace of getting this small company together and dealing with Raine’s nonstop attempts to fuck me, literally. Her phone calls are either about money or about us meeting up to talk about everything except for Brandon. All I care about right now is having his last name hyphenated so he’ll have mine too.
Callie giggles again, bringing my attention back to the present. I stare at her for a while and smile. She doesn’t understand that I need her more than she realizes. But how can I make her care for me when someone else already has her heart?
I shoot up to stand before I think about this shit even more and encourage my blood pressure to go through the roof. “Come on, guys!” I call out, waving my arms a few times, waiting for them to see my signal.
I’m hungry. I’m exhausted. And I need a fucking beer.
~
An hour into puzzles and pretzels, I finished barbequing the lobster but still had more seafood to set on the grill.
Neil Young’s “Heart of Gold” sounds from the stereo.
I left all the doors open, so the fresh summer breeze flows through this place that’s now nicely painted and full of mismatched furniture.
Brandon loves his bedroom and I’m slowly getting used to having my own place, instead of sleeping in a different motel each night. I’ve become domesticated. And it all feels strange and different, yet oddly good. Normal.
Callie and Brandon have made themselves more comfortable at the picnic table out on the deck. I’m in the kitchen, sipping the last bit of liquid from my beer, listening to Callie outside counting with Brandon. He giggles. And shortly after, Callie explodes into laughter at something she mumbled to him. Then they’re both clapping and barking like seals.
“What the hell?” I whisper to myself with a laugh at how ridiculous they sound.
“You can definitely finish this,” Callie says playfully to Brandon.
“I can’t take any more of this. It’s getting too hard,” he complains, holding up the tiny puzzle piece in his hand.
Callie and Brandon are working on one of the most complex puzzles I think I’ve ever seen. It’s a picture of a hot air balloon and there must be at least ten thousand pieces to this thing. Frankly, I don’t have the patience for puzzles, so I left them to it.
“Whenever you feel like that, Brandon, you must remember...”
“The forty percent rule,” he finishes her sentence.
“Which says...” she encourages him to go on.
“That when you think you’ve had enough, you’re really only forty percent done, and you can do much more.”
“Yes, exactly,” Callie says before smiling down at him and ruffling his hair.
I’m reminded that Callie is a mother and that she’s a teacher—a good one at that—one of the best at Leighton Elementary School. A week ago, Principal Sayers had described Callie at the last assembly presentation for the first graders—which I’d attended—as patient, kind, and selfless.
He’s certainly right about the last adjective he assigned to her spirit and it’s the very thing that’s irking me the most about my half-girlfriend, mistress, wife of another, best friend, MILF, fuckbuddy...
Callie hasn’t been presented an official award that day since she’s only been back to school for a short time, but the entire faculty recognized her as being fresh and innovative when it came to teaching kids, especially ones with learning disabilities.
Callie had a short speech, and while it went on, I couldn’t help but recognize how Principal Sayers looked at her, or a few other men in the room for that matter—like they all wanted to fuck her. And it bothered me to the point of feeling a murderous black rage.
Exhaling, I finish seasoning the tiger shrimp.
My eyes focus on a picture stuck to the fridge of a sunny day that Brandon had sent to me when I was back at Leavenworth. I taped it on my wall and every day I looked at it in the morning and it helped me to make it through my day. I step closer to it and read the little note in the top corner of the colorful page.
Hi, Dad,
Teacher Stone says to always remember that every day is a good day, even when it rains. So, when my socks get wet when the sky is black, I don’t complain.
I laugh and return to what I’ve been doing. When I place the plastic shaker down on the kitchen counter, I glance at my phone that’s blowing up with a phone call. The name on the faceplate reads, “Raine,” and Darth Vader’s theme from Star Wars begins to play. I hit swipe left quickly, ignoring the call and then think for a second. Shaking my head, I growl. If it’s important she’ll call again, but I know it never is. Whenever I have Brandon on the weekends as of lately, it’s an issue. When I wasn’t physically around it was a problem and now that I am able to keep my son for extended visits, that’s a problem too.
She likely just wants to come by “to check on things,” as she always says.
Taking up the bowl of shrimp, I stroll across the room. The sight of Callie laughing, her head tipped back and all her pearly whites on display for the world to see, her hair blowing around her in the breeze and Brandon pressing a kiss to her cheek, I swear is the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.
When I make it to the open French doors, I freeze at the green stop lights ahead.
Callie
“CALLIE,” IVY SAYS, ACCENTUATING the I and the E in my name. Spinning around on the bench, I’m mid-laugh when I hear Ivy’s voice and the panting of dogs, since Digby and Mila are heeling next to her.
A box of crayons falls from the table. When they hit the floor they scatter everywhere, some of them slipping between the wooden slats on the deck. I rush to snatch a few up before they roll off th
e table.
“I’ve got them!” Brandon singsongs, moving from the bench and down to his knees to snatch them up.
I do my best to temper down my laughter. Standing, my giggles completely fade when I stare into Ivy’s face—tight mouth, knotted brows. Her arms are folded across her chest as she looks at me, her green-eyed gaze flickering between me and Austen, who stands completely frozen in the doorway for a beat.
All previous warmth drains from Austen’s beautiful face. “Ivy,” he says drily.
“Austen,” Ivy replies back, not blinking.
“Oh, hey, Ivy.”
Brandon is still collecting crayons.
I pad across the deck to meet Ivy at the edge of it by the stairs.
She leans in close when I make it near her. “What are you doing here?” she hisses.
I glance over my shoulder at Austen putting shrimps on the barbeque, then face Ivy again. “Um, nothing. I saw them on the beach earlier and Brandon asked me if I could come and fly—”
“Never mind.” Ivy lifts a hand cutting me off, keeping her narrowed eyes on Austen then back on me. “I’m sorry, Callie, it’s just I haven’t seen you in days and now I come here to check on Austen and Bran—”
“We’re fine,” Austen drawls.
“And I find you here.”
“Brandon is one of my students, Ivy.”
She bobs her head, her blond bun bouncing with the movement. “Yes, yes, I know. It’s not Brandon I’m worried about,” she says through clenched teeth.
“It’s fine, Ivy. You’re being silly.”
She gives me a blank look. “You look happy.”
What the fuck does that mean? Do I always not look happy?
“Yeah.” She reaches a hand out and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “You look different. I don’t know, rosy or something. It’s weird.” Her eyes narrow.
I back away from her.
“Why don’t you eat with us, Ivy?” Austen calls out.
“We have lobster!” Brandon shouts.