Breaking Skin

by Debra Doxer

  If I’d known how hard it would be to get her out of my system, I wouldn’t have sneaked out of her apartment in the middle of the night without getting her last name or her number. But I was too preoccupied. My career was ending and so was my marriage. I could hardly see through the shitstorm swirling around me. It took me a month to wake up to the fact that my need for Nichole wasn’t going away. It was getting stronger.

  Once I decided I wanted Nichole for more than one night, it felt right. She felt right. Finally, the possibility of something good was on the horizon, but I didn’t have her number. All I could do was turn up at her place and hope she was willing to talk to me.

  Nearly a month after I walked out of Nichole’s apartment, I stood outside her door, wanting nothing more than to be back inside again. I should have realized that wouldn’t happen. It wasn’t my year for good things. In the weeks since I’d met her, Nichole had moved. She was gone, and her neighbors didn’t know where she went. I walked away from her door, flattened by disappointment. Blackburn’s was a dead end too. I sat in that bar night after night, but she never came in again, and no one there knew anything about her.

  I glance at Derek through the rearview mirror. He’s playing a game on his phone, and by the sound of it, a violent one. I make a mental note to check out what new games he’s downloaded since he was last at my house.

  “You and Langley text each other?” I raise my voice so he’ll hear me over the explosive sound effects coming from the backseat.

  “Uh-huh,” he replies without breaking his concentration.

  “How did that come about?”

  Even though Derek is only ten, most kids know who his parents are. Some befriend him only because of that, and he’s been hurt by it in the past. I don’t think quiet, polite Langley has ulterior motives, but I wouldn’t put anything past anyone.

  Derek lowers his phone and looks up. “I gave her my number. She’s my eyes and ears when I’m not here.”

  “She’s what?” My gaze flicks up to the mirror.

  “Someone needs to keep an eye on you. You were pretty upset when Mom told you to leave. Since I’m not always here, I need a way to make sure you’re okay.”

  My eyes stay on the mirror longer than is safe because I’m trying to figure out if he’s serious. “Exactly how does that work?”

  He chuckles. “Relax. I don’t have her spying on you or anything. She just lets me know stuff like when she sees you working in the yard or going out with your friends. That way I know you’re doing things and not hiding in the house all day like Howard Hughes, growing out your fingernails and watching the same movie a million times in a row over and over again.”

  I find myself laughing, but the fact that he’s worried about me makes me grip the steering wheel tighter. He shouldn’t worry about his old man. It’s supposed to be the other way around.

  “How do you know who Howard Hughes is?”

  “I saw a movie about him on TV and then I googled him. Cool guy. Kind of weird at the end, though.”

  “Well, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine, and I’d appreciate it if you would call off your eight-year-old spy.”

  “She’s not a spy, but she lost her iPod so we won’t be texting anymore anyway. A seriously unfortunate development.”

  I shake my head in amusement. “How did you get so smart?”

  Derek shrugs. “I have no idea. My mom’s an actress and my dad’s a dumb jock.”

  “Hey!”

  My spine stiffens, but I play it off with a smirk, squinting at Derek through the rearview mirror. He knows about my condition, but he’s a kid making a joke. He doesn’t mean anything by it, even though I can’t see the humor in that joke anymore.

  “Just kidding, Dad.”

  Derek chuckles and goes back to his game as I smile, genuinely this time, in spite of myself. Somehow I’ve got a kid who’s funny and smart. I feel so much love for him, my chest aches with the pressure of it sometimes. The fact that he only lives with me half of each month is a tragedy I still can’t accept, and the uncompromising way Celeste enforces our shared time is unfair but there’s nothing I can do about it.

  Every time there’s a family celebration, it has to be planned around Derek’s time with me because Celeste can’t be trusted to bring him, and she won’t let me take him if it’s not my week. It breaks my heart the way Celeste holds Derek’s time hostage.

  My folks get to see my sister’s kids all the time, but not Derek, not unless it’s my week. It makes me feel like a failure, not only to Derek, but to my parents too. They’ve been married for almost forty years. My divorce is the first in the family, and I see how much my folks worry about Derek and me. Everyone worries about me, which is why I have to work twice as hard to make them all believe I’m okay. And I am okay, most of the time.

  “Can I go over and hang out with Josh?” Derek asks as I pull into the driveway. Across the street, Josh is playing hoops in his driveway.

  “I thought we were going to work on the tree house?”

  “It’s early. We can do that later.”

  I sigh to myself because I’d looked forward to spending the whole afternoon working on the tree house with Derek. “Sure.”

  The minute I park, Derek pockets his phone and jumps out of the car. I should be pleased he’s made friends in the neighborhood. That’s why I moved to this quiet family street, to give Derek what I had growing up—a community, a sense of home. Celeste can keep her ritzy gated development with fenced-in yards where no one knows their neighbors. I’ll take a cul-de-sac filled with neighborhood kids anytime.

  Speaking of neighbors, while I stand in the driveway and watch Derek make a basket, Langley and Nichole arrive home next door. Langley waves to me as she walks to the house carrying a grocery bag, but Nichole doesn’t look in my direction once. She had to have seen Langley wave, so she knows someone, likely me, is standing over here, but she purposely doesn’t turn her head, and I realize I’m disappointed.

  What did I expect? I wasn’t exactly friendly at the store, and when I mentioned that Renee talked about her, she went pale, her porcelain skin losing what little color it had. She obviously realizes Renee wouldn’t give her any sister-of-the-year awards.

  More disappointment wedges itself into my thoughts because despite what I know about Nichole, I still can’t take my eyes off her. When I saw her step out of that taxi this morning, I couldn’t breathe. Is that her? I wondered. After all this time, could it really be her?

  As she walks toward the house, I watch the fluid way she moves and notice how her dark hair tumbles down over her shoulders, the ends brushing against the small of her back. She mesmerizes me. Even two years later, my reaction to this girl feels like a kick to the stomach. I want her the same way I wanted her in the bar that night. It was only hours after Celeste served me with divorce papers.

  I didn’t want a divorce. I wanted to stay in my house with my son, with the family I built. After our game that night, with the divorce papers still sitting in my locker, I trudged over to Doc’s apartment, ready to drink myself into stupor. After a few hours, he insisted we meet the rest of the guys out, and I was too fucked up by then to argue. I didn’t argue all night until we were at Blackthorn’s and I realized he intended to talk to the girl I couldn’t take my eyes off of.

  I turned in my chair and gave Doc a stony look. “Not her.”

  His brows shot up. “Who? The brunette? You want her?”

  He eyed me with satisfaction, obviously pleased I wasn’t thinking about Celeste. But I hadn’t thought of Celeste that way in a long time, even though I’d remained faithful to her. No matter how bad things got, I wouldn’t cheat on her, although I knew she couldn’t say the same about me. But that night there were divorce papers with my name on them. Things were different.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I want her.”

  I wanted Nichole as much as I’d ever wanted any woman, probably more, and I was done denying myself that pleasure. In my memory,
the night I spent with her rates right up there with the night I won the division championship.

  When I left Nichole’s apartment, I still wanted her, but I had no business wanting her. I hadn’t even signed my divorce papers yet, and I’d been drinking. You don’t meet the girl of your dreams the day your wife files for divorce. It doesn’t happen that way. After I went back to find Nichole and couldn’t, I thought maybe it does happen that way sometimes, and I blew it.

  But I didn’t blow it. I dodged a bullet because now I know the truth. Nichole isn’t who I thought she was. She’s Nikki, and from what Renee told me, Nikki sounds a lot like Celeste. Nikki puts herself first and Renee puts her family first. Caring for her mother may be a thankless job for Renee, and an incredibly difficult one, but there’s something commendable about it, something I can respect.

  Nikki, on the other hand, I can’t respect. She turned her back on her family and that’s something I can’t abide, no matter how beautiful she is.

  When we get home, I use my phone to google Cole. I can’t help myself; I have to satisfy my curiosity.

  His name brings up pages and pages of links. Most of them are sports articles, but there are images and videos too. Those familiar blue eyes stare out at me from picture after picture. In some photographs, he has on his Sharks uniform and his hair is matted down, sweaty from playing. In others, he stands beside a woman with sleek red hair. She’s tall and beautiful and he’s impossibly handsome. The caption says she’s his wife, was his wife. They’re a stunning couple, and I can’t help my jealousy. I also can’t help comparing myself to her and falling short.

  I look through the videos too and find they’re mostly footage of hockey games Cole played in. I watch one, and the focus is on a player wearing number thirty-seven and flying down the ice with the puck. He scores, and the announcer goes crazy yelling Cole’s name. Cole is number thirty-seven. After that, I watch several more videos that feature number thirty-seven scoring, skating impossibly fast and aggressively checking players from the other team.

  I try to reconcile number thirty-seven with the man I met at Blackburn’s, the one who tempered his steely determination with patience and understanding. The one I felt safe enough with to take home with me that night. Then I think of the surly man I know now, the quiet one who cares for his son and goes to the grocery store like everyone else.

  Neither of them match the predator on-screen named Demolition Man Dempsey, the powerful man who married a beautiful actress and lived life in the fast lane. He’s changed and I don’t know why, but I do know Cole the hockey star existed in a whole other universe from mine, one that I never would have collided with.

  I’m still watching him on my phone when two players come at Cole from behind and hit him with so much force that he slams up against the glass hard enough to shatter it. I gasp out loud when he goes down like sack of potatoes. Then he stays down, lying limp on the ice as the referees rush over. The other players crowd around him, and my hand covers my mouth as my heart clenches tightly.

  The crowd gets to its feet and the announcers go oddly silent. Finally, I have to stop the video. I can’t watch anymore. I know it turned out okay because Cole is right next door, but I’m glad he told the man in the grocery store he’s retired.

  Langley calls to me from the family room. “Is it time to make the lasagna yet?”

  I put my phone away and try to erase the image of Cole’s lifeless form on the ice. “Sure. Come on in.”

  A few hours later dinner is finished, the leftovers are put away, and Langley is tucked into bed. The lasagna wasn’t fancy but it turned out decent, a little messy since an eight-year-old added most of the layers, but it tasted good.

  Langley enjoyed helping me. The fact that her mother isn’t home yet doesn’t seem to worry her. She told me her babysitter stays with her at night sometimes while her mother goes out, and I find myself disapproving, even though I have no right to.

  I look out the kitchen window, but in the glass I only see my own worried reflection. Renee has been gone all day and into the evening now with no word at all, and I don’t think I can pretend everything is okay anymore. I have to do something, but the first thing that comes to mind is the last thing I want to do.

  I’d rather not call the nursing home where my mother has lived since her second stroke, but since I don’t know any of Renee’s friends, it’s the only phone call I know to make other than one to the police. I’d rather not call the police because I don’t want to exaggerate the situation or get Renee into trouble.

  I’ve called the nursing home a few times over the years to check on my mother’s condition. The nurses always update me, but I haven’t seen or spoken to my mother since I was eighteen. I know she can speak, although her speech is impaired. The nurses tell me this when they ask if I’d like to talk to her. I can hear their silent disapproval over the line when I decline.

  After I finally work up the nerve to call, the nursing home is a dead end. There are no answers there. They tell me my mother is asleep and no one has been in to see her today.

  Frustration finds me pacing the floor aimlessly. If I were home, I’d go to the studio and dance until I was too exhausted to feel anything more than the aches in my muscles. But I’m not at home and I can’t go home. All I can do is pull open the back door and step out onto the patio in hopes that the crisp night air will clear my head.

  It’s cool outside and quiet too, a sharp contrast to the noise I’m used to in the city. Only crickets and the occasional car coming down the road break the silence. Above me, the sky is a bright canopy of stars.

  Cooperstown is a beautiful place. I know that even though my past here prevents me from appreciating it. But I remember the quiet nights and I remember this sky. It’s the same night sky I sent my wishes up into as a child. The same sky Renee and I gazed at when we talked about our dream of dancing on the great stages of the world. That dream seems very far away now. The foolish imaginings of children who knew nothing about reality.

  A sky full of stars is a beautiful sight to wish upon, but if it realized people thought it could grant wishes, I think it would laugh. The sky doesn’t grant wishes, and when those wishes don’t come true, you can’t blame the stars. Blaming them is like blaming a tree, or a rock, or me, and Renee blames me for everything bad that’s ever happened to her.

  As I stand there looking up at the stars, the sound of ice clinking in a glass gets my attention.

  I look across the shadowed backyard and notice a silhouette in the moonlight. My heart quickens at the sight of someone sitting in a chair next door on an expansive deck. Even in the dark, I know it’s Cole. I can feel him watching me.

  Before I can think too much about it, I turn and find myself walking in his direction. As I approach, moving quietly across the grass, his silhouette never moves, but the ice stops its clinking as I climb the handful of steps that lead up to the deck.

  I swallow to moisten my dry mouth. “Nice night.”

  He takes a slow sip of his drink and glances briefly at the sky.

  Now that I’m closer, I can make out the features of his shadowed face. The strong, square jaw and overgrown hair that curls over his ears and above his collar. My thoughts go to the videos of Cole I watched earlier and how quickly number thirty-seven went from strong and aggressive to helpless and hurt. Despite the way he’s treated me, the image of him lifeless on the ice tugs at my heart.

  “What can I do for you?” he asks. His tone is even, emotionless.

  Blinking against the darkness, I rein in my thoughts. “Renee has been gone all day. I’m wondering if she told you where she went . . . or when she was coming back.” I push the question out haltingly because I don’t want to have to ask it at all.

  He tilts his head slightly. “You don’t know where she is?”

  I shake my head, disappointed and embarrassed by the obviously poor relationship I have with my sister.

  “Are you worried about her?” He leans forward in his c
hair.

  I release a tense breath. “Yes.”

  “Did you try calling her?”

  “All day. She doesn’t answer.”

  Cole says nothing in response.

  I sigh, and the nerves already skating beneath my skin race even faster because Cole is sitting right there and he’s looking at me. I know my reaction to him makes me a fool, but I can’t seem to help it. He has no interest in me, and if I have any effect on him, he doesn’t show it. It frustrates me that wanting to be as indifferent to Cole as he is to me doesn’t make it so. I’m not indifferent. I’m drowning in my lack of indifference.

  After a moment, Cole stands to his full height of six feet and forever, and I arch my neck to keep my gaze on his face.

  “It’s still early,” he says. “I’m sure she’ll be home soon. Maybe she just needed a break today.”

  “A break. Maybe.” I nod, even though I don’t really believe that.

  Cole takes a step toward his door and just looks at me, waiting, and I realize I’m dismissed. He wants me to leave so he can go inside.

  Feeling defeated, I turn and descend one step before I look back at him over my shoulder. “Well, good night.” Then I hesitate because I hate the tension between us and I can’t leave it unacknowledged. “Are you being this way because of things my sister told you about me, or because of that night?”

  A stillness comes over him. This is the first time either of us has referred to that night.

  “Being what way?” he asks.

  I close my eyes and shake my head because he wants to pretend this isn’t happening, and now I regret even asking. “Never mind.”

  I swiftly descend the steps and am halfway across his yard before he can disappear into his house. The whole way to Renee’s house, I keep my back straight and my eyes forward. I don’t even bother to look up at the stars before I pull open the door and go inside.