“What’s divorce?” Kayla had asked after they explained what was happening.
“It’s when people don’t love each other anymore and can’t live together anymore.” It had seemed like a good explanation at the time, one he’d practiced on a few friends who agreed it was the best way to say it. The kids, however, didn’t hear it the same way.
“You don’t love us anymore?” Blake had said, his eyes big and scared.
“No,” Natalie hurried to say, shooting Micah a dirty look. “We love you guys so much, but we don’t love each other anymore. Your dad and I aren’t going to be married anymore.”
The rest of the attempted discussion had been awkward and painful, both of them trying very hard to justify what they were doing and yet reassure the kids that they would always love them. Even then Micah could see how hard that was for the kids to understand. If Mom and Dad could stop loving each other, it didn’t seem so far-fetched that one day they’d stop loving the children they made together. But he’d wanted out so badly back then that he hadn’t dwelled on that. Instead, he kept reminding himself that he and Natalie didn’t love each other anymore. It wasn’t fair for the kids to grow up watching a marriage like that. That night had haunted Micah for years.
He tried to shake the memory from his mind, but he couldn’t ignore that his children were facing it again. He finally sat down in the recliner—ironically one of the only pieces of furniture he was awarded in the divorce. He wondered what Dennis would walk away with.
“What’s going on?” Blake finally asked. He looked braced, as if he were on a turbulent flight.
Natalie sat on the edge of the coffee table a few feet in front of Micah, crossing one foot over the other, then uncrossing them, and crossing the other leg instead. She was dressed in jeans made for a woman fifteen years younger, a snug-fitting top, with her hair and nails perfect. He knew she’d likely spent an hour getting ready and yet it gave her a manufactured look. Chrissy, on the other hand, pulled off her own style of dress, makeup, and hair with such ease.
“Your mother has something she needs to tell you guys,” Micah finally said, when the tense silence had stretched to its breaking point and Natalie made no move to explain why she was there. Three faces stared back at him. Kayla’s expression reflected that she would be strong for her little brother and sister. Blake’s face was guarded, but Mallory looked terrified. Micah felt a lump rise in his throat. How would they ever believe in marriage if the only ones they ever saw ended this way?
Natalie took a breath and then in a long—and arguably subjective—explanation, told them what was happening. During her monologue, Kayla took Mallory’s hand in her own and put her other hand on Blake’s arm.
“I tried to get Dennis to go to marital counseling, but he wouldn’t go. That was months ago. Since then I’ve just done my best, but I guess my best wasn’t good enough. Dennis wants a new life, and I have no choice but to give it to him.” She smiled as if determined to keep things light and cheery. Micah tried to ignore his frustration, unsure how he should feel, but not liking the way she was laying this out.
When Natalie finished talking, the room was silent. Mallory stared at her lap, Kayla tried to smile encouragingly at her mother, and Blake’s face had gone hard.
“What about Pat and Andy?” Blake asked.
“Well, I’ll have full custody, like I do with you guys, and they’ll visit Dennis for holidays and summer. It will be a lot like what you guys do with your dad.”
“I live with Dad,” Blake said.
“Well, for now,” Natalie said. “But that’s only temporary.”
Micah felt his eyebrows rise. When Blake looked at him, shocked, Micah hurried to jump in. “It’s as temporary or permanent as Blake wants it to be,” he said, holding Blake’s eyes and hoping it gave his son confidence. “It’s been great having him here.” Mallory looked up at Micah then too. “And Mal too, of course.” He winked, and she seemed to soften a little bit, but it didn’t hide that she seemed to be doing everything she could to hold back tears.
Natalie turned around to look at Micah. “But he’s not staying, especially now that Dennis is gone. That’s why he came, you know; he and Dennis just couldn’t get along. After summer visitation is over, he’ll come back home with me.”
Again, the room was quiet until Micah tried to save the moment, thinking only about Blake. It was hard to form statements without making Blake feel obligated to choose either option. “If he’s happy here come the end of the summer, I’m happy to have him stay.”
She glared at him and he held her eyes, trying to communicate that right now was not the time to argue about this. “When will the divorce be final?” he asked tightly, trying to keep the discussion on point.
It seemed to get her back to the original subject. “July, I think. He’s moving to Omaha next week.” She turned to look at the kids again, and when she spoke her voice was higher, sweeter—as if she were talking to little kids, not two teenagers, and in Kayla’s case, an adult. “Are you guys okay with this?” she asked—an impossible question. What did it matter if they were okay with it or not? “Do you have any questions?”
Kayla asked if Natalie would be moving to a new house. “Not a chance,” she said, the first hint of bitterness in her voice. “I’ve got the best lawyer there is. He’ll get me the house just like he did last ti—” She stopped and Micah clenched his teeth together.
Silence fell again.
“Can I go to Nick’s?” Blake suddenly said.
“We need to finish talking about this,” Natalie said.
“I’m finished,” Blake said strongly, standing up and looking down at his mother. He shifted his stance, looking at Micah for permission. “Can I go, Dad?”
“Yes,” Micah said even though it was almost nine o’clock. Natalie whipped around, but he didn’t meet her eyes, still looking at his son. “But when you get home, we’ll talk some more, okay? Be home by ten-thirty.”
Blake looked annoyed, yet relieved, to be off the hook, at least for now. “Okay.” Without another word he headed for the front door and shut it with a thud.
Kayla was still holding Mallory’s hand.
“Mal,” Natalie said, turning to their youngest daughter and leaning forward. “This doesn’t change anything for us.”
Micah furrowed his brows toward the back of Natalie’s head. It doesn’t change anything?
Natalie continued, “Everything will be just the way it was.”
“No,” Micah said. Kayla and Mallory both looked up at him. Natalie’s back straightened. “This changes a lot of things.” He held Mallory’s eyes. “Divorce is horrible.” He looked at Kayla, who was now the one staring at her lap. He imagined that despite her tough and “everything will be all right” façade, this was very hard for her to face again. She’d had the hardest time when Micah and Natalie had divorced. This had to resurrect some of those feelings for her. “But you know it’s horrible, Mal, and so do all of us. When families break up, it’s never okay, and it’s never easy. But sometimes, even when we don’t want it to happen, it happens anyway. This isn’t going to be easy, but your mom is going to do everything she can to take care of your brothers, and take care of you. Your mom loves you. I love you, and so does Dennis. Things will be different, and they will be really hard sometimes, but we’re still a family.”
“And Pat and Andy are still our family too,” Kayla said, turning to Mallory and putting her big-sister-face back on. “I remember when Mom and Dad split up—it was hard, but it all turned out, and ya know, it’s important for people to do what makes them happy. If Mom and Dennis aren’t happy, then it’s not good to be married anymore.”
The simplistic response just made Micah sicker. Was that what Kayla thought? That as soon as you were unhappy, you jumped ship?
Isn’t that what he’d done?
They talked for another twenty minutes and then Natalie said she needed to pick up Pat and Andy from a neighbor. Mallory still seemed unable
to make peace with the myriad emotions that continued to play across her face, but she was keeping them tightly reined in. How could a fourteen-year-old girl make sense of this? She could clearly tell how big it was, despite Natalie’s insistence that life wouldn’t change too much. Natalie hugged Mallory and she and Kayla left, leaving Mallory and Micah in the living room. He turned to his daughter. She was already heading toward her room.
“Mal,” Micah said, reaching out. She pulled her arm from his reach and kept walking. He took a few steps to catch up. “Mal,” he said again, grabbing her arm and holding it, though she didn’t seem to resist, leading him to believe she was as desperate for some reassurance as he was to give it. But he couldn’t think of anything to say, so he pulled her into a hug, resting his chin on the top of her head and taking a deep breath. “I’m so sorry, Mal,” he whispered. “You’ve lived your whole life with the mistakes your mom and I made, and now you’re having to face it all over again. I’m sorry.”
For a moment he thought she might resist, pull out the I’m-too-old-and-too-cool-to-care card and refuse his attempts to comfort her, but she didn’t. Instead she burrowed her face into his chest and started to cry.
Chapter 53
Micah closed the door to Mallory’s bedroom and wandered into the kitchen, rinsed some dishes, and contemplated doing more than the absolute basics. His glance took in the Tupperware container on the counter, overflowing with screws, hinges, and other miscellaneous hardware items. There was a spool of twine and half a dozen tools piled next to a teetering stack of bills and other papers. He really ought to straighten up and at least take the tools and hardware to his workbench in the garage. But then . . . what was the point? No one saw his countertops other than him and the kids, and the kids didn’t care. He started the dishwasher and thought about Chrissy’s praise of his study when she’d seen it last week. Not many people had seen that room; the compliments were very nice to hear.
The enjoyment of the memory didn’t last long, however. Vague realizations filtered into his mind. Did he have time for a woman? The answer was no. Was it fair to his kids for him to even entertain the idea of a relationship? Again, the answer was no, and it made his stomach roll. This was not fair, and yet even before Natalie’s announcement, he’d been hesitant to pursue a relationship. Her divorce was just one more reason added to the list. But it was a big reason. A final reason. It all came back to the kids and doing what was right by them.
The satellite TV had been reconnected a few days ago, and after he spent thirty minutes grunting through some curls, presses, and push-ups, he decided to see what was on. His hope was that maybe he could escape from his thoughts while he waited up for Blake. A channel caught his attention. Two women laughing and talking in Spanish. Neither of them looked like Chrissy aside from the dark hair and brown skin, but they reminded him of her anyway. One woman was holding up two shirts—a plain one and a colorful one—and the other woman was pointing to one and then the other. Chrissy would wear the colorful one, he was sure of it. In the times he’d seen her she was always dressed in something bright. Had he ever known a woman so . . . feminine?
“Dad, what are you watching?”
Startled, Micah turned partway to see Blake standing behind the couch, looking at him strangely. Micah turned back to the TV where the woman had put both shirts on over the one she’d already been wearing. Both women laughed and spoke in Spanish. Micah changed the station as if he’d been caught watching something of a questionable nature.
“Uh, nothing,” he said, settling on ESPN before remembering he needed to talk to his son. He turned off the TV. “Come have a seat,” he said, patting the area of couch beside him. Blake’s expression fell as if he’d been hoping his dad would forget about the promised heart-to-heart. For one last instant, Micah thought about Chrissy. In the next instant, he knew what he had to do. But it could wait until tomorrow. Tonight, he needed to talk to his son. Blake sat down, and Micah pled in his heart he could say the right thing.
Chapter 54
Idaho Falls, Idaho
Thursday, May 29
As with every other night for the last few weeks, Chrissy didn’t sleep well. Everything loomed so big in her mind all night. Every hour or so she found herself staring at the ceiling. She got up for a drink, then spent a little time working on a Quinceniara dress order from Lupe. The only thing that seemed to calm her tumultuous thoughts was Micah. Thinking about him reminded her that everything wasn’t horrible and managed to silence her raging fears. She considered what she would wear tomorrow night, how she’d do her hair and makeup. She wondered what his favorite color was. Having another chance to get to know the man was exciting enough to push past her fears and frustrations, at least for a little while, each time they got the best of her.
Around 3:00 am she finally fell asleep, and didn’t feel she’d been asleep long enough when she was awakened by someone knocking. She sat straight up, realized it was daylight, then ran for the door as the second round of knocking ended. When she pulled the door open with a whoosh, she saw Micah, his hand raised to knock again. He froze, staring at her as she squinted into the early morning sunlight that framed his broad shoulders on the front porch.
“Micah?” she asked, barely able to see who he was and definitely wanting a better look. She ushered him inside, where it wasn’t so bright. How did he know where she lived?
The door had been shut barely a second when her hands went to her hair. She always pulled it up in a knot on top of her head when she slept, but a restless night had left it a mangled mess. “What are you doing here?” she asked as she tried to press her hair down, then realized that was impossible. She instead began tugging at the elastic holding it up.
“I’m sorry to have come so early, and . . .” He looked at her, his neck and face pink in the sunlight streaming through the living room window. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“No big deal,” Chrissy said, still fumbling with her hair. “What’s up?”
Micah put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. He looked as if he were dressed for the office: khaki pants and a light green button-down shirt. He still wore a hat, however, though this one was light tan and without a logo. His sunglasses rested above the brim and she found herself even more curious about why he always wore a hat, though she was pretty sure she knew. One of these days she was going to swipe it off his head to prove she was right. She wondered if there was a casual way for her to tell him she had no issues with bald men.
“I need to talk to you,” Micah said.
“Sure,” she said as her hair finally fell free of the elastic and tumbled down her back in crumpled waves. Yikes. “Do you mind if I put my hair up while we talk?”
She turned and headed for the bathroom a few yards away without waiting for a response. After putting on her glasses, she quickly gathered her hair into her hands and wrapped it with the elastic once again. Much better. Her eyes settled on the T-shirt and flannel pants she’d worn to bed and she scowled.
What time was it?
“I can’t go out tonight,” Micah said.
She left the bathroom and made a mental note to make herself some nice pajamas as soon as possible. She stopped a few feet away and looked at him, feeling a smile pull at the corners of her mouth. He was more attractive every time she saw him. That shade of green was beautiful with his coloring.
“Okay,” she said, a little disappointed that he’d break their date. “We can do it another time,” she said, taking a step forward, narrowing the space between them and feeling the air start to sparkle.
Micah let out a breath and looked at the ground, signaling that she’d missed something. He was stiff, formal—something was wrong. She felt her smile fading.
“Chrissy,” he said. “I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you and getting to know you and I think you’re a really remarkable woman, but right now my life is really complicated and . . .”
He kept talking but she’d tuned out
. She’d been here before, heard all of this a dozen times, it seemed. But it felt like the first time, and she fell back to earth as if she’d been thrown from a hot air balloon. In the next instant, she felt so incredibly foolish for thinking of him the way she had, of having any expectations at all. When would she learn? When would she grow up and stop expecting . . . anything?
“Okay,” she finally said, cutting him off.
He stopped talking and finally met her eyes. She forced a smile, though she knew it had no warmth. Inside, she was devastated, but she knew better than to show any of that. It would only seem like manipulation to him, and though she was lonely, she wasn’t stupid enough to force something that he didn’t want.
“Okay?” he repeated.
Chrissy shrugged, moving a few feet away to organize some bills on the little table by the phone. “Sure,” she said, her tone careful and even. “No big deal.”
He just stood there, as if her interrupting his monologue had broken his chain of thought completely. She made the mistake of looking up and meeting his eyes. They were so soft, so . . . apologetic?
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You could have just called, ya know.” Tears were growing in her eyes and she blinked them away as fast as she could. The feelings were rising up and if he didn’t leave soon, she’d either throw a plate at his head or start crying relentlessly. She wasn’t sure which option would be worse.
“I felt like I should tell you in person since we’ve been together so much the last couple of weeks. And I brought you this.” He held up a book and stepped forward to put it on the table. “It’s about identity theft—what to do, how to fix things. I found it very helpful. Now that my stuff is mostly resolved, I don’t need it anymore. Just remember, no one will fight for you harder than you will.”
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