I don't mind waiting for Sandy. Today has been strange and challenging in some ways, but like a glimpse into a past life too.
It's hard to admit I'd do anything to go back there, to when there was nothing bad between Sandy and me, only laughter and love and a connection so deep and intense it was as though we were bolted together with steel.
"Hey," she says, reaching for her purse. "We should go. I've kept you here long enough."
"It's okay. I don't mind," I say, but Sandy shakes her head.
"I'm ready. And to be honest, I need to get back to try and find a hotel for the night. I'd stay here, but I left my suitcase in my trunk.”
We start to drift out of the hall, searching for Connie and her husbands but not finding them. Maybe they snuck off earlier, or maybe they're putting Brett to bed. In the parking lot, I open the door of the truck for Sandy and wait for her to slide in demurely, making sure the door is safely shut. When I round the back of the truck, my mind is torn as to what to do.
I don't want Sandy to stay in a hotel. To be honest, there's only a trashy motel near Deep Repairs, and there is no way that I'm planning on dropping her there. I want to tell her that she can stay with me. I'll give up my room and take the sofa. But will that be weird for her?
Probably.
But I know I won't sleep at night with her in a nasty place like Green's Motel.
Fastening my belt, I start the car. "I think you should stay at mine," I say. "The motel isn't nice or safe. You can have my room, and I'll take the couch."
"I can't," she says.
"You can and you will," I state firmly but softly. "The house is big. We'll all be up early for work. You'll hardly know we're there, and you can make yourself at home. Just…you know…as friends."
"Friends?"
I know it's a stupid label to give us. We were so much more, and now we're so much less. It's not an honest descriptor of the past or the present. "No strings is what I mean." I'm bumbling like a fool and cringing at the words tumble out of my mouth. I haven't been this nervous around a woman since I was fourteen and fumbling for a first kiss.
As I throw the truck into reverse, Sandy goes back to gripping her purse like she's drowning and it's a life preserver. "It's okay. I know you're just trying to be polite, but honestly, today is enough. You've put yourself out a lot, and none of this was supposed to happen. I'll be okay at the motel."
"If something happened to you, I'd never forgive myself." I put my foot on the gas a little too hard, and the wheels spin out, revealing my frustration.
"A lot has happened to me in four years, Tyler. You weren't worried about that."
My jaw hurts as I grit my teeth hard. What does she want from me? Can't she see that I was wrecked too? There's no way she thinks I'm the same man I was. Sometimes, I look in the mirror, and I don't even recognize the green eyes that look back at me emptily. "I was worried every day, Sandy. Every fucking day."
"Not worried enough to come back, though. Not worried enough to explain why you disappeared and give me some peace."
"It was too late," I say, repeating the words I've told myself a million times. Too late. Too much water under the bridge.
"Too late…exactly," she whispers as though I've proved her point for her.
"Your suitcase is in your trunk. I'm going to call Greg and tell him to take it home with him. I'm bringing you to our place, fixing my bed with clean linens and that's it. If you decide you want to walk out into the dark and find someplace else to stay, then that's on you, Sandy. I'll have done my best to keep you safe."
She doesn't reply, maybe seething inside like I am. Four years apart and look how we are with each other. Seeing her has been amazing but fucking gut-wrenching too. And now I've got another two days of this to get through without spilling my guts and undoing everything it's taken me to make myself whole again.
We don't speak on the journey, and that's okay with me. I put on the radio, and we listen to country music. I don't dare play the disco classics that I know she loves. I don't want to bring more of the past into the present than is lurking between us already.
When we're at the house, Sandy follows me up the steps to the front door. Inside, the TV is blaring a football game, and my boys are yelling at each other about something. We're not united on our choice for the best team, so maybe it's an argument about that, or maybe they're just ripping on each other like they usually do. Whatever it is, I feel grateful to be home.
This is my turf.
These are my people, who know every dark and terrible thing about me and love me anyway.
"We're back," I shout, and a head appears around the door from the den. "Hi honey," Arden says. "I made you dinner, and then I ate it." He laughs at his own pathetic attempt at humor, and I cringe.
"We went to a wedding, you douchebag. I've eaten better food than you could ever make."
"Hey, don't diss the only chef in this place," he says, bringing his hand to his heart as though I physically wounded him.
I turn to Sandy, who's watching everything with interest. "Come in. I'll show you around."
Another triplet appears next to Arden. It's Able, the only one who didn't meet Sandy at the shop earlier. "Able, this is Sandy."
"There are three of you," Sandy says, her voice light and singsong.
"Three's a charm," Able says in a faux Irish accent. I mean, his family does hail from Cork, apparently, but it's too many generations back for anyone to still have a language connection with the place. Ignoring him, I wave at the doorway.
"This is the den. Over here is the kitchen." I lead Sandy to my favorite room in the house. It's an open-plan kitchen dining room, with a couple of couches in the corner. We hang out here most of the time, reserving the den for watching TV.
"Wow. It's really nice." Sandy swivels on her heels, taking in the modern white gloss cabinets and the marble countertops. We did all of the work ourselves, and I'm damn proud of the effect. I'm even prouder that my boys have kept the place tidy. Some nights, the dirty dishes spill out of the sink.
"It opens onto the yard. You can't see right now, but I'll show you tomorrow when it's light."
Sandy nods, then spies her suitcase against the wall and strides toward it.
"Don't worry about that. I'll take it up for you. I'm just going to head upstairs and deal with the linens. I'll come back when I'm done."
"Uh…sure."
"You can wait here if you like."
"Okay." She decides to perch on the edge of the dark blue couch in the corner, and I dash for the door, knowing that my room needs a little more than a change of bedding to make it a nice place for her to stay.
Racing up the stairs, I root around for clean sheets and pillow covers in the hallway closet. Heavy footsteps sound on the stairs, and Andrew comes into view. "What's going on, man?"
"Sandy's gonna stay in my room. I'm taking the couch."
"Yeah. I got that part. I mean, what's going on with you guys?"