Second Wind

by Aimee Nicole Walker

  I stood staring at her, unable to speak. I wanted to say I was devastated, but I think the only thing wounded was my pride. I hated the idea of standing in front of our guests and telling them that there would be no wedding. That seemed worse to me than Travis not showing up. What did that say about me—us. It said that I was in love with the idea of marriage, not the man I was supposed to commit my life to that day. I knew at that moment Jules was right, but I still couldn’t find the words to tell her.

  “Nigel and I will take care of this. Will!” she shouted. Her husband poked his head around the corner and looked down the hall at us. “Take Rush home. I’ll have Nigel drop me off when I’m done dealing with this mess.”

  “Should I stop at the ATM?” he asked.

  “What in the hell for?” Jules asked.

  “Bail money,” Will replied in a duh tone of voice.

  “I love you,” Jules said to her husband then looked at me. “Go home and process this in private. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  There’s this notion that to be strong you must stand alone and bravely weather the storms life throws at you, but that’s not true. Strong people accept help when it’s needed and lean on shoulders when offered.

  “Don’t you and Nigel do anything stupid,” I warned.

  “Define stupid.”

  “Gutting Travis like a fish,” I replied. I dropped a kiss on her forehead then said, “Thank you, Jules.”

  Neither Will nor Racheal said anything on the drive back to my house. Once inside, I removed my tuxedo and tossed it negligently on the floor then put on comfy sweats and a T-shirt. I stared down at the pile of expensive clothes in disbelief. The parts of my tuxedo were supposed to be mixed with Travis’s as we took turns undressing each other before we made love as husbands for the first time. We were supposed to stay at the Hilton and fly to the Caribbean first thing in the morning to begin a ten-day honeymoon.

  Now what? Was I supposed to wait around here for Travis to show up and explain himself? I went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my heated face; that’s when I noticed that a lot of his things were missing, and not just stuff we packed in advance for our flight. His full-sized bottles of shampoo and conditioner that were there that morning were gone, as were several other things, like his extra razors, toothbrush, and aftershave. We had purchased trial sizes of most things and new toothbrushes for our trip.

  I walked to the closet and threw open the doors. Travis’s expensive suits were missing as were the garment bags he packed them in, and his shoes no longer lined the closet floor. I opened his dresser drawers and noticed they were practically empty, which meant that he came home and packed up most of his shit while I was pacing and worrying at the Crystal Gardens. This didn’t seem like the act of a man who made a spur-of-the-moment decision; this felt deliberate. When did he know? After I brought up kids again last night before we ended our call? Was it this morning when he saw the rain falling from the sky like a warning of impending doom? What made a man propose to another then leave him high and dry on their wedding day?

  I knew Travis would give me the answers I needed eventually, and I would just have to wait until then. In the meantime, I would pick myself up by my bootstraps as my dad taught me and move forward with my life. I had major decisions to make, but I didn’t have to make them right then.

  Jules, Nigel, and Kent showed up not long after I changed. They brought Chinese takeout, several bottles of champagne, the top tier from my wedding cake, and the gifts that our guests left behind.

  “You should’ve seen some of them snatching their gifts back off the table,” Nigel said, between bites of kung pao chicken. “Kent was one of them,” he said, jabbing his elbow into his husband’s side.

  “I thought they were looters,” Kent said. “We put a lot of thought into our gift, and I wanted to make sure Rush got it.”

  Had Racheal not been there, the adults in the group would’ve made lewd suggestions about what was in the box. I smiled when I saw how much it cost my sister to behave herself.

  “This isn’t the steak and lobster I had planned to eat,” Will sighed, poking his chopsticks around in a carton.

  “Steak and Lobster,” Jules scoffed. “What a pretentious bastard.”

  “Hey,” I said, pretending to be offended.

  “I know damn well that you didn’t choose the menu,” my sister fired back, pointing a chopstick at me. “Don’t you even start with me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  We stuffed ourselves with Chinese food, decadent cake, and drank copious amounts of champagne. Jules made me open the festively wrapped packages she referred to as the new-life-without-the-asshole gifts while they oohed and aahed. No, it wasn’t the night I had envisioned when I woke up that morning, but we made the absolute best of it. I remained angry that Travis had so little regard for my feelings and sad over the way things ended between us, but I was very grateful for the amazing people in my life who made me smile on the rainiest of days.

  “What do you think his story is?” Phee asked, tilting her head toward the bar in the cozy Chicago restaurant we’d chosen to break our children’s hearts in.

  It was a game that we often played over the years, and it felt good to embrace something familiar in a world that was suddenly strange and a little scary. Phee and I coexisted the best we could inside our home and at the office, but the strain had gotten to us by the end of September. We planned an impromptu trip to Chicago without telling our kids until we landed. I was a ball of nerves waiting for them to arrive at the restaurant, so Phee’s attempt to break the tension was a welcome intrusion into my thoughts.

  I looked over at the dark-haired, handsome man in a gray suit slumped over a glass of liquor. He alternated between spinning his wedding ring on the gleaming mahogany bar and knocking back a drink of scotch or bourbon.

  “Hmmm, judging by his attire I’d say he’s an out-of-town businessman,” I told Phee. “The way he’s downing the liquor straight without ice tells me it’s not going well.”

  “I think he’s planning an affair,” Phee suggested.

  I watched as the bartender approached the man and gestured to his empty glass silently asking if he wanted another drink. The distraught man in the suit shook his head and said something, but we were too far away to hear his response. The bartender leaned forward suggestively to continue the conversation. When he pulled back, their gaze held and locked for several moments until a patron interrupted them by calling the bartender’s name. It seemed like they communicated a lot during the pregnant pause; I couldn’t help but wonder about their past. Or ponder if they had a future.

  “Well, it doesn’t look like the man will be lonely much longer,” Phee said casually. There was no scorn or derision in her voice like the thought of two men together was offensive to her, but then again, those men were strangers. She hadn’t shared her life with either of them for two decades. “And I want the same for you too.”

  I turned my head and looked at my wife across the candlelight. During the last few weeks, we had lived like strangers in the house that had seen so much love. It felt like the first week of college and getting used to a roommate all over again. I hated every single second of it. We each went our own direction in the house, mainly our separate bedrooms, and barely spoke outside of the office. Phee felt guilty for breaking my heart, which added to my misery. I was the one who shouldered the blame.

  I grinned wryly at her over the table, and she knew what I was about to say. She shook her head no and blushed a pretty shade of pink like when she’d snuck home at two in the morning the previous week. Her hair had been a mess, her clothes twisted, and I’d never seen that euphoric look on her face. My heart seized in my chest, and I’d become nauseous—not because she’d obviously been in the arms of another man, but that she had waited so long to feel that good. She was well and truly loved physically, and the sappy smile on her face before she realized I was in the kitchen told me she was on her way to emotional
love if she wasn’t already there. I’d had that once in my life; I wouldn’t begrudge her for experiencing it too.

  “Check you out,” I said, then whistled dramatically.

  “We’re not doing this,” Phee said, shaking her head.

  “Of course not, you’re walking a little crooked, so I think you’ve had your fill tonight.”

  “Oh my God!” Phee covered her face in embarrassment before her laughter echoed around the kitchen.

  “Here, you want some ice cream?” I asked, holding the carton toward her. “You could probably use some about now.”

  Phee stopped laughing and studied me like she was trying to peer into my brain. I understood her dilemma. What man offered to share his ice cream with his almost ex-wife after she returned home from having sex with another man? One who wanted to see his wife break free and find the happiness she deserved.

  “Grab a spoon,” I told her.

  Phee grabbed a spoon from the silverware drawer and approached me as cautiously as she might a cornered animal. I smiled easily, hoping to erase her wariness. I saw the twinkle return to her blue eyes the moment she truly believed we would be okay. Phee scooped a large spoonful of cookies and cream and moaned around the spoon as it melted in her mouth. “So good,” she said.

  “That’s what he said.”

  Phee’s eyes widened, and she nearly choked, but that didn’t stop her from wanting more of the sweet concoction I held in my hand. I jerked the pint of ice cream away just before her spoon reached its destination.

  “Where’s your mouth been?” I asked. “I don’t want your dude’s spunk mixed with my ice cream.” A little sweet and salty never hurt anyone; I just didn’t want her guy’s spunk to count as the salty component.

  “Oh my God!” Phee said for the second time that night. Well, I suspected she’d said it plenty of times before she returned home, but it was the second time in a matter of minutes with me. “I can’t do this with you, Linc.”

  “What? Share your man?” I asked. “I wouldn’t ask that of you.”

  Phee threw her arms around my neck. “I love you so much, Linc. Thank you for not hating me.”

  “Never.”

  It was exactly the kick in the ass we needed to start focusing on our new futures which included new roles in one another’s lives. I would be whatever Phee needed, and I hoped she would do the same for me when I felt brave enough to tell her the truth.

  “Don’t you start with me,” Phee warned from across the table then glanced at her watch. “Where are our children?”

  “I think a little patience is needed. It’s not like we gave them much notice, and they probably had more exciting plans for a Saturday night. Besides, this rain is miserable.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Phee agreed with a sigh.

  Kennedy and Holden showed up a few minutes later looking apprehensive as fuck. Kennedy looked at us and burst into tears. “Is one of you sick? Is it cancer?”

  Holden looked at his sister as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “Oh my God!” He sounded so much like his mother that I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face. Nothing about the situation was funny, but I hoped that the kids would feel better once they learned the reason we were there. “Are you dying?” he asked dramatically.

  “Neither of us is dying,” Phee said, hugging both of them to her.

  I joined the group hug, and for reasons still unknown to me, said, “Just our marriage is.”

  “What?” Kennedy asked pulling out of the circle of arms to look up at her mother then me. “Is this some sick joke?”

  “That’s a far cry better than cancer,” Holden said calmly.

  “You’re not funny, Holden,” Kennedy said. “Our parents are having a midlife crisis, and you’re cracking jokes.” A fresh wave of tears started flowing down her face.

  I glanced around and caught many sympathetic glances from the diners around us. Maybe a private venue would’ve been better. We had planned to have dinner then go back to either our hotel or the apartment the kids shared for the serious chat portion of the evening, but it didn’t go according to plan.

  I pulled Kennedy against my chest and held her tight. She hesitated to return the embrace at first, but then wrapped her arms around me and cried softly into my dress shirt. “Nothing changes, kitten. Do you hear me? Mom and I are still partners in business, friendship, and parenting. We love you and your brother so much. We just need to make some changes.”

  “But you’re so happy together,” she mumbled into my shirt.

  “No, we’re really not.” It was the first time I admitted it out loud and tears of relief pooled in Ophelia’s eyes. “We’ve grown apart as couples do sometimes and stayed together out of our love for you and respect for each other.”

  “You’ve found another woman,” Holden said, sounding suspicious and angry.

  “No,” I said, looking into his eyes. I could tell by his expression that he was blaming me for the failed marriage. “I haven’t met anyone else.”

  “Can we postpone this conversation until after dinner?” Phee asked softly. “We’re making a scene.”

  Kennedy pulled her head off my chest and looked at her mother. “You think we have an appetite after this little bombshell?”

  “I could eat,” Holden said wryly.

  “When don’t you think about your stomach?” Kennedy asked her younger brother in disdain.

  “When I’m thinking about my—”

  “That’s enough,” I said before he could finish. “Let’s just head back to our hotel down the street and have a chat. We can order room service later if we feel like eating.”

  “Sounds like a good plan,” Phee agreed.

  “Will you settle the bill with the waiter while I use the restroom?” I asked her. I reached for my wallet, but she stopped me with her hand.

  “I got it.”

  I headed down the hallway to the bathrooms and heard masculine moans coming from a closed, unmarked door. I had noticed that the distraught man from the bar was gone and a new bartender was manning the bar, and I was pretty sure I knew where they went. A smooth voice said, “I’m going to make you feel so good that you’ll forget all about your troubles.” If only it were so easy.

  The atmosphere was calmer once we were alone in my hotel room. I expected the kids to pepper us with a bunch of questions the minute we were alone, but they didn’t. Kennedy and Holden sat close on the couch like they were trying to protect each other from the grimness of the situation. I hated like hell that I was the cause of Kennedy’s tears and Holden’s quiet speculation. It was all on my shoulders, even though Ophelia was the one asking for the divorce. Our family would’ve remained whole if I could’ve given my wife what she needed all these years.

  The questions came one after the other once the kids felt more settled.

  “Are you going to sell the house?” Kennedy asked.

  “Yes, we’re going to sell the house and split the profits equally so we can each have a fresh start someplace new.” I knew how much she loved that house, and I could see how much my answer hurt her.

  “Will you stay in the same area?” Holden followed. “All our friends are there.”

  “That’s the goal,” Phee replied, not pointing out that they both lived thousands of miles away and had made new friends.

  “What’s going to happen with Forever Home?” Kennedy asked.

  “Nothing,” was my quick reply. “Our divorce doesn’t change a single thing about our real estate company.”

  “Do our grandparents know yet?” Holden asked.

  “I told my parents,” Phee said then looked at me sympathetically.

  “I haven’t,” I told the kids. I wasn’t close to my parents and avoided going back to eastern Tennessee like the plague. They would be deeply disappointed in me, and that was something I had managed to avoid in my adult life. I’d given them plenty of parental bragging rights, but that would end as soon as I told them about the divorce. To be honest,
I wasn’t sure what to expect from them going forward. It wasn’t like they made a huge attempt to be part of our world either. My father railed about California being overrun by hippies and Democrats, and my mom was too afraid to speak up.

  The kids lobbed one question after the other at us. Phee and I took turns fielding them until they asked the one question we had hoped to avoid.

  “Whose idea was the divorce?” Kennedy asked. Her eyes darted between us looking for any clues.

  I could tell Phee was going to let me answer that one on my own. She was prepared to accept whatever answer I gave, but there was no way in hell I was throwing the mother of my children under the bus. “That doesn’t matter,” I told our daughter.

  “Of course, it matters,” Kennedy argued.

  “Why?” Phee asked. “Your father and I have both said that we grew apart and needed changes. Why can’t that be enough?”

  “She wants a bad guy,” Holden said dryly. “Someone needs to take the blame for fucking up our lives. We come from a broken home now. We need to blame one of you when we become raging alcoholics or something.”

  “I do not need a bad guy,” Kennedy argued.

  “Then why ask whose idea it was? How does that even matter?”

  “It just does,” Kennedy told her brother. “I need to understand why and how it happened.”

  “It’s not our business, K,” Holden countered. “Mom and Dad are entitled to privacy.”

  “How can you be so blasé about it?” she asked. “You act like you don’t care.”

  “I do care, and that’s why I’m trying to support them, as they’ve always done for us.”

  I looked at my son, shocked by how much he’d matured in such a short time. It wasn’t that long ago that his only concerns were his video games and whatever girl he was dating. Kennedy had always been mature beyond her years, so her emotional outburst was a testament to how hurt and surprised she was.