Bountiful

by Sarina Bowen

  We made quick work of packing the place up. There wasn’t much food in the kitchen because I’d been spending so much time with her. “What about the keys?” Zara asked. “Can you just leave them here on the counter?”

  “Sure can,” I said. “Place looks fine, right? We’re done.”

  She gave me a sad smile. “We are. Let’s get you some sleep. You’re going to be driving in just a few hours.”

  “Sleep is overrated,” I said, catching her around the waist. But my smile felt fake, and there was an unfamiliar tightness in my chest. “God, I hate this,” I said suddenly. “I hate leaving you. Both of you.”

  Zara’s stalwart expression slipped. “I know,” she said softly. “It sucks.”

  Then she kissed me to shut me up, and it totally worked.

  * * *

  We lay a long time in the dark together after making love. I couldn’t sleep until I felt Zara drift off. And then I slept the anxious slumber of someone who knows his alarm clock is going to go off way too early.

  And then it did. I lay there groggily, trying to summon the will to sit up. And I thought back to the last time I’d left Zara on my way back to New York—when I’d slept in her bed uninvited. “You’ll say goodbye to me this time, right?” I rasped.

  “Yes. I promise,” she said into her pillow.

  I trailed my palm over her hair, then her long neck, and then onward down the silky skin of her naked back.

  How did people do this?

  She reached out and gave me a shove. “Take your shower, honey. Push the button on the coffee pot. Go on.”

  I went.

  Thirty minutes later I was behind the wheel of my car, driving slowly out of Green Rocks on a gravel road, startling a doe and her fawn in the pre-dawn gloom. There was very little traffic in Vermont at any hour. So as I made my way to Interstate 91 before five a.m., I felt like the last man alive. On the highway there was nobody but the occasional big rig and me.

  I drove all those hours thinking about Zara and Nicole. The goodbye kiss I’d finally gotten. Zara’s hug—a tight one, like maybe she didn’t expect to ever get another—and her words of endearment in my ear. “I’ll miss you,” she’d whispered. “We both will. Take care of yourself for us.”

  Those words cut me. Having her and Nicole was a gift, and I wasn’t sure I deserved them. I was committed to doing right by them, but it was really hard to picture how the next three years were going to work.

  Would she really wait for me? If I were her, I don’t know if I would.

  I got to New York in time to turn in my rental car and eat a late breakfast in a midtown diner. My only companion was my giant duffel bag, sitting across from me in the booth.

  Afterward, as I walked toward the specialist’s office, the traffic noise was startling to me. I’d forgotten how loud it was here—something I never used to notice.

  The specialist took me back into her exam room right away, where she took a series of images with some of her cutting-edge equipment, then proceeded to prod my shoulder for a while, chatting away with a medical student who was observing that day.

  “And you’ve been doing PT all summer?” the doc asked.

  “I sure have.”

  Then she disappeared.

  While I sat waiting, I checked my phone. Zara had sent me a photo of Nicole in her clip-on high chair, smiling up at the camera with yogurt on her face. The text read, Guess who finally said MAMA?

  I laughed out loud. That’s when I realized I’d been waiting kind of a long time for the doctor to review my data. Maybe the news wasn’t good. If they sent me back for another ten weeks of therapy…

  That idea would have made me vomit at any other point in my career. But the first idea that popped into my head was that I could spend more time with Zara if I wasn’t going to play at training camp.

  The door popped open and the doctor walked in. “Congratulations, Dave! Good work on your shoulder. I see no reason why you can’t get back on the ice.”

  She held out her hand to shake, and I took it reluctantly. “Really? That’s it? Am I doing more PT?”

  “Nope.” She shook her head. “I mean—if you suddenly develop any more pain, make sure you report it. But the joint is nicely mobile, and the tendons seem strong. Well done.”

  “Thank you.”

  And that was that. I walked out of there feeling a little numb, probably from lack of sleep. This was the good news I’d been waiting for.

  In the elevator I texted Bess. Then I stuck my phone in my pocket and went out into the noise of Manhattan. There was a subway stop a few blocks from the doctor’s office, and I headed in that direction. But when I got to the turnstile, it wouldn’t let me through.

  Card expired, the machine complained.

  Well, fuck. That was just the kind of welcome home that New York dished out.

  Both MetroCard terminals were spoken for, so I waited, wishing I’d taken a Lyft instead. Although sitting in bridge traffic to Brooklyn would probably take even longer.

  Not that I had anything to hurry home to.

  “Hey! Aren’t you Dave Beringer?”

  I swiveled carefully to avoid knocking anyone with my bag, and found a teenager in a backward baseball cap—a Bruisers cap—grinning at me. “Sure am,” I said after a beat.

  “How’s the shoulder?” the kid asked.

  I laughed. “It’s actually fine. I’ll be at practice this weekend, if you’re taking attendance.”

  “Autograph?” the kid asked, whipping off his hat to offer me the brim. There were a few scrawls on it already. This guy must be a superfan, because he’d already cornered a couple of my teammates.

  “Sure.” I patted my pockets, but came up empty. “Dude, I’m sorry. No pen.”

  His face fell. “I don’t have one either.”

  “Here.” I grabbed one of my cards out of my money clip. “Email this address and use the name Bess, okay? That’s my sister. Her assistant answers my email. Tell Bess I wanted to send a puck to the guy I met in the subway.”

  He took the card, his face brightening. “Thanks, man! Can’t wait to see you make it to the finals again this year! And it’s, uh, your turn.”

  I whirled to find that it was indeed my turn to buy a new Metrocard, and that the growing line of people behind us was starting to get twitchy.

  Right.

  I tapped the screen and speedily bought a new card. Then I wished the teen luck and headed for the platform.

  * * *

  When I got home to Brooklyn’s DUMBO neighborhood, the doorman greeted me with a shout of happiness. “Dude! Where you been? Good summer?” He grabbed my big duffel bag and put it on the luggage trolley, and I was happy to hand it over.

  “Great summer,” I said, high-fiving him. “What’s happening here, Miguel?”

  He made a face. “Same old nothing. You go anywhere interesting?”

  “Vermont,” I said. “Love it up there.”

  “Never been,” he said. “No golf this summer?”

  “No, thank God.”

  He laughed. “Got more luggage?”

  I shook my head. “That’s it.”

  “For seven weeks?” my doorman looked surprised.

  “I travel light.”

  Miguel grinned. “A single guy like you? I guess you can get away with it. I’ll send this up right away.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  Another elevator ride brought me to the carpeted hallway of my floor. I lived in a converted warehouse, with high ceilings and pre-war fixtures everywhere. When I turned my key and opened the door, I had to squint against all the sunlight. There were floor-to-ceiling windows, wooden floors, and exposed brick walls.

  I loved this place. But it was awfully quiet and empty. I toed off my shoes and took a tour. The cleaning service had been here to dust and air things out earlier in the week. So my apartment was clean and fresh-smelling. When I peeked in the refrigerator, I found that it had been restocked. Eggs, fruit, and yogurt. The freez
er held chicken and fish. The cabinet was full of protein bars and crackers.

  Everything an athlete needed to feed his body. If not his soul.

  My footsteps were audible in the silence as I paced into my bedroom. The bed was perfectly made. I pulled out my phone and sat on the edge of the bed. Made it home, I texted to Zara. Doctor cleared me to play.

  There was no activity on her end. No message in progress. She was probably working. There was nowhere I needed to be until the day after tomorrow.

  I texted Doulie next. Bar burgers later, and baseball?

  No can do, he wrote back. Taking Ari out to dinner before the madness begins.

  Right.

  Cleared to play, BTW, I told him.

  Awesome! See you on the ice.

  I stood up and turned around, trying to picture Zara in my bed as I stripped off my shorts. Now there was a pleasant fantasy. I grabbed a pair of athletic shorts and pulled them on. It was time for a workout. I needed to beat some of the stupid out of me and focus on the season ahead.

  My apartment had two bedrooms, but the second one was full of exercise equipment, also dust free thanks to my cleaning service. I opened a window blind to let in the August sunshine and then set up the leg press for a warmup.

  I sat on the bench and began to press the iron in slow, rhythmic bursts. After the first set, I glanced around the room, taking in the amount of space. There was plenty of it. I could sell my gym equipment and give the room to Nicole. These weights weren’t very useful to me in season, when I spent much of my day at the practice facility, anyway.

  Christ. This building had a weight room, and I’d never set foot inside it. I didn’t need this space all to myself.

  As I began the second set, reality kicked in. It didn’t matter if I had room for Zara and Nicole to join me in Brooklyn. Zara didn’t like the city. And even if she did, I’d just bought her a house that was nicer than this space, with the backyard she’d said she wanted her child to have.

  I tried to ignore the voice in my head, the one that said, If she loved you, it wouldn’t matter. She’d be here right now.

  No, wait. That was just my past talking.

  Funny how I could never hear the difference before now. But my childhood had always been there—fucking up my expectations. Telling me I was a loner for life, a guy that nobody would ever want.

  Zara did love me. She was cagey as hell, but I could taste it whenever she kissed me—the same hunger I felt, too.

  I was just going to have to wait her out. And play some damned fine hockey while I waited.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  October

  Zara

  Audrey and I were hiding in the kitchen, scarfing down a plate of pumpkin mini-muffins that Audrey claimed were a little overdone. It was just an excuse to eat them ourselves, though. Now that Audrey’s morning sickness was gone, her appetite was in overdrive. I was merely her enabler.

  We weren’t hiding because of the mini-muffins, though. We were hiding so that we could have a moment alone together to celebrate the big decision we’d made.

  “He starts on Tuesday,” Audrey whispered. “Seemed mean to start him on the weekend. I don’t know why, though. He’s going to be working weekends.”

  “Not every weekend,” I pointed out. “We’re still going to alternate Saturdays and Sundays.”

  Audrey patted her baby bump. “I know! And I don’t care! I’m just so happy that he was okay with working the early shift four days a week.”

  Truly, it was an impossible luxury. Our first full-time employee—Roderick—was a single guy. He didn’t even have a girlfriend. And he hadn’t blinked when we’d told him the hours he’d be working. “I’m a baker,” he’d explained. “If I didn’t want to get up early, I’ve made some terrible life choices.”

  He was going to be great. I could just tell. “How many days of training do you think he’ll need?”

  “It’s really hard to say!” Audrey tossed another mini-muffin in her mouth and grinned. “He’s my first full-time employee. I’m so proud.”

  “You’re a goof is what you are.” I eyed the muffins. Eating another one would really be overkill. “So… Who’s going to tell Kieran? I’ll flip you for it.”

  Audrey’s eyes sparkled “You tell him. I’ll watch.”

  “Tell me what?” Kieran’s deep voice asked as he stuck his head into the kitchen.

  I swear, we both jumped when we heard him. “Um…” Audrey hedged.

  “We hired Roderick,” I said, biting the bullet.

  “What?” Kieran’s face darkened. “He couldn’t possibly be the best choice.”

  Audrey and I exchanged a glance. Roderick was an excellent choice. Impeccable resume. Great experience in the bakery at King Arthur in Norwich. And—not that we would say it out loud—hot as hell.

  “Buddy,” Audrey said slowly. “Why don’t you like this guy?”

  “He’s a dick,” Kieran said quickly.

  “Based on what, though?” He’d been Mr. Charming as far as we’d seen. “How do you know him?”

  “High school, right?” I guessed. Kieran was a little younger than I was, but I had a vague memory of teenaged Roderick.

  “Yeah,” Kieran said.

  “So…” Audrey offered the plate of muffins to Kieran, who shook his head. “Is he still a dick? I mean, I don’t want to hire a dick. But is he presently a dick or might he have outgrown it?”

  Kieran made a face like he’d tasted something bad. “I dunno. I have to wipe down the machines and get going.”

  At that, he disappeared.

  “What do you think?” I whispered. “Should we be worried?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” Audrey replied in the same hushed tone. “Kieran has been surly for months. And he didn’t give us much to go on, here.”

  He really hadn’t. “We checked Roderick’s references. They love him in Norwich. His baking blog has a big following.”

  “And we already hired him,” Audrey said, brushing her hands of muffin crumbs. “It will either work or it won’t. Let’s not worry.”

  “Okay.” This was why I loved Audrey. She didn’t do drama. She was the sunshine that reminded me not to be gloomy. “I guess we’d better get back to it.” I headed out of the kitchen. It was a quiet afternoon, and Audrey was due to go home.

  “Now if I were you,” Audrey said, following me. “I’d be looking for flights to New York in three weeks or so. There’s a window of opportunity here—this baby will come in twenty weeks whether we’re ready or not. So go visit your man while you still have the chance.”

  “Wow.” I got a shiver just thinking about it. This was really the first moment when that had seemed possible.

  “How’s he doing, anyway?”

  “Good,” I said. I’d watched a livestream of one of his pre-season games last night. “He’s in Philadelphia right now. Nicole and I will probably Skype with him on the weekend.”

  “Both of you? That’s not the Skype call I’d be having with him.” Audrey winked.

  “Oh, stop.” We’d had only G-rated Skype sessions. I’d shown him all the furniture I’d bought for the house. Purchases that had become easy the week after he’d left, when a check had come in the mail for me—more money than the coffee shop had earned in its first year. The memo line had said: Child Support Lump Sum Payment.

  That stinker had managed to pay for my furniture, after all. And I’d put a down payment on a used car Alec found for me.

  And, sure, I always called him when the baby was awake. I told myself that it was good for him to remember that we were a team—that I wasn’t just an erotic fantasy of his. But it also kept us from having the big conversations. I don’t think I’d realized before this moment that I’d been doing it on purpose.

  “I’m still holding him at arm’s length,” I said slowly. “I am, right? Jesus.”

  “Honey,” Audrey said. “If you keep it up, he’ll always be at an arm’s length.”

  “I
don’t know how to stop,” I said, realizing what she’d said was true.

  “Buy a fricking plane ticket, go wrap yourself around him, and tell him how much you miss him. It really is that easy.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “I know I am.” She grabbed her phone out of her pocket. “Jet Blue flies to JFK. Let’s just see what the flight times are…”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Zara

  As it turned out, planning a trip to see Dave wasn’t quite that easy. Dave’s excitement over my visit was uninhibited. But when we sat down to find a time that worked for everyone, we hit snags.

  His schedule was tight, and when we checked the flights, they didn’t arrive and depart when we needed them to.

  I’d offered to drive instead, but it would be five hours with Nicole alone and cranky in the backseat. Not the best option. I began to get discouraged as we looked at dates further and further out.

  But then Dave called me back with a proposed solution—he had a couple of early season games in Florida, with a two-day gap between them. He could fly us to Miami for three nights—two with him at a resort hotel, and then one by ourselves when he rejoined the team for the Miami game. Nicole and I would have second-row seats.

  “Book it,” I said, tired of waiting. Now that I was all in, I wanted to tell him in person.

  I did some panic shopping with Audrey. Now that our new guy Roderick had started, we were all breathing a little easier. Two days before I was due to depart, we hit the stores in Burlington for maternity clothes for her and a new bathing suit for me.

  “Let’s not forget lingerie,” she said as we carried shopping bags down the outdoor Church Street mall.

  Two black satin nightgowns were added to our stash—one for each of us.

  It was a good day, and I let optimism bubble through my soul in a way that was rare for me.

  Which was why, on the day of our trip, I was blindsided by the worst flight ever.

  Earlier in the week, Nicole had come down with a bit of a cold. But toddlers were famous for having lots of colds as their little immune systems learned the ropes, and I didn’t let it worry me. I was too excited to see Dave—at a luxury beach resort no less.