by Eva Charles
Teddy raced back in, and we stopped talking about Ruth, who I suspected would end up being a bigger cockblocker than the kid, if things ever got that far. “I’m ready,” he announced, holding up his still wet hands for his mother to inspect. Emmie handed him a napkin, without a word. He knew just what it meant.
“Let’s help your mom take these dishes to the sink, and then we’ll go outside.”
“I’ll just wrap the leftovers. The dishes can wait until later. Teddy doesn’t have a lot of time left before bed.”
Emmie
Mark showed Teddy and me how to secure the helmet, which was a lot like a bike helmet, with maybe even more protection. Then he taught us both how to hold the stick, and cradle the ball in the head. Neither Teddy nor I were very good at it.
“Don’t worry. It’ll get easier. Right now, there’s no pocket, so it’s almost impossible to keep the ball in, but we’re going to fix that.”
Mark showed Teddy how to pound the ball into the stiff mesh. When he was satisfied, they wet the mesh, shoved a ball inside, and wove a dull butter knife through the holes to secure the ball. Then they repeated the entire process with the other stick. “Keep it like this for a couple days, and you’ll have a great pocket.” He was patient, and let Teddy do a lot of it, even though I’m sure it took twice as long.
It was impossible to watch them together and not want this for my kid. A man who he bonded with, who could teach him guy things. Breaking in lacrosse sticks, shaving, and all the strange male rituals I knew nothing about. There were no grandfathers, uncles, or older male cousins for Teddy to emulate.
Was it essential? No, of course not. Had I taught Teddy things that would help him grow into a good man? Yes, plenty. But watching them together on the back steps, their dark heads bent over the stick, working together to create a magic pocket, made me want this for him, too. The whole package. I wanted him to have everything I missed out on, and more.
It hit me then, maybe for the first time, that my own recalcitrance was a huge obstacle in Teddy having the male attention he craved. Daddies weren’t like superhero underpants. Children didn’t get to go to Target and choose the package they liked best from the display on the shelf. Choosing daddies was a decision left to mommies. It didn’t matter whether it was the man who planted the seed deep in the womb, or the one who showed up at the door with lacrosse sticks and flowers. It was always mommy’s choice. The responsibility was at once both awesome and terrifying.
But I was getting way ahead of myself. Mark hadn’t applied for the position. Not really. This wasn’t even a real date. I had no decisions to make. Not yet. It was bittersweet comfort—hardly any comfort at all.
We’d barely stowed the sticks and helmets before Teddy was hungry again, or maybe he was pushing off bedtime. “I’m starving. Can we have dessert?”
“Lacrosse makes a guy hungry,” Mark said.
“Lacrosse makes guys hungry,” his sidekick added, in case I didn’t hear it the first time.
“This must be a very special occasion because you’re having ice cream twice today.” Although I could be neurotic about certain things, I tried not to be a stickler about small things like ice cream. But Ruth knew we were having it for dessert tonight, yet she bought Teddy some earlier in the day.
“Ice cream, two times?” Mark made a fish face at him, and they both laughed.
I heated up the marshmallow and chocolate sauces, and brought them to the table with a pint of vanilla ice cream and an unopened sleeve of graham crackers.
“What’s all this?”
“Deconstructed s’mores.”
“Sounds fancy,” Mark said, with a smile that would melt the polar ice caps, every single one, in two seconds flat.
“Sounds fancy,” Teddy repeated, getting on his knees for a better look.
“I remember how disappointed you were about missing the s’mores when Alexa and Cole made them for Teddy at Meadows Shore. I thought this might make up for it.”
I didn’t dare look at him, but I felt the sear of his eyes on my skin. The burn was unmistakable.
For a few minutes, while we ate dessert and laughed, I let myself imagine a different life for Teddy…and for me. But this man who entertained us, brought fun and a generous spirit into our home…this was dangerous. Very dangerous. Teddy could easily become attached to him… I could easily become attached to him. I already liked having him around, and he’d only been here for a few hours.
“Can I have some more water, please?”
“Yes, you may. A little more. Then it’s really time for a shower.” I turned to Mark. “I’m sorry to kick you out. I didn’t even offer you coffee. But it’s getting so late for him.”
“The last thing I need is any more coffee. You go take care of him. I’ll let myself out.”
He stood up, all six feet four of him, and pushed his chair in. “Teddy, you remember what I said about wearing the helmet. And if you have any trouble with the sticks, have your mom call me.”
“Can you come back and teach me once the pocket’s deep? Maybe we can take the sticks to Meadows Shore. The backyard is so big.”
“Teddy, Mark is really busy. He’s already spent so much time playing with us.”
“I am pretty busy, but I can always find time for lacrosse. And I love any excuse to go to Meadows Shore. Vovó makes really good food.” He waggled his brows at Teddy.
“And milk.”
“Oh, yeah. That special warm milk. It’s so much better for your stomach when it’s warm,” he added, his eyes twinkling.
“You go take a shower, buddy. I’ll see you soon.” Mark got down on his haunches, eye-level with Teddy, and started to hold out his hand, when my little boy catapulted into his arms. For a half-second, I think he caught Mark off guard, too. But he wrapped his strong arms around Teddy and rubbed his back, as though he’d been expecting it all his life. And when he stood up, he took Teddy with him, lifting him high, until he dissolved into a fit of laughter.
The emotion flooded my senses, sending haywire signals to my brain.
“Thank you, Mark, for everything,” I sputtered, when he put my son back on the floor.
He leaned in, and brushed his lips on my head. It was no different than what I saw him do with Katina in his office the first time we met. But it sent a warm surge, a need through me that no amount of self-love would satisfy.
“Good-night.”
When I came back to the kitchen forty-five minutes later, after putting Teddy to bed, the dishes were done, and there was a note on the counter written on a paper napkin: Dinner was delicious. Thanks for getting out the fancy plates and stinky perfume. No state secrets for that kid.
I smiled, a goofy, oozy, melty kind of smile, until I read the last line.
Emmie, give us a chance. Take off the ring. See how it feels. You can always put it back on if it doesn’t feel right.
I sat at the kitchen table, and reread the note a hundred times—every word, every syllable—until I’d committed each loop of scrawl to memory. I caressed my wedding band tenderly, trying to recall the exact moment Tim slipped it on my finger. A small panic rose in my chest when I couldn’t call it up. The memory wasn’t faded and dim. It simply wasn’t there.
I twirled the ring round and round, the pressure mounting. I slid it up past the first knuckle, securing it between my thumb and index finger. After a few terrifying minutes, I slid it to the second knuckle, and eventually, all the way off. I squeezed it in my palm, embraced it between my fingertips, and read the inscription over and over: Emmie and Tim forever.
A few tears slipped out, a trickle at first, but before long the gush came. I’m not a crier. Never have been—not really—not before Mark Harrington showed up. I might do the occasional happy tear or two, but when real emotional pain strikes, I’m more prone to a numbing cold gripping my soul than to a flood. A heavy protective freeze that slows my breathing and locks down all sense of feeling until I’m floating above my body. Normally I thaw slowly, e
ase back into my skin, with the signs of frostbite invisible to the untrained eye. It sounds awful, and it might be, but it’s what I know. That, and, put a smile on your face and pretend everything’s okay, because eventually it will be.
Why was I crying now?
Did I feel disloyal? I don’t know. Not really. At this point, Tim had been gone from my life longer than he’d been in it. Did I love him, still? Honestly, I don’t really know that, either. I loved his memory, with all the feelings it evoked, and I cherished every second we were together. But Tim, the man, wasn’t here to love. Not anymore.
I remembered the night we made Teddy. Tim’s first night back from a training exercise. We were young, starved for each other, and didn’t bother with a condom.
When I first found out about the pregnancy, I was terrified of becoming a mother, of becoming my mother, of losing another child I loved. I didn’t think I could do it. No, I was sure I couldn’t. But Tim was excited, and he assured me over and over that everything would be okay. That I’d be a great mother. That together we’d be great parents. Not stifling and controlling, like his, and not neglectful, like mine. A week later he deployed, and not long after that, he was lying in a casket, and someone was handing me a folded flag.
I couldn’t reach my memories of him in the same way anymore. And it wasn’t just Mark. Passing time was a thief. Would I lose all those memories if I loved another man? Would they become fuzzier and dimmer in the shadow of someone else? Would they be lost to me completely, replaced by other memories, I made with a different man?
My ring protected against all of that, and so much more. It protected my heart from loving anyone again. From facing that kind of crippling loss again. And it worked. For years and years, it worked like kryptonite on Superman, or holy water on vampires. Until Mark Harrington showed up. Mark Harrington, who my son was quite sure could beat supervillains into oblivion, and slay blood-sucking monsters with one hand tied behind his back.
Mark wasn’t repelled by a gold band. He was respectful of it, but he challenged it. Challenged me. And he wasn’t going to let me wade in slowly. No, he wanted me to yank it off and dive into the deep end without a life jacket. Just like that.
I lifted the ring off the table and squeezed, rubbing my thumb over the smooth surface. No genie popped out to grant me wishes, or provide any guidance.
After a few minutes, I slid it back on my finger. I’d done what Mark asked. I’d tried it, and it didn’t feel right. That’s what I told myself, as I reread the scrawl on the napkin, turned out the lights, and dragged my left hand behind me to the bedroom.
The ring was no longer weightless. And I had a feeling it never would be again. Now I had to decide whether I would let it hold me underwater, suffocating slowly, or whether I’d take it off and make new memories to sit alongside the old. Maybe even dim the old ones more than they already were.
I brushed my teeth, and heard the flush of the toilet upstairs. My relationship with Ruth was complicated, but normally I got great comfort from hearing her upstairs. Not tonight. Tonight, she added to my unease.
I laid in bed, tossing and turning, the weight of the ring making it impossible to sleep. Sometime during the night, I got up—not sometime: exactly 2:37. The band slid easily off my finger and I placed a small kiss on the cold metal, before I slipped it into a velvet pouch and tucked it inside my top drawer, way in the back, under my Christmas pajamas.
I crawled back into bed, and by morning my finger had plumped, the indentation practically gone. The skin was whiter, but I knew in a short time the sun would remedy that, and there would be nothing left when I glanced down for comfort and strength.
14
Mark
I sent flowers to her office, with a card that said, “Thank you. I hope Ruth hasn’t made your life hell.” I didn’t sign it. Didn’t want anyone making the connection between us. They’d automatically assume I was tapping her, and that wouldn’t be good for her. Or true. And the jury was still out on whether it would ever be true.
Emmie: I love the flowers! Thank you!
Mark: My pleasure
Emmie: Maybe next time you’re at the stadium we can get coffee.
Within five seconds of receiving her text, I did something I should have had my balls cut off for. I rescheduled a meeting with a client. The meeting was in Florida, my ticket was purchased, and my packed bag sat idly in the corner, judging me. After I flipped off the bag, it took me all of a minute to find an excuse to be at Hancock Field first thing in the morning.
No, it wasn’t stalker-like behavior. It was pussy-like behavior. I couldn’t get a text from the woman without acting like a giant, sloppy pussy. The Pillsbury Doughboy wasn’t as squishy as me.
I instructed my assistant to set up a meeting at Hawks Stadium, a meeting that didn’t need to happen, and reschedule the breakfast meeting in Florida that did need to happen. It was now a dinner meeting, giving me plenty of time to dawdle over coffee. After all, I had nothing better to do in the middle of a workday, right? The stack of paper on my desk decorated with sticky notes, that said things like, needs attention today, and SOS, couldn’t really be that important, right? Of course not. Not as important as texting Emmie back.
Mark: As it turns out, Sunshine, I’m there bright and early tomorrow.
Emmie: What time?
Mark: 8 sharp. Put it in your calendar
Emmie: I can’t meet you before 9:30
Mark: 9:30 it is
Another change. Make that two more. My assistant was annoyed, and there was a small part of me that wanted to say: don’t you get paid to massage my schedule? But she’d beat my ass, and besides, I loved her. Fortunately, a venti passion tea with one Splenda always made up for my shortcomings. She was easy like that.
Emmie
I hadn’t been the kind of teenager who preened in front of the mirror and changed clothes dozens of times to impress a boy. But that’s what I’d done this morning.
I barely made it through my early morning meeting with Coach, without grinning like a fool every time I thought about Mark. I agreed to everything Coach wanted, my mood was that good. Until the topic of Jake came up.
The news came in during our meeting that the grand jury had chosen not to indict on the drug charges. But the case was far from over. The rape charges could still be brought, and the way the judge dismissed the drug case left open the possibility the charges could be refiled. An uphill battle, apparently, but very possible.
The young woman was gone, and although no one shared much with me, it sounded as though Sal’s team might have located her and put her under surveillance. They were convinced she had been paid to frame Jake. It was just as well I didn’t know all the details.
I was shooing JT Reynolds, a player who needed some extra personal instruction on how to speak to the PR interns, out of my office when Mark arrived. “I’ll see you next week. Same time.”
“Ah, come on, Auntie Em. It’s so early. Can’t you cut a guy a break?”
The Auntie Em thing was getting old, but I preferred it to babe, or honey pot. Yes, a player did call me by that charming name when I first arrived. Then tried to talk himself out of trouble with a reference to Winnie the Pooh.
“I am cutting you a break. I’m meeting with you, instead of recommending the coach sit your butt on the bench. I’d say that’s a pretty big break.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he mumbled as he left my office. He muttered something to Mark about how I was mean.
Mark rolled his eyes. “I don’t know how you stand it. I was here for two minutes of it, and I wanted to smack him on the back of the head.”
“He’s not so bad, if you think of him like a ten-year-old. Come in. Let me just do two quick things and I’ll be ready.”
Mark put his briefcase down on a chair, and scanned the room.
I quietly mulled over whether I should share the news about the grand jury with him. It wasn’t a secret, but he’d been in a meeting all morning. Maybe he hadn’t
heard.
“I know we agreed not to talk about Jake’s case but did you hear the grand jury isn’t indicting?”
He smiled and nodded. “I heard. It’s great news. But when I talked to Jake, he didn’t seem as relieved as I expected. I don’t think he’ll ever be the same. How could he be?”
“It’s still new. Give him some time.”
“Thank you for telling me. It means a lot.” His voice was thick and low. It wasn’t a polite, off-the-cuff remark. It brimmed with emotion, heartfelt, every word. I knew what my candor meant to him.
“Okay, enough talk about Jake. Let’s talk about me.”
I laughed. “How did your meeting go?”
“Haven’t had it, yet.”
“Who you meeting with?”
He didn’t say anything.
“Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”
“I’m meeting with you.”
“Oh. I thought…”
“After you mentioned you’d be available next time I was here, I tried to set up a meeting, but it didn’t work out.”
It was unabashedly honest. It scared me a little, because stark honesty is frightening in many ways. There’s no room for niceties and nuance. It’s in your face, intense, and raw. Like Mark.
I made a note in JT’s file, and locked it away in the cabinet. “I’m ready.” I slid my purse over my shoulder.
Mark put out his hand for me to lead the way. When I switched off the overhead light, he grabbed my wrist, dragged me back into the office, and kicked the door shut with his foot. The thud echoed with finality.
I was caught firmly between him and the bookcase, when he lifted my hand.
He didn’t look for my ring. Instead, he rubbed my naked finger with his thumb, his eyes searching mine. He didn’t have to search long—my soul was bare. “You took it off.”
I nodded.
The knob bobbed in his throat. His eyes searched, again. He lifted my hand to his lips and placed a small kiss where the ring had been. It was gentle and tender, like a parent kissing a child’s hurt away.
