A Place to Stand

by Meg Farrell

  “Fill this out for me, baby, while I get this darn computer going so I can key them in for you. You’ll be back to Rhae, er, what is your maiden name?”

  “Peters.”

  “Well, you’ll be Rhae Peters again by this afternoon.”

  We work in silence while I ponder her kindness. It occurs to me that Ms. Jimmie is the only person, other than my family, that I feel comfortable with. She isn’t fake and doesn’t ask how I’m feeling.

  “Ms. Jimmie?”

  “You done with that form, hon?”

  “Nearly, but I wanted to ask you a question. How do you know?”

  She’s diligent, studying her computer screen for the next place she needs to click, and asks, “Know what?”

  “You don’t act overly sympathetic. You don’t push me to talk about...things.”

  Ms. Jimmie moves around her screen to look at me. “Oh. Well. Most people don’t know I lost my husband a couple years ago. It was before I started working here. We had been married for nearly thirty years. I know that you aren’t doing okay. Why ask that? It never made sense to me. Being a widow is not easy.” She smiles knowingly. “Going on after they’re gone and all. I know you have to get back to your normal life eventually. People think you need to be sitting around at home to properly grieve your husband, but I’m here to tell you I think you are right to pull your bootstraps up and get back to living,” she finishes with a wink.

  I am staring at a sixty-year-old me. This lady is kind and tough as nails. I love her. I stand up and nod to her. “Thank you. For everything. For understanding how to help me without smothering me.” I hand her my completed forms and return to my desk. It feels like a change in the winds. I am going back to my maiden name. I am going to live on my own. It’s okay to miss Ryan or even be angry with him for the affair with Melody. But I am going on living. That’s what I’m going to do—living and shit. I laugh to myself and catch the attention of the admin on this floor. She looks at me over her glasses. Judgy, judgy. I try to stifle my laugh, making it worse.

  I start calling my clients to set up meetings for this week. Surprise, surprise: they are all happy working with the other designers and don’t need to meet with me. Well, shit. If I felt unnecessary this morning, now I feel downright useless. Completely. The day wraps up faster than I thought possible. Before I realize what time it is, people are breezing by my desk asking things like, “Working late, huh?” or “Still catching up?” I look at the clock and it’s at least an hour past my normal quitting time.

  Then I hear the sweetest sound ever. “Hey, sista! You ready to go yet? We’re taking you for a drink.”

  Looking up from my screen, I smile widely, looking at the three best friends I ever made at work. Alana, Lucy, and Jules are all smiling back at me and waiting for a response. “Ladies, I am so happy to see you! I know we didn’t get to hang out today, but I need to take a raincheck. I have been drinking way too much lately.”

  “Fair enough, we’ll take you to dinner.” Lucy says, without missing a beat. She’s nodding as she says it, subconsciously willing me to accept any kind of offer.

  “Dinner. Just dinner?” I ask in clarification.

  “Just dinner. We will totally behave.” Jules confirms.

  “Well, then, where are we going?”

  An excited Alana declares, “Beale Street!”

  “How about we steer clear of environments that encourage my terrible drinking habits? Let’s go to the Arcade.”

  They all agree. I shut down my computer and grab my purse. We all drive since we will be going separate ways at the end of dinner. About twenty minutes later, we are seated in the back room ordering our drinks and settling in to look at the menu.

  “I’m not going to ask how you are, but I am going to hug you. I love you, my Rhae Rhae,” Alana says as she reaches around the corner of the table to hug me. I have to swallow hard to choke down tears. Why are hugs doing this to me today? These are my girls, the Shady Ladies. We talk about everything. Usually we go out every Friday for lunch and dish about dirty thoughts, desires, or what’s going on with our lives. Sometimes we drool over book boyfriends. Why is a simple hug pushing me over the edge? I really have to get over this. Emotions are for the birds. Like me, useless.

  “You do know she doesn’t like emotions or being touched, right?” Jules asks Alana.

  “I know. But I need her to know I love her.” Alana replies as she pets my hair. Such a sweet girl.

  I see Lucy reach out and rub Jules’s arm. “It’s okay. It’s us. She knows we need to hug on her.”

  Before I know it, each one has taken a turn at coming around to hug me. The love these ladies have for me is almost overwhelming. It occurs to me that I have so many great people in my life that care about me deeply. After everyone has a turn at me, I smile and open the door for what I know they need, the goodies. “So, I know you want to ask, and I have to learn to talk about this stuff. Fire away.”

  Jules goes first. “We heard the rumors of how Ryan died. Tell us what really happened.”

  I didn’t expect that to be the first question, but that’s Jules. I take a deep breath and launch into the story of our last day together. Alana watches me with tears in her eyes as I talk about our making love that morning. Lucy shifts uncomfortably as my story approaches the visit from the police at Liz’s house. Jules looks like she is committing every detail to memory. I get to the bits about the funeral, what I can remember anyway. It’s funny, when I told them a coworker I hadn’t expected showed up and that was the breaking straw, they all knew who it was.

  “Dragon Lady showed up? You have got to be shitting me.” Alana is clearly offended by the audacity of that crazy heifer.

  Lucy shakes her head. “Ugh, nosey bitch loves it when people are sick or dying. That must have been right before we got there. We didn’t see you, but we signed the book. So sorry she pulled that, babe.”

  “Thank you,” I reach over and squeeze her hand. “I’m good. My sisters and dad were there to block it out. Plus, it was a great opportunity for them to get me home.” I went on telling how I had spent most of my time off at Jess’s house with Connor and Jillian. Then I explained how I had already done the pack and donate routine on Ryan’s stuff. Finally, I was up to the hardest part of the conversation. The affair. “So that brings me up to yesterday. I was at home in my pajamas, drinking coffee, and making a list of what I needed to do for coming back to work. That’s when she showed up. Ryan’s pregnant mistress.”

  The girls break out in a chorus of, “What? What the fuck? His what? Back the train up.” I half expected a spit-take on that one. Maybe hoped for one anyway. I never say anything funny or shocking enough to get a spit-take. Note to self: work on that. Taking another drank of tea. I nod. We are interrupted by the server, so we can place our orders. I get my favorite, the Eggs Redneck with deep fried hash browns. Thinking they’ll let that story slide, I start asking how they are. The girls will not be denied. They stare at me, expectantly.

  “Fine. Fine. I’ll tell you the story.” When I finish telling them about my impromptu morning discussion with pregnant, college student, two-job working, cheating Melody, I was staring at the three most appalled faces I have ever seen. The silence is deafening.

  Jokingly, I add, “What? Not all dead husbands have an affair hiding on the side?”

  Alana sniffles like she’s crying. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m okay.”

  Jules, as practical as I am, asks, “So what are you going to do about her?”

  “Do? There’s nothing to do. I don’t owe her anything. Ryan died. She’s on her own. I hope her family helps her, but there’s nothing for me to do.”

  “Exactly. You don’t owe her shit. Why would she even come over to tell you something like that?” Lucy says.

  “I have no idea. I drank a lot last night trying to get through telling my sisters. I think Red was about to go find her and kick her ass until I told her to leave
that girl alone. She’s made a mess that she has to live with.”

  Being done with this whole pity party, I deflect, “All right, catch me up. What’s going on with you guys?” They take the hint and spin tales about everything I’ve missed. I’m actually starting to feel jealous. I mean, when I’m at work, nothing happens. I miss a few weeks and I miss everything. What’s up with that? Alana reaches over and pats my knee when she notices I’m not connected to the group conversation. I am in and out of the moment, and can’t pay much attention, but I do my best.

  Our server eventually brings the food. We eat and talk. It is an obscene amount of food. We part a while later and after some more very necessary hugs, I drive home without even turning on the radio. I simply think over the stories shared and how blessed I feel to have these people in my life.

  It’s nearly dark when I get home, and I can’t help thinking how happy I’ll be when I get to enjoy more nighttime. I change into a tank top and shorts and start the laundry. I watch Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune, then it occurs to me that this sucks. I should be out with my friends or something. I should be doing something. If Ryan was here, we would have found something interesting to do like going to hear a band or visiting with friends. I could always go see Jess, but I don’t want her to worry. Maybe I could re-read another book, but the thought isn’t exciting to me. I need to get out of this house. When I was at work, things were still on my mind, but being in this house, everything seems to pile up on my shoulders. The burden is heavy. Ryan is everywhere. His betrayal is everywhere.

  I decide to go for a walk. I can walk and think. Strapping on my under-used sneakers, I try to decide which way I’ll go. I don’t have a destination. I don’t know how far or long I plan to walk, but I feel like moving.

  Starting at a leisurely pace, I head south on our little road. In just a short distance, I’m power-walking. That’s right, power-walking like the little old ladies at the mall. Before I can get through a mental repeat of my conversation with Melody, I reach the massive oak tree at the intersection. I guess that’s about one mile from the house. Estimating distance has never been a strong suit for me. I usually over-estimate, and I haven’t gone as far as I think. If this becomes some kind of habit, I’ll need to get one of those fancy fitness apps on my phone. You know, the ones that track distance, calories, blood pressure, farts, gas levels...whatever they track. Looking around, I decide one mile, give or take, isn’t enough. Definitely not enough yet. I decide to keep going.

  It must be the chemicals in my brain doing their thing because I decide to start running. My legs stretch to their full length for the first time in ages. It occurs to me that I shouldn’t go too hard—I’m not wearing a sports bra. Yet I can’t shake the feeling of how good it feels. Running away from Ryan and Melody, but toward the unknown. Exhausting my body physically. Maybe this will help the emotional fatigue I’m drowning in.

  I run about mile and a half. The burn in my legs is crazy. My lungs hurt, and my throat is raw from taking in huge gulps of air. I stop abruptly and bend over, putting my hands on my knees to catch my breath. I have sweat running down my face and I’m nauseated. Still bent over, I start taking even larger gulps of air. In through my mouth, out through my nose.

  “Hey.” I hear a distinctly masculine voice interrupt my recovery. Being that it is after dark now, and being alone, I am not too enthused to hear it. Great, this is where it ends.

  “Hello.” I say coldly between gasps. Squinting into the dark in the direction of the voice, trying to see a face or something. My vision picks up a body stepping away from the cover of a porch. A tall body.

  “It’s a little late to go for a run, don’t you think.” Seriously? This guy is probably a rapist or murderer.

  My breathing is still heavy as I stand up straight and put my hands on my hips. “I guess.” Gasp. “Sorry I disturbed you.” Gasp. “Think you might step into the light a little bit, creeper?” Gasp.

  He lets out a hearty laugh. “Sure thing.” He slowly steps into the light. I guess being told he was acting creepy made him more cautious as not to scare me. Jesus, he is easy on the eyes. I must be about to die. The exertion and lack of oxygen is taking a toll on my mental and visual acuity. He has to be a mirage.

  I can’t tell if he has dark brown hair or black hair, but I can tell it is clean cut. He is just so tall. I suddenly feel a chill run over my body. He’s wearing jeans and a white, sleeveless T-shirt. A wife beater? Lord, help. Definitely a pre-death mirage.

  “I’m not sure I’ve seen you before,” I state dumbly.

  “I’m visiting some family.” He turns and points to the house. I start to recognize where I am. Ah, I know this house. An elderly couple Ryan used to help out lives here. Wondering if helping the elderly was his cover story for seeing Melody, I groan at the thought.

  “Nice of you, I suppose.”

  “As I was saying, little late for a run. You aren’t running away from something are you? Someone, maybe?” He starts looking around as if he expects my pursuer to come into view at any moment.

  “No. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” I am an idiot. I can’t even talk to a guy anymore.

  He laughs again. “Okay. How about we start with names? I’m Cade, Cade Miles. And you are?”

  “Rhae Wells…er…Peters.”

  “I’m sorry. Was it Wells or Peters?”

  “Don’t be. I recently went back to my maiden name, Peters. My married name was Wells. I haven’t settled back into my own name yet.”

  He looks confused. “So, you’re divorced?”

  I sigh. I really shouldn’t be talking to a complete stranger in the middle of the road in the dark. He might be a freaking criminal. Here I am giving him enough information to hunt me down. Still, it is refreshing to talk to someone who has no idea what I’ve been going through.

  “No offense, but you could be a serial killer,” I blurt out. I roll my eyes to myself. He can’t see them anyway. “Not that I think you are; I just don’t know you. So, I’m pretty sure I’m messing up by telling you so much about me.”

  He laughs again a little harder. It is a great laugh, too. “No, I understand. You really don’t have a reason to talk to me. I saw a young woman running down a country road, by herself, at night, and thought I should be chivalrous and see if she needs help. I can see that you don’t. You seem pretty tough. Would you like a drink of water? You must be thirsty running in this heat.”

  I start to go near him, and then stop myself. What am I doing? Hello! Serial killer potential. “That’s probably not a…”

  “You’re right. Serial killer.” He indicates himself and nods. “How about you come into the yard and wait here? I’ll go get you a glass. I’ll try to remember to leave out the date rape drugs, so you know I’m not a rapist too.”

  Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Smart ass,” I grumble, and he laughs again.

  I slowly walk into the yard and lean against the tree. When I’m good and settled, he turns to go in the house. A moment later, the front porch lights come on. Definitely a home for elderly people. They have enough lights to signal airplanes. Shielding my eyes, I try to keep a watch for his return. Soon enough, he nearly runs down the stairs, a glass in each hand.

  “Thought it might be less creepy if I turned on the lights.” He flashes the brightest smile I have seen in a long time. No sympathy behind those pearly whites. “You are thirsty, right?” What? Of course... oh. I had zoned in on his devilish good looks and didn’t notice him holding the glass of water out to me. I mean, those huge dark brown eyes. I didn’t get to see them before in the darkness by the tree. My breath hitches.

  “Sorry. Distracted. Thank you.” It’s true. I take the glass, and then a small sip. Lemon. He put lemon in my water. Just right, too. “Thanks. That’s tasty. I don’t know many people who like lemon in their water. I appreciate the thought.”

  “No problem. So, do you frequently walk or run after dark? It is awfully hot out here.”

  “I, uh, no
, I don’t. I didn’t want to sit in my house, alone, anymore.” I exaggerate the alone part.

  “Well, do you want to sit on the swing, or do you still think I might kill you?”

  “We can sit on the swing. Keep your rapey hands to yourself.” The corners of my mouth turned into a sly smile as I look sideways at him.

  He throws his hands up in mock offense and follows me up the porch steps. We sit on the swing and start a nice, patient rhythm of swinging. Not enough to disrupt my glass, but just enough to get a small breeze going around us. He’s doing a good job with the swing, so I pull my legs up and under my rear-end, cradling the glass between my legs.

  “So, divorced, huh?” Oh, we’re going to have a conversation. I hoped he would skip over it. No one is giving into my childish desires to skip topics today.

  “No. I’m, uh, widowed.” That’s the first time I had said it out loud to someone who didn’t know. It hurts, but not as bad as it did at first. I always thought that was the worst title for someone to have. Now it’s who I am.

  Cade blinks in surprise. “Wow. I didn’t mean to assume divorce. How long?”

  Looking up from the glass between my legs to meet his eyes, I take a deep, shaky breath. “Recent. A couple months ago.” I keep staring into his eyes, expecting the pity or sympathy so many have given me lately. There isn’t any there.

  “How long were you married?”

  “Five years this past January.”

  “How old are you?” His tone is incredulous.

  I laugh. “I know I got married young. I’m only twenty-five.”

  He smiles at me like a devil. “So…shotgun, huh?” He’s confident that he has me figured out.

  I frown. “What? No. We started dating when I was seventeen. We dated for a few years and got married because, well, because that’s what you do. And don’t waggle your eyebrows at me like that.”

  “Sorry.” Devil grin. “I don’t know about that. What was his name?”

  “Don’t know about what?”