Randi’s impassioned, bewildered questions aren’t rhetorical. Not this time. She really wants an answer. Wish I had one. I wish I knew exactly what sad, self-loathing impulse makes me keep letting Wade come back and do it Gangnam style all over what he left of my heart. Even worse, there’s this little thing I’ve never told her because she’d murder me to death and call it a mercy killing.
She’d totally get away with it too because she’d be right.
That little thing I’ve never told her? My sad, sick little secret?
Every time he comes back, I hope he’ll stay. It never happens.
It never will.
You know what? Maybe for the first time since I met him, I finally get that’s a good thing.
It only took me a year and a half to wake up and smell the handwriting on the wall, but thanks to Wade overplaying his hand by bringing Doctor Dangly’s main prop back into play, oh-so-sure-of-me Wade may have finally miscalculated.
No doubt in my mind about it now. I know he planted this stupid thing in my closet. I know why, and I know why the stethoscope.
What’s really lit a fire of slighted indignation in the echoing hollows of my empty heart, swiftly building to an enraged inferno? How calculated it all is. How much Wade thinks he knows about me, and yet how little he actually cares, if he thinks coming into contact with this shiny souvenir of our supposed expired love would render me so soppy, sentimental, and suggestible I’d fall into his arms and beg him to stay for the night.
Again.
I hate this thing and everything it represents. I hate even more being reminded of the stupid series of events leading to the Wade-ification of my life. I wasn’t even supposed to be at that stupid Halloween party. But I went and got into the booze. Let Trey talk me into scoffing down one margarita too many. Or was it five? I guess it doesn’t matter now. Anyway, by the time Wade made his entrance, I was already sufficiently lubricated that my inner exhibitionist slipped the leash and came out to play. Impressed by my drunken style and joie de vivre, “The Doctor” invited me to join in his impromptu performance-art piece doing obscene things with a stethoscope.
This stethoscope.
The rest of the evening is still a blur, mostly centering around Wade’s face. Then it was morning, and he was in my bed. Less than a week later, he’d moved his stethoscope and all his other stuff into my space. Where he proceeded to squat for the next year and a half, wreaking utter havoc in my life and my heart.
See, the thing with Wade is, he can be the most charming man in the world—when he wants to be. But he also gets bored. When he does, he moves on.
While that’s hard to take, it wouldn’t be so bad if he’d keep on going.
Not our man Wade. Sometimes he likes to come back and play with his old toys.
Only if his past playthings are stupid enough to let him.
I get that now. I do.
You know what else?
I deserve way better than that. Way better than him.
I really do.
I hate this thing so hard right now. If I could have anything I wanted, I’d wish me on top of a superhigh pointy craggy cliff. A thousand-foot-high precipice would do nicely. Yeah, I know I’m scared of heights, but to have the satisfaction of flinging this thing out into the void and watching it hurtle helplessly to earth only to shatter on the rocks a zillion feet below? I’d climb fucking Mount Everest for some of that action.
In my jammies.
Mwa-ha-ha-ha!
Randi taps me on the arm. “Please tell me you’re not going to see him again.”
Look at that face. I heart her so much. I think she’s mistaken my steely stare at the object of my ire for being too ashamed to admit I’m still hot for Wade’s bullshit. When in truth, what I’m really thinking—if this thing had a neck, I’d be choking it to death.
Squeezing so hard his beady black eyes would pop right out of his head like champagne corks.
I like the sound of that.
I come back from my happy place light-headed with relief and release. All that rage burned me clear, incinerating the wad of Wade’s crap I’ve been clinging to because even his bad something was better than nothing.
At least, that’s what I believed.
Not now. Not anymore.
Since he split me and quit me, my heart has been nothing but shards suspended in a sad goo of hoping Wade would come back to stay. Now I’ve seen what a fool I’ve been, I wouldn’t take him if he showed up at my door wearing nothing but the stethoscope.
I could start again. Could I? Can I? Should I?
“Peter!” Randi pounds me on the shoulder. “Are you listening to me?”
I whack her back. “Yes, you heartless bitch. Hit me again and I’ll key your car.”
“So what are you gonna do?”
I dangle the stethoscope by one of the earpieces. “For starters, I’mma toss this thing into the trash.”
I’d prefer pitching it into a blast furnace, but I don’t see so many in the vicinity.
Randi squeals, clapping excitedly. “You go, boy! That’s what I want to hear. About time!” She lunges over, makes a grab for the scope. “Wait, don’t throw it out—let me have it.”
For reasons I choose not to get into—mostly having to do with where it’s been and what it’s been used for—the idea of Randi touching this thing gives me a major case of the eewwwws.
I snatch it back. “No! What do you want it for?”
“Relax!” She scoffs at me. “I’m not interested in any of your sordid little sex secrets.”
Did I mention how well she knows me? Getting scared now.
“I want to take it back to Wade. In person. So I can tell him to go fuck himself to his face.”
She would too. I will admit the idea appeals to me. But it really should be me, not her.
I’m about to tell her so when the canine factor rears its drooly head.
“Aw shit! Denver’s having a crap. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back!”
Randi doesn’t wait for an answer. She launches herself off the bench and boots it, scrounging in her fanny pack for a poopy bag while she trots.
Damned dog. Convo interruptus. Just when things were getting good.
Denver is halfway across the park, squatting to make his deposit. Randi will never get there before he finishes. Finding his feces in the long grass will take a while. I don’t envy her the job.
Dog ownership—definitely not all glamour. Randi swears up and down she’d rather pick up dog crap than change a diaper, but I wouldn’t know.
My experience of both being limited. Wade didn’t like dogs. Kids either.
You know what? I don’t care what Wade does or doesn’t like.
I don’t care about Wade.
I don’t.
I really don’t. I want to giggle, want to jump up and down and make silly faces. I. Don’t. Care.
Whee.
Free. I’m free. I should do something. Fly a kite, call a cab, write my name in the snow. Except it’s June.
What should I do? What?
“Escuse me, Mister?”
The unexpected sound of a childish voice with a soft lisp beside me nearly stops my heart. Barely suppressing a shriek, I turn, and there’s this little kid on the bench where Randi used to be. A girl-child with waves of curly ginger hair, big green eyes, and a smattering of adorable freckles dotting her chubby cheeks. Five. Maybe. Could be younger, possibly older, I don’t know; I’m winging it here.
Like I said—kid lore, not exactly my area of expertise.
Adorable small child, where did you come from, and why are you sitting on my bench? Where’s your mother?
Ack, out of my element here!
Min-gin gazes up at me innocently, obviously oblivious to the havoc she’s causing in my reality. “Mister, are you a doctor?”
Am I a…. “What?”
Why is she asking me that?
The green eyes blink, the little brow furrows, the teeny rosebud m
outh gathers in the cutest wee moue. Big sigh. “Are you a doctor?” she starts again, eyes fixed and stern with the seriousness of her request. “I need ta know. Haffa find a doctor for my daddy. He tole my gramma he has a broken heart. Can you fix it?”
Omigawd, how cute is that?
“Tina! Tina, how many times do I have to tell you, don’t disappear like that! I’m sorry, is she bothering you?”
A mellow masculine voice like liquid toffee tickles my eardrums. Don’t think I’ve ever heard anything so beautiful. I switch focus from my pint-sized petitioner to the source of the sound, irrationally hoping what I’m about to see will be as good as what I just heard.
For once in my life, I’m not disappointed.
Hell no!
Those golden tones definitely came from that face. Oy. I can see where Little Bit here gets her incredible hair. And those amazingly clear eyes. Dad’s are blue, but there’s no doubt he’s the tree from which this wee bud sprouted.
Then he smiles.
That fluttering sound you hear is my heart taking wing and flying away.
Don’t be so stupid—he’s got a kid, meaning, most likely, if not married, then definitely straight. But probably married. Married and straight. Look at you! Get a grip! You haven’t been free of Wade for five minutes, and you’re falling for the first handsome heterosexual wandering into your field of vision.
Even you can’t be that pathetic, and in case nobody ever told you, when it comes to shares in Loserland, you bought high and sold yourself low.
But he’s so gorgeous, and those eyes! Those deep blue soulful eyes that haven’t let go since we connected glances. Eyes that haven’t stopped checking you out the whole time he picks up his kid without looking at her because he won’t stop looking at you.
What’s up with that?
Interesting behavior for a hypothetical heterosexual. Dare we hope?
His girl-child cradled in the crook of his arm, wee legs dangling and lazily pumping the breeze, the new owner of my heart bathes me with a big, beamy corners-of-the-eyes-crinkling, dimple-in-the-right-cheek-inducing grin. “I’m really sorry. Is she bothering you?”
Urk. That thud you just heard? The sound of my heart shuddering to a stop.
Brain soon to follow.
Now, seriously, how am I supposed to compose a coherent thought after a smile like that? I shake my head, hoping when I open my mouth something will actually come out.
Other than drool. “No. No. No bother. None at all. Nope.”
Gah….
“I’m glad.” My ginger-haired god finally releases me from his electric gaze, switching his focus to his offspring. A semistern cheek raspberry enthusiastically administered pumps a gale of giggles out of the mite. “We had a deal, young lady! Remember? No more wandering off!”
She squirms and giggles again. “I could see you! I dinnit go far. Wanted to talk to the doctor.”
This obviously impresses. His eyes widen, sparking with interest. More smiling. Lord have mercy. “Oh, you’re a doctor?”
Where’s this doctor shit coming from? Wait. Oh no. D’uh! The stethoscope! Seriously? What is it about this thing? A cursed, haunted, possessed voodoo doll would be less trouble right now. Should have chucked it in the can when I had the chance.
Really, vile stethoscope? Not done with me yet? “Oh, I’m not….” I hold up the scope and shrug. “’Fraid not. This isn’t mine. I’m not a doctor.”
I only played one once or twice a week. When it was his turn to be on the receiving end.
Because her wee face is right next to her dad’s, I can’t help seeing the effect the denial of my formerly assumed MD status has on Tina.
Full-on tragedy epic enough to bring a serial killer to tears. If I’d told her the Easter bunny, the tooth fairy, and Santa Claus didn’t exist, I might have rocked her wee world down to the ground more totally, but not by much.
I’m shocked by how much it hurts to see I’ve hurt her. I’ve barely met this kid, and already her happiness means almost as much to me as life itself.
Which is saying something for someone as enamored with drama as moi.
The gorgeous dad of the wee wounded princess seems unaware of her distress. He gives her a little bounce. “What do you need to see a doctor for, honey?”
Kids under ten must be telepathic. That’s the only explanation for how I suddenly know if I cover for her right now, she’ll be my friend for life.
Done and done, kid. “Stethoscope.” I tap the chest piece with my index finger. “She wanted to see it.”
His right eyebrow twitches and his lip quirks like he’s dampening down a smile. “Did she now? How interesting.”
Um… not the reaction I was expecting. I’m missing something. “Like I said, I’m not a doctor. But I can see how she might think so. Because of the….”
“Stethoscope.” He nods sagely. “Not something you usually see in a dog park.”
I can’t shake the feeling that was a punch line. Wish he would let me in on the joke.
“Yeah, I know. It’s not like I carry it around all the time or anything. This is a one-shot deal. I was on my way to return it to a fiend—I mean friend.”
That was one hell of a Freudian slip!
Tina has gone quiet in her father’s arms. Big green eyes in a solemn, round, freckle-studded face silently study me. Her dad is likewise absorbed in giving me the visual once-over. “Sounds like there’s a story there. Not that it’s any of my business.”
Do you want it to be?
Omigawd, omigawd, Peter, Peter, Peter, slow down! Are you out of what’s left of your mind? What are you thinking? It hasn’t even been five minutes since you packed your emotional baggage and moved out of Wadetown, and here you are swooning over the first pretty face that’s crossed your path.
Boy, is it a pretty face!
Snap out of it! This is too nuts! And yet….
Is it sheer insanity to succumb to an instant attraction mere minutes after a declaration of romantic independence, or is the heart-racing, mouth-drying, light-headed feeling I get when this amazing stranger looks at me—and I look at him—merely a rebound thing?
Or possibly I’m running a fever.
Then there’s Tina’s cryptic comment to consider. As in, I’m not the only one with cardiac issues. If a five-year-old is to be believed.
He has heart problems too. Not sure how that works. If we’re both damaged goods, then who does the mending?
Sounds like a job for a heart specialist. Wish I knew one.
I don’t know what to do. You know, this is one of those times when having the heavens open up and the big descending divine finger with the neon flashing YES, THIS IS THE ONE sign aimed him-ward would be helpful!
Too much to ask?
“Littmann Lightweight II SE.”
“What?”
He chuckles. “The stethoscope. It’s a Littmann. One of their lower-end models. Serves the purpose, but no bells and whistles.”
Lower-end model. That sums up Wade, all right.
I gotta look. Shut up. He’s right. “How did you know that?”
I think I’m about to get let in on the joke. “I’ve seen one or two in my day. So has Missy here. I’m a sales rep for a medical supply company.”
Wow. What are the odds? Explains why he didn’t exactly buy what I was selling earlier. Guess Missy—I mean Tina—and I are busted.
Funny, he doesn’t seem to mind that practically my first words to him were a little white lie. I guess it all depends on the context. Not to mention the underlying intention.
“This friend. The one with lousy taste in stethoscopes. A good one?”
Friend? Oh, oh, he means…. “Once upon a time. Not so much now.”
Not imagining things. That answer made him happy. I still can’t get over how crazy this is.
And it is crazy. But the deeper in I get, the less I care.
One little sign I haven’t lost my mind. Pretty please with ginger on top?
I shake my head so vigorously I’m surprised it doesn’t go spinning off across the park. “No. I mean, yes. I mean, she’s a friend. Not the one I was giving this back too. Him I don’t plan on seeing again. That’s Randi. But she’s not—we’re not….”
No need to finish the sentence. I watched his eyes when I pulled the pin on the pronoun.
A bird singing, a butterfly landing on his shoulder—anything, I’ll take anything. All I ask is one teeny tiny….
“Valentine.”
“What?”
He stretches out his hand, inviting me to take him. It. “I’m Mark Valentine, by the way.”
Thank you, God.
Mark moves his hand closer, rotating it slightly. Palm up, like an invitation to touch.
I take it.
When our palms connect, it’s almost electric. His fingers wrap around my hand, holding it tightly, firmly, all too briefly, before the release.
I can’t talk right away, but he doesn’t seem to mind waiting.
“Peter. My name is Peter. Peter Walker.”
That’s right, isn’t it?
God, I hope so.
“Pleased to meet you, Peter. I can’t tell you how pleased.”
Our eyes lock once more; I can feel the heat from here. As well as every brain cell I possess suddenly liquefying and pooling out my ears.
“Daddy, look!” Tina the Terrific squeals with pure infant delight. “Bailey peed on Peter! Bad Bailey!”
I’m aware of a solid pressure against my ankles and glance down to meet the brown, limpid gaze of a totally adorable beagle with its butt parked on my high-tops. Those innocent, soulful eyes are so screaming “who, me?”
Awwwww! Da puppeh peed on my shoe! How cute is that?
The abject horror on Mark’s face is almost as adorable. “Oh my God, I can’t believe he just did that. I’m so sorry. He’s only a baby. I’m still teaching him manners, but when he gets excited, he loses it and piddles all over everything.”
Mark bites his lower lip. I so want to cross that small space between us and give him something else to chew on.
Mark’s slow spreading smile lights up my world. “Bailey must really like you.”
Slight pause. Something’s gonna happen. Something really good.
Grand Adventures Page 13
