Then There Was You: A Single Parent Collection

by Gianna Gabriela

  “He only put that towel on for the interview,” I tease her and am rewarded with an elbow in the ribs.

  “Shut the front door!”

  Again heads swivel, this time accompanied by irritated glares.

  “You’re drawing attention,” I mumble, shoving her shoulder.

  It’s funny, all these years of working as a sports journalist for one of Boston’s local networks, and Sam’s never shown as much interest as now. Granted, sports have never been her thing, although she’s always been supportive and proud of my career in the male-dominated field. Ironic she’d spark an interest now my career is effectively over.

  I shouldn’t be surprised; my friend has always had a healthy appreciation for beautiful men. She’s happily married to a prime specimen herself, but in her own words, that doesn’t render her blind.

  I’m not exactly visually challenged myself, but a lot of these guys are ten to twenty years younger than me and only bring out my strong maternal side.

  I wince at my last thought. A maternal side I no longer have a use for.

  “Is he an athlete too?” Sam asks; drawing me into the present as she indicates the small stage set up near the stairs.

  A broad-shouldered, salt-and-pepper-haired man in an ill-fitting sports jacket steps up to the microphone.

  “Not sure,” I mumble, because something about him strikes me as very familiar.

  Beside me Sam flips through the night’s program, but my eyes narrow on the handsome stranger, trying to place him.

  “Jude Parks? Is that familiar?” she asks, just as the same name is announced by the emcee.

  I shake my head and watch as he walks up to the microphone.

  “Good evening,” he says after clearing his throat, looking decidedly uncomfortable when his dark eyes catch on mine. “A year and two months ago, our then eight-year-old daughter was diagnosed with acute cardiomyopathy. I won’t bore you with the details, except to tell you that learning there’s a timeline on your child’s life is easily the worst nightmare imaginable for a parent.”

  His pained words touch me deeply and I feel an odd kinship with this man. I don’t know him, but I feel his pain.

  “Five months ago,” he continues, and my breath stills in my throat. “Kelty received a new heart. A heart that shortly before it started pumping blood through my daughter’s body had been beating in the chest of another child. The generosity of…”

  I don’t hear anymore, I’m already running for the exit.

  JUDE

  I struggle through the rest of my prepared speech.

  I’d noticed her when the woman she was standing beside barked out, “Bullshit,” in the middle of the preceding speaker’s presentation. A whole lot more put together than the first time I laid eyes on her, but unmistakably her.

  I haven’t forgotten her grief-marred face. Every so often, these past five months, I’ve wondered about her. My imagination conjuring up the different scenarios that might’ve caused her obvious pain.

  For a month following Kelty’s transplant, I’d often looked for her in the hospital’s hallways. Almost eagerly wishing I’d encounter her again, but this time with a more hopeful expression. Maybe I’d simply caught her on a bad day, because the alternatives that came to mind were too painful to consider.

  I’m not sure what made her suddenly run off, but it was difficult not to jump off the stage and take off after her. An irrational urge.

  I’m a pretty laid-back guy who doesn’t easily get riled or overly excited, yet it takes everything out of me to finish my presentation, receive my thanks, and step down to rejoin Cassie. We drove in together, while Mark stayed at home looking after our daughter.

  “Are you okay?” she asks as she slides her arm in mine.

  “Yeah, I just thought I recognized someone. You hungry?” I turn her to the buffet table set up with finger foods in an effort to distract her.

  Not long after our daughter was discharged from the hospital, Mark and Cassie made the decision to sell their brownstone in Boston’s Back Bay area and move to Chatham, just twenty minutes south of Orleans. It had been Mark’s suggestion, which surprised me at first. Cassie explained they’d just found out she was pregnant a week before Kelty’s surgery. They’d already discussed the possibility of moving away from the city with the new baby coming, but with Kelty’s continued aftercare, Mark had started looking on Cape Cod. Since Mark is an author, who can work anywhere, and Cassie is an accountant, who’s worked from home since Kelty was born, it doesn’t really matter where they live.

  The drive from their place to mine is only a scant twenty minutes and compared to the hour-and-a-half it was before, it has taken a lot of stress off all of us. We still have to drive into Boston for Kelty’s appointments, but those will hopefully wind down to just a few visits a year over time.

  “Seriously,” Cassie, always observant, says through a mouthful of canapé. “Who was that woman? I saw you staring.”

  I should’ve known she’d notice. “I don’t know her,” I answer, shrugging my shoulders. “I bumped into her here once before.”

  Like I said, Cassie is observant, which is why she doesn’t let me off the hook.

  “Must’ve made an impression, then.”

  She has no idea.

  2

  JUDE

  “Did you check her credentials?”

  I watch Kelty press her face to the glass of the aquarium as I’m checking in with Mandy.

  Cassie just entered her third trimester, and at last check, her blood pressure was way too high, so she’s on bed rest for the foreseeable future. That was a week ago, and since she’s been homeschooling Kelty for the remainder of this school year—an infection at this point could spell disaster—I’ve taken over that task.

  But after five months basically stuck indoors, my daughter is showing signs of cabin fever. Since my busy season doesn’t really get into full swing until June, I figured we could get away for short day excursions and make it educational.

  We did the Buttonwood Park Zoo in New Bedford two days ago, and today we’re at the Woods Hole Science Aquarium, right here on the Cape.

  For much of the past week I’ve handed off the reins to Mandy.

  “I did, and get this, she wants to pay in advance for six months.”

  Alarm bells go off. It’s not too common that folks want to pay ahead for a small, furnished vacation cottage, unless they have reason to stay under the radar. Vacation properties are hell to keep track of for authorities because of the frequent rental turnover.

  “You sure she checks out?”

  “Boss, trust me, she checks out.”

  I shake off the sense of foreboding and concede. “Okay then, fine, but if she turns out to be some drug peddler setting up shop for the season, or throws loud parties every night, I’ll be looking at you to fix it.”

  The snort-giggles on the other side put a smile on my face. “You’ve got it, Boss.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Nope, that’s it. She’s moving in tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be at Tufts with Kelty,” I point out.

  “That’s okay, I’ll be here early, get her settled in.”

  As we’ve done on our earlier excursions, we head out for lunch after my princess has her fill of the aquarium. Lunches at my house consist of PB and J sandwiches, which is about the extent of my culinary skills. Daniel, the Cove Side Cooker’s chef, takes care of our dinners at the restaurant.

  “Find anything you like?” I ask Kelty, who is looking for nearby restaurants on my iPhone.

  “Pie in the Sky Bakery,” she suggests, with a mischievous grin I detect behind the protective mask we have her wear. She also carries around hand disinfectant, and by now, automatically squirts some in her hands when she’s touched something that could spread germs. I hate she needs to worry about these things, but as Mark so astutely pointed out, she’s not really worrying about it, if she does it by rote.

  Mark has often been the voice
of reason these past months when Cassie or I get a little too hyper-vigilant. It’s hard not to do when risk is everywhere.

  “The whole point of the exercise is to eat a healthy lunch, missy. Not sure pie qualifies,” I point out.

  Getting her to eat healthier while at my place continues to be a bit of a struggle. She eats healthy enough at Cassie’s, but until she got sick, I mostly opted for easy fare. So the struggle is entirely my fault. I made do with fast food or stuff I could grab from the cereal shelf or the freezer section. Having not paid attention to a single nutritional label ever before, that adjustment to life after a transplant has been the most challenging for me. For someone who can barely boil water, it’s a daunting responsibility. I happened to talk about this with Daniel when he took pity on me and offered his assistance.

  “They don’t just have pie, Dad. There’s soups, and sandwiches with a side of salad. We could share a slice for dessert,” she negotiates, something she’s getting better at every damn day. “Besides,” she hammers her point home. “Pie is made with fruit. Fruit is healthy.”

  I raise an eyebrow at her and don’t bother mentioning the sugar, the flour, or the lard. She already knows.

  “All right, Princess. Pie in the Sky it is. How far?” I cave, looking over to see her studying Google Maps.

  “Down the street. You have to turn right out of the parking lot and just follow the road.”

  “I’m trusting you, honey,” I tease her. “Your old man won’t be happy if we end up in the drink.”

  The Tinker Bell giggle behind her mask is the best sound in the world, and I steal glances at my happy girl all the way to the bakery.

  We end up taking the long way home and stop by Cassie and Mark’s place to drop off a collection of baked goods.

  “What’s this?” Mark asks, taking in the boxes in my hands after giving Kelty a hug.

  “Strawberry-rhubarb pie, cherry Danish, almond croissants, and cinnamon twirls,” my daughter rattles off to Mark’s amusement.

  “Did you leave anything in the store?” he asks, stepping aside for us to come in.

  “I wanted to get the pecan pie as well, and they had chocolate chip muffins, but Daddy said it was enough.”

  “I’d say. I hope you guys are taking at least half of that home, because we’ll never be able to finish it.”

  “No silly,” Kelty grins. “We have our own in the truck.” Before I have a chance to say anything in my defense at Mark’s raised eyebrows, she changes topics. “Is Mom awake? Can I go see her?”

  “Not sure, just peek around the corner first, okay?”

  The moment she disappears up the stairs, Mark turns a teasing grin on me. “You’re such a pushover, Parks.”

  I shrug a little sheepishly. “I told her she could pick everyone’s favorites. I just didn’t realize she meant Daniel, Amanda, and the rest of the crew at the restaurant as well. She was having a blast, I didn’t have the heart to be a wet rag.”

  “Must’ve cost a whack.” He chuckles at my wince.

  “Maybe,” I admit. “But it was worth every penny to see her smile all the way home.”

  MIKA

  “There’s a laundry facility in the restaurant and at the main house. I’m sure the boss won’t mind you running a load from time to time.”

  The perky brunette was waiting for me outside of the Cape Cod style, shingled cottage. Sitting on the picnic table, she was drinking from a Starbucks cup and enjoying the morning sun. Mandy introduced herself as the person I’d been talking to on the phone, and that her boss sends his regrets, but he’s up in Boston for the day on a personal matter.

  I follow her into the cottage and am surprised when it actually looks like the pictures on the Airbnb listing. Of course with the wide-angle lens it looked a little bigger, but I’m really pleased with the place. The big room at the front is open concept, with a kitchen and dining room to the left of the front door, and a sitting area on the right with three doors in the back wall. The one on the right leads to a decent-sized bedroom with a queen-sized bed. The one on the far left to what looks to be a newly renovated bathroom.

  “That would be awesome,” I answer her. “But if not, it’s not a big deal. I saw a Laundromat as I came through town as well. Either way, I should be okay.”

  Mandy pulls open the center door open to reveal half of it a storage closet with cleaning supplies, and the other half serves as a scarcely stocked linen closet. “Fuck.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Not you—this.” She points at the closet. “Last year, toward the end of the season, we had it restocked with extra sheets and towels and now half of them are gone already. We’ve had all of four guests in here so far this year. People are assholes.”

  I’m not going to argue with that, since in large lines I agree with her. People are assholes. “I can always pick up some—”

  She dismisses me with a wave of her hand. “You pay for extra sheets and towels to be included, you’re getting sheets and towels. Leave it to me.” She closes the linen closet and walks to the door, looking over her shoulder at me. “Well, come on, I assume you’ve got bags that need bringing in?”

  Looks like Mandy also doubles as bellhop. I actually find I like the younger woman. She reminds me a bit of Sam with her direct manner, although Sam is perhaps a little more refined.

  She’s already waiting by my new—to me—white Subaru Outback, the back of which is jam-packed. It probably would’ve been easier in the SUV, but I traded it in for this newer and more fuel economic wagon just last week.

  All in the spirit of a fresh start.

  Okay, fine, in the spirit of conserving funds as well. Not that I’m hurting—not yet anyway—but at this point, I’m not even sure if I want to stay in journalism. My objective is to downscale and simplify. Life as a journalist is far from simple.

  Until my house in Boston is sold, I’m on a strict budget, and I have to find a job, but that’s for another day. Today I settle into my new surroundings.

  I join Mandy by my car and lift the gate.

  “Holy shit. You really are settling in,” she says, catching my Keurig machine as it comes tumbling down from the top of the pile. “We do have a coffeemaker, you know,” she teases, grabbing the bulk-sized box of K-Cup pods next.

  “I’m a sucker for freshly brewed,” I confess, dislodging the laundry basket with groceries I pulled from my pantry at the last minute. “And I don’t like waste.”

  “I can tell,” Mandy mumbles, climbing up the steps in front of me.

  It takes us almost half an hour to empty the back of the Subaru. Mandy is trying to find room to put away the groceries, while I stand in the middle of the living room, surveying the disaster in the once sparse space. Boxes, suitcases, baskets, a couple of lamps, my laptop and cameras, and two garment bags holding my work clothes. I might as well have stuffed them in a box since they ended up rumpled underneath the groceries.

  “Those all clothes?” Mandy asks, pointing at the bags and suitcases.

  “Mmmm.”

  “Sheeet, girl. Where do you plan to sleep? You’ve got a small built-in closet and a three-drawer dresser.” She waves at my stuff in the living room. “This here requires a two hundred square foot walk-in closet.”

  “It’s not so bad,” I mutter, mostly trying to convince myself.

  When Sam saw me packing all my clothes, she’d laughed at me as well. Aside from my casual clothes, in my line of work you need to have a decent selection of professional outfits available. Can’t appear on camera in the same getup too often. Of course that still doesn’t explain why I felt the need to lug all of them to a waterside cottage on Cape Cod. Not like I’d have use for any of them here.

  Maybe it’s because my wardrobe is the only thing that was just mine from my old life. Everything else was either a remnant of my former marriage or held strong reminders of Jamie. I look around at my boxes of books and photographs, and the two lamps I bought just last year for my bedroom, and realize how t
rue that is. Aside from my picture albums, there is no indication there was ever anyone more than me.

  I promptly burst out in tears.

  “Oh good Lord. Jesus have mercy. Christ, girl, don’t cry. I was just kidding.” She runs into the bathroom and comes back with a roll of toilet paper and shoves it in my hands. “Bastards took the boxes of tissues too,” she mumbles, and I promptly start laughing while the tears still roll down my face.

  “I’m s-sorry,” I stammer, equal parts embarrassed and mortified, but for some damn reason I’m still giggling like a hyena. Hysteria, that’s got to be it. I’ve officially gone bonkers. With Herculean effort, I manage to get myself under control. “I’ve had a tough few months and it’s all kind of landing on me now.”

  “Right. Well then, I hope you don’t get me the wrong way or anything, but…” Instead of finishing her sentence, I’m startled when Mandy unexpectedly wraps me up in a hug, squeezing me tight before awkwardly letting me go. “You looked like you needed one.”

  “Thanks,” I mutter stupidly. What else can you say? “I, uh, I guess I did need that,” I admit, finding my slightly hysterical outburst has vanished as fast as it appeared.

  “Anytime. Never was much good at giving advice or anything, but I do give good hugs.”

  “You sure do,” I agree with a small smile.

  I haven’t seen Mandy since she left for the restaurant, inviting me to come grab a bite whenever I want. Instead I opted to putter around the cottage.

  Between the closet and dresser I was only able to store half of what I brought, so after stacking my books on top of the dresser—I might have to pick up a shelving unit somewhere for those—I stuff the boxes with clothes and shoes I don’t see myself wearing anytime soon.

  Unsure of what to do with them, I carry the boxes out to the car for now, and drive into town in search of a grocery store to pick up some necessities and food for the next week. I fully intend to take some time to explore later, and at least won’t have to worry about groceries.