by Lily Foster
“What kind of question is that? I wouldn’t have reached out to you if I didn’t want you in his life.”
“Why now?” I shake my head, confused by his question. “What brought on this sudden urge to reach out to me now?”
“You can be such a jerk sometimes.” I wrench my hand from his grasp. “You think this was a sudden urge? You think I didn’t agonize over telling you when I was pregnant, when they told me he might not survive, when I gave birth, when he finally took his first steps? You think I haven’t thought about you and what was best for you every damn day since?”
He nods and lets out a cheerless laugh. “You did this for me, huh?”
“Are you seriously getting sarcastic with me right now?”
I stand without waiting for an answer and walk the trash over to a waste can, the paper sac with the cinnamon toast smashed in my hands and discarded, even though it’s the only damn thing I like out of everything I bought tonight. When I turn back, Simon is laid out flat on the grass, the heels of both hands pressed into his eyes. I don’t know if he’s angry, suffering or sad. I’m all of the above, so I stop and slowly inhale a calming breath as I lower myself onto the grass next to him again.
“I want you in his life. I always did.” He goes to speak but I stop him, placing one hand on his shoulder. “When I went back home last year, I also stopped by your trailer. I drove all around town. I told myself I was just reminiscing, but the truth is I wanted to run into someone, your mother or Garth or someone…anyone who might tell you they saw me.” He folds his arms across his chest. He’s listening. “I met the people who live in your trailer now. Your mother moved?”
“She’s in North Carolina with her boyfriend. She left a few months after Timmy’s funeral.”
I nod, remembering those words: There’s not going to be a service, Charlotte. There’s no mahogany casket, no priest, no flowers.
“It looks different now. They don’t keep it up the way you did.”
He smirks. “So you’re saying it fits right in?”
I ignore the remark, get to what I’m really trying to tell him. “The people who live there now are poor. They’re young, but they have that look that ages you, like life has been one trial after another. They had a little boy and she was pregnant with another baby on the way. The man had a hard edge, like he was filled with contempt. And she…I don’t know, she looked apologetic on his behalf even though he hadn’t said or done anything. It was no more than a minute or two that I was there, but that moment has stayed with me. I can’t forget him. The way he looked, it was as if love and hate and misery had wrapped and tangled themselves around him like a sick vine.”
He’s still flat on his back, eyes turned skyward. “What are you saying?”
“I guess that if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.” I watch one tear escape from the corner of his eye. “I never would have trapped you there, Simon.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Simon
She’s nervous, bouncing from the ball of one foot to the other, her mind already on the big event. “I’ll see you at around eight? Is that good?”
“I’ll be there. You sure this is ok with Lawrence? I can always crash in my truck for the night.”
“No, it’s fine. Just, uh, I hope you can sleep with all the dead animals in here.”
I look around again, pretending to study the obscene number of antlers adorning the walls of this cabin, but I’m stalling really. Just letting out a breath and feeling grateful that she’s able to be light and to joke again, because the night has been hard on both of us.
“Does this freak Ethan out?”
“Not at all. He loves animals, but it’s different up here. The people have hunting in their blood, and he spends a lot of time with Lawrence.” She shrugs. “It’s natural to him.”
“Can I bring anything tomorrow? I mean, I feel like I should bring him a present or something.”
“No,” she shakes her head, “you don’t need a treat or anything to break the ice with him. And I’m kind of strict about presents being for birthdays and Christmas only.”
“What does he like to talk about?”
“He’s three, he’ll talk about anything.”
“I don’t know how to do this.”
“Neither did I.” She smiles at me in a way that makes my chest hurt. “Don’t worry so much.”
My head is swimming with all she’s told me tonight, so I figure I’ll be staring at the ceiling, processing it for hours. I’m running on no sleep whatsoever, though, and it catches up to me. I fall into a deep, dreamless state, and wake the next day with a start.
It takes a moment to orient myself. The sun is bursting through the window blind’s partially open slats, leaving a trippy striped pattern along every surface, myself included. Shading my eyes, I take in the sparsely decorated room that is not my own, and then register two hostile opposing sounds: the ear-splitting ringtone Samantha programmed into my phone to distinguish her calls and knocking on the door that has now escalated to pounding.
Ignoring the phone, I scramble to my feet and trip on my way to the front door.
The key turns in the lock just as a curse rips from my mouth. You’d think I’d just taken a bullet instead of stubbing my big toe. Her eyes are wide as she takes me in. And then the cloying lyrics of Ed Sheeran’s Perfect start up again in earnest. We both look back towards the bedroom. I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I’m sick, listening helplessly as that line about dancing in the dark rings out through the cabin. I’ve never wanted to sink into the ground more than I do right now.
She taps her foot, looking away from me. It blessedly stops and then starts up again not five fucking seconds later.
“You gonna get that?”
“No.”
“You overslept.”
“Shit.”
“Simon.” She pauses, and my anger flares in response to look on her face, the one that says: You’re already making promises you can’t keep.
“No.” I advance on her slowly. “You don’t get to do that.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “You made me wait three years, and before I got here, I was up for two days straight driving back and forth looking for you. You don’t get to judge me right now.”
The phone finally stops making noise.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, chastising myself for the bad decisions I’ve made recently, for taking the easy road. For better or worse, I’ve had a lot of time to think over the past two days.
It’s embarrassing to acknowledge that I like what I see when I look in the mirror these days. I’m borderline smug sometimes, thinking myself an honest man, one who’s done good and is going places as a result. I’ve been shutting down my inner critic, the voice that warns me against morphing into this new, upgraded version of Simon Wade. I’ve been enjoying the perks of being a de facto member of the Westfields’ inner circle. I tell myself it’s nothing, but I’m enjoying the dinner parties that Brett and the others don’t have a standing invitation to, enjoying the impromptu lessons on the finer things in life. Their subtle encouragement to eat, to dress, and to converse in the company of intelligent people in a certain way has granted me access to that oh so elusive thing: I am now in the room.
Being with Samantha benefitted me, so it was easy to let her weave her way into my life. I tell myself I’m still my own man, that I’m not impressed with the trappings of this life. I climb into my beat-up truck proudly, like it’s some testament to my character or a badge of honor—act as if I have a choice in the matter. Tell myself that I’m nothing like those buttoned-up pussies who look on at me with envy, even as they’re stepping out of their flash rides. I’m the chosen son now. I have the connections, have the best-looking girl on my arm, have everyone thinking I’m the smartest guy in the room.
Seeing that envelope shook me up. Prompted me to make those calls, to back out of that lucrative summer associate post and then beg for the less prestigious judicial
internship that I’d turned down the week before. Seeing Charlotte’s name in print reminded me of who I am, of the reason I wanted any of this in the first place. She reminded me of the shithole that is my hometown, reminded me of my family.
I’m standing less than a foot from her now. Her face is flushed but she hasn’t backed down. Her lips are fixed in a firm line and her shoulders are squared. Knowing Charlotte, she’s told Ethan about me using a string of superlatives that I don’t feel deserving of right now. I’ve got a clear visual of them sitting at the table waiting, a special breakfast cooked and ready for me, the guest of honor.
There’s no fight left in me. I step back, drag a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry I screwed up. Is he upset?”
“He went out on the boat with Lawrence, he’s fine.”
“When will they be back?”
She looks at her phone. “Around eleven, so you’ve got an hour.”
“Wait,” I say as she turns to go.
“It’s fine. I told him I made a mistake, that you were coming for lunch not breakfast.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that.”
“So you’ll be there?”
I hate that she’s asking me, but I’ve got no choice but to suck it up because I deserve it. “I’ll be there.” I’d do anything to turn the clock back a few hours, to ease the tension between us. “Charlotte, we’re good?”
She’s got one hand on the doorknob when her eyes trail back down the hallway that leads to the bedroom. “Yeah, perfect.”
Charlotte
Stupid girl
That’s the reflex, the first thought that pops into my head when I catch my reflection in the plate glass window of the deli case. I give myself a mental slap and straighten my shoulders. Screw that noise—I don’t lob insults at other people for no good reason so I’m sure as hell not going to do it to myself. Standing in line at the grocery store, I’m surprised when I have to stifle a giggle moments later, suddenly struck by the absurdity of that cheesy ringtone and Simon’s look of utter humiliation. And then the emotional rollercoaster shifts right back into gear, because the thought of someone being perfect in his eyes—someone who is not me—weighs like a stone in my heart.
“Charlotte?” Leena Karvonen is standing in line behind me. I cringe just a little, knowing she’s seeing me at my worst. “How are you?”
I used to refer to Leena as the president of the welcoming committee. She’s the one who called me a slut when my pregnancy first started to show. I did hate the bitch back then, but time has lessened the sting of words that once had the power to cut me deep. You don’t forget, but you can move past it. That’s how it is with Leena. We’re not friends, and she’s never acknowledged or apologized for the dig, but she’s retracted her claws and shown me a better side of herself over time. Basically, I’m over it.
I do my best to shake the morning off, but a half-hearted smile is the best I can offer. “I’m good, Leena. What’s new?”
“Getting ready for the season, same as everyone else.”
“Are you getting a lot of bookings?”
“Busier every year. We’re fully booked for July and the first half of August.”
“Good on you.”
“Have to take it while you can get it, right?” She glances down at the baby formula and diapers in her cart. I imagine the winters are tough on people like her. No sane person is looking to vacation up here once the winds start howling and the snow starts up. Leena cocks her head to the side. “I saw Lawrence the other day. He’s looking better. How’s it going?”
“We’re all doing better. Thanks for asking.”
“My mother said Janelle left Lawrence the house?”
Here we go. No hesitation, she just dives right in and asks about my personal business. And why does she even ask? As usual, Leena’s intel is on point. “She did, that’s correct.”
“So are you and the baby leaving?”
“No, it’s not like that. We’re here for the summer and then heading back downstate for school in September.”
I’m just stating the facts, but I can see the mention of me leaving for school has wounded her. Leena was more than just a smart-mouth, she was a smart girl from what I remember. Probably had dreams of going to college herself. But she stayed back to help her family, and from what I’m told, Leena and her husband have done a great job taking over the management of her parents’ bed and breakfast. I smile and toss her the chocolate bar I was contemplating buying for myself, needing something to soothe my achy heart. “You could probably teach a class on small business management down at the U.”
She catches it on the fly and laughs. “I’d scare them all off.” But you know she likes what she’s doing from the smile on her face. “It’s only for people who enjoy running on no sleep, fretting over making payroll every month, and plastering a smile on their face when dealing with uppity trolls.” She opens the candy and breaks off a small piece. “Some Gwenyth Paltrow wannabee asked me if our linens were organic on the phone the other day. Can you believe that shit?”
I laugh at the name used to reference outsiders. “Easy now, you’re talking to a troll.”
“No girl, once you’ve survived a few winters up here you’re a Yooper.”
“I whine all winter, so I don’t think I’ve earned the compliment, but thanks anyway.”
A man clears his throat behind Leena. I look up to see Simon smiling. Oh, jeez. Leena turns around and then slowly turns back to me. Her eyes are wide when she mouths the word: Hot.
What the hell, who cares? “Leena, that’s Simon. He’s Ethan’s dad. Simon, this is Leena.”
The cashier, an older woman I don’t recognize, is taking this all in. Both the cashier and Leena are now looking back and forth between me and Simon as if there’s a tennis match in progress.
“Hello.” Simon shifts a bouquet of daisies dyed a peculiar shade of blue to his left hand, offering his free hand to Leena in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you.”
She’s practically breathless in response, whispering, “Hi.”
I can see my sixteen-year-old self in Leena’s reaction. Simon is tall, broad and lean. His features are defined but his smile is warm. His icy blue eyes don’t look distant the way they used to, now they sparkle with amusement. The overall effect is disarming.
She regains consciousness and waves Simon in front of her. “You’ve just got that one thing, go ahead of me.”
“Yeah?”
“I insist,” she says, giving him a dreamy smile. When he turns to pay the cashier, Leena looks to me and mouths: He is gorgeous!
I shake my head. Not to dispute the fact, but to express that it doesn’t really matter. He’s not mine.
“Funny running into you here,” I say, waiting on him.
He takes the bags from my hands. “I was looking for a flower shop but couldn’t find one. I need to apologize to this girl, figured a nice bouquet would be the ticket.”
“A nice bouquet, huh?”
“Yeah.” He looks down at the sorry bunch. “Blue is her favorite color.”
“How do you know?”
“She used to drink blue slushees…Made her tongue and lips turn blue. She used to love some nasty cereal with blue marshmallows…Ate it for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”
“Boo berries. Her dad should have been locked up for nutritional neglect.”
“And she thinks I don’t know this, but she stole my favorite t-shirt, the faded blue one I got when I saw My Morning Jacket in Pittsburgh the year before I met her.”
I shrug to indicate I have no memory of this alleged theft, enjoying this back and forth entirely too much. “Do you think she’ll forgive you?”
“I hope so.” I open the back hatch and turn to take my bags from him. He holds them firm in his grasp, eyes searching mine. “I’m nervous about today and I could use her in my corner.”
I try and fail to shape my expression into a smile. The image of him with that girl haunts me, the pain bubbling up, as
razor-sharp as it was that day in Chicago. I manage to nod. “See you at the house.”
Seeing how he’s in my rearview mirror, I will myself not to cry on the drive home. It takes some effort. He’s quiet when he pulls up alongside me, getting out of his truck at the same time, taking the bags from my car. The air is charged and my body feels weak in some zero gravity kind of way, unsure and unsteady. I don’t know if I can survive being this close to him. I breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth, ditching the ha-ha-ha exhale they taught in my birthing class at the hospital. I was annoyed back then, seeing as I was scheduled for a c-section, but the relaxation techniques are coming in handy right now.
He follows me into the kitchen and puts the bags down on the counter. We see the drawing at the same time, the work of a child. There’s a big head with two spindly legs sticking out from it, dots for the eyes and nose, and a smile that stretches from one side of the face to the other. It looks like an effort’s been made to draw a baseball cap over the head. Next to it is a smaller version of the same figure, complete with a smile.
Simon picks it up from the table, staring at it. “He did this?”
“Yeah, this morning.”
“It’s me? With him?”
“Yup,” I answer, trying to go about the business of getting lunch together.
He pulls out a chair and sits down. I look over to see him transfixed, eyes glued to the paper when he asks, “What did you tell him about me?”
I rinse my hands and sit down in the chair opposite Simon. “He’s not at that age where he’s asking any hard questions yet, so I started off by explaining that kids have a mom and a dad. I told him that you, his dad, have been going to school somewhere far away. It was so far that I didn’t know where to find you, so you didn’t even know about him until yesterday. And once you found out, you got in your car and drove up here right away so you could meet him.”
“Thank you for that. I don’t want him ever thinking I wouldn’t have come if I’d known.”
