Just Give Me a Reason

by Rebecca Rogers Maher

  I close my eyes and think of Tony with his daughters. I wonder what it’s like for him, being a single parent when he had no intention of being one. Lonely, I’m guessing.

  The first time I met him, his poise is what struck me—the clean shave and crisp clothes. But tonight, there was an undercurrent of loneliness beneath that neat exterior. A kind of fraying at the edges. He had lines of worry around his dark eyes and a hint of a beard coming in.

  I don’t think he meant to confide in me as much as he did about his store. All that worry is a heavy burden to carry on your own, though, and I found myself wanting to let him talk about it. I wanted to be a friend to him.

  Which isn’t exactly the worst thing in the world. I’ll be seeing him at holidays and parties with Ray and Holly, after all. We might as well be friends.

  Except that friends don’t feel the way he did when I hugged him tonight. He held me so closely then, I felt the surging energy in his body. The need. I don’t think he meant to let me feel that, either.

  But I did. It’s still coursing through me, an hour later.

  It would be one thing if he’d been in any way aggressive about it. But if anything, it’s the way he holds back that gets to me. The way he pins himself together. It makes me want to find a string on him to pull. And pull, and pull, so I can see what he’s like when he’s unraveling.

  There’d be a sweetness there, I think, underneath all that control. Something like the tenderness he shows to his daughters, which reminded me of Ray with Drew. I’d wondered where Ray got that from, because not all men would be so welcoming to another man’s child. Now I see that it’s the kind of family he and Tony came from.

  It’s a deadly combination, that tenderness alongside his blatantly masculine energy. His sexual energy—that much hotter because of how tightly it’s coiled up.

  I understand, now, what drew Holly to Ray.

  Not that I want what they have.

  Or at least all of what they have. I wouldn’t say no to the sex part. The part where Tony takes his clothes off and lets me explore his body. All the planes and angles I studied in his face today, in his arms and chest.

  I want to hear the sound he would make if I brushed my lips against his. If I slid my tongue into his open mouth. I want to whisper filthy things in his ear and feel the shock that would race through him, and the heat.

  None of which is appropriate for me to be thinking about.

  And yet I do think about it.

  In some detail.

  In the darkness of my own room, in my own bed.

  I think about him, and my hand moves over all the places on my body he would touch.

  And it’s a long time before I sleep.

  —

  I unlock the door to Terra Firma and go in, flicking on the lights as I move through the store. I spent the early hours of the morning at the community garden under a wide blue sky, harvesting vegetables for our root cellar. There’s rain in the forecast tonight, and I wanted to get the ground cleaned up before the water and mud set in.

  Luckily, the store is only open from eleven this morning to six tonight, and tomorrow is my day off. After work I can go home, take a warm bath, and read one of the Sherlock Holmes books I’ve got waiting on my bedside table. And try not to think too much about Tony.

  Today, the shop will be packed. We’ll have the last of the weekend shoppers coming in, but before that, my dad will be stopping by the store for a visit.

  I go to the back to make a cup of tea, pausing on my way to straighten up a table of incense holders. The bell on the front door tinkles, and when I emerge with a mug in hand, my co-worker Kathleen is at the register, dressed all in black and nursing a new tattoo. We pass a few fun moments recounting her evening with the tattoo artist before my dad walks in.

  “Hey, little lady.”

  He’s wearing running pants and sneakers, and a new T-shirt from the Ironman race he just finished in California. He’s as physically striking as always, tan and aggressively fit. Kathleen eyes him appreciatively from behind the counter as he hugs me. Then she comes around for a less daughterly hug of her own.

  “Nice to see you again, Mr. Cody.”

  He doesn’t embrace her in any way that’s lascivious, but even so, it’s impossible to mistake either his physicality or Kathleen’s helpless response to it. When she pulls back, there’s color in her face. She winks at me and heads to the stockroom.

  Dad steps back to take me in. “Boy, that belly sure popped while I was away, didn’t it?”

  “It’s only been two weeks. Is it that much different?”

  He grins and nods. “Baby kicking you a lot?”

  “Oh yeah. It used to feel like these little fishy sweeps, you know what I mean? But it’s getting stronger now, especially at night. You remember this with Mom?”

  He shrugs. “Somewhat. You know I was a little in and out of the picture at that point.”

  “Yeah.” I say this without rancor. The whole husband-and-father thing wasn’t really his style.

  He leans back against the counter and grins his easy grin, and it’s impossible not to smile back.

  Dad started running marathons about fifteen years ago. He was always active, but once he got older he cranked it up and began doing distances. For fitness, partly, and partly for vanity. Before long he moved on to triathlons and eventually to the Ironman, which is a full twenty-six-point-two-mile run plus one hundred twelve miles on a bike and an almost two and a half mile swim. It’s insane, is what it is, but it’s what it takes to burn off the energy that’s always been seething through him, ever since I was a kid. He’s calmer, I think, when he runs himself into the ground.

  “You have any races coming up?” I ask.

  He crosses his arms and nods. “Yeah, a few. I’ve got my eye on Lake Placid next summer.”

  “You’ve done that race already.”

  He shrugs good-naturedly. “Sure, but it’s a fun one.”

  I roll my eyes but don’t bother to argue. Once he’s made his mind up about something, there’s no moving him. “You want some coffee?”

  “Nah, that’s okay.” He stands up straight again. “I’ve got to head out. Just passing through town to get some protein powder.”

  “Oh, you’re not staying?” It doesn’t surprise me. He rarely stays in one place for long.

  When I was little, he worked in sales and traveled a lot. He’d be home maybe one week out of every month. He’d roll in with a new toy and a bag of candy, and I was always thrilled to see him. When I got older I realized the toll it took on my mom. I also saw how, after a few days of prodigal-son rejoicing, he’d start to pace the house and snap at us over nothing. Then he’d be on his way again.

  I don’t know when Mom found out about the other women. She doesn’t like to talk about it, or to speak ill of him in front of me. She only says that they wanted different things, and she wishes she’d seen that sooner.

  For a long time, I couldn’t comprehend how she could be so forgiving. Especially as a teenager, I hated him for what he had done to her. To us. Abandoning us like that, like we were nothing.

  It wasn’t until I got older and began dating that I understood. I’d be with a guy for a few weeks, maybe a month, and it would be great. Exciting, interesting—an adventure. Until he started wanting to stay over at my house, or expected to know where I was last night. As soon as the relationship began settling down, I’d be looking for the door. Not necessarily because there was someone else, but because staying too long with one person made me feel smothered.

  Like I was being subsumed into some kind of giant relationship amoeba. One that would gradually devour the parts of myself that made me different and turn me, instead, into one half of a couple. The independence and sexual freedom I valued in myself were not strengths in that context, but weaknesses that got in the relationship’s way.

  It wasn’t even the guy’s fault, usually. It was the whole nature of the institution of commitment. There was constant
pressure to meld my life with someone else’s, to move in together, to take it to the next level, whatever that meant. I never wanted any next level. I liked my life just the way it was, with a little fun on the side. On my terms. Where at the end of the day, I could go home to my own place and be exactly who I wanted to be, with no one to answer to.

  I made a conscious decision, at that point, to opt out.

  The next man I dated, I told him up front: I don’t want anything serious. We can spend some time together, we can have fun, and then we can go our separate ways. He respected that and agreed to it, and no one got hurt.

  After that, I saw the real mistake my dad had made. It wasn’t his aversion to commitment, but the fact that he didn’t own up to it. He didn’t want to be a jerk to my mom—he did care about her and wanted her to be happy—so he made the promises he knew she wanted. And he tried to keep them. But no one, even with the best intentions, can go against their nature like that. He broke his promises to her, and broke her spirit in the process.

  I will never, ever make that mistake. I might not want a long-term relationship, but I’m not a cruel person. I don’t want to be the cause of anyone’s suffering.

  By being rigorously, diligently honest, I make sure that doesn’t happen. Always. I make sure the other person can accept my terms before I get involved with them.

  Fortunately, there are a lot of men out there who enjoy a good short-term fling. And so far, I’ve managed to not hurt anyone.

  Dad hasn’t been so lucky, or maybe he just hasn’t tried hard enough. There’s a trail of wounded behind him, all of them women he never intended to harm. He has to live with that, and I know it doesn’t sit easily. Beneath all his bravado is a whole history of heartbreak. Which he’ll never escape, no matter how many miles he runs.

  He leans in and gives me a hug. “I’m heading out. I can pick you up something from the store, though, if you need it.”

  “Nope, that’s okay.” I return his hug. “You’re leaving tonight for the convention in Vegas, right?”

  “Yep. Still need to pack my bag.”

  I smile. “Have you even unpacked the one from the race yet?”

  “Nope.” He grins. “Wish me luck. Maybe I’ll hit the blackjack table, win a little nest egg for the kid’s college fund.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “No way that’ll go wrong.”

  He ambles toward the door and blows a kiss on his way out.

  “Good to see you, Dad. Love you.”

  “You, too, pumpkin. Bye.”

  I sit down on a stool behind the counter and wait for the customers to start flowing in.

  It’s an easy day, all things considered. Tending hundreds of late-weekend shoppers makes the last hours of the evening fly by.

  By the time Kathleen and I lock up and say our goodbyes, the sky is heavy with dark clouds.

  “You gonna be okay getting home, Kath?”

  She shrugs. “Sure. I’m just up the hill.”

  Kathleen lives in town and can walk home from work. I look at the sky and estimate she has ten or fifteen minutes until the rain comes. “You’ll probably make it if you walk fast, but I could give you a ride.”

  “Nah, I’m good. I like a little walk to clear my head.” A gust of wind rises up, with a chill behind it. Kathleen backs away with a wave. “See you soon.”

  “Get home safe, okay?”

  She sets off at a brisk pace. “You, too.”

  Without speeding, I drive as quickly as I can, because the clouds above are darkening rapidly. The wind, too, is pushing my car around on the road and the fading light is taking on a greenish tint that I don’t like at all. By the time I make it to the Hudson River, fat raindrops are slamming on the windshield. A bone-rattling crack of thunder shakes the bridge under my tires, followed immediately by a bright streak of lightning.

  Thankfully, I live in downtown Poughkeepsie, just a few minutes from the bridge. I manage to locate my parking space through torrential rain in the condo lot and make a dash for the front door. I’m soaked to the skin and freezing cold by the time I turn the key in the lock, but I’m home safe.

  Usually I don’t mind a good storm, but it’s no fun driving in one. Especially while pregnant. It’s strange, having to think about somebody besides myself all the time. I’m carrying this little package around and I need to protect him. It makes me feel special and scared all at once.

  I take off my wet shoes, wipe the rain off my face, and shiver. The heat’s been off in the apartment all day to save electricity. I stop by the thermostat and turn up the dial. Then I grab a blanket from a living room chair, wrap it around my shoulders, and head down the hall to the baby’s room.

  It was a spare bedroom a few months ago and is only gradually making the transition to a nursery. So far, with my mom and Holly’s help, I’ve managed to paint the walls a pale yellow with a line of tiny gray elephants dancing up by the ceiling. My mom refinished my old dresser, painting it white, and set it against the wall near the place where the crib will be. The room is coming along, but there’s still a lot to get done before the baby arrives.

  I stand in the doorway for a minute, hand on my belly.

  “What do you think, Bunny? Will I be ready for you when you come?”

  He answers with a little flip, or maybe it’s a sweep of his foot. I can’t always tell what’s going on in there.

  I flick off the switch in his bedroom and head down the hall. I had wanted to take a bath, but I hear a sonic boom of thunder outside and decide against it. Instead, I put on a pair of flannel pajama pants and a loose T-shirt. Then I go to the kitchen to heat up a bowl of soup.

  I’m setting the pan on the stove when the lights in the apartment surge brighter, and then flicker. I hold still for a moment, waiting. And then the lights go out entirely. At almost the exact same time, my cellphone buzzes.

  “What the…”

  I head toward the front door, where I’d dropped my purse, and walk right into a chair as the phone vibrates again.

  “Motherf—”

  I catch myself right before I fall and find my way to the front window. A glance through the curtains confirms that electricity is out in the whole complex. The sun has just set, and the light outside—obscured anyway by rain—is fading fast. I take a minute to search for a flashlight before I look again for my phone.

  It’s buried at the bottom of my purse, but fortunately still has about fifty percent battery charge. A text from Holly waits on the screen.

  It’s a photo of Niagara Falls at sunset—the water lit up against a pink and orange horizon—followed by two words.

  So happy.

  My eyes fill up for a moment, but I shake the tears away.

  “Holly is allowed to be happy without you, dumbass,” I tell myself out loud. Because sometimes I need a firm talking to.

  I text back, So happy for you.

  She responds right away.

  How are you?

  I know she’ll worry, but I can’t help myself—I tell her about the blackout. The wind outside slams rain against the windows.

  I wrap the blanket more tightly around my shoulders and go sit on the couch. My flashlight casts an eerie light on the ceiling.

  The phone buzzes again.

  Ray just texted Tony. He’s at my house for the week. He says there’s power there.

  Tony. Seeing his name on the screen makes the blood in my veins run thick and heavy.

  Why is he at your house?

  Forgot to tell you. Ray talked him into a vacation.

  My heart drops down into my belly, which is not a good sign. I think of Tony standing in Holly’s kitchen, making dinner. Suddenly I’m starving.

  Is it safe to drive? Tony says he’ll come pick you up.

  I get up and look out the window. The storm seems to be passing, but it’s getting darker by the second. The local news app on my phone says the electric company is working on the outages, but they’re extensive. Something about tree branches falling on power li
nes. It could take hours to fix, or maybe days.

  I try to imagine being in Holly’s house in the woods with Tony. Just the two of us, alone. The thought makes me shiver again.

  Or maybe it’s the dampness and cold in my apartment that makes me shiver. The temperature this time of year can drop deeply at night, and without the electric heat it will be freezing in here.

  Holly’s house is a thirty-minute drive away. It will be warm there. I can make dinner and go straight to bed. I don’t even have to see Tony, if I don’t want to.

  I’ll drive over, I tell Holly. Storm is done. Thank you!

  She texts back a series of absurdly festive hearts and lightning bolts. Then, a minute later, an emoticon of a waterfall. I have no idea how she finds these things.

  I pack a bag in the dark and drive to Rosendale.

  Chapter 5

  Tony

  I appear to be making a habit of sitting in Holly’s driveway in my car, but I can’t seem to open the door and get out. The rain has slowed to a drizzle, and a heavy mist has settled over the yard. For at least the past hour, from the Thruway to the local roads, the wind and rain have threatened to toss my car into a ditch, but I made it. The worst of the storm has passed.

  I almost changed my mind about coming up here when I saw the weather on the radar. I dropped the girls off at their mom’s place and considered driving right back home to avoid the storm. I had plenty of paperwork to keep me busy, and I could always head up later. Or not at all. But then I remembered Alice. I don’t think dogs like thunder very much. She’s probably inside now, pacing the floor and wondering what intruder is out here in the driveway. I hear her barking distantly at the window.

  I’m reaching for the door handle when I get a text from Ray.

  FYI Holly’s friend Beth is coming over. Power’s out at her place. Ok?

  My heart starts racing immediately. I close my eyes for a moment and will it to slow down.