by Kim Karr
Near the water there was a slight nip in the air, which hinted to summer descending into fall, and I breathed it in.
With my hands stuffed in my pockets, I stopped and stood on the concrete walkway. Leaning against the railing, I scanned the area. Around me, people sat on benches and at chairs circling tables, drinking coffee and talking.
It was something Tricia loved to do—just sit around and talk.
Why hadn’t I done that with her more?
My wife was beautiful. Petite. She might have been short and curvy and sexy as hell, but it was her zest for life that I never could resist.
Unable to watch the people enjoying themselves any longer, I averted my eyes upward, and stared for the longest time.
When I should have been in my office answering calls and typing emails, I instead was standing down below it, lost in my thoughts.
What was wrong with me?
Still staring at the structural system of the building where steel trusses were used to suspend the southwest corner in order to clear the Amtrak and Metra railroad tracks beneath it, I tried to figure out how the hell I was going to raise my growing daughter and keep my sanity.
It was a common concern, and one that after nearly three years I had yet to overcome.
The sound of an engine swung my glance downward, and it landed on the big, yellow boat. It was something Scarlett loved to look at. She said it reminded her of a giant rubber duck. With a smile on my face, I watched as the sightseeing tour passed by, thinking about my daughter and the milestones my wife would never be a part of.
Scarlett was two when Tricia passed, and other than the pictures she had seen, she didn’t remember her mother. That was hard. Harder still was the fact that she’d recently turned five years old, and not only did she look so much like her mother, she also had her fiery personality as well.
This morning my daughter debated with me the benefits of letting her wear her pretty sandals to school instead of the practical tennis shoes I’d recently purchased for her. As usual, she won the debate.
Thank fuck for uniforms, or I would have been screwed. It would have been sports shirts, tutus, and jeans every Goddamn day.
The Preston School in Lincoln Park was where Scarlett spent her days. She’d been attending the elite establishment since preschool. And it was close enough to our house that the nanny walked her to and from there, unless it rained or the temperature was extremely cold, then she drove her.
For almost a year after I lost my wife, I had refused to consider hiring someone to help me with Scarlett. It felt wrong. Like I was trying to replace my wife. Therefore, every morning I dropped Scarlett off at daycare, and every evening I left work promptly at five to pick her up, and worked from home well into the night.
Days when Scarlett was sick, my best friend’s wife would watch her for me. Fiona, who was married to Ethan, stayed at home with their son, Max.
It was my other best friend, Nick Carrington, another college buddy, that I had to thank for pushing me toward hiring Mrs. Sherman. He knew I was burning out and took the time to convince me of that.
The nanny I hired was a sixtyish woman with no children any longer at home and she loved Scarlett. Turned out, she had been what both Scarlett and I needed to round out the sharp corners of dealing with the loss of Tricia.
Things were better with her.
As much as they could be, anyway.
A feeling of restlessness spilled over me, and I knew it was time to get back to work. I was on edge. That woman at lunch had opened something within me that I thought had long since died. It was a yearning that I refused to acknowledge.
Shoving aside the whole stop and smell the roses routine I had somehow tiptoed into, I turned away from the river. Long strides had me in the lobby and boarding the elevator in less than five minutes. In no time, I was stepping out onto the twenty-seventh floor.
“Mr. Bennett,” Simon called. “I’m glad I caught you.”
I stopped and turned around to address one of the systems analysts who was filling in as interim Technology Manager. “What’s going on, Simon?”
“I have an issue I’d like you to take a look at.”
“Did you ask Perry about it?” Perry Reeves was the Chief Technology Officer and had been with me since I first pounded out the idea of Flirt.
“I tried, sir, but he’s been in meetings all day. I thought, or I hoped,” Simon stumbled, “that I could get your opinion?”
Perry had recently hired someone for the open position, but until that person actually started, I knew he was buried up to his balls in work. That’s why I nodded and followed Simon, despite the fact I knew my desk was probably overflowing by now.
Simon was hired nine months ago, straight out of college, and in no way ready for the management position, but he was eager and always gave it his all. I liked that about him. He was a real go-getter.
And his ideas were top notch.
It was four before I made my way to my office, and as soon as I opened my email I saw a message from Amanda Woodward.
There was also one from Perry, so I clicked on it first.
* * *
To: Jace Bennett
From: Perry Reeves
Re: New Hire
Jace, attached you will find the resume of the new hire for the Technology Management position. I think she is perfect for the job, and as you know I went ahead and hired her already. Sorry for the delay in forwarding this to you. She starts next week. I really think she’s going to be a beneficial asset.
* * *
Amanda’s email was burning on my screen and without bothering to click on the resume, I typed out a quick response and closed Perry’s email. My hope was that Amanda had found her sanity and was going to agree to the purchase.
It was my sanity that needed to be questioned for thinking that way, and that became evident when I clicked on the message and read it. Before even finishing it, my foul mood re-emerged. In fact, I wanted to throw something.
* * *
To: Jace Bennett
From: Amanda Woodward
Re: I’m Here
In case it wasn’t clear at our meeting this afternoon, I’m Here isn’t for sale right now. If I gave the impression of otherwise, I must apologize.
Until we meet again,
Amanda
* * *
As I read each word one more time, I felt my body going live wire. My temperament had to be tamed. I took a deep breath and blew it out, but before I could do it again my cell phone started to ring.
“Jace,” I answered shortly without glancing at the screen.
“Mr. Bennett, this is Mrs. Sherman. Is this a good time?”
I took another slow breath. “Yes, yes, of course. How’s Scarlett?”
“That’s why I’m calling. When I picked her up from school today, she was crying.”
My heart stopped. “Why?”
“I’m not certain, sir, she won’t say.”
I sat up in my chair, my frown deepening. “Let me talk to her.”
“Just one moment.”
A few seconds later, Scarlett’s sweet voice came over the line. “Hi, Daddy.”
“Hi, princess. Mrs. Sherman told me you were sad when she picked you up today. Why?”
“No reason.”
“Scarlett, you know you can tell me anything, right?”
“It’s not a big deal, Daddy.”
Like her mother, she also hated to cause trouble. “I’m sure it isn’t, but how about you tell me anyway?”
With a sigh, she said, “Well, there was this new boy at school today, and he made fun of my hair.”
The features on my face screwed out of place as I picked up the picture on my desk of Tricia and zeroed in on her auburn locks. The ones I loved to run my fingers through and the ones that always looked like she’d never brushed them. I think that hair is the first thing I ever noticed about her. And Scarlett had the identical hair, right down to the tangles and auburn color. “Made
fun of your hair, how?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even.
She hiccupped a little, and I hated she had been crying. “He said it looked like I plugged my finger into a light socket.”
Anger splintered my mind. “He said what?”
“Daddy, it’s no big deal. I’m fine now,” she insisted.
I set the picture down on my desk. “I know you are, princess. And you know you have the hair of an angel, right?”
That made her giggle. “Daddy, I have my mommy’s hair, not the hair of an angel.”
I shifted a little in my chair and looked at the picture again. “Silly me. You’re right, princess.”
“What time are you coming home?” she asked.
“I’ll be home in time for dinner.”
“Promise?” Her voice sounded doubtful.
“Promise,” I said.
“Okay, Daddy, then while we eat, I’ll tell you all about my day. My teacher is really nice, and today we got all of our supplies. I want to tell you all about them.”
“Sounds like a date.”
“Bye, Daddy,” she said.
My eyes were still on Tricia’s auburn locks. “Scarlett,” I stopped her.
“Yes, Daddy?”
“What was the boy’s name?”
She hymned and hawed.
“Please, princess.”
“I think it was Jonah. Yes, Jonah. Why Daddy?”
It’s not like I could tell her I was about to set this kid’s parents straight. “I was just curious.”
Hey, I was.
“I love you,” she said.
“Love you more,” I answered, and then hung up.
Leaning back in my chair, I steepled my fingers together and couldn’t stop the wheels from turning in my brain because they were already in motion.
The low growl that rumbled in my throat as I opened the school’s website was one I had to swallow back. I knew I had to calm the fuck down as I entered my password and clicked on the parent directory, but I couldn’t seem to regulate my breathing no matter how hard I tried.
Scanning the list, I saw there was only one Jonah in Scarlett’s class. Below it was the name of a single parent. H. Crestfall was listed along with a physical and email address.
The single name meant single parent. This was something I knew all too well.
Regardless, this boy’s parent, father or mother, or parents, if that was the case, needed to teach his or her or their kid some manners.
I was so up in my head that before I knew it, I was reaching for the phone, telling my secretary I was leaving early, and then I was rising out of my chair and storming down the hall.
Heading to Lincoln Park via a stop off in Lakeview wasn’t that far out of my way, and since I was leaving early, I’d be home for dinner as promised.
Stop the bullying and keep my promise . . .
Now that was priceless.
PRESENT DAY
Jace Bennett
WAITING AROUND WAS never my thing.
I was wired to address things head on. Sidestepping the issue was for pussies, or that was what I had always believed. Tricia had tried to tame me. She wasn’t the first one to try to help me deal with my misplaced anger and easily triggered temper.
There were things I’d learned before I met Tricia that served me well. Deep breathing techniques had always been most effective, as well as taking a minute to reconsider my actions. Tricia expanded on those tools and tried to stress the importance of not being able to undo what had been done.
You can’t go back.
None of my coping mechanisms were working at the moment, and by the time I made it to the parking garage, I was no longer thinking about calming down or the fallout of what I was about to do.
No one was going to upset my daughter, not if I had something to say about it.
The BMW 7 series was parked in my usual spot. After I unlocked the driver’s side door, I tossed my briefcase on the passenger seat and plugged the address from the directory into the navigation system. I wasn’t that familiar with the neighborhood the house was in, but I knew it well enough.
The area was nice. A lot of homes that needed fixing up just like Lincoln Park. The difference, the houses weren’t as big, so they didn’t cost as much. The upside, most of the lots were larger, providing a lot more privacy.
Not that it was that far from The Preston School, it was probably closer than my house, but I didn’t know many people who came from Lakeview to Lincoln Park for schooling, since the Emblem Academy was located there.
Then again, you had to shell out a pretty penny for that school, and maybe this family didn’t have that or find it worth the investment or care for the politics.
Who the fuck knew, and who the fuck cared. All that mattered was that my little girl did not come home crying ever again.
Blaring the Sex Pistols, I hopped on I-90 just as if I were headed to my house in Lincoln Park. As I started north, I wondered if I should call Fiona and ask her for advice on how to handle the situation, but in the end I decided against it. She’d probably tell me to go through proper channels. To start by emailing the teacher or the parent. That was too much bureaucracy for me. It would take too long. I wanted the situation addressed now.
This was something I needed to handle myself.
In my own way.
And besides, my friendship with Fiona was still on unstable ground, even after all the time that had passed. She pretended it wasn’t, but we both knew it was, and there was nothing I could do to undo what had been done.
You can’t go back.
Our relationship had grown during the weeks and months following the death of my wife, and somehow I had allowed it to grow further than I should have. Relying on her more than I should have. Telling her things I probably should have kept to myself. Using her as a shoulder to cry on.
The three-month period that happened as a result of that connection wasn’t anything I had expected and nothing I planned to re-live.
Ever again.
SIX MONTHS EARLIER
Jace Bennett
TO THE UNTRAINED ear, every Ramones song sounded exactly the same.
They were all fast, short, wickedly funny and deceptively simple. But the hardcores like me knew the truth: no two songs are the same. “Wart Hog” sounded nothing like “Judy Is a Punk,” and “I Remember You” was about as far away from “Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue” as one could imagine.
“Pet Cemetery” was playing as I stared at the picture of Tricia and me with Scarlett in our front yard the day we brought Scarlett home from the hospital. It was exactly one hundred and thirty-three days after the one-year anniversary of Tricia’s death. I counted the days that way. I wasn’t sure why.
I was feeling restless, unable to concentrate. My eyes bounced from the striped wallpaper, distressed wooden floors, fabric chairs, and finally down at the large onyx desk where my laptop was perched. Everything mixed and matched in such a way it was undeniable that they were selected with coordination in mind.
The entire house was the exact same way. Every room decorated with care and understanding. Comfort and logic. Luxury and frills.
No expense was spared.
I was glad I could give her that.
Tricia and I had purchased the brownstone right before we married. The place was old and needed a shit ton of work. I wanted to pass on the house, but Tricia saw potential she couldn’t pass up. I imagined it was how she felt about me when we first met. A little broken, but with some tender-loving care she knew she could put it back together, just as she had me.
At first we were both too busy with our careers to bother with redoing it. Flirt was just making great strides, and her interior design job brought her so much satisfaction, she couldn’t let it go.
But as soon as we found out she was pregnant, she decided it was time to quit. During those nine months before Scarlett was born, she coordinated the complete renovation of our home and was certain to include every modern convenience
. She knew what I liked and never cut corners.
I focused on working, or wanted to be. I started to tap on my keyboard, but stroke after stroke no coherent words would form. My mind was trapped in the days of the construction and the nuance of coming home to her every night.
The knock on the door was light.
A quick glance out the window from my office told me it was Ethan. His car was parked in the drive. The visit was unexpected, but not unwelcome.
I looked at the clock. It was ten. I was up. I was always up—working. He knew that.
As soon as he walked in, I could tell he was twitchy and nervous. It wasn’t so much unlike him, and I honestly paid little attention. Scarlett was fast asleep, so I turned the speakers in the living room on, allowing the Ramones to play quietly through them, and then grabbed us both a beer before taking a seat.
“So, what’s up?” I asked.
With a beer in his hand, Ethan stood. “I have something I want to discuss with you.”
I raised a brow. “Sounds serious. What is it?”
Ethan took a few steps toward the window, and then turned back to me. “Remember that girl from MSU?”
I tensed. By saying that girl, I knew exactly whom he was referring to. She was my first love, but she belonged to Ethan first. Although technically I had met her before him, I had lost her, literally. “Yeah, of course I do.”
He was pacing now. “She was smoking hot, right?”
I nodded. She was so much more than that, but Ethan wasn’t aware of just how much, and the past was better left in the past.
He stopped pacing and looked right at me. “And Fiona is smoking hot too, don’t you think?”
Setting my beer down, I let out a forced laugh. “Yeah, of course I do, but she’s your wife, man. I really don’t think about her that way.”
A shaky palm ran through his blonde hair. “What if I told you I wanted to do with Fiona what we did with her?”
“You want me to fuck your wife?”
Ethan hesitated and seemed to ponder this. “Well, maybe not exactly the same thing as we did back then. No intercourse, but other things.”
