Midlife Crisis_another romance for the over 40

by L. B. Dunbar

  “Time to spill,” I tease, hoping for more good vibe romance. I’ve seen how Gage kisses his wife. It’s criminal but endearing. They make a beautiful couple, but I know good looks can hide ugly secrets.

  “There’s nothing more to report. I still think he’s having an affair. They go on the road again in a month, and it’s the perfect opportunity for his groupie to follow him.” Her voice resounds bitterly, and I don’t blame her. What the hell?

  “Why do you think he’s having an affair?” I question, and why does she sound so resigned to accept it?

  “I still don’t believe it,” Edie adds, looking up from her phone and flipping it over.

  “The phone calls. The sudden hang-ups. The mystery appointments. He’s doing something.” I’m so sad for this young woman, sadder for her than myself. I don’t wish it on any other woman one half of what I went through. It’s painful to watch someone you love slip away from you, and it hits me. Hank went through what I did. He suffered as I had. He watched the woman he loved reject him repeatedly. Then she died, leaving unanswered questions and years of self-hate. I want to understand him, but I still hurt a little for me. If he can’t let her go, then there is no room for me in his heart.

  I don’t really know how else to impress upon Hank that he could be it for me. I could take a second chance on love, if only he’d accept one as well. If he wants more with me, he’s going to have to give more to me, and I don’t mean his damn money.

  “I guess I always thought it was inevitable. I mean, Gage Everly is a rock star. I know how these things play out.” Ivy sighs, and my thoughts return to her. We’ve come full circle in the sadness department, and I feel awful the night has literally turned into a pity party. The wine has gone down too easily, and I’d like to say I’m buzzed, but I’m not. The heat inside my blood boils out the alcohol.

  “I don’t think it has to be inevitable. You’re young, beautiful, and caring. From what I’ve seen, you’re a good mother, a concerned sister, and an excellent director for a school catering to those with special needs. There is no reason to cheat on you. You’re perfect and, rock star or not, he can still be a fucking moron if he doesn’t see all that in you.”

  Ivy bursts into tears, and I worry I’ve overstepped my bounds. Edie instantly stands to embrace her younger counterpart, and I’m immediately apologizing.

  “Cripes, I’m so sorry. Don’t let a bitter old lady dampen your sunshine. I’m sure it’s nothing.” Ivy shakes her head against her new aunt.

  “No, you’re right. I don’t deserve this. I’ve already been through it, and out of all people, I expected Gage to understand. We promised if one or the other felt the pull to stray, we just needed to speak. Be honest and let the other go.”

  I don’t know if I could have been so accepting of such conditions, but she seems confident in the vow they made to one another. She straightens, her shoulders stiffening. She sniffs, and I bite my lip, holding back the chuckle. She’s a beautiful woman as I said, but we all get ugly when we cry, and why not? Heartache hurts. It’s not pretty, so why should sobbing be?

  A knock on the door startles me, and I assume it’s Liam without a key. Heading for the front door, I hear soft laughter on the other side of the wood—deep, rumbling, and all male. When I open the door, I startle as I face three breathtaking men on my stoop.

  “Hello, beautiful.” Tommy greets me in his sweet Southern drawl. He steps forward to kiss my cheek without waiting for an invitation to come inside. Gage follows, looking over my shoulder for his wife. He nods as he passes me, his shoulder-length hair falling to his cheeks. Hank remains last, hands in his pockets as he watches me. He hesitates, and I want to climb him like a tree, but then my heart reminds me nesting against him will only force me to fall. I’m already falling, and I’m holding my breath, waiting for the broken body. He steps forward after I don’t speak. He doesn’t lean in for any kisses, and a thought strikes me. He never kissed me last night either.

  I wave toward my kitchen and find Tommy with his arm around his wife’s shoulder. Gage stands before his wife, but the tension between them is threefold the stress between Hank and me.

  “What the fuck is going on here? Why is she crying?” Gage doesn’t look at anyone but speaks directly to his wife, who has silent tears dripping down her cheeks again. He swipes at them with thick thumbs.

  “Why are you cheating on me?” Ivy blurts, and I hold my breath. Sweet cheese, this could get bad quickly. Tommy removes his arm from Edie, and Hank’s presence behind me stiffens me.

  “What the fuck?” Gage barks. “I’m not cheating on you. Are you insane?”

  “I don’t know. Am I?” Ivy snaps back at him.

  “I…” Gage spins to find an audience. His eyes leap to Edie, and Tommy nearly growls in warning. “Don’t even go there.”

  “I’m not. Just…Edie, help me understand.” He’s thirty years old or so, but he looks like a child. Caught between anger and bewilderment, his deep dark eyes flare with rage.

  “I think you and your wife need to talk,” Edie offers softly. With that, Gage spins back to his wife.

  “Gorgeous, no. Just no.” He swipes more tears and reaches in for a kiss. None of us can miss the slight Ivy gives him. She pulls back, and Gage freezes. Hands on her flushed cheeks, he’s primed for the kill of his signature kiss, but Ivy’s cold response throws him off. “What the fuck?”

  He steps to the side, slips an arm around her back, and scoops her off the stool. “Hank, take us home.”

  I’m confused why they are even here. I thought Hank had a shift at the crisis center this evening. At least, that’s what he told me, and my mind races. It’s as if suspicion is contagious, and suddenly, I question Hank’s honesty.

  Gage exits with Ivy in his arms, and Tommy says to Edie, “I guess I’ll be riding with you, darlin’. Or better yet, I think you need to let me drive.” Somehow, I find a double entendre in the statement, and my heart shatters like a wine glass to the floor. I recall Hank driving into me last night, literally in the back seat of his Mustang, and the sudden car-crash feeling returns. A thick hand comes to my shoulder, but I tense.

  “I think we should talk, too.” He leans close to my ear. “But I need to get Gage and Ivy home first.”

  I nod, so confused by all that’s transpired in the past hour. Suddenly, the front door opens, and Liam walks in, cheerful and energetic despite a two-hour practice.

  “Hey Hank, want to see my new mitt? Wanna play the new MLB game I got? Wanna have ice cream with me?”

  My heart breaks at the fire of eager questions. Hank has infiltrated into more than my life, and I curse at the pain our separation could bring to my boys, especially Liam.

  “Gotta get Gage and Ivy home tonight, pal. But I’ll see you Saturday. How about pizza after your game?” Liam has another doubleheader, and I like how Hank has his schedule memorized, but it adds to the growing fissure inside me. Hank Paige will break me. I never expected my life to be so complicated at forty.

  35

  Eavesdropping never pays

  [Midge]

  Hank doesn’t show after Liam’s game, and eventually, I decide we need to leave the ballpark. The plan was to meet us at the field, but it’s getting dark, and Liam hasn’t eaten. Myself, I have no appetite suddenly. Hank promised we’d talk tonight after dinner. Yesterday at work had been difficult at best anticipating what would be said and knowing it might be the last time Hank and I are together as a couple. I’m prepared to end things if we can’t come to terms about Kit. I know I have to be open and honest about my feelings, but that means he does too. He needs to find a way for closure, or he’ll never be able to move on—with me or any other woman. I’d like the future to be me, but I’m feeling strangely hopeless.

  As we sit at the pizza parlor, I check my phone. Nothing from Hank but I dismiss it. He must be tied up at the center. I applaud his dedication to helping others. It’s one of the many features proving he has the good soul and generous heart I
mentioned the other night. The reminder makes me feel like a miser, the great wanton. Reflecting deeper, I realize wanting another person as part of your life could be a one-way street. Hank of all people knows this, and I do, too. He loved Kit, and when she didn’t return the emotion, it crushed him, crumpling him up and throwing him out like the trash. I am far from feeling like garbage, but I’m also not feeling things from Hank suddenly.

  Maybe it was too much, too fast. I’d had a fifteen-year marriage which was pleasant and supportive until the final three years. Even at that, I see the lie I told myself as we moved our family to California for my husband’s lover six years ago. Hank had a destructive and debilitating twenty-year relationship and never reached closure. I could forgive him his wavering feelings, but it doesn’t mean I could reach him on the level I needed. That something more. That somebody’s someone. Dammit, I deserve it. Hank or not, I tell myself, but I recognize the lie. I want it to be Hank.

  I focus my attention on Liam as best I can. Talking to preteens can be like plucking eyebrows, difficult to find the fine hairs while struggling to tug out the gray ones. Liam answers my numerous questions in monosyllabic replies.

  Do you have homework? What do you think of the call at first base? How do you think you did today?

  “What’s wrong?” I finally ask. His shrug says more than his words.

  “Why does Dad have to say so much? Why can’t he just watch?” The abrupt question startles me.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s so critical of everything. Telling me to relax in one breath and then winding me up in the next. Why can’t he be like Hank?”

  I blink. Hank has attended quite a few games, and the comment stops my breath. Between the science project and a few other nights helping Liam with the new math, which I absolutely do not understand, Liam has formed a special bond with Hank. One, I admit, I hadn’t been paying enough attention to if he is comparing Hank to his father.

  “Daddy’s just trying to be supportive.” This shoots Liam’s head upward.

  “How is he supportive? He only comes to a few games. He didn’t help me pass the math test or finish the volcano. He didn’t even come to the science fair.” Liam’s right. Hank came instead.

  “Liam.” I falter. I don’t know what to say. I work hard at holding back my negative sentiments about their father. What Paul did wrong, he did to me, to us. It hurt our children, but it wasn’t directed at them. I refuse to defend him, though.

  “Forget it,” he says, taking a deep sip of his soda. I’m actually relieved. I don’t have the energy to justify my ex-husband’s actions.

  “You like Hank?” I ask instead, knowing the gentle prompt might be a huge mistake. I like Hank. I love Hank, but I’d never keep Hank if I thought he couldn’t handle my sons. Although I know the answer from Liam, I still want him to explain to me the depth of his feelings.

  “He’s cool.” Liam shrugs again, fiddling with the straw in his glass. Those might be the deepest sentiments I’ll get from him. I’d like to think he’s cool, too, but an hour into his absence with no phone call, I’m no longer thinking: It’s cool.

  + + +

  When we get home, Ronin surprises me with stronger feelings about Hank. The boys are in the kitchen, and I stop when I hear Ronin say he hates Hank.

  “You need to tell her,” Elston says, his voice concerned, his tone strained. I don’t want to intrude if they’re sharing a brotherly moment. It’s rare for Elston and Ronin to get along.

  “Elston,” Ronin warns. “This will really hurt her.” Oh, girl talk. Maybe I’ve misunderstood the Hank hating comment. I nearly giggle. If they can’t be friends, I still want them to respect one another and be confident in their brotherhood, brothership, or whatever to speak to each other about things like girls.

  “Better to tell her than let him keep pretending.” Elston sounds exasperated, and I linger, knowing there’s trouble in eavesdropping, so I tell myself, I’m just curious.

  “You should have seen him. Draped all over her. Her skirt hiked up. I could see her cooter.”

  I cover my mouth, holding in the snort. Cripes, who teaches my boys these things?

  “Don’t call it a cooter. That’s just…just not…” I picture Elston shaking his blond head.

  “It was disgusting, and I can’t believe he’d choose someone like her over Mom.”

  My heart stops. Wait. What?

  “What a fucking asshole, and after his whole let’s talk like a man speech. And telling me how he cares about her. Just ew,” Elston rattles. What? Just wait a minute! What is he talking about? What are they saying?

  “Hank doesn’t deserve Mom.” Ronin’s voice cracks. My sensitive boy sounds on the verge of tears. “He seemed so cool, but I know his past. He might have played those drums like a master, but he womanized like one as well. He drank, too.” Much to my satisfaction, Ronin isn’t a fan of drinking. Disappointment rings in my middle son’s tone as I flip through emotions. My heart races in two patterns. One bursting with pride at my children’s devotion and one breaking at what they aren’t explicitly saying.

  “Think he fucked her after you caught him?”

  Oh, my God. Two hands cover my open mouth, holding back the gag of nausea.

  “Who knows? Good riddance, drummer boy,” Elston snaps.

  36

  What she didn’t know

  [Hank]

  I am a goddamn idiot, I decide as I doodle on the calendar at the hotline help desk. Thoughts of Midge consume me. Her body underneath mine, moaning, moving, taking me in. Her heart, open and raw as she apologizes, as she says she loves me. Her emotions overwhelm me. My emotions overwhelm me. Have I not had my eyes open? She wasn’t fucking me; she was seducing me. In true dumbass form, I misinterpreted her intentions. She wanted to apologize for hurting my feelings and thought getting close would soothe the sting, and she was fucking right, but I fucking blew it. The instant we finished, and she blurted, I love you, I knew, I just knew I had it all wrong in my head. Why hadn’t I believed her? Why didn’t I accept it? Because fucking Kit messed with my heart and my head, but no more. From this day forward, I will not let Kit interfere. I’m telling Midge everything tonight, clearing the air and then making her promises I intend to keep forever.

  I’m supposed to meet Midge after Liam’s game because I work the day shift at the center. This is the day I prefer, when we actually meet people face to face. These are the moments I feel my best because I’m truly helping someone. The teens passing through here are a mess, and I can only hope to reach them before it’s too late. I instantly think of Midge. I don’t want it to be too late for me either. I’m slow on the uptake, but I’ll be loyal on the downswing.

  I stand to hold open the door for a few of our young regulars when a woman with greasy, long hair slips in. Instantly, I sense she’s older despite her small frame. Without meaning to touch her, I take her arm to stop her just inside the hall. Her head snaps up, and her glazed eyes try to focus.

  “Hanky? I’ve been looking for you.” She swipes at her nose with the back of her hand, sniffling deeply before lowering her fist. She sways on her feet, and I reach for her shoulders.

  “Steph, honey. What are you doing?” I should be angry she found me again. In fact, I’m downright pissed off, but I’m also a bit shaken. Everything about her looks familiar to my past, and I don’t want a trip down memory lane. Memory is a fickle bitch, though, and the images flip on speed dial through my head. Drugs. Alcohol. Women. The stench coming off Stephie isn’t good.

  Her hands reach for my wrists, but she misses. Her head rolls to the side. She’s so fucking high.

  “Got some place private we could go? I could give you something.” A cracked fingernail attempts to slide down my chest, but I suck in my breath, willing her not to touch me. I want nothing to do with her or her proposition, but I can’t turn my back. This is the crisis center. We’re here to help people like her.

  “Let me get you some coffee. We
can talk,” I offer. I guide her to a seat in a small sitting room, one filled by a couch and two chairs. Not wanting to be alone with her, I avoid the confining space of an empty office. I’m pushing her gently backward by her shoulders, keeping an arm’s length distance between us. To my surprise, she lets me lead her. Her knees hit the back of the sofa, and her surprise brings up her hands. She grips my t-shirt with two tiny fists.

  High Stephie is a strong Stephie, and as I press her downward, she tugs on my shirt, forcing me down with her. I fumble, faltering over her. My hand catches the back of the couch before I tumble completely. My knee comes between both of hers, pinning me to the cushions. She giggles as she hits the soft, shaggy fabric.

  “Steph, whatcha doing?” I growl, and then a throat clears behind me. I spin and find a teenager looking at me, wide-eyed and questioning. My position over Stephie looks precarious. The angle of my body. My knee between her thighs. The shortness of her skirt. It’s compromising, but fuck, it’s anything but.

  “Ronin?” I choke.

  “I wanted to talk to you, but I can see you’re busy.” What the fuck is Midge’s kid doing down here? This isn’t a good part of the city, and I can’t even begin to wonder what’s on his mind.

  “Scram, little dumpling,” Stephie slurs. “Hanky and I have business.”

  I press up off the couch and spin to face Ronin. His eyes pinned on Steph. Her legs spread, revealing what I can only assume is something that should be covered. Ronin cringes.

  “We do not,” I say, keeping my eyes on Ronin, pleading with him to back away and not misunderstand this situation.

  “I’m just…I’ll just…” Ronin points over his shoulder to the hall, twists a little at the waist, and then bolts.

  “Dammit,” I mutter, stepping forward to follow him when I hear a thump against the couch. I turn to find Steph has slipped to her side. Her eyes closed. Her mouth open. Her nose bleeding. Stepping back toward her, I instantly feel for a pulse. A memory so vivid, so alive it nearly blinds me strikes. Goddammit. Her skin feels cold, her vein weakly beating.