A Curve in the Road

by Julianne MacLean

  He smiles knowingly. “Absolutely.”

  Another couple with two smaller dogs pass by us and say hello, and then Winston lies down and rolls onto his back for a belly rub. The girls giggle and stroke him adoringly.

  “How’s work going?” Nathan asks me.

  I realize how long it’s been since we last spoke. There have been so many changes. “I’m working at a family practice now. I’ve been taking a lot of sleep disorder cases, which is new territory for me, so I’m learning a lot.”

  “I can imagine. How do you like it?”

  “I love it. Much better hours than surgery at the hospital. And I’ve been doing some research as well. I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

  “I’d like that.”

  The girls rise to their feet, and so does Winston. They all seem eager to get moving.

  “Winston and I should probably mosey along,” I say, looking up at the twilight sky splashed with colorful bands of pink and blue.

  “We should get a move on too,” Nathan replies.

  Dorothy and the girls start off, leading him away. I start walking in the opposite direction, feeling pleased to have seen him, but at the same time regretting the fact that we didn’t have more time to chat, because there’s so much to catch up on and I really loved rekindling our conversation. My heart sinks a little.

  Then Nathan calls my name. There’s a pleasant rush of heat in my belly. I stop and turn.

  He hands the leash to Jen and approaches me. “Abbie. This feels weird and awkward . . . seeing you like this. I’d really like to catch up some more. No pressure, and feel free to say no, but would you like to have dinner with me while you’re in town?”

  I’m surprised and flattered by his invitation, and I’m glad that I took Winston for a walk this evening. “I’d love to.”

  “Great.” His eyes light up. “When would be good for you?”

  “Well . . .” I pause and think about it. “Zack’s not coming until Saturday. How about tomorrow night?”

  “Tomorrow’s great. I can pick you up at seven, if that works?”

  “I’ll be ready. Do you remember where my mom lives?”

  “Of course. I remember everything.” He turns to go. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  “Okay. I’ll look forward to it.”

  As I continue along the boardwalk with Winston, I can’t stop smiling. Winston looks up at me happily.

  “Oh, stop grinning,” I say with a smirk. “It’s just dinner.”

  He starts to trot with purpose and exuberance, and I am keen to pick up the pace as well.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  I’m not sure where Nathan will take me for dinner, but I decide to gussy up a bit, just in case it’s somewhere nice. As it turns out, I’m glad I wore heels, because he takes me to my favorite restaurant on the south shore, which overlooks the yacht club in the village of Chester.

  By the time we’re seated, I’ve told him all about my involvement with the narcolepsy organization and how I’ve been accepting speaking engagements all over the world.

  “That’s fantastic,” he says with genuine admiration as he sits back in his chair across from me. “It sounds like you’ve found your true calling.”

  “I know, right? That’s exactly how I feel about it.”

  I pick up my sparkling water and take a sip. Then our waiter brings our appetizers, and we admire the presentation before we dig in.

  Conversation with Nathan is easy. It flows because there’s lots to talk about, whether it’s our dogs, our careers, or the challenges of being single parents. And there have been so many extraordinary changes in both of our lives since we last saw each other—like my work and Zack going off to college. As for Nathan, his daughters are entering a new preteen phase, and every day brings new challenges for him as a dad.

  We finish our appetizers and sit back again.

  “How are you, on a personal level?” Nathan asks tentatively as the waiter clears away our plates.

  I know what he’s referring to—the fact that it’s been almost a year since I lost Alan, and the last time Nathan and I texted each other, I’d admitted to being an emotional disaster.

  “Well, you were right about one thing,” I say. “It has gotten easier with time. But there are still days when I struggle.”

  “There probably always will be. You and Alan were together for a long time.”

  I nod my head. “And I suspect it’ll always be hard not to feel hurt by the cheating. But I want to look forward now, not back. I still have the rest of my life ahead of me.”

  Nathan raises his glass. “To the future.”

  We clink and sip. Then he carefully asks me another question. “What about Zack? Did you ever tell him what really happened?”

  I shake my head. “No. I just couldn’t do that to him. I didn’t see what good could come of it.”

  Looking back on it, I’m surprised that I’ve managed to successfully shoulder the burden alone for so long, when there was a time I wasn’t sure if I could or if I was doing the right thing by keeping the truth from him.

  Wasn’t that what Alan tried to do with me? Hide the truth to protect my feelings? Was there some form of humanity in that? Or did he just not want to get caught?

  The waiter brings our main courses, and Nathan and I lean forward to pick up our forks.

  “Thanksgiving dinner on Sunday is going to be different,” I say. “This time last year, I was living in a bubble of naivety. It’s going to be very quiet with just Zack, Mom, and me.”

  “You’d be welcome to come and join us for dinner, if you like,” Nathan replies. “My mom would love to meet all of you, I’m sure.”

  I smile at him. “Thanks, but I think we need to get through this first Thanksgiving on our own.”

  And I’m still not ready to introduce a new man into Zack’s life. Not officially. And this is only our first date.

  Suddenly I feel a need to change the subject. I don’t want to talk about my marriage anymore, and I’m sure Nathan doesn’t either.

  “How about you?” I ask. “What else is new in your life? Your girls are adorable, by the way.”

  He grins and tells me about their latest achievements and shenanigans. Then we discuss what it’s like to have parents who are growing older. We talk about all sorts of other things too, and time flies by. Suddenly the restaurant is closing. We’re the last guests to leave.

  Later, when Nathan drives me home, he gets out and walks me to the front door, which I find very gallant.

  “I had a nice time,” he says as we stand under the bright porch light.

  A brief moment of awkwardness ensues, because I’m not sure if he intends to kiss me good night. I suspect he wants to. It’s obvious there’s still an attraction between us.

  Yet, I’m nervous about what it might mean if we kiss, because I have a feeling there would be no turning back after that. He’s an amazing man, and I admit . . . I’m a bit infatuated.

  Still . . . I’m not sure I’m ready, and I want very much to be ready. I want to be 100 percent prepared to dash out of the gate full speed ahead when the moment presents itself.

  “I had a nice time too,” I reply.

  Nathan studies my expression. “I’m not sure if it’s too soon, but I’d love to see you again while you’re in town. Maybe we could go to a movie or walk our dogs or something. No pressure, though. I don’t want to rush you.”

  He’s reading my mind . . .

  “I’d like that,” I reply.

  “Great.”

  There’s another awkward pause, and then he leans closer and kisses me softly on the cheek—a slow, lingering kiss that sends a wave of heat into my core.

  All along, my feelings for Nathan have been an exercise in denial, but now, standing before him under my mother’s porch light with the sensation of his kiss still warm on my cheek, I feel the enormity of my desires and realize there can be no more denying it. I want this man, overwhelmingly.

  �
��Good night, Abbie,” Nathan says with a flirtatious glimmer in his eye.

  As he walks down the steps, I feel bowled over by how unbelievably attractive he is—that fit, athletic build and confident swagger as he walks.

  He stops at the bottom of my mother’s stairs, looks up at me again, and smiles. My body melts, but somehow I manage to stay on my feet.

  He inclines his head curiously. “Any chance you might want to join me and the girls tomorrow night to walk the dogs?” He explains himself further. “Life is short. Like I said, I don’t want to rush you, but I also don’t like to waste time.”

  “Neither do I,” I reply with a laugh, and I feel a deep and soulful understanding between us. We both know what it means to love and lose someone but to somehow find the strength to keep on living. “Text me when you’re heading out?”

  “I will.”

  With that, he gets into his car and drives off.

  I go inside the house to find my mother on the sofa, acting nonchalant, waiting to hear everything. It’s kind of like being in high school again, and I revel in the afterglow of my first date in over twenty years.

  I kick off my shoes, sit down beside her, and tell her about my evening.

  “He really does seem like a wonderful man,” Mom says. “And he’s not hard on the eyes either.”

  I laugh, and we watch TV in silence for a few minutes. Then I turn to her again.

  “Mom, why didn’t you ever remarry after Dad died? Did you ever think about it?”

  She considers my question with a sigh. “Oh, looking back on it, I think I probably worshipped your father too much. I figured that I’d already had the best. Anything else would have been a disappointment.” She waves a hand through the air. “And I was far too romantic about my grief as a widow. I thought it would be disloyal if I was ever with someone else—like I was cheating on your father, because I’d vowed to love him forever.” She turns her gaze back to the TV. “I still do love him, but I’ve been alone for more than twenty years, and sometimes I regret that I didn’t find someone to spend the rest of my life with. It would have been nice to have a partner and go traveling. I always wanted to see Venice. I might have, if I’d had someone.”

  “I’ll go to Venice with you,” I tell her. “Just say the word, and we’re there.”

  She turns to me and smiles. “That’s good to know. I’ll file that offer away.”

  We gaze back at the TV again. “Rome would be pretty amazing too,” I mention.

  “For sure.”

  “Let’s think about it.”

  “Okay,” she replies. “We’ll do that.”

  Over the next few days, I spend time with Nathan, his girls, and the dogs. On Thursday evening, he invites me to watch Jen’s basketball game at the junior high school, and then we all go out for supper. The weather is crisp and sunny on Friday, so we take the dogs for another walk along the nature trails at the Ovens Natural Park, where we gaze in awe at the breathtaking sea caves in the cliffs.

  All the while, I feel comfortable around Nathan, and my physical attraction to him grows more intense with each passing hour. As we stand at the rail, peering into Cannon Cave and listening to the tremendous boom of the waves as they explode onto the rocks inside the cavern, I find myself imagining what it would feel like to kiss Nathan again—to really kiss him, and not just on the cheek. I’m dying to find out, and I’m surprised that I’m not more fearful of those emotions. Maybe I’m closer to being ready than I think I am.

  I suppose my understanding that life can end in the blink of an eye and should therefore be lived to the fullest trumps my fears.

  When Zack flies home from Ontario, I drive to the airport to meet him, and the moment I see him coming down the escalator with his backpack slung over one shoulder, looking grown-up and happy, I feel a motherly pride that overtakes me. He smiles, and we come together for the best hug of my life. We embrace and rock back and forth with love for the longest time. There are still tears in my eyes as we leave the airport and get into the car.

  He fills me in on residence life and his classes, and I’m thrilled to hear how much he’s enjoying his education at Western.

  “You made the right choice,” I say, reaching across the console to squeeze his hand. “I’m so happy for you.”

  When we arrive at my mother’s place, he gets another bear hug from her, and then the food comes out. Mom offers him a chicken sandwich and cookies and anything else his heart desires.

  “It feels good to be home,” he says to me with a smile from across the kitchen table as he devours a coconut macaroon.

  I reach for his hand again. “It’s good to have you here.”

  Winston trots over to rest his chin on Zack’s lap, and Zack feeds him the last bite of his cookie.

  Thanksgiving dinner is not quite as joyful as the first day of our reunion. It’s difficult with only the three of us—Zack, Mom, and me. The house feels quiet and somber compared to other years when Alan carved the turkey at the head of the table and made us laugh when the juices splattered all over the tablecloth.

  Today, I find myself thinking about all our family traditions, the good times when Zack was small, and I miss the laughter. I know Zack is having similar thoughts as we eat dinner and struggle to talk about things that don’t remind us of what used to be.

  After dinner, he seeks me out in the kitchen, where I’m loading the dishwasher. “Mom, do you think we could go to the cemetery today?”

  My stomach clenches. I turn to face him, but I can’t seem to find words because I don’t want to go to the cemetery. Not today. I’ve had such a good week, finally feeling as if I’m moving on.

  Besides that, I’m not sure how easy it will be to pay my respects at Alan’s grave, to show reverence when I haven’t yet been able to forgive him and I’m not sure I ever will. I’ve kept up the pretense all year, but I’m running out of energy in that area. I’m afraid I’m just not that good of an actress and one of these days I’ll accidentally let down my guard and Zack will see through me.

  Zack frowns. “Come on, Mom. It’s Thanksgiving. I think we should lay some flowers or something.”

  I turn away, close the dishwasher door, and press the start button. “That’s a wonderful idea,” I say, with my back to him. “We can snip some hydrangeas from the backyard.”

  “I’ll get my jacket,” Zack replies.

  As soon as he’s gone from the kitchen, I take a deep breath and hold it for a few seconds, steeling myself, because this has to happen. I need to go to the cemetery and grieve for my late husband. For my son’s sake, if not for mine.

  Twenty minutes later, Zack and I are standing at Alan’s grave, looking down at the headstone in silence. Zack lays the white flowers on top and steps back.

  “Mom,” he says without looking at me. “I know you’re mad at him.”

  The lining of my stomach feels like it might catch fire.

  He turns to me. “You’re trying to hide it from me, but I can see it, and I get it. It’s Dad’s fault you had the accident, and that’s why you have sleep issues now, and it’s why you had to give up being a surgeon. I’m mad at him too, but he never meant for any of that to happen. I mean . . . you have to give him a break, Mom. I agree that he was an idiot for getting behind the wheel that night, for sure, but he just found out he had cancer. He wasn’t thinking clearly.”

  I shake my head. “He was more than an idiot, Zack.” I’m half tempted to let it all come spilling out, but I bite my tongue and do what I always do—gloss over the real truth. “He drove drunk. He broke the law. There’s never any excuse for that. I’ll probably always be angry about what he did. Besides, even without that, it’s complicated.”

  Stop, Abbie. Don’t say anything more.

  “No, it’s not. You loved each other, but now it seems like you’re forgetting all the good times we had. You never want to talk about him.”

  It’s true. I haven’t wanted to talk about Alan lately. Not with Zack.

 
; He stares down at the gravestone. “Despite what happened, I’m glad that he was my dad, and I’ll never stop loving him, no matter what he did.”

  I feel a bit sick because I’m not sure what to say. Part of me wants to grasp this opening, to confide in my son once and for all so that I won’t feel like a pressure cooker anymore. But that would be selfish, wouldn’t it? I don’t want to spoil all those happy memories that are such a comfort to Zack just to let off my own steam. He’s so sure of himself and his feelings right now. I don’t want to destroy that.

  “You guys were the best parents ever,” he continues, “and I’m so lucky, because a lot of my friends never had what we had. Their parents hated each other, and they fought all the time, or they got divorced. At least we had a happy home.” Zack pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know he wasn’t perfect, Mom. He made a really bad mistake. But he loved us.”

  I stare down at the gravestone and think of Alan in his coffin under the ground, and I have to admit to myself that Zack is right, in some ways. Alan may have been cheating on me, and he committed a terrible crime by driving under the influence, but he did love us. If he didn’t, he would have left me for Paula a long time ago, or he wouldn’t have tried to end it with her when he found out he was dying.

  For the first time in almost a year, my anger over Alan’s infidelity isn’t at the top of my mind, maybe because Alan has already suffered the worst possible punishment. He’s dead now. He’s six feet under. He’ll never see his son graduate from university or get married, and he’ll never hold his future grandchildren. He’ll never again enjoy the fragrance of fresh spring rain or a full-bodied wine or the delicious aroma of coffee in the morning. He’ll never see another sunrise.

  Alan knew he was dying. I wonder if he wished he could have just one more day to make everything right when they pulled him out of the wreck. Would he have confessed his affair to me after finally putting an end to it? Or was he traveling to Lunenburg that night to be with the woman he truly wanted? Was the guilt too much to bear?

  I’ll never know, and that’s what has been ripping at my insides since the day I found out about his affair.