The Risks We Take

by Barbara C. Doyle

  He stares at me, his eyes dulling. Suspecting. Calculating.

  “Caroline Wells.”

  He remains silent.

  I laugh, but it’s pitiful. “Your mother …” I shake my head. “Our families spent a lot of time together. Apparently, your mom and my dad spent even more time together than anyone knew.”

  His pale face is distant. “That can’t be true.”

  “I told myself that too at first,” I murmur. “But it’s true. It’s the shitty truth, but most truths are. Hardly any of them are something good. I mean, how many times do people say, ‘I have to be honest with you’ and then have something amazing follow up? Not many.”

  He swallows. “How do you know?”

  “Like I said, I heard their conversation.”

  “You could have heard wrong!”

  “But I didn’t!” I blast. “Listen to me, Ian! Hear me. Your mother slept with my father. They had an affair. My mother found out. My parents argued. I heard them. And surprise, surprise, I also heard a conversation go down between our parents. The things that were said were horrible. All of it! The whole situation was screwed up, and then your family left. Your parents packed up and moved to a different frigging state!”

  I can see the wheels spinning in his head.

  He rakes a hand through his hair. I should feel bad for breaking the news but I don’t, and I know that makes me a terrible person.

  But, for once, somebody feels my pain. They understand it. They experience it. For once, I’m not alone.

  “My mom lost the baby,” I tell him quietly. “I think from stress. She was devastated. Sad. Depressed. It only got worse after you left.”

  He doesn’t say anything, so I feel the need to continue. After all, I’m already knee-deep in shit already. “My parents argued all the time for weeks straight. When she found out she had a miscarriage they acted like they were making up. But … I think they were just mourning the loss of their kid. At least they could do that like a normal couple.”

  I take a deep breath. “That’s when mom’s depression started. Dad left for a few days. Mom took pills. I just wandered around, waiting for a phone call. After all, I didn’t know where you went. What your address was. If you were keeping your old number. I called your old landline after a while, but it wasn’t going through. I thought for sure you’d reach out to me, but you never did.”

  He puts his head in his hands. “My parents didn’t want me to. They said it wasn’t a good idea.”

  “And you listened?” I whispered, hurt.

  He looks dumbstruck. “I was a kid! We were kids!”

  I don’t want to understand, but I do. I want to hate him, but I don’t. It’s screwed up that I can spend all this time blaming him, and still not hate him.

  Maybe because I know it’s not his fault. I just needed somebody to blame, and I chose him.

  I always choose him.

  He’s right. I missed him. And that pisses me off more than anything.

  “Dad came back,” I say emptily, running my palms down my thighs. “For a while, I thought it’d be okay. He got Mom out of the house. She seemed somewhat normal. Still sad, but she lost her child so it was expected. And, in some ways, she lost her husband even though they never actually separated. When he came around again, he stayed. He was dedicated to prove that he was in this for the long run. We both believed him.”

  I swipe away a stray tear. One that I hate fell because that man doesn’t deserve the tears or sadness anymore.

  “They got better at pretending everything was okay, but it was never the same. How could it be? Dad cheated. Mom was broken. They fell out of love. It … it happens. But then mom found out she was pregnant again when I was in high school and everything shifted. I think Mom wanted it to mean something more than it did. A second chance. A new beginning. A fresh start. But it was the end. The last straw. A realization that it’d never work. He left not long after that. And that’s when Mom got worse. You pretty much know the rest.”

  Silence.

  That’s what greeted me after story time.

  It pecked at me. Ate at me. Weighed me down.

  Silence is the cruelest evil there is. When there’s silence, you get trapped in your own head, stuck with the swirling thoughts you try ignoring. But it doesn’t work.

  It never does.

  “Kay …”

  “You know why I hate that name?”

  He winces, shaking his head.

  “Right before Dad left, he said to me, ‘I’ll always love you, Kay. Don’t forget that’,” I scoff. “How could somebody who says they love a person walk away? How could they leave their family behind? You don’t abandon the people you love. That’s the cold, hard truth that I learned from it all. You can fall out of love at any point, with anybody in your life. Family. Friends. Love is what breaks us—leaves us unamendable.”

  The frown that greets me is deep on his face, but I refuse to let him pity me.

  Luckily, the water boiling over the top of the pot saves me from hearing his sympathy. Ian quickly turns the burner down, moving the pot away from it. He goes to stir the pasta, but it’s stuck to the bottom of the pan. The stove has caked on water from it running over. There’s so much steam billowing from the top that it sets the fire alarm off.

  I fight back tears. I don’t even know what they’re for. For what my father did? For feeling abandoned? For my life going to shit?

  No. These tears are all because of Ian.

  Because just when I start to take control of my life, just when I think I can finally be happy on my own, Ian comes in and bulldozes the dam I built.

  Depending on him is something I did in the past. The present can’t be like that, and the future will never be dependent on anybody but me.

  “I don’t hate you,” I admit, my voice shaky. “But you have no idea how much I want to, Ian. You left when things got rough. Your family took you away, and they started over. They left a huge mess here that tore my family apart. After a few years, I got used to you being gone. I let go of the idea that you’d show back up in my life. And I felt better. Relieved, even. You were a ghost that I buried. And now …” I take a deep breath. “Now you’re a spirit that’s haunting me. I can’t have that. I can’t …” I shrug. “I just can’t.”

  He steps forward.

  I step back.

  It’s a dance that I know too well.

  He frowns. I remain impassive.

  There’s a knock on the front door. “Kasey? Taylor?”

  It’s Jake.

  Ian’s eyes shoot to the door, then back at me.

  We hold the stare, but I don’t give anything away. He used to be the skeleton in the closet. I told myself that I moved on, but there was always a part of me that wondered where he was.

  It wasn’t until I realized that I was only sacrificing my happiness for a ‘what if’ that I let go. Remove the problem. Bury it six feet under.

  I don’t hate Ian. Never did.

  But … I don’t like him either. Not anymore.

  There’s another knock. “I hear the fire alarm. Are you okay? Open up.” His voice is slick with worry.

  I sigh, closing my eyes. Voice wavering, I answer, “I’ll be there in a second.”

  I wave a dishcloth at the alarm so it shuts off.

  Taylor bounces into the kitchen. “It’s Jake!”

  I smile at her. “I know, Tay.”

  “Is he having dinner with us, too?”

  I look at the ruined dinner. “I don’t know.”

  Ian puts his hands in his pocket. “Who’s Jake?”

  I press my lips together.

  Who’s Jake?

  A friend. A replacement. Somebody who made me feel whole again when I got used to being half.

  If you could come back from that, you could come back from anything, I tell myself.

  “He’s a … friend.”

  Taylor yanks on my jeans. “But you’re dating him!”

  I could feel Ian’s e
yes burning into my face, so I opt to walk with Taylor to the door. Before opening it, I look at Taylor.

  “We’re not dating, Taylor.” I clear my throat, knowing Ian’s watching. “We’re just hanging out, okay? We’re friends.”

  She frowns.

  I open the door slowly. “Hey.”

  One of his brows arched up. “Just friends, huh?”

  Heat blasts my cheeks. “Jake, I—”

  “It’s okay,” he insists, taking a step inside.

  He leans in to kiss my cheek like he usually does when he stops by, but freezes. I can only imagine it’s because he sees Ian standing in the kitchen.

  “Um …” He looks inquisitively at me.

  “Jake, this is Ian. Ian, Jake.”

  “Ah,” Jake replies dryly, “the rock star.”

  Ian narrows his eyes, and walks forward. “Ian Wells. And you would be …”

  Jake holds out his hand. “Jake Caldwell.”

  They shake. And shake. And shake.

  Taylor looks at me. “What they doing, sissy?”

  “Uh … I’m not sure,” I admit quietly.

  They stop shaking, and just stare at each other.

  “Guys,” I groan. “You’re just holding hands now. Either get a room or drop them.”

  They instantly let go of each other.

  Ian looks at me. “So you’ve got a boyfriend?”

  I open my mouth, but Jake cuts me off. “We aren’t dating. You heard her just as well as I did.”

  Relief floods my chest. I don’t want this turning into some weird thing between us. Jake isn’t the jealous type. Ever since I started talking to him in middle school, he’s been the laidback kind of guy.

  Ian? Well, Ian’s always had a flare for the dramatic. It’s why I convinced him to try out for drama club in the fourth grade. I expect jealousy from him, and the look in his slanted eyes says plenty.

  “But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t,” Jake adds, sneaking a peek at me.

  I bite the inside of my cheek.

  Taylor giggles. “He likes you.”

  Jake kneels in front of Taylor. “You’re right, T. I like your sister a lot.”

  Her smile broadens.

  My eyes travel to Ian, whose lips are twitching.

  “So … what’s up?” I ask, hoping to dispel the tension.

  Jake stands up, rustling Taylor’s hair. “I wanted to check in on you after earlier. Maybe talk about a few things.” His eyes went to Ian for a short moment, then back to me. “Maybe alone?”

  Taylor looks up at Ian. “Is you making dinner?”

  I answer before he can. “Things changed, Tay. It looks like maybe we’ll just order supper tonight.”

  “I said I’d make something,” Ian intervenes.

  “Well, it’s currently stuck to the bottom of the pan,” I all but hiss back.

  “I got distracted.”

  “Well I don’t know what to tell you.”

  Jake steps forward. “Is he bothering you?”

  “No.” I sigh. “We’re just … rehashing beaten things.”

  Ian’s eye twitches. “You’re lying to yourself if you actually think you buried your skeletons. Clearly you still have plenty of ghosts if you’re upset about something that happened so long ago.”

  Jake eyes him. “I think you should go.”

  Ian stares at me. “Kasey?”

  I don’t say anything.

  “But what about cake?” Taylor chirps.

  Defeated, Ian walks toward the door. “Don’t worry, kid. I’ll still make you some cake. Just not tonight. Looks like your sister has got a date.”

  He says the word date like it’s the most disgusting thing he’s ever heard.

  “Don’t be petty, man,” Jake tells him.

  They’re standing face-to-face. “Don’t tell me what to do, Jasper.”

  I roll my eyes. “Enough you two.”

  Jake takes a step back. Ian stands right where his is, jaw locked and lips twitching downward. There’s determination in his eyes that I wish would go away, because I don’t want to see it. It shows unspoken promises, like he’ll fight for something that I buried years ago.

  My life isn’t perfect now, but life isn’t supposed to be perfect. Life is supposed to be a challenging, upsetting struggle that you fight with every single day.

  Without that fight, what do you have to look forward to when you win? What’s the incentive?

  My fight and Ian’s are different, and it’s clear that he doesn’t get that.

  … and I don’t want him to.

  He opens the front door, giving me one last look. Without another word spoken, he leaves.

  The bell above the door chimes for the millionth time, letting me know that the Labor Day weekend is in full swing. Locals are taking their kids out, prepping for a new school year, and that means businesses are booming.

  Since opening, it’s been nonstop.

  I turn around from where I'm putting in my newest order to see Ian with his hands in his jeans pockets by the door.

  We haven’t spoken or seen each other in a few days. He hasn’t come by my apartment and offered to make dinner. He hasn’t bribed Taylor with cake. It’s been peaceful, and it’s not something I want to give up quite yet.

  Rose comes up beside me. “Want me to get it?”

  I give her a grateful smile. “If you don't mind.”

  She pats my hand and walks toward him, guiding him to one of the few spots left at the counter. I don’t miss the look he sends my way, one that makes him look hurt that I passed him over to Rosie.

  But he can’t do this to me anymore.

  I’m in control of this now—of us. If I want to properly move on and prove him wrong about what I’ve managed to let go of, then I need to be the one who keeps distance.

  I don’t want Ian Wells in my life.

  Maybe if I repeat it to myself enough times, I’ll actually believe it.

  Bill pushes his half-empty coffee mug out for a refill as I pass by with the fresh coffee.

  “He’s a persistent one,” he notes, tipping his head toward Ian.

  “Persistent. Annoying. Same difference.”

  “He’s not what I pictured.”

  I finish pouring his coffee. “What do you mean?”

  He gives me a loose shrug. “Kid made a name for himself, but doesn’t act like it. Sure, girls around here go a little crazy when he’s around, but he doesn’t soak up the attention.”

  I glance at Ian, who’s reading the menu.

  I clear my throat, looking away. “Well don’t think too fondly of him. He’s got headshots of himself ready to be signed at his apartment.”

  I know as soon as I say it I shouldn’t have. The sudden interest in Bill’s face is evident and calculating.

  I shoot him a look. “Get your mind out of the gutter. I only know because I went over to yell at him, and he thought I was a fan.”

  “But you’re not?”

  I roll my eyes. “Definitely not.”

  One of his white brows goes up. “For how long? Whenever one of their songs comes on, you make Rose change it. You avoid conversations about them. You even made Rose serve him.”

  “She offered,” I correct gingerly.

  “It doesn’t matter, kiddo. You know what I think? I think you’re afraid of liking him, because all that frustration you’ve got built inside that tiny body of yours will fade away. Then what will you have?”

  I keep my face impassive, not giving away the fact that he picked a piece off of my barrier. I don’t like when people try analyzing me, not even sweet old men like Bill. And he’s practically the father I never had.

  Either way, he’s right. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what I’m afraid of. I’m like a Kindle that’s left open for everybody to scroll through.

  Plus, I got into trouble enough growing up, and everybody knew how I felt about Ian and his family. Resentment wasn’t a strong enough word, although Rose always told m
e that those feelings were just my mother’s projecting on me.

  Looking back, she’s probably right. But what happened between our families only created a domino effect that was bound to crumble completely eventually. Nothing was left standing—no good thoughts, memories, or hopes.

  “You sure you’re just a retired truck driver?” I tease, cracking a small smile.

  He chuckles. “Wife used to tell me that I could be a shrink with all the advice I give. My kids just tell me I’m a nosey old man with an addiction to getting into people’s business.”

  That makes me laugh. “I’d believe either.”

  He pats my hand. “All I’m saying is that it takes more effort to hate a person than it does to forgive them.”

  I cast my gaze down at the cracked and faded linoleum.

  “You’re a good kid, Kasey. But so is he.”

  Silently, I agree with him.

  He lets go of my hand. “I’ll let ya get back to work now. Looks like it’s picking up.”

  The next hour is spent serving the back half of the diner while Rosie takes care of the main section. When I walk to the kitchen, I glance at Ian, only to find him looking back.

  Every time I will myself to stop for five seconds to say something. Bill’s right, he’s a good guy. Or, he seems to be. And yeah, I’m holding onto a grudge I shouldn’t even have—especially not toward him.

  But I do, and years of feeling a certain way toward somebody isn’t going to fade easily.

  When Bill leaves, he gives me a knowing look, one that says to grow a pair of lady balls and talk to Ian. He doesn’t have to tell me to, it’s in his eyes.

  Bill … he means well. Like Rosie, he looked after me when Mom went downhill. Not to mention he knew Dad back when they worked together. It’s one of the reasons why I was afraid to talk to him for so long, because I didn’t want to risk him going back to Dad. If Dad was even still around.

  But Rosie insisted that he cared, and he proved it. The advice he gives me, whether I want it or not, is always good. It may not be what I want to hear, but it’s what I need to.