by Marlie May
I said nothing. Just glared at him with my fists clenched.
“Come on.” Dad opened the door to my back deck. “It’s nice outside.”
Grumbling, I followed him outside, where Dad settled in one of the wooden chairs. He patted the one beside him. “Sit. Looks like you need to talk.”
Leaned against the pressure-treated deck rail, I crossed my arms on my chest. “I want you to leave.”
Creases filled Dad’s face, and his boots shifted on the wooden decking. “You’re hurtin’, son. I can tell. Did something happen with Lark?”
Not even touching that question. I’d avoided thinking about her, because every time her image entered my head, the slice in my chest widened.
“Ahh,” Dad said, studying my face. “I’m sorry. Something’s happened, huh? Maybe you two can work things out?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Now, I don’t know what happened, and maybe it’s not my place, but if you want to share, talk things out, I’m here for you.”
“Here for me?” Like I’d believe that promise? I hadn’t believed in fairytales since I was ten. My anger with my father was like the tide. Receding for a moment, only to rush back in and drown everything in its path. But maybe, for the first time in our lives, this was the time for us to have it out. “That’s a little crass coming from you, don’t you think?” I said harshly.
“I get it.” Dad slumped in his chair, his chest caving. “And I’m glad you brought it up. You’re talking about what happened between your mom and me.”
“You cheated on her.” My voice came out shrill.
“I did. And it’s my biggest regret in life.” Dad focused on his feet. “You don’t know what it was like for me back then.”
Why bring up ancient history? Didn’t Dad know it was fifteen years too late for explanations? I kept picturing how sad Mom had been and imagining how upset she’d be when she found out he’d done it to her all over again.
That’s what love did to you. It flayed you to pieces.
I was infinitely better without it.
Dad raked his palms down his face. “I’ve spent fifteen years trying to make up for one awful mistake. Your mom somehow found it in her heart to forgive me, but I don’t think you ever did.” Dragging his gaze up, I could almost believe I read torment in my father’s expression. “Did you?”
Choking on pent-up anger, I couldn’t speak.
“I was thirty-five when it hit me,” Dad said. “Married with two kids, a house with a huge mortgage, and a struggling business I figured would go under any minute. Instead of taking joy in what I had, I focused on what I didn’t.”
“You broke us.” Broke me.
“Doesn’t matter how I met that other woman. Just that I did things with her. Told myself she was all I wanted. But I was wrong. In no time, I missed your mom. My boys. The life I’d thrown away.” Dad gulped, but I refused to acknowledge his tears. “All that matters now is what my actions did to my family. To my Theresa.”
I wiped my face, hating that it was wet. “You cheated on her again.” My cry came out like a fifteen-year-old boy’s, the skin I’d slunk back into when I saw my father with another woman.
“What are you talking about?”
“I saw you last night in the truck at the Corner Mart. Kissing someone who wasn’t Mom.”
Dad’s gaze narrowed on my face. “You sure about that?”
“Of course, I am. Do you realize what it’ll do to her?” To me?
“Ah, I see.” Dad gulped. He shook his head. “Here I’m talking about what happened fifteen years ago, and you’ve brought it into the present.”
“I didn’t. You did.”
“And what if you’re wrong about the Corner Mart?” Dad rose and reached for me.
I stepped sideways, evading his touch. “I know what I saw.”
Dad stared at me for a long time, before he rubbed his eyes. “Then there’s not much I can say, now is there?” A sigh bled from his lungs, and his hand flopped to his side. “I thought we were finally getting closer. That soon, we’d—”
“You thought wrong.”
With a slow nod, Dad pulled open the screen door.
Why did I have an overwhelming urge to make things right between us? We’d never been right, we’d just been pretending.
In the doorway, Dad turned back to face me. Twenty years of creases had appeared on his face when I glanced away. “What if—?”
“Don’t lie to me.”
Like you lied to Lark? I needed to snuff my inner self-conscience. Bag it up and put it on the curb with a lifetime of trash.
Dad swallowed. “Because, if you were wrong, that would mean you’d made a mistake, too.”
Shaking my head didn’t mean denial. I’d done nothing wrong.
“I love your mother,” Dad said with conviction. “Always have. But I’m shooting my mouth off trying to make you see that. Guess I should go.” He nudged his head toward the front of the house. “I asked your mom to wait in the car, said I needed a minute of your time. But a lifetime might not be enough.” Dad reached out and clasped my shoulder before I could escape. I couldn’t evade the intensity in his eyes. “I hope you never do what I did. Make a mistake that hurts someone you love.”
Lark.
“You boys done talking yet?” Mom scooted through the doorway to stand beside my father. “Plenty of secrets going around, right?” She winked at me.
Blown away, my legs shaking, I could only stare at her. “When did you cut your hair?”
A grin rising on her pretty face, she fluffed her short curls. “A few days ago. You like it? I’m going to be fifty soon. I wanted something younger. Cute.”
“I love it.” Dad kissed her. His arms wrapped around her like he’d done when I was a kid, after they got back together. And like he did last night at the Corner Mart. As if he wanted to keep on holding and kissing her for the rest of his life.
They pulled apart, and Dad said to her, “I’ll be in the car.” On leaden feet, he shuffled into the house. No glance backward at me, let alone a pause to deliver a big bear hug.
He left behind an aching cavern of silence that would never be filled.
And an endless goodbye.
“Dad.” I lifted my hand, but my father kept walking, crossing the kitchen. “Wait.” I pulled open the door so hard, it hit the outside wall.
Mom frowned. “Did I come inside too soon? Did your father need more time to talk?”
“You came at the right time, Mom.” I kissed her cheek. “I’ll be back in a minute.” Anguish clenching my chest, I chased after Dad, through the house and out onto the front lawn. “Wait,” I called out. “Please, Dad.”
Dad stopped, but he didn’t turn.
“I’m sorry.” I approached him slowly, as I would a wounded animal. One I’d injured when I struck out blindly with my fury. “I was wrong. I believe I’ve been wrong for a very long time. Please, forgive me.”
So, this was what self-loathing felt like. It smothered me.
Walking around to his front, I hugged him. Bear-like. Tears in my eyes, I rested my head on his shoulder, holding him like I’d done when I was little. Back when he’d comforted me after I’d fallen off my bike. When I’d failed a test and he told me it was okay, that I just needed to keep trying. When this man had been the dad I’d adored more than anyone.
As he patted my back, Dad’s voice came out gruff but true. “Nothing to forgive, son. All’s good. We all make mistakes.”
Lark
If I didn’t get up and do something about it soon, everything around me was going to die.
It hadn’t rained in over a week, and the sunflowers I’d started inside from seeds this past spring sagged like overtired toddlers against the side of the house. The shrubs I’d planted at regular intervals in front of the deck appeared ready to uproot themselves and stalk into town to host a protest about the abuse I delivered.
Watering them gave me something to do. After wrapping up
and storing the garden hose in the shed, I sat outside, soaking in heat from the sun-warmed decking. I tried to, anyway. There was no thawing my core, which would remain frozen for a lifetime.
Paisley bustled out through the front door, her purse in hand. “I’m off.”
I tipped my head back, shading my eyes with my hand when the sun brought out my tears. That’s all it was. The bright sunshine. I refused to cry any longer. “Where are you off to?”
A car coasted into the driveway, and Paisley’s date got out. “You ready?” he called out.
Paisley waved but gnawed on her lower lip as she turned back to me. “That’s Steve. I met him at the Y.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “He was working out on the weight machines, and I, um, pretended I had no idea how to use them.”
Sometimes, life was smoother when you pretended. I pulled a smile and waved at Paisley’s friend. “Sounds like a great pick-up line to me.”
“We’re doing lunch and then we might drive up the coast. Not sure when I’ll be back tonight, so don’t wait up.” Paisley paused on the top step and studied my face, her brow knitting with concern. “You want me to stay here with you instead? I don’t mind.” Her hand flipped toward the dark-haired man who’d gotten back inside his car. “He’ll understand. If you need me, I’m here for you instead.”
“I’m fine.” My smile became real. Because I loved Paisley, and my sister deserved to get out of the house every now and then. She’d sat around enough with me while I wallowed in my grief.
Rising, I went over and nudged her arm. “He’s waiting. Go. Have fun.”
Fortunately, Paisley didn’t comment on the croak in my voice. “Love you, sis,” was all she said, tender emotion coming through in her words.
“You, too.”
As Paisley strode down the stairs and over to the car, I returned to my chair. I sipped my iced coffee, enjoying the creamy bliss of it gliding down my throat. It almost pulled my sadness down along with it.
The car backed down the drive and surged forward, onto the main road. The guy beeped the horn goodbye.
I waved. And swiped away a few tears. No work until Sunday. Today stretched ahead of me bleakly.
When I’d decided to set aside my pity-party and go for a run, my phone beeped. I slid it from my pocket, squinting at the screen.
Esteban. Why was he calling now?
“Hey,” he said, then jumped right in. “I have a proposition for you, Lark, one I think you’re going to love. Can we meet at the book store at the mall sometime today to go over the details?”
Charity’s place. I wasn’t sure I was ready to go there yet. But the only other places where we could meet were the Corner Mart and the Brew House. No calzones in my foreseeable future, and I definitely wasn’t up for a beer.
“When would you like to get together?” I asked.
“How about three? I should’ve asked, first, though. Do you have to work at the diner today?”
“I’m off until Sunday.” Double shifts for the two days after that. Yay, for me. But being busy kept my mind from wandering where it shouldn’t.
“I’ll see you soon then.”
We hung up, and I stood, speculating about what his idea could be. Maybe another half-marathon to raise more money. Or, did he want to start planning next year’s Highland Games? Since this year’s had been a success, we’d decided to make it an annual town tradition. He’d told me vendors were calling already, asking to reserve spots for their wares.
I arrived at the coffee shop on time and found Esteban waiting inside, seated at a booth. After ordering a pumpkin latte at the counter, I wove around tables filled with couples and book-reading millennials and settled on the bench seat across from Esteban. Before lowering my cup onto the laminate surface, I sipped my coffee. I wanted to enjoy it, but it tasted like sweet sawdust. Like everything else in life did lately.
We chatted about random stuff for a few minutes before he paused, then plunged ahead. “I won’t pussyfoot around, Lark. I love what you did for the games. A lot. We were successful solely because of your efforts.”
It embarrassed me that he kept bringing this up. “I only played a small role. It was a team effort. And the donations. We couldn’t have—”
“I thought I told you not to be modest.” His eyes twinkled with humor. Smile evening out, he linked his fingers and raised them to a point underneath his chin. His gaze focused on mine. “Your degree is in business, correct?”
Where was this heading? “Yes, with a minor in accounting.”
“Ever done any grant writing?”
Frowning, I pressed my back against the seat cushion. “No.”
“Peter, my Assistant Director, resigned last week. His wife accepted a job in Chicago, and they’re…Anyway, my point is, I’d like to offer you the position.”
Wow. I could only sputter for a moment. “I just said I’d never done any grant writing. I took one class in philanthropy in college, but that’s it.” I wasn’t qualified for anything like this. But this job…I’d almost kill to do something with the Foundation. Imagine, in Peter’s role, I’d be able to—
“The position is salaried.” Esteban broke through my musings, naming a figure higher than the job I’d wanted here, with Charity. But he held up his hand when I leaned forward, ready to accept and say I’d start yesterday. “Don’t get too excited yet. Salaried means that when things get busy like they did these past few months, you put in more than forty hours a week. But when things slow down, you get to take it a little easier.”
Pinching myself might help prove this was real, but I knew that would come across weird if he caught me doing it. Instead, I grinned and tried not to wiggle in my seat like a child.
I sipped my coffee, which tasted infinitely better.
“Here’s the thing,” he said quietly. “I’m planning to retire in six or eight years. I’ve been looking for someone to step up and take over the helm at Sweetwater. I can’t imagine anyone who would be a better fit for that role than you.”
“Me? A Director?”
“I’d mentor you, of course. Train you over the next few years to fill the role, so that when I step down, you can take the corner office for your own.”
“I don’t know what to say,” I spit out. I wanted to blubber. Dance around the tables, even if I startled the other patrons. I wanted to run through the streets, shouting out my joy.
Esteban smiled. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes.” I laughed because I’d essentially yelled the word, making the old lady seated nearby jump. As I winced and covered my mouth, Esteban’s booming laughter rang out.
A job. I had a job. A wonderful job, doing something I knew I’d love. Even better, I’d continue to help the organization I’d donated to for years.
I couldn’t wait to tell Paisley. We’d have to host a party, maybe buy a good bottle of wine, invite the neighbors…Marge would bake a cake. As would Jolene. Which was okay with me, because there was no such thing as too much cake.
Settling back, I grabbed control of my brain before it started organizing a celebratory parade. Plenty of time to party later, once I got home and shared my news.
“Tell me more,” I said.
We settled on a start date, and Esteban discussed the benefits that came with the position. Then we branched into upcoming fundraisers, all while we finished our coffees.
Content for the first time in a long time, I sat back and soaked it all in.
Life. Sometimes it did deliver.
I just had to take that first step.
Dag
My need to go shopping was driven home when the chicken I pulled from the fridge bit me. My sinuses, anyway.
Since I had to hit the supermarket, I’d swing by the mall and stop at the Emporium to beg Charity for some cookies.
Crossing my front lawn, I kicked the grass, which needed to be mowed again. Not that I cared. Let it grow wild, like a scruffy beard. It wasn’t like anyone but Mom would care. The blue flowers I’d planted al
ong the pavement sagged. I’d forgotten to water them. Or fertilize them. Whatever they needed. They’d have to learn to survive on their own like m.
As I drove around the mall, I passed Lark’s truck parked outside the Book Emporium. Was she inside having coffee? It was almost four, but what did I know about women and caffeine?
I could use some coffee myself.
Parking in another section of the lot, I jaywalked across the street and then strode along the sidewalk to the front door. As I passed the big picture window beside the entrance, I glanced inside.
Lark sat in there.
Ducking backward, I hid at the corner of the building, just beyond the window, my breath puffing out in furious heaves. Gathering myself together, I leaned forward and peered inside again.
She sat at a booth across from Esteban. A big grin appeared on her face, and she reached across the table and took Esteban’s hand.
That smile. It wrapped around me and pulled me near. The pain I’d been ignoring crashed through me all over again. I hit rock bottom, realizing how empty I was inside. Only my irritation with her—no, with myself—had kept me going during the past few days.
Lark was the most thoughtful, caring, and beautiful person I’d ever known.
I rubbed my chest with my fist, trying to make this never-ending agony go away. Only to realize that it never would.
Esteban tipped his head back and laughed at something Lark said.
Were they dating? Esteban had to be twenty, twenty-five years older than Lark, but relationships like that weren’t uncommon. They’d been friendly during the Highland Games. Had he liked her back then, and I hadn’t seen it? Maybe I’d been in Esteban’s way. If so, I wasn’t in Esteban’s way any longer.
The door jingled, and Lark stepped outside. I slid back into the recessed area beside the bookstore, blending in with the shadows, unsure why I wasn’t willing to face her. There wasn’t much she could do. Scream at me, maybe. Thrust a dagger into my belly.