People will talk. They’re probably already talking. They’ll make it dirty and wrong, and her friends from high school will joke about her, and no one would take us seriously. All they would see is her age and how she moved from son to father, and it would be the talk of the town.
But now I’m not so sure. Who cares what they think? We’d get through it, and Jordan’s circle of friends is as small as mine. She won’t give a damn what strangers have to say about it.
We’d be fucking happy, and eventually people would move on.
She wanted me. She wanted to love me.
She was ready for us.
I shake my head, arguing, “She’s different.”
“No, she’s not,” Dutch retorts. “She’s young and full of hope. Like we used to be.”
I turn slowly and look at him. It’s not like him to stand against me.
But I listen as he goes on.
“Everything is new and fresh to her,” he says. “She’s excited about life, and she makes you remember what that felt like. Before we grew up and realized we weren’t going to be fighter pilots saving the world or kings of Wall Street riding around in stretched limos.” He laughs under his breath, sitting back in the chair. “Before there were bills to pay and responsibilities piling higher as the years went on.”
His eyes fall, and I can see everything I’m feeling on his face. He doesn’t hate his life, and he adores his wife and kids, but if we could go back and do at least one thing differently, I know we both would.
Here we sit, and we’re not sure what we have to look forward to anymore.
“Look, man.” He raises his eyes to me. “You had fun with her. I’m not saying you did anything wrong. If the sex is good, then enjoy each other. But you have to think about the future, and you know it won’t always feel like this.” He pauses, knitting his brow. “She’ll wake up in ten years and see a picture of a high school friend online who’s trekking through Nepal or some shit, and she’ll look around at her own life and think about how she’s saddled with two kids in this small town and married to a man nearly fifty years old whose life is more than halfway over.”
I remain silent, the weight of his words sitting in my gut like bricks.
“You think she won’t regret choosing you, knowing that her best years are almost gone?” he asks.
But I don’t have to answer. He knows he’s right.
In ten years, she’ll still be young and beautiful, and I’ll deserve her even less than I do now. I can’t give her everything she wants no matter how much my ego thinks otherwise.
She was built for big things. She’s smart and strong, and she deserves the world. She deserves a life that passed me by a long time ago.
Another man will be to her everything I’m not and never will be, and even though that idea is like acid in my mouth, she’ll be happier for it. And above everything else, that’s what I want. She’ll grow with someone else, and that’s the life she deserves.
Dutch leaves, and I close up the garage, heading into the house and immediately up the stairs. I stop at Jordan’s bedroom, the door open and the light breeze outside her window blowing the leaves on the tree in the backyard.
Her faint smell lingers, and the dent her body made is still etched into the pillow propped up in her chair.
I don’t go in, though. It’s not my room, not my girl anymore, and she’s out there somewhere, moving on with her life, and I need to do the same.
Enough. Do the right thing.
Reaching for the knob, I inhale her perfume one last time.
And I pull the door closed.
Pike
Two Months Later
Threading the thin, white rope around the wheel, I yank on it, seeing it move toward me on the pulley. I move over to the other wooden post I’ve cemented into the backyard and pull on that rope, as well, testing it.
I have no idea why I’m putting in clotheslines.
All I know is I’m running out of ideas. I already built a wooden picnic table with a built-in beer tub in the middle, stained it, and added benches. I’ve also put in a fire pit, a stone pathway leading from the back gate to the back door, mulch in the flower beds, torches around the pool, a pergola, a hammock, and a small pond with a rock garden. I keep moving from one project to another, so I don’t have time to think about how I’m not using any of it. I’ll enjoy it when I’m done, I guess.
“Looks different back there,” I hear someone call out.
I look up, seeing Kyle Cramer standing on his bedroom balcony and looking down into my backyard.
Does this guy have a hard-on for me or something? Why’s he always trying to talk to me?
“Got some time on your hands, huh?” he gauges. “I noticed it’s been a lot quieter here the past several weeks.”
I cast him another look, giving him a curt smile. Maybe if I acknowledge him, he’ll leave me alone.
And yes, it’s been quiet. Until now.
“So, um,” he starts, and I silently groan. “I saw you and Jordan one night.”
I stop and shoot my eyes up again, glaring at him. Heat rises to my neck at hearing her name. I haven’t talked about her with anyone for months now.
“My kitchen faces yours,” he explains, “it was late, and you two were at the sink.”
My body warms, remembering that. The sight of her walking naked to the kitchen one night, and how I wouldn’t let her get a midnight snack until I got mine. She was so beautiful.
I straighten, clenching my teeth. “You watched?”
“No,” he blurts out like he would never. And then he shrugs. “I mean, I might have if you two hadn’t eventually taken it to the floor and out of my line of sight.”
He follows with a laugh, and if I could fucking fly, I’d be over this fence right now, strangling him.
He seems to notice my anger and tries to placate me. “Listen, I didn’t mean to see anything, okay? You could try to stay away from the windows, you know?” He shakes his head. “I’m just saying, I think it’s the first time I ever saw you smile. She certainly seems like she made you happy. I can’t imagine she wouldn’t make any man happy, actually.”
“Shut the hell up,” I mumble, bending down and picking up tools, dropping them into the small box.
Really? How could we have been so careless? He’s the last person whose eyes I want on her.
“So, where’d she go?” he asks. “It didn’t work out with you two?”
I ignore him, gathering my shit, so I can escape inside.
“How’d you fuck that up, man?” he laughs out, taking a swig of his beer. “You get a woman like that—young and hot with a body in that good a shape—you don’t lose it.”
I toss my wrench down, charging forward with nowhere to go. “I’m gonna kick your ass. Shut the fuck up.”
“So, she’s available now, right?”
“Son of a bitch,” I growl.
He just snickers. I must be so amusing.
“You are definitely sad,” he says. “Women aren’t that hard to make happy if you have half a mind to.”
“I’m not incapable,” I snap. “But that’s not the point. Teenage women belong with teenage guys, and don’t you fucking forget it next time you run into one. She deserves someone her own age.”
He nods, thinking. And then he pins me with a look. “So, your son was her age, right? Did he treat her better than you did?”
I breathe hard but stay silent. He gives me a smug half-grin and backs away, walking back into his house.
That’s not the point, asshole.
Yeah, I can safely say her relationships with guys her own age weren’t winners, either, but…
But what? I’m not going to be able to give her everything she wants? I’m not going to grow with her? I’m not going to start over and build a family anymore at my age?
Two months ago, those all seemed like viable arguments, but over time, they feel less convincing now. Like maybe who I am and where I’m at in my life isn’t carved in stone. It can still be subject to change.
I shake my head. I don’t know.
No, I did the right thing. It’s been months, and I haven’t heard from her. She’s clearly moved on.
But God, I fucking miss her. It’s like I’m constantly sick with hunger, but food won’t satisfy me. There’s an emptiness inside me that I can’t fill on my own.
I pick up the tool box and turn toward the house, but when I look up, I see Cole standing in the open back doorway to the house.
I halt. Jesus. How long has he been standing there?
The box dangles from my fingers as we just hold each other’s eyes, and I’m completely stunned to see him here.
“I saw you at the graduation,” he says, a hand in his pocket.
His graduation from boot camp was yesterday, and I’d been writing him and hounding his recruiter all summer for any contact. I had to see him, though. I couldn’t miss it. It’s a huge accomplishment.
Slowly, I drift toward him, unable to tear my gaze away. He looks incredible. Taller and bigger, a long summer at boot camp having tanned his skin and lightened his now buzzed, blond head of hair. He wears his green camouflage uniform with his hat in one hand as he leans against the doorframe.
“I just wanted to see you,” I tell him. “I wasn’t sure if you put me on the list or your recruiter did, but you didn’t respond to any of my letters, so I wasn’t sure you wanted me there.”
After the ceremony ended, I wanted to talk to him, but his mom was there with her latest boyfriend, and he was joined by a couple friends who’d driven up to see him. I didn’t want to ruin it, so I left. He’d have his cell phone back now, so he would see all the calls, texts, and voicemails. He’d let me know when he was ready.
He drops his head, scanning the ground in front of him. “I got all your letters. Thanks for the phone cards.”
You mean the ones you didn’t use to call me? I quirk a smile, not blaming him. It was a long shot, but I am glad he got everything. As long as he knew I was thinking about him…