I smiled. “What do you mean?”
“You always said there was no such thing as luck. There was good fortune and there were blessings. But not luck.”
My smile died a silent death again, and I got up and went to the kitchen, putting the counter between us. “That was a long time ago.”
“Yeah, but it was real faith. I envied it, because I didn’t believe in anything back then. You taught me differently.”
The very acknowledgment of that faith was like an indictment, and I felt my insides shrinking from the kind of faith I had now. I wasn’t sure when it had fled from me, when things had changed, when I’d realized I hadn’t survived my latest trial.
“I was naive then, Nate,” I said. “Nothing bad had ever happened to me at that point. I had the perfect life. It was easy to be spiritual.”
“But you weren’t faking it.”
“No, of course not. I never would have faked it. I just didn’t know the flip side of all those blessings.”
I felt his gaze on me, his eyes searching mine the way they used to, seeing into me, to the things I didn’t want to say or reveal, the things I didn’t want to share.
I didn’t have the energy to put on a front any longer. I wasn’t looking for a relationship, especially with him, so what did it matter if he thought badly of me? I sighed and pulled the whiskey out of its hiding place under the sink. “I lied. You did smell it. Want some?”
“No, thanks,” he said quietly.
I poured some in a coffee mug for myself, more than I hoped he would notice, but as I took a drink, I practically dared him to say a word.
“So tell me about your kids,” he said in a softer voice that pulled my mind out of the darkness.
I brought my cup back around and sat next to him. “I miss them.”
“Do they live with him?”
“Not yet.”
The two short words were all I could manage in explanation, but Nate wasn’t going to let it die.
“You sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
I looked out the back window and saw my vague reflection there. I almost didn’t recognize myself. “He gets them on weekends, generally, and I get them on weekdays. Of course, I have to work on weekdays, which leaves me about three hours a night with them before bedtime, but hey, you can’t have everything.”
“Every weekend? You never get a Saturday or Sunday with them?”
“No. The judge thought he was being fair, giving us joint custody and splitting it up that way. Now Jack’s decided he should have them full-time.”
“Is he remarried?”
“Of course. They tied the knot five minutes after our papers were signed. Literally. The justice of the peace was waiting.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Ironic, isn’t it?” I flashed him a bitter smile, shaking my head. “Wouldn’t it be nice if people could just rearrange their lives when they didn’t like them anymore? Just erase this person, plug this one in? That’s how Jack’s life works. Everyone else just adjusts around him.”
My mind fogged, drawing me into the injustice of my life, caught between what might have been and what had become.
“You don’t deserve that,” he said. “You really don’t.” He glanced at my open laptop. “You still write?”
I smiled. “I’m trying to. I didn’t write the whole time I was married. But it’s kind of coming back. It’s therapy, you know.”
“It’s more than that. You had talent.”
I grinned and hid behind the mug. “You’re about the only one in the world who thought that.”
“I might have been the only one in the world who read your stories.”
“True. Not that I didn’t try. Jack was never interested. And why would he be, when I put it all aside so easily?” I tried to get up, but stumbled and had to catch myself.
“You okay?” he asked again.
“Yes. Don’t look at me like that. The liquor doesn’t even work. I don’t get a buzz. I don’t even get numb.”
He didn’t say anything. “When we started hanging out,” I said, “you told me you drank because you couldn’t find any good reason not to.”
“But then I found one.”
I stumbled as I started to get up, and he reached out to steady me. I pulled my hand away. “What? Me? I didn’t change you, Nate.”
“You have no idea how much you changed me. A lot of it I didn’t even realize until later.” He paused. “You want me to make you some coffee?” he asked.
“Do you want some?”
“No, it’s for you.”
“To sober me up? Don’t worry. I’m not driving. No kids to take care of. I don’t need coffee. And please . . . don’t leave here and tell anyone you caught me drinking. I don’t want that judgment on top of everything else.”
“I wouldn’t do that.” He kept his gaze on me, and I felt as if he could see right through me, to just how much I’d already had to drink.
“I should go, let you get to bed. How about if I call you tomorrow . . . when you feel better?”
My eyes filled with tears before I could stop them. “If I thought there was a chance I’d feel better tomorrow . . .” I let the sentence die. “What’s the point?”
“Does there have to be a point?”
The question seemed to drain me of what was left of my energy, and I wiped my eyes with trembling fingertips. “I don’t know,” I said. “I can’t think right now.”
I got up again, this time steadying myself, and led him to the front door. He limped as he came toward me. I felt bad that he was trying to take care of me when he was the one who needed care.
I opened the door. He stepped out, but turned around before leaving. “I’ll be here for a few days while I’m recovering. I’d like to see you again. When I call tomorrow, will you answer?”
I thought about it for a long moment, then said, “I don’t know.”
“Come on, Brenna. It’s just me.”
Just him. I dragged in a long breath and felt the early dawn of courage. “Okay,” I said, finally. “I’ll answer. Give me your phone.”
He swiped the screen and handed it to me, and I typed in my phone number. I handed it back to him.
With a soft smile, he stepped off my porch, and I watched him limp across the street.
I closed the door and leaned back against it. I peered in the mirror just inside the door, wiped the tears from under my eyes, and tried to decide if I looked utterly repulsive, broken and old—the way my ex-husband saw me. My cream-colored blouse was youthful, but thirty still felt ancient when you encountered your first love after almost a decade and a half.
But what did I care? He was nothing to me except the son of the man who killed my father. And now that man sat in his recliner at home. That was justice, they said.
I couldn’t let myself sink into those old feelings. I had too much going on, too many other things to think about. It had been nice to see him again, but I wouldn’t answer if he called.
Chapter 5