by Chanta Rand
It had been a week since she’d talked to Dane. She wondered if he was agonizing over her in the same way she was preoccupied with him. Over the past few days, she’d picked up the phone a couple of times to call him, but she always hung up before the first ring. Cowardice was not a trait anyone would assign to her. Yet she was filled with trepidation whenever she thought she might never speak to Dane again. She had to get her words precisely right when she finally spoke to him. She didn’t want to make a greater fool of herself than she’d had at his house that night.
She sat at the kitchen table watching the first rays of dawn peek through the dark sky. She used to love watching the sunrise. When had she stopped enjoying that morning ritual? She didn’t know. She’d stopped doing a lot of things in the past few years. She’d made sacrifices and given up her happiness, struggling to handle a drug-addicted husband. Then, she had her hands full raising her children alone. At the time, she’d taken the responsibility with no complaint, but she guessed it had taken a greater toll on her than she thought. All she could think about were the lies Cruz had told. The deception she’d lived with. Bitterness and anger had been her constant companions for years. When she confronted Dane about the woman she believed was his wife, she took out all of her ire on him. Now, she had to take a good look at herself before she contacted him again. Maybe she needed to do some coaching on herself.
She looked up when she heard Diego shuffle into the kitchen wearing pajama pants and a white t-shirt. He gave her a sympathetic look. “What’s wrong, Mom? You broke up with your boyfriend?”
If he’d been two feet closer, she would have swatted him on the butt. She sipped her coffee before answering. “I told you, he’s not my boyfriend.”
“You guys make a good-looking couple.”
“Thanks.” She scowled at him, realizing her slip-up. “He’s not my boyfriend, Diego.”
“That’s too bad, 'cause I can tell he makes you happy.” He sat at the table and dumped a box of cereal into what looked like a salad bowl. She watched as he practically emptied the contents of the entire box into the bowl.
“How?”
“By the way you look at him. Your shoulders are relaxed. You smile more. You have some pep in your step.”
She waved him away, embarrassed he’d noticed. “No I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.” He poured a jug of milk onto his breakfast of champions. Damn, that boy could eat! “I saw the way he looked at you too. He protected you when he thought you were in danger from Dad.”
Her heart hitched remembering that day. “You’re not mad he fought with Cruz?”
“Nah. There was a time I had a lot of anger for what dad had done. I couldn’t handle the fact that he loved drugs more than us. It took a long time for me to realize that wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t your fault either. It’s just life. Dad has to be responsible for himself.”
“That’s a very mature way of looking at it.”
He shrugged. “Don’t think me and Joi haven’t noticed all the stuff you’ve gone through for us, Mom. You have a lot of rules, but I know it’s for a good reason. And I know you know what’s best for us.”
“Wow. Thanks.” She sipped her coffee again, finding a new sweetness in the brew. Her baby was growing up. She never thought it would feel so good to have her kids’ approval. At least someone believed in her. She needed that more than ever right now. “There’s just one thing I’ve been wondering,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“Are you really going to eat that entire bowl of cereal?”
He grinned, showing off perfect teeth that were barely freed of their braces a year ago. “I’m a growing young man. I need fuel.”
She laughed as he munched on the first spoonful. It was times like this when she forgot all about the burden of motherhood. All she wanted was for her children to grow up and have productive lives. It seemed like they were on the right track.
Joi bounced into the kitchen, fully dressed. Charly wasn’t shocked to see her early riser awoke on a Saturday morning, but she was surprised by the miniskirt, fluorescent tights, and full face of makeup. “Going somewhere?” Charly asked. She smiled to take the bite out of her voice.
“If you let me.” Joi slipped into the empty chair beside her at the table.
“You must be trying to get to the mall,” Charly guessed.
“No.” She took a dramatic breath, and Charly knew Joi was about to throw her a curve.
Oh, God. She wants to go on a date! Fourteen was too young. They’d already had this discussion. Besides, what kind of date happened at the crack of dawn on a Saturday morning?
“Look Mama. Before you say no, hear me out. Daddy called late last night asking if he could take us to McDonald’s for breakfast. He just wants to hang out for a while.”
Charly’s heart raced at the mention of Cruz. Obviously, Joi had given him her cell phone number–behind her back. She blew out a breath, suppressing a flicker of anger that had cooled considerably from a week ago. Cruz was like a meddlesome kid, wreaking havoc on her many rules, which as Diego said served a purpose. This was exactly what she’d been trying to avoid. If it were up to her, Cruz wouldn’t even know where they lived. But technology would inevitably betray her. Cell phones and social media connected everyone.
She supposed she couldn’t be mad at her daughter for wanting to have contact with her own father. Charly cherished her relationship with her dad. But he was three times the man Cruz was. Charly glanced at Diego, whose munching had ceased. His expectant gaze captured hers. For all of Cruz’s faults, he was their father. Maybe the incident last week had woken him up. Maybe he was ready to take responsibility. She hoped so. She didn’t give many chances when it came to her kids.
“Okay,” she relented. “You can go.”
Joi vaulted into her arms, barely avoiding a catastrophic spill of coffee in her lap. “Thanks Mama!”
Charly nodded, still feeling ambivalent about the entire situation.
“Maybe later today we can hang out with your friend, Dane,” Joi offered.
“Maybe.” Charly hid her smirk as Joi scampered off to call Cruz. Her daughter was making a peace offering for being allowed to spend time with her dad. Charly was good at predicting Cruz’s behavior. Dane was another story. She didn’t have the heart to tell Joi that Dane might never want to see her again.
Charly busied herself in her garden, pruning the perennials in the flower bed near her front door. She stayed close to home since she didn’t know when Cruz would arrive. This was the first Saturday in a long time where the kids didn’t have something going on. After months of chauffeuring them to football practice, debate class, the mall, and the movies, she was glad for a break. Diego finally had his learner’s permit. She couldn’t wait for him to get his license–although he still gave her a minor heart attack each time he drove on the freeway.
Hours later, Cruz still hadn’t arrived. The three of them waited all day, not wanting to voice the negative thoughts that were no doubt running rampant in their minds. Joi made repeated calls to the number Cruz had called her from, only to be met with a ‘disconnect’ message.
Joi moped on the couch while Diego paced like an agitated cat. “Maybe something happened to him,” she fretted.
Diego glared. “Maybe your brain got stuck up your ass.”
Charly gasped. “Diego!”
He stalked from the room, leaving two stunned females in his wake. Charly ran after him, stopping him before he got to his room. Apparently, the anger he spoke of this morning had not dissolved after all.
“That is no way to speak to your sister,” she censored. “In fact, you owe both of us an apology for being so disrespectful. That was uncalled for.”
He sulked, leaning against the wall in the hallway. He looked everywhere but at her. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
She tilted his chin toward her, forcing him to meet her gaze. “When you apologize to someone, especially your mother, you look that person in the ey
e.”
A sheen of moisture coated his dark irises. The last time she’d seen Diego cry was in the eighth grade when he fell off his bike and snapped a bone in his forearm. She almost cried too when the bone had to be pushed back into place. “Dad is such a letdown,” he said, his voice cracking. “He’s dead to me now.”
“No. Death is something you don’t want to deal with, honey.”
“He may as well be dead. He’s like a stranger to us anyway. I hate him for being weak.”
Charly realized Diego was still working through his father’s absence in the same manner that someone went through the stages of grief when a death occurred. She’d tried to shelter her kids from this trauma, but she just couldn’t do it all. The enormity of her situation hit her like a Mack truck. She folded Diego in her embrace, no easy feat with him towering over her. “You can’t hate him. He’s your dad. The only one you’ll ever have.”
She couldn’t believe she was defending Cruz. Her children would have their own families one day, and their relationship with their father (no matter how dysfunctional) would shape their lives. She choked back a wave of emotion that crashed through her.
“It’s not fair,” he said. “Not fair to you or us.”
Joi appeared at her elbow, tears pooling in her eyes. Charly pulled her close with one arm, corralling the three of them into a group hug. “What is fair is the blessing I have from God in the form of two beautiful children,” she said. “I learned long ago that you can’t depend on anyone else to make you happy. You’re in control of your own joy. All you can do is treat the ones you love well. That’s the greatest happiness in life.”
Diego sniffed and apologized to Joi. “I’m sorry I was mean.”
“It’s okay,” Joi said.
Charly was surprised that for once, her children had no smart retorts for each other. It seemed as if they’d been brought closer together by Cruz’s rejection of them. She stood, consoling her children. That’s what people did when they loved each other. They consoled them through the ravages of addiction, through the uncertainty of sickness, and through the trauma of death.
They consoled the people they loved.
The people they loved.
Her breath caught as she thought of Dane. She hadn’t bothered to console him when he told her Nichole was dead. All she could think of was how he’d lied to her. Or rather omitted the truth. She’d been insensitive. So caught up in her own worries, she failed to show the most basic human kindness. How callous she must look to him! Dane, the man who’d shown her nothing but compassion. The man who’d always put her pleasure first. Her shoulders shook as the first sobs of sorrow overcame her. Once the tears started, she was helpless to stop the flow.
“Don’t cry, Mom.” Diego squeezed her tighter.
“Yeah,” Joi chimed in. “We’re gonna be okay. I promise.”
In an ironic twist, her kids were now comforting her, mistaking her tears for grief over their father. They had no clue that she cried for Dane. She’d been silent long enough. She had to make amends with him.
********
“Mark told me you and Charly hooked up in Houston of all places. It really is a small freakin’ world.”
Dane stood on his back patio grilling hotdogs and talking with Cayson on the phone. “Mark talks too much.” Sasha followed him like a shadow, hungrily eyeing the grill. Dane covered the receiver so Cayson couldn’t hear him. “No more people food for you,” he admonished Sasha. The vet told him that’s what had gotten her sick.
“So, you and Charly are closer than two toes on a foot, huh? Scorching the sheets.”
Dane grimaced. “The bedroom is the only place we seem to get along.” Dane told Cayson the story of how Charly learned of Nichole’s death.
“Bro, that’s messed up. I know you’re not going to let one misunderstanding keep you from pursuing Charly.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do right now.”
“You have to call her. Let her know how you feel.”
The week Dane had spent apart from Charly felt like a month. He’d done a lot of soul-searching, trying to figure out how he should proceed. He missed her like hell, and that was exactly why he couldn’t call her. He was being fueled by emotion. It was time he started thinking clearly about Charly–something he could never do when she was around. It was time he started. “Frankly, I don’t know if I’m ready to call her. I have to look at this objectively. It’s not just about me and Charly. She has two kids and a crazy-ass ex-husband. This is a little more than I bargained for.”
“What do you mean? You like kids.”
“I mean, I’m already so attached to her. What if I get attached to her kids and then things don’t work out with us? That’s too much to deal with. Too many complications.”
“Oh, I get it. You’re chickenshit.”
“What the–”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Dane. I hear it in your voice. You need to quit with this crap. Every time you get close to someone, you push them away. I’m tired of you using Nichole’s death as an excuse to stop living.”
“Hey, idiot. Are you listening to anything I’ve been saying? I tried. I put myself out on a limb. Charly doesn’t trust me.”
“Can you blame her? She opened up to you, but you weren’t honest with her.”
“I was gonna be!” He growled. “I was waiting for the right time.”
“Do you know how ridiculous you sound? The fact that your wife is dead should not even be an issue.”
Dane felt defeated. Nobody understood him, not even his own brother. He tossed the half-done hotdogs onto a plate. His appetite was gone. “You don’t understand. This is a lot of pressure. I have to be a father to her kids.”
“Newsflash. They already have a father. You’ll never replace him. Just like no one can replace Nichole. But you can have your own relationship with them.”
“Yeah, I guess.” He took his plate inside and sat it on the kitchen countertop.
“Man, you can’t be scared of pain,” Cayson said. “If we all avoided pain, we’d be a prisoner to our lives.”
Dane nodded. “I hear you little brother. I just need time to think.” He hung up, and dwelled on Cayson’s last words. Had he really been a prisoner to his pain? Surely not. His life was fine until his trip to the Maldives. He was fine until he’d met Charly. Now, old wounds had been reopened. All because he’d dared to break his routine.
As the sun dipped low, Dane took Sasha and Sergei for a walk. Now that Sasha was feeling better, Sergei seemed happier too. Funny how that worked. Even dogs needed companionship. As he walked along the streets of his neighborhood, enjoying the cool night air, he waved to a few of his neighbors. He’d lived here for ten years. Almost everyone knew him as ‘Coach.’ He’d watched their children grow. He’d watched the neighborhood change, while he’d stayed the same. Same house. Same furniture. Same pickup truck. Damn, maybe he was a prisoner after all.
He stopped to chat with his elderly neighbor, Rose. A sixty-two year old widow, she still mourned the death of her husband, who had been dead for over thirty-five years.
“You ever get lonely, Miss Rose?”
She sat on a rocking chair on her porch. “Why would I be lonely? I have my cats. They get along with your dogs. I play bridge on Tuesdays. What’s there to be lonely about?”
Dane marinated on her words. He liked Miss Rose well enough, but he sure as hell didn’t want to be mourning his dead wife thirty plus years from now. At the rate he was going, that was certainly likely. An image of him sitting on his porch chatting with neighbors one-third his age flickered through his mind. No, he’d rather be spending his days with a loving companion.
He thought the walk would do him good, but when he got home and took a shower, he was still restless. He picked up his phone to dial Charly. They had to talk. This made no sense. He pulled up her number on speed dial, and then thought the better of it. Part of him was still hurt that she hadn’t trusted him. Hiding out in the bu
shes and checking his mailbox. But he’d brought it on himself by not telling her the truth when he should have. He stayed up until midnight, his mind plagued by thoughts of regret and self-doubt.
Finally, he wandered into his living room. His steps took him directly to the mantle. He cradled Nichole’s picture in his hands. “Thank you for loving me, Nichole. You’ll always have a place in my heart.” He carefully wrapped the framed photo in bubble wrap and placed it in a cardboard box before storing it in the garage. The action felt better than he thought it would. In fact, it was cathartic. His heart was no longer heavy. The timing was right. He walked back to his bedroom. This time when his head hit the pillow, he slept.
********
The next day, Dane threw himself into his work. Despite feeling less than one hundred percent, he couldn’t let it show to the students. His mind was preoccupied, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t make the kids run laps. He headed back to his office, intent on shutting out the rest of the world, when his attention was diverted to Zo trotting over to the fence. That same guy was waiting there. Dane watched as the stranger shook hands with Zo, lingering a little too long on the handshake.
A red flag went up in Dane’s mind. He knew a hand-off when he saw one. He marched over to where Zo was standing. The other guy, a swarthy-looking dude pulled his baseball cap down low and slinked away from the track.
Zo turned, no doubt surprised to see his coach less than ten feet from him. “What’s up, Coach?” Sweat rolled off his dark skin that contrasted with his stark white t-shirt.
“Let’s go somewhere private,” Dane ordered.
In his office, Dane shut the door so no one could overhear their conversation. He watched Zo fidget like a kid preparing for a lecture. Dane held his anger in, knowing he would get nowhere playing hardball. “Alonzo, you know you have natural talent, right?”
“I’m working on it, Coach.”
“You don’t need an extra edge.”
“What do you mean?”