Four Letter Word

by J. Daniels

  I lowered my eyes until she gave my leg a squeeze again, prompting me to lift them and look into hers. She waited for this, then spoke with a softer tone.

  “Promise me, Sydney, right now, that you will not go back to that man unless you want to stay married to him. Do what your heart tells you to do. It’s the only voice that should matter.”

  I smiled a little, then felt the need to point out a fault in her theory.

  “My heart told me to marry him six years ago. What if it was wrong then? What if I made a mistake?”

  She pushed off from the bed, propped one hand on her hip, and said with some sass coating her tongue, “The heart is never wrong, honey. It’s just stupidly hopeful like the rest of us. Can’t blame her for the fault of man-kind. That’s on them.”

  My mouth lifted in the corner.

  I understood what Tori was saying. It was a nice thought, a simple one, too, putting all the blame on Marcus and taking this burden weighing heavily on my mind off me, allowing my heart to beat a little easier without all that guilt squeezing it tight.

  Simple.

  Right.

  No matter how hard I tried to shift that blame, my head still throbbed and my heart still struggled to maintain a healthy, normal rhythm.

  Tori interrupted the internal battle I was convinced I’d lose when she announced on her walk to the door, “I wish we both smoked. We could totally kick it on my roof and belt out some Alanis while working our way through a pack or two.” She turned her head to add, “I got Jagged Little Pill on my playlist. Just sayin’.”

  I scrunched my nose. “Can we belt it out while not killing our lung tissue?”

  “We probably won’t look as cool doing it.”

  “No, but I won’t have to use my inhaler. Nothing cool about whipping that thing out. Just sayin’.”

  I gave her a goofy grin, getting one in return.

  She spun around, gripping the door frame. Her face went soft.

  “You good, hon?”

  I gave her the same soft look, then asked, “Are you?”

  I didn’t want her thinking I was forgetting about her pain and only focusing on my own.

  She nodded. “Getting there,” she said, slowly smiling to reveal brilliant white teeth. “Big day tomorrow. Your dream of becoming a waitress and living off tips is finally coming true.”

  I pulled my knees up and rested my chin there, laughing.

  “I’m gonna go paint my nails,” she announced, waved her fingers at me, then disappeared into the hallway before I had a chance to give her so much as a wave in return.

  Typical.

  I cut my eyes to the clock on the wall, noting how much time I had before I needed to start whipping up something for dinner, which I had decided early this morning I was handling as my first order of thank-you to Tori for letting me crash. Then I reached for my laptop to resume browsing for jobs when my phone beeped from across the room.

  I knew, I knew it wasn’t Marcus. He didn’t text. He never texted.

  But there I was, kicking out of bed and rushing over to the message I thought for sure was the first of many I was about to receive from my estranged husband, detailing all the hundreds of ways he was sorry for making the biggest mistake of his life and the regret for not following up sooner, shadowed immediately by the begging of forgiveness Tori insisted on.

  I…was…sure.

  But as I swiped my phone off the desk and studied the device in my hand, the grip around my heart grew tighter at the same time as something strange flipped and twisted in my belly.

  It wasn’t Marcus. That was the first thing I noticed and focused on, acknowledging the tightness in my chest a half second before feeling that strange flip and twist sensation, which distracted me momentarily from the tightness in my chest.

  I stared at the name of the sender.

  Was it weird he was messaging me again? Yes. Absolutely.

  We didn’t know each other. The only people I regularly texted were Tori or work associates when I needed a shift covered.

  But even though I thought it was weird, I couldn’t deny the way my body reacted to seeing Brian’s name on my screen.

  The flip and twist. No one can ignore the flip and twist. It only happens during certain occasions, and when it happens, you remember it.

  I felt the flip and twist. I felt it more than I was feeling the tightness around my heart, and because of that, I swiped my thumb across the screen and opened up yet another text from a man I was never supposed to talk to in the first place, allowing myself to forget for a moment that Marcus didn’t text me, and focusing on the one person who did.

  I really wanted to smile again.

  Wild. Help me out. Need a 4 letter word for something a runner might break.

  While I was still reading the first message, he sent me another.

  Starts with a T. Don’t cheat. And it ain’t toes.

  I felt a wrinkle settle in my forehead as I read and reread his messages. They had to be the strangest set of messages I’d ever received from someone. And that nickname, Wild. That was strange, too.

  It didn’t fit me.

  Yes, I had promised this man I’d make him eat his own penis in front of his mother, screamed and acted like an out-of-my-mind crazy person, but that wasn’t me.

  Not the true me.

  I was straight. Breezy. I was early Saturday nights and a Coldplay playlist. I was matching fingernails and toenails, a timid first kiss and lungs that couldn’t tolerate cigarette smoke.

  But this man called me Wild.

  I liked it. I’d never had a nickname before.

  I wanted to be Wild.

  I could be Wild. Why not? What was stopping me?

  While I was doing all this wondering, Brian grew impatient and sent me another message.

  You busy?

  I carried the phone to the bed while typing out my response and sat down on the edge.

  No. Just thinking. You sure it isn’t toes?

  My mind automatically went to all 206 bones in the human body, specifically ones that began with the letter T.

  None of them fit the four-letter requirement, except for toes. And runners could most certainly break toes.

  It isn’t.

  Are you sure? That’s the only thing that fits.

  Positive.

  How are you positive?

  Doesn’t fit with the next clue. Answer needs to end in an E.

  I rolled my eyes and fell back on the bed, holding my phone above me.

  Well THAT could’ve been helpful information. If you know two letters, why’d you only give me one?

  Didn’t want to make it too easy for you. Would’ve been impressed you got it with just the T.

  I smiled. It felt good.

  Really good.

  Give me a sec. Putting my thinking cap on. Something a runner might break—starts with a T and ends in an E, right?

  Yep.

  I lowered my phone and blinked up at the ceiling.

  My mind was stuck in the human anatomy, which wasn’t surprising considering my profession and how many hours a week I typically spent viewing images of bones. But I knew if this was a crossword puzzle clue, and I was fairly certain it was, the answer wouldn’t be obvious because they rarely ever were, and the clue would need to be looked at from a different angle, not taken literally like I was doing.

  I looked at it from that different angle while filling Brian in.

  Turning my thinking cap around. Things just got serious.

  Whatever works. Mind if I ask you a question while you get serious?

  I flipped onto my stomach, propped myself up on my elbows, and bent my knees, swinging my legs alternatively.

  Shoot.

  You married?

  My legs stopped swinging.

  Now, this was usually not a question I had difficulty answering. Up until two days ago I wouldn’t have needed time to think before giving my automated response over the past six years, that being yes, but now I wa
s having difficulty answering one of the simplest questions to answer, no matter who you were.

  One was either married, or you weren’t, right?

  I didn’t want to say I was married, because I didn’t feel like I was anymore, but I didn’t want to say I wasn’t because that felt final. Conclusive.

  So I gave the only answer I felt comfortable giving.

  Separated. As of two days ago.

  Shit.

  I wasn’t sure what he meant by that response, if he was disappointed or felt sorry for me, but I didn’t have much time to think on it as his next message came rapidly through.

  Sorry to hear that. How you doing with it? You hanging in?

  Hanging in.

  Was I? Is that what I was doing?

  Well, I cussed out a stranger two days ago right after my husband told me he wanted out, and today I dyed my hair red.

  Red?

  It’s my natural color. I was blond. I needed to do something radical.

  Something Wild, I thought.

  Red is definitely radical. Pictured you with dark hair.

  He pictured me, what I looked like.

  The flip and twist happened again.

  It’s a dark red.

  I bit my lip and started swinging my legs again, thinking it was weird I felt inclined to inform Brian what he was picturing wasn’t far off from what I actually looked like, then pushing that weirdness aside and focusing instead on the lingering sensation warming my belly.

  It was a really nice feeling, and one I wanted to focus on.

  Is it ok I’m talking to you like this?

  I knew what he was asking. Our topics of discussion ranged from me wanting to chop off his penis to how either of us felt about dildos. Not exactly topics a woman recently separated, very recently separated, should be engaging in with a man who wasn’t her estranged husband, especially if there was any hope for reconciliation and I honestly wasn’t sure there was but I hadn’t ruled that out, though estranged or not, I’m not sure I’d ever felt the desire to chop off Marcus’s penis before and expressed that to him.

  Actually, no, that was a lie. Two days ago I’m sure I could’ve expressed that to him.

  Still, I didn’t think this was wrong. It didn’t feel wrong.

  I was smiling. And that could never be a wrong thing. I was sure of it.

  It’s ok.

  If I called, you’d answer?

  Yes.

  Good to know.

  Can I ask why you want to talk to me?

  This was something I had been curious about yesterday when Brian texted me after my interview with Nate.

  I knew how I felt about it, but I had no idea why he wanted anything to do with me after everything I’d said to him. I clearly had baggage, plus my life was a bit of a mess. I didn’t think I had anything to offer.

  Brian made me smile when I really needed it. But what was I giving him?

  Honest?

  Absolutely.

  My phone rang, startling me and sending my heart racing a mile a minute.

  I pushed up onto my knees and answered it on a breathless, “Hello?”

  “Started typing and realized I didn’t feel like typing all that shit out, so I’m just gonna say it real quick then let you go, okay?”

  His voice was low and husky, with a rough edge to it that made the hairs on my neck stand up.

  Every. Single. One.

  “Um…okay. Sure,” I replied, reaching up and grabbing on to a lock of my hair and twisting it.

  He then proceeded to give me all his shit, as he so put it.

  “Not a lot in my life right now that’s good. Hardly ever laugh like I did that night you told me to eat my own dick. Might’ve been the funniest shit I’ve ever heard. You were straight up defending your friend and I felt that shit. Felt what you told me yesterday, too. You seem cool and sweet. Definitely don’t have sweet in my life and not sure I deserve it, but I’m not gonna think about that ’cause this feels better. Not thinking. If you end up at any point not wanting to continue speaking to me, I’m cool with that. If you end up being unseparated and can’t continue speaking to me, I’m cool with that, too. You say the words and I’ll disappear, but if you don’t mind giving me more of what you’ve already shared, I’ll take it, Syd. I like talking to you. I liked it enough to reach out yesterday and enough to do it again today.”

  “You texted me about a crossword puzzle,” I pointed out, suddenly wondering if maybe he tricked me into more conversation, because I didn’t know men who did crossword puzzles and who weren’t also eating off the senior citizen’s menu.

  “You didn’t need to do that,” I elaborated. “You could’ve just sent me a ‘Hey, what’s up?’—you know? I would’ve answered.”

  “I could’ve if I wasn’t currently stuck on a clue I thought maybe you could help me out with.”

  “You’re really doing a crossword puzzle.”

  I still didn’t believe him.

  He sounded hot. Hot men didn’t do crosswords. I was sure of it.

  “Why would I lie?” he questioned back, then quickly followed that up as if he could read my mind with, “Didn’t need an ‘in’ to talk to you, Wild. I’d already decided I was gonna hit you up later tonight once I had a free minute, got to working on this puzzle and got stuck, thought you might be able to help me out so I hit you up earlier than I was planning, but it was planned, okay?”

  Wild.

  I sighed. My lip twitched.

  “Okay,” I whispered.

  “I enjoy crossword puzzles.”

  This got him another lip twitch even though he couldn’t see it, but I was certain he heard it in my voice when I responded.

  “Cool.”

  “Cool,” he echoed, cleared his throat, then asked, “Your thinking cap do anything yet? I gotta get going.”

  “No, sorry. I’ll keep it on, though. It looks stylish with my red hair.”

  I was greeted with silence.

  Had my joke not landed?

  “Brian?” I called into the phone.

  “Red,” he mumbled, and even though his voice had grown softer, I could still hear the distinct smile in it.

  So I made him smile, too.

  That felt really good.

  “Red,” I verified on a drop of my head. “Dark red.”

  I heard his heavy exhale, then the drag of a chair across a floor.

  “Gotta go.”

  “Okay, Brian.”

  “Later, Wild,” he mumbled.

  “Later,” I replied back, then quickly disconnected the call and fell onto my hip, staring down at the phone in my hand while thinking a number of things, one of those things being Brian saying I was cool and sweet, and how good it felt hearing a compliment like that at a time like this.

  Another thing being the fact that he didn’t have a lot of good in his life right now, and wondering what all that meant.

  Maybe he had fallen on hard times. People do that. I was one of those people currently falling and falling fast.

  Another thing I was thinking about being that crossword puzzle clue.

  It was bugging me. I didn’t like being bested.

  I took another peek at the clock, slid off the bed, grabbed my phone and the mug of hot chocolate, which was now warm chocolate but still just as tasty, and carried those both downstairs with me to begin preparing one of the only four things I knew how to cook.

  Tacos.

  Before my run to CVS earlier, I had gone out and gotten the ingredients I needed to make my ultimate shrimp tacos, plus a few other items I wanted to keep on hand in Tori’s kitchen, such as the hot cocoa mix and my favorite wasabi-flavored almonds.

  They had just the right amount of kick.

  And while I was getting my ingredients ready to go about preparing my ultimate shrimp tacos, my mind on that tricky crossword puzzle clue since it didn’t need to be on the recipe I had memorized, it hit me.

  I gasped, dropped the head of cabbage onto the cutting board,
spun around while wiping my hands off on my jeans, and picked up my phone.

  TAPE!

  What do runners sometimes break? Tape. Starts with a T. Ends with an E.

  He replied instantly.

  Cool, sweet, and smart. Thanks, Wild.

  I smiled. Again.

  And I kept smiling while I made dinner.

  Chapter Five

  BRIAN

  I tucked the cash into an envelope and stepped out of my Jeep, pushing the door closed with my elbow, then making the familiar walk across the dirt parking lot to the small office beside the barn.

  Carolina East Therapeutic Riding was a ranch in the middle of nowhere, about forty-five minutes from Dogwood Beach, and its sole mission was to help individuals with a range of disabilities heal through a connection to horses.

  I didn’t get it. But apparently, the way the staff worked with people here and got them up and riding, interacting with these massive animals, it did something.

  People healed, in a way. Muscles strengthened. Certain weaknesses decreased. Quality of life was improved.

  Expensive shit, like everything else for people living hard lives, ’cause heaven forbid those who deserve it should catch a fucking break.

  Why the government didn’t fund programs like this pissed me off, and the insurance companies were no better.

  They didn’t cover dick.

  I knew there were grants available for families concerning services like this. I’d looked into it three months ago, but allotting for the time it took to process an application and the further time it took for families to receive said grant money, which according to the person I spoke to from one of the organizations could take sometimes up to six months, I didn’t bother taking that avenue.