“Yeah, it’s just a habit.”
Mrs. Turner smiles. “Good, you’re very creative.” She rises from her chair. “I was just thinking, it might be good to know, moving forward. Perhaps learn a few tricks to help you with school. There’s no sense in struggling more than you need to.”
Most of my life, I’ve worried about Jesse, never stopping to think that I might have a learning disability and that’s why I’ve always struggled so much. “My parents would freak,” I say, partially amused.
“Would you like me to give you the name of a clinician friend of mine? Her name is Katy Richters. I referred a few patients to her when I was practicing, and I believe she’s still at it. She would be able to give you a screening assessment—a profile of sorts to show you your strengths and weaknesses. You’d know what tools you need to make your academic career easier.”
It’s easy to fantasize of a day when school is a little less daunting. “I’ll think about it,” I tell her. “Thank you, Mrs. Turner.”
“Please, sweetie, call me Leslie. I feel old enough as it is without the added formality.” She slides the books she referenced during our quizzing back into place on the bookshelf in the living room.
“I’ll try.” I glance up the stairs, hearing Jesse’s muffled laugh, and smile.
“Nick and Reilly used to spend hours up there, playing video games and who knows what else,” Mrs. Turner muses.
I imagine Reilly and Nick in their teens, running up the stairs after baseball practice. It’s the perfect house for having friends over—big yards and lofty rooms. I can almost see Nick in the den, sprawled out on the floor, watching Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, and eating popcorn with his friends.
“Nick’s been really good to Jesse,” I tell her. “Which is everything to me. You raised a very good man.”
She looks at me like she can see into my soul. “Yes, he is a good man, and a good friend to have.” With a dip of her head, Mrs. Turner excuses herself from the room before I can reply. I’m not sure if that was a semi-sweet, sugar-coated message, or if it was a simple statement, but I’m left wondering as I drop my bag off by the front door. According to the wall clock, I have a few hours before work and errands still to run, so I head up the stairs in search of Jesse.
Family photos line the wall as I meander up the staircase, and the carpet is off-white, a little shaggy and outdated but well taken care of. The upstairs of the house is just like downstairs. It’s perfectly furnished and matching, everything in its place, much like my house. Though Mrs. Turner’s taste isn’t like my mom’s. It’s soft and plush where my mother’s design is all sharp angels and monotone colors. The fact that there are happy family photos—photos of Nick and his friends, and framed animal paintings and artwork instead of abstract pieces hanging on the walls—make it seem like a different world than what I’m used to living in.
I smile, a little envious but pleased that Nick’s childhood seemed like a happy one, like I’d imagined.
The floorboards creak as I explore the landing, passing by what looks like an extra bedroom, lightly furnished with a light wood dresser set and a floral comforter on the bed. I pass a bathroom and upstairs office, everything bathed in the light that filters in through the large wall of windows in the front of the house.
I hear Jesse’s laugh through the door at the end of the hallway and creak it open. Peeking inside, I find the two of them sitting on bean bags in front of a large but boxy television, both of their faces contorted as they twitch and squirm in their seats. The cars they’re driving screech and burn out down empty, digital streets.
A neon green convertible flips across the screen and Nick groans.
“Dude!” Jesse says, truly smiling for the first time in a long time, and it makes my chest tighten. “You died, again.”
“Yeah, thanks, kid. I appreciate you rubbing it in.” Nick turns to him and offers a high-five. “Good job, though. You schooled me.”
“It’s all right, you haven’t played in a while.”
Nick chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. “True. Let’s go with that.” When he notices me, his eyes widen. “Hey, how did it go? Do you feel smarter?” he teases.
“A lot, actually. Thanks for asking.” I look past him at Jesse. “Come on, J. We have to run a few errands before I take you home. Get your stuff together, okay?”
“Nick’s letting me borrow his comics,” he says, climbing to his feet. He shakes his hair out of his eyes and places the comics on the floor into a large plastic bin.
“He is, is he? All of them, I see.” I eye the storage container.
Nick smirks. “That’s only the first box.”
“Wow. Lucky me.” I bat my eyelashes and walk over to him. Jesse’s cleaning up the piles he created, and I stop beside Nick. “Thank you,” I say wholeheartedly. “Your mom is really wonderful, and I—I seriously don’t know how I would get through this test without her. Without you.” Everything he’s done hasn’t just been for me, it’s been for Jesse too, and the knowledge of that makes my heart melt for him and me question why I’ve been so worried about being around him to begin with.
Nick shoves his hands in his pockets. His eyes don’t leave mine, but his brow furrows ever so slightly. “I’m just glad my mom was able to help.”
“She did. I feel a lot better. She gave me some great tips and some things to think about.”
“Good.” He winks at me and grabs the container of comics. “Well kid, you heard the slave driver. We better get these loaded up.”
“Okay,” Jesse says and he and I file down the stairs behind Nick. “Go say goodbye to Mrs. Turner,” I tell him, and Jesse hurries into the kitchen, with more pep than usual. Although I know he’s had fun today with Nick, I’m sure the plate of cookies waiting inside has something to do with it.
“Nick,” I say, resting my hand on his arm. “I’m sorry for assuming you were an asshole.”
He looks at me with a cocky grin. “Are we talking about high school again?”
“No—yes. The past ten years, actually. I think a part of me wanted you to be a jerk, so I jumped to conclusions.”
His eyes shift from my eyes to my mouth and back again. “Why would you want me to be a jerk, Bethany?” The confusion in his eyes hurts my heart.
“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “Maybe I was scared to let you in again.”
He sets the bin down, never taking his eyes off of me. “And how do you feel about that now?”
“It’s not as scary as I remember,” I admit.
“Good.”
Mrs. Turner and Jesse laugh in the kitchen, and Nick takes a step closer. “I was wondering something,” he says. “Jesse mentioned he wanted to take an equine class but your parents won’t let him.”
“Oh, the equine therapy? Yeah, they’ve sort of been putting it off.” I fudge the truth a little. My dad said no, but my mom is thinking about it.
“I know I’m not a therapist”—he laughs at the thought—“but let me take you guys to the ranch Saturday. He’ll love it out there.”
I know Jesse will love it—he’d be ecstatic—but that’s a bit more intrusion in Sam’s life than I’m sure I’m comfortable with.
“Don’t overthink it,” he urges. “Just say yes.”
In that moment, I know my heart is in the most danger it’s ever been in. I suddenly can’t say no to him. “Okay. Sure. What about shopping for Sam’s décor?”
“Darn, I guess we’ll just have to reschedule.”
Twenty-Eight
Nick
After Bethany and Jesse take off, I decide it’s time to talk to my dad. It’s Thursday afternoon, and I know he’s working, so I head to his office. I turn into the Turner and Tillman Design and Development parking lot and pull up next to my dad’s Tundra. The distance between us has happened so gradually and quickly at the same time, I’m not sure I noticed it until recently. First, blowing off my final project, then missing dinners and our breakfast . . . it’s like
he doesn’t want me to be an architect anymore, or maybe he doesn’t want to be an architect. I’m not sure if he’s planning on selling the company, or if maybe he’s rethinking life decisions and doesn’t want me to walk down the same path, but it’s time to find out.
I step out of the Explorer and head toward the entrance. The fact of the matter is, I need my dad right now. I have no idea what the hell I’m going to do once I graduate, now that my plan to work with him is all but dust in the wind.
As soon as I step inside, I see a few familiar faces, and the sound of ringing phones and muffled conversations fill my ears. It’s more nostalgic than I’d expected. I used to walk here after school on the days I didn’t have baseball practice. Sometimes Reilly would come with me and we’d hang out while I waited for my dad to finish up. My dad’s enthusiasm and passion for his work seemed almost superhuman and inspiring. Now, he feels more like a stranger.
“Hey, Nick!” Thomas, my dad’s right-hand man, waves me over to him as he packs up his briefcase.
“Hey, Tom.” I shake his hand. “It’s been awhile.”
“Yeah, it has. You look great, kid. You been eating your Wheaties?”
Laughing, I nod and hope I haven’t been eating too many of them. “Something like that.”
With a pat on my back, Tom nods to my dad’s office. “He’s just finishing up a meeting.”
“Hey, thanks.”
“Catch you later, Nick.”
I wave a goodbye, and Tom heads for the door. As I continue toward my dad’s office, I admire his firm. I take in the large, square building, single story with exposed beams in vaulted ceilings. Drafting tables are spread about, milling bodies scattered around. It’s rejuvenating, in a way, and awe-inspiring. The older I get, the more I appreciate the work my dad has put into this place, a new, modern building, nothing like the old historical brick and stone structures in town he remodels for a living.
I smile politely at the employees I’ve never seen before, introducing myself as Hutch’s son, Nick. Some of the staff are busy, others are closing up for the day, and for the first, time I get a sense of how large the company’s grown and it makes sense how busy he’s been. I had no idea. This was his vision. Now it’s his company and responsibility. He built it and made it all happen and I feel hopeful that I might still be a part of that.
My dad’s secretary isn’t at her desk when I get there, so I bypass it. With a quick knock, I open the door to his office, and my heart stops beating. “What the fuck?”
A red-headed woman scrambles to smooth out her clothes, and my dad straightens, but not quick enough. I saw her mouth on his and her fingers wrapped around his tie—his goddamn hand was on her ass.
My stomach curdles, and I clench my hands to fists.
“N—Nick . . .” My dad fumbles out my name and pushes the woman away from him, nearly knocking her over.
She glares at him. “Hey—”
“What the fuck are you doing?” I shout.
“Watch your mouth,” he orders, but I don’t give a shit what he’s saying.
“You’re screwing your secretary?”
“I’m a partner in the firm,” she corrects and tugs down the hem of her shirt again for good measure.
“I don’t care who the hell you are.” I glare at my father. “Is this why you’ve been blowing me off? You didn’t want me to find out?” The guilt slackening his features tells me all I need to know. “I can’t believe this.” I turn for the door.
“Your mother already knows, Nicholas,” he calls after me, as if that makes any difference to me whatsoever, and I stalk through the building. Everyone and everything around me is a blur, and I head straight for my car. My blood is boiling. My heart is hurting. And I have no idea what I’m going to do next.
“Nick!” I can hear my dad behind me, but I don’t stop for him. I fucking hate him. “Nick, stop for a minute.”
“No,” I bite out. Each step against the asphalt is punishing and not nearly quick enough.
“You don’t understand—”
I whirl around to face him. “Are you kidding me right now? You’re fucking around on your wife—on my mother. You are still married, right? Or, is that bullshit too, just like all your late nights, working on big projects, while Mom’s at home, waiting for you.” I’m disgusted even looking at him. “I can’t believe you. You, of all people.” There’s an anger inside of me I’ve never felt before and it burns in my muscles, a searing pain so raw I want to haul off and punch him in his slack-jaw face.
“Nick, things haven’t been right with me and your mother for a long time.”
“Then get a goddamn divorce!”
His eyes light up, like I’ve given him permission to be a decent person. “You’re right, Nick. We should’ve gotten a divorce a while ago.”
“No shit.” I turn and hurry to the Explorer.
“You need to hear the whole story before you do something rash. Nick—we did this for you, don’t you see that?”
I laugh and fling open my car door. “Seriously? I’m not a ten-year-old kid. Don’t put any of this on me.”
“I’m not trying to, Nick. I’m just telling you the truth. None of this is easy.”
“Yeah, it looked real hard on you a few moments ago.” I climb into my car, barely slamming the driver’s side door shut, before I throw the Explorer into reverse and get the fuck out of here.
I see the woman rush over to my dad in the rearview mirror, her red hair bouncing.
Yeah, life’s been really fucking hard for him.
Twenty-Nine
Bethany
After the last customer leaves the salon, I lock the door and hurry through the night-end, cleaning routine. I toss a load of towels in the washing machine and sterilize all the beds. Anna Marie already set up the spray tanning booth for tomorrow, so all that’s left is a quick register closeout and I’m home free. For the first time in a very long time, I’m actually eager to get home for a reason other than Jesse.
Since talking with Mrs. Turner earlier, all I can think about is the possibility that I might have a learning disability. For some people, it might not be something to get excited about, but for me, it means there’s hope it can get a little easier. It means that I’m not crazy and perhaps I have been studying the best I can. Maybe my dad won’t be so disappointed in me, or maybe it will only solidify how broken he thinks I am.
I’ve thought about it fleetingly over the years—that something could be wrong with me, that is—but so many people struggle with school and on their exams, I never thought about it much more than that. Everything Mrs. Turner said, though, makes so much sense, and now I want to know more. A cup of tea, pajamas, and my laptop sounds like the perfect night to end a really good day.
My phone rings as I shut all the lights off and step out the door. I pray it’s not my parents with some sort of emergency, so I’m pleasantly surprised to see that it’s Anna Marie.
Juggling my purse, my phone, and my clanking keychain, I answer. “Hey, I’m just closing up.” I pause with the key in the lock. “Did you need me to do something before I leave?”
“Hi. No, but you should come down to Lick’s.”
“Uh—I kind of need to get home to do some homework,” I say, fidgeting with the door.
“Trust me, Bethany, you need to get down here . . . Nick is here.”
“Okay, so?” Manhandling my things, I make it to the Rover and toss them all inside.
“He’s not working, Bethany. He’s literally at the bar, drunk, like the drunkest I’ve ever seen him before.”
I start the engine and sit there for a breath. “That seems weird. Is he alone?”
“Yes, he’s alone, and I know it’s weird, that’s why I’m calling you.”
“No Reilly or Mac—no one’s there with him?”
“No, something’s clearly wrong. I thought since you guys are all buddy-buddy now, you should know.”
An unexpected panic takes hold of me. “Yeah. Thanks
. I’m on my way.” In all the years I’ve seen Nick at the bar, he’s never been wasted, and I’ve never see him drinking, alone.
As soon as I get to Lick’s, Anna’s outside on her phone. She hangs up when she sees me and smiles. “He’s still in there. I think he’s even flirting with the guys at this point.”
“What?” I know she’s probably joking, but I head straight for the door. “How long has he been here?” I ask over my shoulder.
“I have no idea. I got here an hour ago. Sorry.”
Nodding, I head into the bar. It’s relatively dead, but it’s a Thursday night so I’m not really surprised.
Nick’s at the bar with a water glass in front of him, which is a relief, but when Brady looks at me, his eyes are pinched with worry. Nick’s resting his elbows on the bar, spinning a coaster around and around on the countertop.
“Hey,” I say and sidle up beside him.
When Nick looks at me, his eyes widen. “Hey! Fancy meeting you here.”
I can’t help but smile. “Yeah, I know. What a coincidence.” His eyes are veiled with drink, and I think sadness. His words are a little slurred, and I can tell his happy-go-lucky Nick-ness is forced tonight. “Where’s the crew at?” I ask.
He shrugs and looks back at the Anchor Steam coaster he continues to spin. “Home, I guess. Hey, do you want a shot? All shots are on me tonight.”
Brady gives me the look, as if he even needs to. “No, I’m okay, thanks. I was just heading home. Do you want me to drop you off at your place on my way?”
He shakes his head. “Nah, I’m not ready to go home yet, even though Brady cut me off.” He chuckles to himself. “He’s such an asshole sometimes, but I love ‘em.” He raises his palm. “High-five, dude, for being cool.”
I stifle a laugh as Brady gives Nick a high-five. “Thanks, brother.”
Saratoga Falls: The Complete Love Story Series Page 83