A Tail for Two

by Mara Wells

  “Everyone, huh?” Carrie walked over to admire the drawing close up.

  He handed it over with a big smile. “Yep, everyone in the whole world.”

  Addison laughed. “Oli, Oli. There are more than five people in the world.”

  “Right.” Oliver nodded solemnly, bangs sliding forward to cover his eyebrows. “I meant all the important people.”

  Carrie held the drawing to her heart. “It’s perfect. Let’s hang it on the refrigerator, shall we?”

  “Yes!” Oli ran ahead of her to the kitchen.

  “I’ve got trig homework waiting for me.” Addison slipped on the polka-dot flip-flops she’d left near the front door. “You should really call him.”

  “I am.” Carrie held up her phone. “Right now.” It buzzed. “Or right after this text.”

  Addison left with a wave, and Carrie checked her messages. A picture of her credit card and the words peace offering?

  Shaking, she typed back please come over. Before, after a fight, Carrie and Lance would pretend that it never happened, try to go back to how they were. A pattern for disaster, she now realized, but still frightening to deliberately break. But if she wanted the future to be different from the past, she had to be willing to try. And you’re not a terrible person, she typed, getting a small part of the apology out of the way before she had to look him in the eye.

  The three dots bounced. Neither are you.

  She smiled.

  Chapter 22

  Carrie stood from her seat on Oliver’s bed, tucking his nautical blue-and-white-striped bedspread around his shoulders. She leaned down, unable to resist one last good-night kiss to the forehead. He was already sound asleep, arms wrapped around Oink the orange octopus, long eyelashes curled against his cheeks like a little angel. Her little angel. She couldn’t help how mushy she felt sometimes. It was as much a part of motherhood as the sleepless nights of nursing and the near-constant laundry duty. Would she always feel this visceral tug on her heartstrings every time she saw his sleeping face? She hoped so.

  In the living room, the father of that precious face was also fast asleep. Knocked out on the couch, one arm flung over his head and the other clasping an embroidered throw pillow to his chest. The same dark lashes she’d admired on Oliver swept Lance’s cheeks, a contrast to his light-blond hair that had always fascinated her. Like with Oliver, she was tempted to bend down and kiss Lance, but unlike with Oliver, she didn’t plan on aiming for the forehead.

  Stop it. They were divorced for good reason. And just because she couldn’t exactly in this exact moment remember the exact reason didn’t mean it wasn’t a darn good one. Their marathon talk this evening reverberated through her. The things they’d admitted to each other, the fear they both had of losing Oli, negotiating a way forward that didn’t require lawyers or courts. She was proud of them. They were adultier adults now, able to calmly and rationally hash out their misunderstanding.

  When she’d opened the door earlier, he’d handed her an elaborately wrapped box with an enormous sparkle bow. “For Oli?” she’d asked, taking it from him.

  “For you.” He stood on the welcome mat, jeans stained with mud and a shyness about him she’d never seen before.

  She opened the door wider, wordlessly inviting him. He ducked his head and entered, asking, “Where’s Oli?”

  “Upstairs with Addison.” At the last moment, Carrie’d panicked. What if Lance came over and they got into another argument? She didn’t want Oliver’s childhood memories to be like hers, listening to her parents fight through the wall. Pretending she hadn’t heard anything when inside, her stomach was all topsy-turvy, and even something as simple as a glass of orange juice made her throw up. No, better to get him out of hearing range. Addison had been so happy to earn a few more bucks today, she’d thrown in dogsitting for free.

  Carrie perched on the couch, and Lance watched while she unwrapped the gift, tearing through the wrapping and layers of tissue paper until she found the gift. Her credit card.

  Her laugh was a nervous one. “That’s a lot of pomp and circumstance.”

  “I wanted it to be a moment.” He loomed across the ottoman from her, ignoring her patted suggestion for him to sit with her.

  “It certainly was. Any particular reason?” She’d run her finger along the edge of the card, thinking about how she’d never use it again without thinking of him.

  A loud thump drew her attention to him. Lance knelt on one knee. Kind of like… No, he couldn’t be, could he? Her hands flew to her cheeks. His other knee dropped to the floor, his face contorted in an uncomfortable expression she didn’t know how to read. “I’m here to grovel.”

  The words were so angry that at first she’d missed their meaning. “Grovel?”

  “Yeah, Mendo said I should. I’m sorry I threatened you about custody. It was stupid of me.” He stayed on his knees, head down. Slowly, inch by inch, his chin rose until his wild blue eyes crashed with hers. “Is that enough?”

  “Enough groveling?” She was still having trouble processing this gesture. Lance’s apologies were usually no more than a light, half-hearted “sorry,” barely a blip on a communications radar.

  “It’s not.” He rubbed his hands together like he was warming them over a fire. “Okay, I’ve got more ready to go. I’m also sorry—”

  She’d rushed him then, circling the ottoman, grabbing both his hands in hers, and pulling him to his feet. “Stop, Lance. Please, stop.”

  “So it was enough?”

  The hands that held his shook with the power of her emotions. “I appreciate the apology. I was really scared.” Whether she made the conscious decision or her legs simply gave out, she wasn’t sure. But the next thing she knew, she was on her knees. “I should be the one asking for forgiveness. I was awful to you. Back then. And now. I’m sorry.”

  She’d looked up then, and the astonishment on his face was almost worth the humiliation she felt about her own behavior. He cupped a finger under her chin and pulled her up until they were standing face-to-face, hands still clasped.

  “Let me finish.” Lance launched into a clearly somewhat rehearsed speech about how learning about Oli had made him feel and his fear of being cut off again. Carrie’s knees stayed wobbly, but she stood her ground, really listening. When he was done, she’d told him she was afraid of losing Oli, too, and that led to more confessions of things they were both afraid of. Now. And then.

  When it was all over, they were on the couch, companionably close, Carrie’s feet propped on the ottoman and Lance’s work boots planted firmly on the floor.

  “I can’t believe Mendo was right. There really is something to this groveling thing.” Lance yawned. “Takes it out of you, though, doesn’t it?”

  “It helps that you opened with the perfect gift.” She crinkled the wrapping paper shreds next to her. “You really took me by surprise.”

  “He said flowers or candy, but I didn’t want to feel like I’d bought your forgiveness, you know? Returning something you lost while we were together? Seemed right.” Another yawn stretched his face into comical lines.

  “Symbolic, really.” She folded the discarded wrapping into small squares and stacked them on the side table, keeping herself busy to distract herself from thinking of some of the words they’d said. Coparenting. Shared holidays. It was all getting so real. “Why don’t you take off your boots, make yourself comfortable? I’ll run upstairs and get Oliver and Beckham.”

  “Sure, I’d love to tuck him in before I hit the road, if you don’t mind.” He’d covered a yawn with his fist. “Sydney took LouLou for the night because I wasn’t sure how long this would take, but if I leave now, it’s not too late to pick her up, is it?”

  Carrie checked the small clock with big numbers hung over the TV. “It’s nearly midnight. You should probably leave LouLou where she is.”

  “You’re ri
ght.” Lance stifled another yawn. “How about I wait here for you to get back with Oliver?”

  She’d smiled. “Sounds perfect.” A perfect opportunity to let Oliver know Lance was his father. It was time. She felt it in her bones.

  When she’d returned fifteen minutes later with Oliver and Beckham in tow, it was Lance who got the tucking in. He was fast asleep, head propped on a fluffy throw pillow, and not even the slam of the door or the pitter-patter of little feet on hardwood floors woke him. Oliver gathered up the chenille throw she kept on the back of the couch and stretched it over Lance’s long frame.

  Oliver made a production of tucking the cover around Lance’s broad shoulders. “Sleep tight, Lance. We’ll look for bugs tomorrow!” Oliver’s whisper was as loud as his normal voice, but Carrie found it sweet that he tried. So sweet that she didn’t have the heart to tell him Lance wouldn’t be here in the morning. Lance sighed and shifted in his sleep but didn’t waken, not even when Oliver pecked him on the cheek.

  Now Oliver was as deeply asleep as his father, and Carrie envied them both. She couldn’t wait to climb between her bamboo sheets and scheme a perfect way to let Oliver know about his relationship to Lance. Maybe she could think of something as simple and meaningful as Lance’s gesture this evening.

  First, though, she had one more of her boys to settle for the night. Beckham bounced against her leg for attention.

  “One last outing for the day, huh, big guy?” She walked toward the front door, Beckham excitedly clicking behind her. When she grabbed his leash off the hanger near the door, he jumped as high as her hip, executing a small flip before crashing to the floor.

  “Hey.” Lance’s sleepy voice carried to the entryway, which wasn’t all that far. He sat up and rubbed the top of his head, hair flying in all directions. “What’d I miss?”

  “Oli’s down for the night.” She clipped the leash onto Beckham’s collar and stuffed plastic bags in the pockets of linen pants. “Just taking the dog out one last time before I call it a night myself.”

  “I’ll do it.” Lance lumbered to his feet, work boots hitting the floor with a thump.

  “It’s fine. You probably want to get going.” She added another bag to her pocket. Hey, you never knew how many it would take.

  “Not particularly.” He pried the leash from her hands, and their fingers brushed, a gentle graze that fluttered her heartbeat. “We can walk him together, like when he was a puppy.”

  Carrie wasn’t sure revisiting the early days of their marriage was a good idea considering how raw she felt. She studied Lance’s grip on the nylon lead. His callused hands, the short fingernails, the squareness of his knuckles. She swallowed a half-hearted protest. She didn’t want him to leave. Why pretend otherwise?

  She jerked her head in an awkward nod. “Give me a second to grab the baby monitor. We’ll keep it short, to the corner and back.”

  Lance waited until she reappeared with the monitor in hand. “You think of everything.”

  “I try.” She gave the monitor to Lance, and he tucked it into his back pocket. “This thing’s got a range of two thousand feet, and the stop sign’s about seven hundred feet away, so we’ll be fine.”

  She held the door open. Beckham lunged through, hitting the end of the leash and the bottom of the stoop at the same time.

  “Where does all the energy come from?” Lance hopped down the four front steps. “Didn’t everyone say he’d calm down as he aged?”

  “So they say.” Carrie followed them, hand on the smooth rail she’d recently painted herself because she couldn’t stand to look at the flaking paint for another day. “He’s not always this hyper. Just mostly. Addison probably gave him some treats. You know how that ramps him up.”

  “What’s your secret, buddy?” Lance waited while Beckham sniffed the same plants he sniffed multiple times per day. “How do I feel so much older, but you’re still energetic as a puppy?”

  “Between Oli and this one, I feel a hundred years old some days.” The confession was out before Carrie could edit it. Why not? It had been one long day of confessions, hadn’t it? What was one more?

  Lance held open the front gate for her, winking at her as she passed through. “You don’t look a day over eighty-nine.”

  “Thanks a lot.” She smacked his arm, then waited while Lance untangled the leash from around his leg. It was easy to lose track of Beckham, whirling dervish that he was. Once freed of Lance’s leg tangle, Beckham lunged ahead, straining on the lead enough to show how anxious he was to get going but not so hard that he choked himself.

  “You got a hot date or something?” Lance said to the dog, letting him decide the direction. To the right. Carrie wasn’t surprised. There was a particular crepe myrtle that was especially snifferific. At least Beckham seemed to think so.

  “He’s got a tight schedule.” Carrie lagged behind, enjoying not being the one dragged along for a change. “Places to go, people to smell.”

  Lance chuckled at her lame joke. “Where do you usually go on a night walk? If Oli’s with you, I mean.”

  “This time of night? We usually do a lap through the alley.”

  “You walk through alleys late at night?” Lance tugged on the leash to slow Beckham down, the bulge of bicep keeping the dog in check and riveting Carrie’s attention. “That’s not safe.”

  Carrie’s jaw tightened. Just because he was good at controlling her uncontrollable dog didn’t mean he got to control anything else about her life. They’d agreed to talk things out, not issue dictates to each other. “It’s fine. This is a nice neighborhood.”

  “Bad things still happen in good neighborhoods.” So he was going to talk it out.

  She sighed. “I don’t need you tell me how to be safe. I can take care of myself.”

  Lance clamped his mouth shut, and not one second too soon, as far as Carrie was concerned. She had enough worries on her mind without adding fear of her own alley to the list. There were streetlights. She never took them out this late. Who was he to tell her what was safe or not in her own neighborhood?

  She jumped at Lance’s touch on her arm.

  “I’m sorry.” His hand warmed her skin. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “It’s fine. Though I could get used to this apology thing.” She should pull away. She didn’t. Instead, she compounded the problem by placing her hand over his. “We’ve been on our own a long time. You don’t need to worry about us.” Her fingers danced up his arm like they had a will of their own.

  They’d stopped under a streetlight while Beckham thoroughly inspected the pole, leaving his mark for future dogs to ponder. Lance’s hand tightened on her arm. She took a step closer, those dancing fingers now caressing his shoulder. Her breath staggered in and out of her lungs. What was she doing?

  “Do you want to be alone?” Lance’s question rumbled out of his chest. He used his grip on her arm to draw her closer.

  Carrie tried to be honest with herself. As a single mother, she couldn’t afford delusion. She understood his question, could feel the familiar pull of him, like her very cells couldn’t stand to be separated from him for another moment. She wanted to blame muscle memory, her string of bad dates, that she was ovulating—something besides her own desire to press against Lance’s hard body and kiss him until they were both breathless.

  “Do you?” she countered, not willing to put into words the feelings pounding through her. As much as they’d shared earlier, this wanting made her vulnerable, and that made her hesitate.

  “No,” Lance rasped, placing a hand on her hip to draw her closer, erasing her hesitation with his touch.

  “Me neither.” She closed the last bit of distance on a quick exhale, lifting her face to his.

  She thought he would kiss her then, would pull her in for a kiss as hot and all-consuming as the one in the elevator, the one she’d replayed a hundred tim
es in her mind. He didn’t. Instead, he cupped her head in his hands, his rough thumbs tracing her cheekbones with exquisite tenderness. Slowly, he smiled, right side hitching up that extra millimeter.

  “Hi,” he whispered.

  “Hi,” she whispered back, smiling. She stood on her tiptoes and reached up, lacing her fingers behind his head.

  “I’m going to kiss you.” The smile tipped further to the right.

  “I wish you’d get to it already.”

  Lance’s eyes flashed, hungry and wild. The smile disappeared, and finally, finally, he kissed her. And she kissed him. Her laced fingers pulled his head down. He held her jaw in one hand while the other plowed through her hair. She leaned into him, forgetting they were on the street, illuminated by the streetlight. Forgetting Beckham, engrossed in the scents of the lamppost. Forgetting all the reasons why she and Lance would never work. She kissed him, and he kissed her back, and Carrie hadn’t felt anything this right in a very long time.

  Her legs trembled from standing on tiptoe so long. Keeping her hold on Lance’s head, she pulled him toward her, keeping the kiss going as she lowered her heels. Then she felt something else, something squishy. They both smelled it, and Carrie broke the kiss with a grimace.

  “Let me see.” Lance took a step back and twirled his finger for her to turn.

  She lifted her foot. “Guess Beckham got tired of waiting for us.”

  “In good news, we can head back to your place now. Right?”

  She scraped her shoe on the edge of the sidewalk. “Right.”

  “You are going to invite me in, right?” Lance scooped up the remains of Beckham’s gift with a bag from his own pocket.

  It was such a bad idea. Carrie scraped and scraped. Life with a dog was often messy and kind of gross. Or maybe that was simply life. “Right.”

  Lance smiled. Carrie smiled. Beckham pulled them all the way home.