by S. Bennett
Hazel clears her throat. “Liz gave birth last year to my nephew, Benji. It was her first child. Her husband is a marine.”
Oley nods as he leans a little more out of his chair and closer to Hazel. This must be very important, so I drop my head and lay it on her thighs. Her hand automatically comes to my head, where she just rests it there.
For support.
Just as I meant her to.
“I showed up at the hospital drunk,” she says in a quiet voice lesser canines wouldn’t be able to hear. “Stoned, too, for that matter. I’d been partying with some friends when my mom called to tell me Liz had the baby. She could tell I wasn’t sober and asked me not to come to the hospital. To make a long story short, I didn’t listen. I showed up and made an ugly scene when Liz wouldn’t let me near the baby. I haven’t talked to her since.”
“Not because you’re angry at her, but because you’re ashamed of how you behaved,” Oley says, his voice very un-Oley like in its tenderness.
I love Oley.
Hazel nods, but I can tell she doesn’t want to meet Oley’s eyes. So she grabs onto the fur at the sides of my head, just below my jaw, and gives me a gentle tug to pull my attention to her. Little does she know but my attention was never anywhere else.
I give her my best smile—the one where my tongue hangs out the side of my mouth and my bottom teeth peek out.
Hazel laughs, and that makes me feel good.
“You’re not that person now,” Oley states.
Hazel meets his gaze, but only for a moment. When she looks back at me, she leans in close and seems to be staring at just my left eye. “I’m not ready to seek their forgiveness. I am different, but I’m just not ready.”
Oley nods, leaning over and patting Hazel on the shoulder. “I get it. But don’t wait too long. Life is too short.”
I can feel Hazel’s pain over what Oley just said. Feel it bloom within her chest and it makes my chest hurt. I whine to let her know I feel her emotions very much, and I don’t like it at all.
She gives me a smile before pressing her lips to the top of my snout.
CHAPTER 27
Hazel
In about three months—October 27th to be exact—it will be my seventh wedding anniversary with Darren. It’s when Hazel Marie Milton became Hazel Marie Roundtree. I’d known him all of about three weeks before he asked me to marry him, and I said yes. I didn’t know it then, but I know it now.
I was so damn stupid.
Twenty-five years old and agreeing to marry someone I hardly knew.
But in fairness to me, Darren was different than the others. It’s humiliating to think about it, especially given the fact he was unfaithful to me, but Darren and I met when we were both “with someone else”.
Mine was not a serious relationship, although I wanted it to be. His name was John—Johnny—or was it Jim? I liked him a lot. I saw a future with him.
Just like I did with every guy that gave me a measure of affection and attention.
Because I wasn’t getting enough from John/Johnny/Jim and because it had become my pattern to look for love everywhere and all the time, Darren’s attention had an impact on me.
It was real attention. He came into the bar where I was working at the time, and he’d sit there for hours just for the chance to talk to me for a few minutes here and there when I could take the time. He didn’t just talk about himself. He asked questions about me that seemed ridiculous, but showed he wanted all the details.
Hazel, do you prefer walnuts or pecans in your brownies?
What’s the worst nightmare you ever had?
What would your dream job be?
After two weeks of getting to know each other through silly questions and snatches of conversation while I bartended, Darren offered to drive me home one night. John/Johnny/Jim was out with the boys, and I accepted.
I had sex with Darren that night, and it was amazing. He cuddled me, and we talked for a long time. He told me he had been seeing another woman, but that he was going to call it off. He wanted me to do the same.
Yes, so very shameful I cheated on someone to be with Darren, and I have to think that means I deserved the same at some point, right? It’s about the only way I can reconcile why Darren did this to me.
I had it coming.
Which is why I’m also reconciled to get this meeting over with, so I can move on completely. I’d called Darren a week ago last Saturday. It was right after I’d finished weeding Oley’s flower bed and we’d had our “cleansing” sort of talk about my family. It felt good to get that off my chest, and to tell him about what a terrible daughter and sister I was.
Ironically, the only other person who really understood how fucked up my relationship with my family is was Darren. But he was my husband, after all. He deserved to know my secrets.
Darren was hesitant and uncomfortable during our short phone talk. He wouldn’t come right out and say why he wanted to see me. I assume it’s because he’s a coward, and he just doesn’t have the guts to say he wants the divorce.
Regardless I agreed to meet him for coffee this morning at Starbucks. We would have met sooner, but he was out of town on a work assignment. He’s a subcontractor for the cable company doing commercial installations, so he goes wherever they tell him to.
As was typical in our marriage, I’m five minutes early and I know Darren will be ten minutes late. I sip at my coffee, scrolling through Instagram. Charmin had told me I simply had to create an account to post pictures of Atticus and all of his shenanigans.
I admit… he’s turning into a seriously beautiful Bernese Mountain Dog. He clearly comes from very good stock. I don’t necessarily buy Oley’s thought he was dumped by the breeder because of a tiny flaw such as bi-colored eyes. He’s simply too beautiful otherwise. Besides, I can’t imagine people who go to the trouble of breeding could ever be that cruel to animals.
At least that’s my new way of thinking. Old, pessimistic Hazel would have believed Atticus had been dumped, but these days I like to believe in the good of things.
I scan through some of my photos of Atticus. There are hundreds and hundreds, all of them seeming to convey something different. It’s those damn brown eyebrows against velvety black that can create such a mimicry of human expression.
The day I’d created his Instagram account was the day of The Great Toilet Paper Incident. I should have known not to leave him alone, not even for the sixty seconds it took me to run down to Oley’s kitchen to borrow some—as cliché as it sounds—sugar. I was making another pound cake.
Sixty seconds.
Might have been even shorter. And besides, he’d been really good for a few weeks. Obedient and less stubborn. I thought perhaps he was maturing.
When I walked back into the apartment, I realized my dog would always be an unruly child. I couldn’t even believe what I was seeing. Toilet paper everywhere. Streams and streams, but I saw no end or beginning. Ribbons of it leading from the bathroom into the living room, where it was all over the floor in a circular pattern, over the coffee table, and right to… Atticus.
Standing on the couch, mischief and mayhem blazing in his eyes. His tail wagging, his mouth grinning, and the end of the toilet paper roll in his mouth.
My first reaction?
I snagged my phone, whipped the camera out, and took pictures of it all while laughing my ass off. Atticus grinned and wagged his tail, elated that he delighted me with his bad behavior. If there’s a reason why I can’t teach him to be good all the time is because most of the time, I can’t chastise him because I’m laughing too hard.
Yes, after The Great Toilet Paper Incident, the Instagram account @atticuscrazydog was born.
I flip through some of the more recent photos I’d posted. His various facial expressions. Some of his destruction—an old pillow on the couch he chewed to pieces just last week when I’d fallen asleep for a nap. He’s an absolute menace, and I’ve decided to embrace it rather than fight it. I still work on his
obedience, and he proves time and again he’s got a brilliant mind.
But I’ve also accepted he has his own mind, and it’s stubborn, mischievous, and ornery. He does what he wants, when he wants.
No regrets.
“Hazel…” It’s Darren’s voice, and my head lifts slowly. I can’t say he ever made my blood race with excitement or passion, but my heart does squeeze in sorrow because he fulfilled my need to be loved.
“Hey,” I say as I sit my phone down on the table I’d chosen in a corner. He’s empty handed, so I politely offer, “Would you like some coffee or something?”
He shakes his head, pulling the chair out opposite of me. His gaze comes to mine, and he just stares at me for a long, thoughtful moment.
“You look good,” he finally says.
It’s a compliment he would have given me in the past, causing me to fluff my hair and give him a shy smile while saying, “No, I don’t,” so he’d be forced to repeat the words to assure me I did. It was an awful game I used to play to help build my confidence.
My hands remain steady and lightly clasped on the table. With a smile, I cut to the chase. “So why did you want to meet?”
“I wanted to see how you were doing.” His gaze never wavers, which means he’s telling the truth. Darren, like many, can’t look me in the eye when he lies.
When I confronted him about the woman he was screwing behind my back, he immediately dropped his eyes to stare at the floor and said, “I swear it’s not true.”
“I’m doing very well. And how are you?”
He sort of jerks a little, perhaps caught off guard by my bland politeness. Maybe he came braced to receive tears and pleading from me. Our eyes lock, and I don’t let myself blink.
Darren gives a sigh, his gaze cutting out the window for a moment before coming back to me. “Actually… I’m not doing well at all. I miss you.”
Okay… so now I blink.
A lot.
And my mouth parts in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“I miss you,” he repeats, reaching across the table to grab my hand in his. “I want you to come home, Hazel. I made a terrible mistake, and I want to fix our marriage.”
Pulling my hand free of his, I put it on my lap with my other. I do this not only so he can’t hold my hand, but also so he can’t see he’s rattled me so much they are now shaking.
“I don’t understand.” My voice comes out thick and raspy.
“What’s not to understand?” His voice is slightly teasing, a roguish smile playing at his lips. It’s how he first ensnared me.
That smile of his.
I don’t smile back. “What I mean is you cheated on me… kicked me out of our home… chose another woman over me, and now… you say you miss me?”
Darren’s face flushes red but to his credit, his gaze never wavers. “And I’ll never be able to apologize enough for it, Hazel. It was a stupid, cowardly, and asinine thing to do. I wish I had an excuse to offer you, but I don’t. I can only offer my apology, which is from the deepest part of my heart. I love you, Hazel, and I’m just so sorry.”
I’m stunned into silence. Of all the things I thought would go down here today, Darren apologizing and telling me he missed me isn’t one of them.
“I’ve learned one thing over these past months,” he continues, and his additional words put me on edge. I learned stuff, too, but I’m not sure I want to know what his enlightenment is all about. I’m afraid it would diminish mine in some way.
When I don’t respond… don’t give him any indication I’m on the edge of my seat to hear his wisdom, he gives me a sad smile. “Don’t you want to know what I learned?”
“I’m not sure,” I croak, and then immediately pick up my coffee to take a sip. Something to unclog the dryness of my throat.
Darren gives a tiny, sardonic laugh as his eyes roam over my face. “Christ, Hazel… you look like a scared rabbit ready to bolt. Did I break you that much?”
There was a day I was a meek, scared rabbit.
There was also a time he had broken me. I remember the feel of the first crack, when I slept in my car the night I found myself kicked out of my home.
I lift my chin. “I’m not scared. And yes, Darren. You broke me. But I’m rebuilt now, and I don’t need your apologies.”
“Yes, you do,” he replies softly as he rubs his hand over his scruffy face. He always looked best when he didn’t shave for a few days. “You need them and more than that, you deserve them. What you do with them is up to you.”
“Well, thank you,” I say primly as my hands circle around my coffee cup. “That was big of you.”
“You are rebuilt,” he says appreciatively, eyes once again roaming all over me. “You look like the same, Hazel, but you are absolutely different. What have you been doing?”
“I’ve been learning to survive, Darren,” I snap. “I have survived. Without you.”
His words are soft and melancholy. “I can see that.”
The conversation stalls, and we both focus out the window so we don’t have to acknowledge the heavy emotion in each other’s eyes. I’m not sure what his absolute end game is, and I don’t have all day for him to get up the courage to tell me.
“I really need to get going.”’ I pull my cup into me while grabbing my phone with my other hand.
“Can I see you again?” he blurts.
“Why?” I ask bluntly.
“Do you not feel anything for me at all, Hazel?”
That didn’t answer my question, so I just wait him out. I’m not ready to admit to myself, much less to him, that yes… I still feel something. All the same insecurities that were an innate part of me rise, swell, and almost choke me. I’m having a hard time remembering I don’t need Darren to make me feel better about myself.
He sighs when he realizes I won’t give him anything. Leaning forward slightly, he focuses on my face, his eyes piercing. “I want you back, plain and simple.”
That’s interesting. It begs the question… “Where is she?”
Another bright red flush of embarrassment coats Darren’s face. He swallows hard. “We’re not together anymore.”
“When?” I demand, because I’ll be damned if I’m going to be a rebound for him. That would be almost more insulting than him cheating on me and kicking me out of our house.
“Almost three months ago,” he says quietly, causing my entire body to jerk in surprise. That was not long after I’d moved into Oley’s apartment.
“Three months?”
He nods. “I asked her to leave.”
“Say her name,” I demand.
His cheeks burn with redness. “Delia.”
“You asked Delia to leave three months ago?” I ask for clarification.
“Yes.”
“Did you move anyone else in?”
“No.”
My brows furrow inward. “Why didn’t you try to find me then?”
Darren gives a mirthless laugh. “Come on, Hazel. You know what it’s like to be so ashamed of yourself that you’re not willing to put yourself out there to others. It’s why you don’t see your mom or sister.”
Now my face is the one flushed hot with humiliation. He’s right about that, and I can understand him keeping distance from me.
“Then why now?” I need to understand his motivations.
There’s a moment where I think he might not answer, or that he might let his gaze drop from mine, which will mean he’s lying. But he gives me the courtesy of responding while keeping eye contact. “Because I’m tired of missing you. Tired of feeling guilty. At the very least, I had to make sure you were okay.”
“Well, I am,” I assure him quickly.
“I can see that,” he acknowledges. “Do you think we could get together to talk again sometime? At your convenience? It can be for coffee again, or I could take you out to dinner. We could drive to the beach and walk. Remember how much we loved to do that?”
“Don’t,” I whisper as I stand up from the t
able, palming my phone and ignoring my coffee. “Don’t try to bring up memories to me. I’ve moved on.”
“Then friends,” he says as he stands up and tucks his hand in his pockets. “Can we get coffee sometime… as friends?”
“That’s probably not a good idea.” Nervously, I reach into my pocket and pull out the Impala’s keys.
“Think about it?” he asks, stepping into my path so I can’t move from the corner we’re in. “Please, Hazel. You don’t owe me a damn thing but a slap in the face or a kick in the balls, and I’ll be glad to let you do both. But will you please just think about having coffee with me some time in the future at your convenience?”
I stare at him, taking internal stock of how I’m feeling in this moment. There’s no hate or love. No sadness or joy. No unrelenting need to make him suffer, and certainly no desire on my part to hear pretty words from him.
I could walk away right now and not look back.
Which is why I totally don’t understand when I say, “I’ll think about it.”
CHAPTER 28
Hazel
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Charmin asks hesitantly as she stands behind me in her bathroom. She’s slightly taller than I am, so she easily can see my reflection from the mirror over the sink.
Reaching up, I pull a long lock of hair away from my face and hold it out. About six inches of brown followed by another six inches of blonde. When I’d been with Darren, he’d preferred me as a blonde and so… I was a blonde.
When he kicked me out, there was no room for the luxury of hair lightening products. Not even the cheap bleaches, and besides… I really didn’t care what I looked like for a long period of time. The past six months, I’ve worn my hair in a ponytail, often doubled under so not much of the brittle blonde showed.
I examine the box of color I’d picked up at the drug store. Charmin helped me, and I think we picked one as close to my natural color as possible.