by Mindy Hayes
I watch Alix tiptoe across the Hartwell’s driveway with the morning sun trickling down on her, her heels in one hand and her purse in the other. She fumbles in her purse, trying to find her keys. I’m so tempted to get out and help her, but I don’t.
ALIX
WHEN I’M FINALLY in the comfort of my car, I exhale, breathing freely for the first time this morning. I peer in my rearview mirror and see Aiden still at the bottom of the driveway in his car, waiting for me to leave. Can’t I have one minute alone? He doesn’t budge. Clearly not.
I don’t have any more time to waste. Gina will never want to help me out again if she thinks I’m trying to take advantage of the situation. I reverse and peel out of the driveway so Aiden knows not to follow me. It would be like him to drive behind me all the way home, just to make sure I made it.
Chivalrous jackwad. Why does he have to be so sweet? When I’m nothing but rude, he can’t help but be sweet and try to make me laugh. I don’t deserve it. I wish he’d stop.
A stupid, small part of me wants him to follow me home. I hate the way things ended this morning. The way I can never let a moment be what it is without destroying it and turning it into something else just to shut him out. I sabotage every good thing in my life.
It’s possible we could be something great. He makes me feel things I’ve never experienced before. If it were possible to touch the stars, it would be because Aiden held me up.
Stop. I need to squash the inconsequential thoughts of maybe. Getting involved with Aiden has danger written all over it. Hearts would get broken. His. Mine. Does it even matter? Nothing would ever be the same.
You can’t go there, Alix. There are too many other important things to worry about.
Like life.
Once I reach the edge of Sawyer’s neighborhood, I look in my rearview mirror. Aiden is nowhere to be seen. He took the hint, but I wish he hadn’t.
***
“What happened last night? You guys looked like you were having so much fun. I thought for sure you’d finally give it up.”
“Sawyer!”
She laughs when she realizes what she said. “Not what I mean. Just given up on resisting him. Given up shutting him down. Not you know what…”
Heaving a sigh, I shake my head and rest the phone between my shoulder and ear as I get everything situated on my drafting board. Back to the grind. “It was a one time thing. Just a night to forget what my life is like now. We danced, were civil. It won’t happen again. Anything more makes things complicated. I don’t need more complication in my life.”
“Why are you so against him?” Sawyer chuckles. “Are you still hung up on Bridget? Dean told me Aiden and Bridget have been friends since before they knew how to talk. Their moms were best friends. They’re like brother and sister. He promised me nothing is going on.”
“I don’t care about stupid Bridget Dalton,” I nearly growl and then straighten, rolling my shoulders back to relax. It’s not Sawyer’s fault that I have commitment issues. Well, I suppose that’s not the right way to put it. It’s not her fault that I don’t want a commitment. “My life is complicated enough. It’s not going to happen between Ballard and me, and I want you to drop it. Please.”
“Alix—”
“Drop it,” I say firmly. We are not going to turn this into a therapy session about why Alix needs a guy in her life. Nope. Not happening.
“Okay, okay.” I picture Sawyer’s hands rising to yield, a doubting look on her face. She’s not going to let this go, but at least for now she is. “But you are aware that Aiden is Dean’s best friend, right? You’re not going to be able to avoid him forever, Felix. Especially now that they’re taking over Aiden’s grandpa’s business. They’ll be nearly inseparable. And Dean is my husband.” She enunciates ‘husband’ like I don’t understand English.
“Yeah, yeah. It doesn’t mean I won’t try my hardest.”
There’s a crash in the kitchen. Shoot. “I’ve gotta go.” I don’t wait for Sawyer to respond before I hit the END button and rush out of my office. “Mama?”
She’s cornered in the kitchen standing over broken glass, which is strewn across the tile floor—remnants of what used to be her favorite yellow mixing bowl. Her head lifts with panic in her eyes. “I was going to make…brownies.”
“Ma.” I sigh and run my hand through my hair. “Okay. Take a step back. I don’t want you stepping on the glass. Let me get a broom. Don’t move.”
When I return with the broom she looks up from the broken glass to me. “I…” She looks back at the floor, trying to put the situation together. “Did you do this?” she reprimands.
Before I think better of it, I respond, “No, Ma. You did. Hold on. Don’t move. I’m going to sweep a path to get you out of the kitchen.”
“I don’t remember. Why are you lying to me? I didn’t do this.”
“I would never lie to you,” I carefully explain. “You were trying to make brownies and accidentally dropped the bowl. Remember?”
Her eyes go through an evolution of emotions and conclude with embarrassment.
“Mama, it’s okay,” I say. I should have said it was my fault. I know better. We’ve done this enough times. Reminding her of anything always ends poorly.
She curls her arms around her stomach and shifts from one foot to the other as I try to clear the floor for her.
“I don’t remember doing this,” she says slowly. “Why don’t I remember?”
“It’s okay, Ma,” I attempt to console her. “You didn’t. I did. I wanted to make your brownies, but the bowl was too heavy.”
“But— I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She repeats her apology over and over, as if it’s the only thing she knows how to say. With a path of glass-free tile, I gently take her hand and guide her out of the kitchen.
“It’s okay. I’ll clean it up. It’ll be like it never happened.”
“I’m sorry,” she says and starts to cry. I sit her on the couch and she leans forward, placing her face in her hands. My hand gently rubs her back. “I’m so sorry, Phil.”
My heart clenches. I swallow hard before answering. “Mama, it’s okay. It’s me… Alix.”
“I’m so sorry, Phil.” She rocks back and forth, not acknowledging me. “My Phil…”
I continue to rub her back and swallow the lump forming in my throat. “Don’t cry. Just sit here. Please. Don’t move.”
When I return to the kitchen, I take a deep breath. Strength. I need to find it. I’ve had it before. It pulled me through my father’s betrayal. It visited when we first received Mama’s diagnosis. It came to me for all of Sawyer’s losses when she needed it from me most. But now when I need it most of all, it’s deserted me. And I’m at a loss for how to find it again.
Hands in my hair, I stare at the broken glass, at a bowl that held so many childhood memories, the yellow ceramic pieces of a life that would never be again. Because of that name. That four-letter word.
It’s past my curfew, so I open the front door as quietly as possible. If I break curfew one more time, I’m so grounded. But I realize my efforts are pointless. My parents are arguing so loudly in the kitchen, they wouldn’t have heard me if I slammed the door. I stop. I have to walk past the kitchen to get to my bedroom. There’s no way I’m doing that now. Whatever they’re angry about will only transfer to me. I’ll for sure be grounded.
“You’re unbelievable!” Mama screams.
“I love you more. Please, Kate.”
“Do you? Did you love me more when you repeatedly screwed her over and over and over again? Because clearly this happened more than once!”
“Katie.” Dad’s voice breaks. “It just happened. I don’t know how. It was a moment of weakness. A stupid moment of weakness that spiraled out of control. And once she was pregnant, I couldn’t abandon her. I had to take care of her. I have to take care of our child.”
I think I’m going to be sick.
“What about our children? Did you think abo
ut Alix? About Brooks, who’s going to be here in two months!”
His answer is inaudible.
“How long?” Her voice is steel, cold and unbreakable.
There’s silence. And it drags. I have a fleeting thought that she might have killed him. I want to unhear every word. I want to rewind and never walk into the house. If I wasn’t here, maybe it didn’t happen.
“How long, Phil?” she asks louder.
“Five years,” he says so quietly. I hazily wonder if I heard him correctly. His voice is partially muffled, but I think he said…
“Years?” she chokes. “YEARS! Five years? Five? FIVE?” Her voice is shrill. She keeps repeating the words like it will help her understand what it means. “Five?” she whispers. Her voice is so quiet now I think the word has broken her, like a record played too many times.
“Katie, listen to me. We can figure this out. I’ll break things off with her. We’ll make this work. We can forget this happened, and we’ll start fresh.” He chokes, “I want to be with you.”
It’s like she doesn’t even hear him. “Does she know about us? Does she know you already have a family?” I can tell she’s fighting with the volume of her voice. She’s trying to be controlled, trying so hard, but she’s losing. I’m losing. “Does she know we fell in love on a football field? That I was your first kiss? That your baby girl adores you? That you’re the only one I’ve ever loved!”
I can’t listen to this anymore. I can’t hear her pain. I don’t want to feel it. I don’t want to feel mine. I don’t want to feel anything. How could he do this to us?
“I’m sorry,” he utters—roughly—like he swallowed gravel. “I wish I could take it back. I wish I could go back and erase it all. I want to. I want to so badly. I’m so sorry. Baby, I’m so sorry. Please.”
“You make me sick. I want you out of my house.”
“Kate,” he cries. “I love you. I love you so much. Please. I’ll do anything.”
“GET OUT!”
I can’t be here. I don’t want to be here, but I can’t move. My legs have begun a revolt. They stand firm in the entryway. He appears around the corner at the end of the foyer. When he sees me he startles, but immediately plasters a fake smile on his lying, cheating face.
“Hey, baby girl,” he croons, like he didn’t just blow our family into a million unrecognizable pieces.
All I can do is shake my head and run out the door.
He was supposed to be the man I could look up to. The kind of man who was supposed to set the bar for the man I would someday marry. He was supposed to guard our family and protect it with his life. Instead he tore out my heart when I was just beginning to learn how to love.
AIDEN
ONE MAJOR PERK of working with Dean now that he’s married to Sawyer is the lunch she brings us every day. As if she wasn’t already one of my favorite people.
“How’s your grandpa feeling about all of this?” Sawyer gestures around the construction zone of Dean’s and my office space, where we’re sitting in. She brought a blanket to lie on the ground for us to cover the sawdust. “Is he still on board?”
I finish chewing and rest my arm on top of my bent knee. “I think so. We’ll prove to him that this was the best decision he could have made. Remodeling the space was a necessary means. It needed updating.”
“You know Alix could help y’all with some plans. Is there a reason you haven’t gone to her yet?”
I look over at Dean, and he sighs heavily, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Go ahead. Tell your wife why you don’t want to hire her best friend to handle our interior design plans.”
Dean gets the wife look of disapproval¸ and I barely stifle a chuckle. They haven’t even been married for a month and she’s nailed it. I think women are born with it. It goes hand-in-hand with the mom look of disappointment.
“Well, for a couple reasons,” Dean tries to explain. “Aiden’s history with her, for one. They can’t have a single conversation without arguing. I don’t want to deal with that sexual tension any more than I already do.”
“You don’t think she could be professional?” Sawyer interrupts.
“I’m sure she could, but this guy?” He points to me. “Doubt it.”
“Hey,” I say defensively.
“You know it’s true,” Dean retorts. I think for a moment and know I can’t argue with him. He’s probably right. Though I could try. “Exactly. And she hates me, so I doubt she wants to do business with me either.”
“Either?” she says.
“Sawyer, you know she drives me crazy.”
“And you know she could use the money,” she retorts. “Are you planning on never outsourcing any work to her? You two are going to be home building contractors. Interior design is her thing. She’s precisely what you’re looking for, for updated design ideas.”
“I know. I know.” I see him caving, and I nearly punch the air in triumph until what Sawyer says hits me.
“Alix is having money problems? I thought she was doing okay.” She’s living at home, rent-free. Her mom probably cooks for her. She’s conducting her own business from home. What’s there to struggle with? School loans, maybe?
Sawyer looks visibly uncomfortable, and her eyes briefly flicker to Dean before she looks at me again.
I level a stare. “You know why Alix and her mom were in Bakerton. And you know I saw her there.” There’s no way Alix kept that from Sawyer. “Does that have something to do with it?”
Sawyer bites her lip, reluctant, and then nods. I peer over at Dean who’s paying a lot of attention to his sandwich. “You know, too, don’t you?” I conclude.
“I’m her husband.” He shrugs. “She tells me stuff.” He’s been playing dumb ever since I went to him after seeing Alix in Bakerton. Traitor.
“No one else knows, Aiden,” Sawyer intervenes. “Alix only told me because she was forced into a corner. She hid it from me for over a year and a half. She’s been keeping it under wraps for a reason. I had to tell Dean because there were times where I couldn’t explain my absence without sounding suspicious.”
A year and a half? What? Is she a CIA operative? “Will you tell me, please, Sawyer?” The not knowing kills me. I want to respect Alix’s privacy, but this seems so much bigger than what I was thinking. I have to do something to help her. If she’ll let me.
“It’s not my place,” Sawyer replies, shaking her head. “I think Alix should be the one to tell you.”
I snort. “You know she won’t.”
“She will,” Sawyer says, sighing and gathering our trash. “She’ll just need some time. And honestly, she won’t be able to keep the secret for much longer. Let Alix come around. I know she’ll tell you.”
“She’s not exactly the happiest with me at the moment.”
“When is she ever happy with you?” Sawyer laughs.
I smirk halfheartedly. “True.” I pause. “I’m worried about her.”
“It’s not unfounded. I am too.”
“Good to know.”
“Okay,” Dean interrupts, brushing his hands together, removing the remaining crumbs of his sandwich before getting to his feet. “Enough with the depressing talk. We’ve got work to do. And you have to get back to the bakery.” Dean holds out his hand to help Sawyer get up. He grabs her face and plants a kiss on her mouth. Then he grabs her hand and kisses the inside of her wrist, right on her dandelion tattoo. “Thank you for bringing us lunch, Mrs. Preston.”
She smiles up at him, and I envy him more in this moment than any other. I know getting here wasn’t easy, and I don’t envy what it took for them to get to where they are, but I want it nonetheless. I’d lose what they lost if it meant I could find what they have. Some days I wonder if I’ll ever get there. I make myself busy by gathering up the blanket for Sawyer.
“You won’t be home too late, right?” Sawyer asks.
“I don’t think so. Seven? Eight at the latest.”
“Okay.” She kisses him once more, and h
e swats her butt. Sawyer squeals and dashes toward the door. “I love you,” she hollers.
“Love you, too.”
“Bye, Aiden!”
“See ya, Sawyer.” I lift a wave.
The door closes behind her. “I hate you so much,” I say.
“No, you don’t,” Dean replies.
“Oh, but I do.” I chuckle.
“You’ll get over it.”
ALIX
I TRY NOT to wallow in self-pity over the Alzheimer’s anymore. The thought of it used to paralyze me. All the uncertainty and upheaval. How it would affect us. It’s selfish, I know. My mom is the one who’s suffering with the disease, and here I am thinking about how it affects all of us. I hate the disease. I hate it so much. Because we do. We all suffer. It’s changed our lives. Like now, while I’m trying to explain to Mama that the little boy we dropped off at school isn’t the neighbor’s kid.
“Oh right,” she says. “I knew that.” She submits because she doesn’t want to seem like she’s forgotten. She doesn’t want to admit she could have forgotten her son.
I wish he didn’t suffer the most. I wish I could take it all on. But he didn’t get to have her for long enough. A few measly years. She hardly even got the chance to know him before her brain was high jacked. Before she was robbed. He was robbed.
The doorbell rings.
Who in the world is at the door?
I think of ignoring it like I do most days. Just because I work from home doesn’t mean I can be disturbed. I deserve to have some normal work hours like everyone else.
For some reason I go against my instincts. I help Mama from my office out onto the couch and turn on the TV. “I’m going to answer the door. Stay here, please.”