His Ordinary Life

by Linda Winfree

  “The big picture is I lived with her for sixteen years and missed all the warning signs that my marriage was falling apart.”

  “So it’s all you, right? What you did wrong.”

  “Damn it, Tick—”

  “Takes two to make a marriage, Del. And a divorce.”

  “I’m beginning to remember why sharing confidences isn’t our thing.” Del shifted in his chair.

  “Because getting you to let go of an idea is like convincing a snapper turtle to turn loose.” Tick shook his head, his expression rueful. “Daddy always said you were more stubborn than I was in a lot of ways.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Just think about what I said, Del.” Tick flipped the folder closed and looked up with a half-hearted grin. “I tell you what—come with me to Rotary and I’ll buy you lunch.”

  “And listen to all the politics and bellyaching? No, thanks.” With a small laugh, he stood. “I might not be over until late.”

  “No problem.” Tick pulled his keys from his pocket and removed an extra house key, sliding it across the desk. He tugged a smaller key from the ring. “Here, take the boat key, too.”

  Frowning, Del pocketed both keys. “Why the boat?”

  “Take Blake fishing.”

  “Yeah. He’s grounded, remember?”

  “Get him out on the lake and he can’t go anywhere,” Tick said. “He’d have to listen to you. Think about that.”

  *

  “All right, tonight you read the last two chapters of 1984 and you know you’ll have a quiz tomorrow,” Barbara said, leaning against the table at the front of her classroom. The clock ticked closer to 3:22 and her last-period students shifted and fidgeted. With seconds to go before the final bell, she took pity on them. “Y’all pack up.”

  Chatter erupted in the room. Desks squeaked on the tile floor. Barbara gathered her grade book and the homework papers she’d collected and walked to her desk. Sunlight streamed through the corner window, the late day angle of the rays laying a sharp déjà vu on her. A lifetime ago, she’d watched sun at just that angle striking Del’s dark hair, casting light and shadows on his face.

  The bell rang, and the voices grew louder, merging with the cacophony in the hallway. Her room quieted with the students’ exit and Barbara sank into her chair with a sigh, glad her lunch duty meant she didn’t have after-school hall duty. An ache pulsed at her temples, as it had done all day. With it, Del’s words had pounded in her brain at the oddest times, making it hard to concentrate.

  I want you back.

  No, he wanted the old Barbara, his old life. He didn’t know her, the woman she felt she was becoming now, so how could he want her? She glanced toward the window once more, almost able to see the two of them sitting there, younger, warmed by sunlight and new love. With difficulty, she pulled her gaze from the window and rubbed at her temples. That was over. She’d done the right thing by turning him away.

  Then why did she feel like falling apart?

  “Rough day?” Brian Rawling’s sympathetic voice brought her head up.

  She forced a smile. “It’s a week before final exams and my last period already thinks school is over.”

  “That’s normal,” Brian said with a laugh. He perched a hip on a student desk in the back row and folded his arms over his chest. “Luckily, some of us are blessed with last-period planning.”

  “Rub it in.” She laced her fingers in her lap and wondered how quickly she could get rid of him, then felt guilty for thinking it. He was a nice guy, they had a lot in common, and he liked her. He just wasn’t Del. Would she spend the rest of her life comparing every man to him and finding all of them lacking?

  “I’m driving down to Valdosta State this weekend to see their production of King Lear. Would you like to go?”

  “I’m sorry, Brian, but this just isn’t a good time. I need to be at home.”

  He nodded with a tight smile. “Another time, maybe. Did you get the memo about—”

  “Ms. Calvert, could I…oh, I’m sorry.” Mason Monroe, one of her second-period seniors, hovered in the doorway.

  Grateful for his presence, Barbara waved him in. “That’s all right, Mason. What do you need?”

  Mason darted a look at Brian. “My makeup work for Tuesday and Wednesday?”

  Brian straightened with a grimace. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Bye.” She rose and went to the makeup folders she kept for each class. Mason handed her his pink absentee slip and she accepted it with a smile. She eyed his still-pale face. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

  “Mama says it was probably just a virus. I should be able to play in Friday night’s exhibition game.” Mason stuck his hands in his pockets and glanced around the room. “So why did Blake drop off the team?”

  Barbara noted his assignments on the makeup page and stapled the absentee slip to it. “He wanted to run cross country in the fall and didn’t think he could do both and keep his grades up.”

  “Too bad. He was a good player. We could really use him.” He accepted the papers, grinning. “Maybe next year, huh?”

  “Maybe.”

  Lord only knew what next year would bring. At this point, she wasn’t sure what her son would be doing in the next five minutes. Barbara forced a smile. She liked Mason. He was bright, personable, as good a student as he was an athlete. Everything Blake had been until recently.

  She walked with Mason to the door, briefly reviewing what he needed to do. He rolled the paper into a tube and stuck it in his pocket. “I’ll get this to you by Monday. Is that okay?”

  “That’s fine.” Shoes squeaked on the polished floor and she glanced down the hall. Blake approached, eyes on his feet, his shoulders slumped. He looked up as he neared her, his eyes blank. Blake stopped, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

  “Hey, Blake.” Mason gave him a friendly punch to the shoulder. “Missed you at football practice.”

  “Yeah,” Blake said, a distinct lack of enthusiasm in his voice. “You, too.”

  “Later, man. Thanks again, Ms. Calvert.” Mason headed down the hall with a wave.

  “Bye, Mason,” Barbara called after him. She looked at Blake. He stared at his feet, looking tired and pale, and an urge to wrap him in her arms surged through her. She knew from recent and painful experience he would only pull away. She settled for brushing his hair away from his forehead. “We need to get you a haircut.”

  He shook his head, the bangs falling into his eyes again. “It’s fine.”

  Crossing her arms and cupping her elbows, she leaned against the cool cement block wall. “I’ve got to stop at the grocery store after we pick up your sisters. What do you think about grabbing takeout for supper?”

  He slanted her a look under his lashes. “Is Daddy going to be at the house?”

  Another minefield to negotiate. She took a deep breath, choosing her words with care. “I’m not sure. He may eat with your Uncle Tick.”

  If possible, he hunched lower. He rubbed at his side. “He’s leaving again, isn’t he?”

  More than anything, that quiet statement, phrased as a question, told her she’d done the right thing by refusing to get involved with Del. Things could so easily fall apart between them once more, and she wouldn’t put their children through that hell again.

  “He isn’t going back to Atlanta yet,” she said, “but he’s going to stay at Tick’s. I’m sure he’s tired of sleeping on our couch.”

  A shrug was Blake’s only reply, and the frustrated fear rose again. When would they be able to get through to him?

  Behind her more footsteps squeaked on the floor and she saw Blake’s face brighten. Without turning, she knew who approached, and she steeled herself to face those dark, compelling eyes. She pasted on a cheerful smile as Del joined them. “We were just talking about you.”

  His eyebrows lifted, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he grinned at Blake. “Let’s go fishing.”

  Surprise flickered across Blake’s face, foll
owed by a flash of excitement. “Really?”

  “I’ve got Tick’s boat hooked up and ready to go.”

  Barbara stared at him. Was he insane? All their agreed-upon rules and punishments out the window, followed by an offer of a lazy afternoon of fishing.

  “Blake,” she said, trying to keep her voice even, “do me a favor. Take the box of notebooks by my desk out to the truck, please. The hatch is unlocked.”

  He opened his mouth and she expected a protest, but he closed it again. Glancing between them, he shrugged, his face downcast and jaw tight. “Sure.”

  Staring at Del and tapping one foot, she waited the long minutes it took for Blake to get the box and disappear around the corner. When his footsteps had faded, she turned on Del. “What are you thinking? Fishing? He’s on restriction.”

  Del’s brows lowered. “I know that.”

  “Then why are you rewarding him by taking him fishing?”

  “It was Tick’s idea.”

  Barbara threw her hands heavenward. “Why am I not surprised? That man would fish—”

  “Barb, listen. I need to talk to him, need to get him to open up to me. And if we’re in the middle of the lake, he can’t walk off on me.”

  “Don’t you think you’re sending him the wrong message?”

  He pushed his hair off his forehead in a tight, frustrated gesture. “I’m not lifting any of the other punishments. I just want to spend some time with my son. I won’t, though, if you really don’t want us to go.”

  She started to tell him again it wasn’t a good idea. The memory of the need and joy flashing across Blake’s face stopped her. In a twisted male way, the idea made sense. Maybe it would work.

  She sighed. “Go.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No, but I’m desperate.”

  Her weak attempt at humor earned her the sweet reward of one of his rare smiles. “It’ll work. You’ll see.” He reached out to squeeze her arm and leaned in, the easy way he’d always done before brushing a kiss over her cheek.

  She tensed, watched awareness enter his eyes. He froze, staring at her, then dropped his hand and straightened with a harsh laugh. “I’m sorry.” His hand made a pass over his outer thigh. “Habit. Wasn’t thinking.”

  “That’s fine.” Amazed at her ability to sound calm when she yearned for even that brief touch of his lips, she straightened her thin sweater. “What time can I expect him home?”

  “Before dark. Tell the girls I’ll do something special with them this weekend.”

  “I will. Are you staying for supper?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Do you?”

  “Of course. The kids love having you around.”

  His sharp look accused her of lying. “Lyssa likes having me around. Blake is focused on whatever is going on in his head, and Anna…Anna doesn’t like me much right now.”

  “Your daughter loves you.”

  He chuckled, a low, rough sound. “I love my big brother, too, but that doesn’t mean I like him all the time.”

  “Parenthood isn’t a popularity contest, you know.”

  “More like a freakin’ battlefield.” He pushed his hair back again. “I’m gonna take off, then. See you later.”

  “Okay. Y’all be careful.”

  *

  The surface of Lake Blackshear lay still and smooth under the afternoon sun. Light sparkled and danced on the water’s surface. Del stopped at the circular drive to the lake’s boat ramp and looked across the water. An egret lifted off from the stand of cypress trees on the other bank, where several loggerhead turtles sunned themselves on a fallen tree.

  “You ready?” He glanced at Blake in the passenger seat. The boy had been quiet during the drive, his head resting against the window, eyes closed. Del reached for his shoulder. “Blake?”

  His son stirred, blinking. “Huh?”

  Del laughed and gestured at the lake. “We’re here. Come on.”

  He pushed the door open and stepped out. Water lapped at the bank in soft waves and he dragged in deep breaths of the fresh, moist air. Lord, he missed that smell, living in the ocean of concrete and asphalt that was Atlanta.

  Blake appeared on the other side of the boat, his movements slow. “So you’re going to Uncle Tick’s tonight?”

  Here was another of those minefields. “I am, but I’ll still be here the next few days.”

  With a sharp nod, Blake stared across the water. His jaw tightened. A muscle flicked in his cheek.

  Dear God, the older he got, the more he looked like Daddy. Del shook off the realization and the eerie shiver it sent over his spine. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d seen that same expression on his father’s face, when Lamar Sr. had been struggling with an unpleasant situation.

  “Blake?”

  The boy wrapped his hands around the boat’s railing, knuckles glowing white. “I screwed everything up, didn’t I?”

  Relief shimmered through Del’s mind. Thank You, Lord, maybe Blake was finally going to open up.

  Del draped both wrists over the rail. “No, not everything. You made a couple of errors in judgment but that’s nothing that can’t be—”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Blake scowled, an unhappy, heavy expression, but Del didn’t miss the suspicious glitter his son quickly blinked away. “I’m not stupid, Daddy. I know I was a mistake. Having me messed up everything for you and Mama—”

  “Stop.” His own voice shook. Sweet holy Jesus, he would not have his boy live with that thought. Del reached over and wrapped a hand around Blake’s nape, forcing Blake to meet his gaze. “You listen to me. Don’t ever say that again. Don’t even think it, you hear me? It’s not true.”

  Definite tears glimmered along Blake’s lashes and his mouth trembled before he tightened his jaw. “But—”

  “No buts. You are the greatest blessing in my life, you and your sisters. I will not have you thinking—”

  “You had to marry Mama because of me.”

  Del sent up a swift prayer for patience. “I did not have to marry your mother. Yes, she was pregnant with you when we married, you’ve known that, Blake. But I married your mother because I loved her.”

  Blake dropped his gaze, picking at the edge of the fiberglass hull. “I really messed up her life, though, didn’t I? She was going off to college and—”

  “Blake. Stop. She still finished college. It took a little longer, but she finished. And she loves you. Son, where is all this coming from?”

  “I heard Great Aunt Maureen talking to Grandma about you being gone a couple of weekends ago.” Blake shrugged and lifted fierce, glittering eyes to Del’s. “She said she was surprised you and Mama had lasted this long, seeing as how Mama had had such big plans and all and she never got to live those out. Didn’t take much to figure out why.”

  “Aunt Maureen talks too much and doesn’t think enough.” So was this the reason behind Blake’s recent behavior?

  “That’s what Grandma told her.”

  Del chuckled. He could almost hear his mother telling her sister that. “See there? I’m telling you, sure, your mama had plans at seventeen. Everyone does. But it doesn’t mean that she’s not happy with her life now.”

  “Yeah. I guess.” Blake leaned on the boat’s edge, his face pale. A sudden grimace contorted his face.

  A different unease stirring to life, Del studied him. “Son, are you all right?”

  “I’m thirsty.” Blake rested his forehead against the fiberglass hull.

  Grabbing a bottled water from the onboard cooler, Del walked around to him. “Here.”

  He examined his son more closely as Blake unscrewed the cap and took a long pull. Beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead and neck, and Del laid a hand against his cheek, finding his skin cool and a little clammy. Oh, hell. He knew that look. He should, since he’d seen it often enough, including one memorable trip to the fair when Blake had eaten three hot dogs too many then gone on the Tilt-A-Whirl.

>   “Blake, don’t drink so much so fast. You’ll make yourself sick.”

  With a soft moan, Blake lowered the bottle and clutched his side. “Daddy, I don’t feel so good.”

  The words ended on a retch and he bent over, vomiting. Del brushed the long bangs away from Blake’s damp forehead and waited for the spasms to end. When it was over, Blake clutched at him, still bent at the waist. “It hurts.”

  “Where?”

  “My chest and stomach.”

  Fear tingling along his nerves, Del supported his son. Blake’s body trembled, his breathing shallow and rapid. Del hugged him close, wringing another groan from the boy. With his free arm, he reached for the bottle of water and pulled his handkerchief from his pocket. Letting go, he dampened the cloth and handed Blake the bottle.

  “Wash your mouth out.” He started to wipe Blake’s face and froze. Blood flecked the pale, bluish skin around his mouth. Oh, God. He glanced down. Sweet Jesus, Blake was vomiting up blood. The fear sharpened, joined by a rush of adrenaline. “Get in the truck.”

  Blake nodded, still leaning against the boat. He moved, clutching his side, his shirt hitching up. Deep purple marred the smooth tan of his skin.

  Del’s stomach dropped, a slow, sick roll. Brushing off Blake’s weak attempt to stop him, he lifted the edge of his son’s shirt. The huge reddish-purple bruise extended from his waist to his ribcage. Two smaller, older contusions, the edges already yellowing, marked his chest. A firestorm of pure primal rage flashed over Del. Someone had dared to lay a hand on his son. When Del found him, that someone was going to be one dead son of a bitch.

  He slid an arm under Blake’s, half-supporting, half-carrying him to the cab of the SUV. With as much care as possible, he settled Blake in the passenger seat. He grabbed the empty bait bucket from the boat and set it in the floorboard at Blake’s feet, just in case. Jogging around the truck, he jerked his cell phone from his belt and hit the second speed dial number.

  “Calvert.” Tick’s deep drawl rumbled over him and did nothing to soothe the mingled fear and fury.

  “I need you to find Barbara and meet me at the emergency room.” The phone clutched between his chin and shoulder, he fired the engine and slammed the SUV into gear.