Heart Stronger

by Rachel Blaufeld

  “I should let you go.” I leaned forward, bracing my chin in my hands and my elbows on my thighs. I was a sad sack of nothing. Unfortunately, Mary was right. At least when I taught, I had students to brighten my day. Seeing their eager faces, hearing the rumpling of the papers and backpacks, even the incessant dinging of their phones made me feel somewhat whole again.

  “Want me to come over?”

  “No!” My butt came off the chair, and I stood there cradling the phone between my neck and chin in the most uncomfortable fashion. Smitty raised his head off the floor at my sudden spurt of energy.

  “Oh, that was pretty emphatic for just a no.”

  “It’s nothing.” Mary would sniff out the hottie next door like a coonhound in heat.

  “Mmm, did you forget we went to school together, graduated with our PhD’s together? I may be an administrator now, but I’m a therapist at heart. You’re the one who went for the developmental crap. Not me. I like to analyze and scrutinize everyone put in front of me, and you just dealt me a tasty, tasty morsel.”

  “Really, nothing. It’s…just…I’m still in my pajamas, and I don’t want you to find me like this.”

  “Claire Richards, get out of those jammies, shower, and put on heels with whatever else you have. We’re going for a drink. A mimosa or something. It’s long overdue. We haven’t done it in months. I’ll be there in a half hour, so be ready. Or I’m taking you out in what you’re wearing.”

  “I don’t want Pat to be upset.”

  “Believe me, Patrick can use a heavy dose of supervising his spawn.”

  I half laughed, because Pat could use some alone time with his kids. He didn’t appreciate his wife, didn’t see how much she did behind the scenes. Mary was one of those superhumans. She worked, raised her kids, cooked, and looked good doing it all. I didn’t understand how Pat didn’t know how damn lucky he was in life, marriage, all of it.

  “I don’t really want to go out, but you’re not going to let me out of this, are you?”

  I hated going out. It was different than teaching. It was a glaring reminder of how everyone was living around me. Smiling, making conversation, kissing, touching, loving, even fighting—none of which I was doing. But I knew Mary wasn’t going to back down. Score: Mary, 1. Claire, 0.

  “I’m already shimmying out of my swimsuit and putting on my lace thong. Clock’s ticking. Slipping my legs into jeans…”

  It wasn’t until a cocktail each and a shared bottle of wine later that Mary and I stumbled back to my house from a hole-in-the-wall bar a few blocks away. Proximity was one advantage of living in a one-stop college town.

  A disadvantage of living in a one-stop college town: turning around with a drink in your hand only to find a student. It was the worst-possible scenario. Fortunately, Clive’s Place catered to professors, with its lackluster décor and imposing bouncer at the door.

  “Let’s have a smoke. And then I’ll Uber home, ’kay?” Mary whispered in my ear, always mindful of who could be listening around these parts.

  As if there was anyone in my life who’d care.

  Yet, I still answered with false hope. “Let’s go around back. I don’t like to smoke in the house.”

  “I don’t care where we smoke. I just need one quickie before I head back to the brood.”

  We walked around my house and slipped down the path to the yard, Mary’s heels clicking on the concrete, her words echoing against the dusk. Click, click, click.

  “Oh shit!” Mary’s click-clacking came to a sudden halt. Luckily, I hadn’t acquiesced to her earlier demands and insisted on strappy sandals, or I’d have toppled right over her when I collided with her back.

  “Holy shit, never, ever underestimate the power of a therapist. I still got that touch. Ding, ding.” Mary didn’t even try to whisper in the night.

  Shit is right. In my drunken, foggy state, I’d forgotten why I didn’t want Mary to come over. When she’d arrived, I was already waiting on the stairs. I’d grabbed her arm and skipped her down to Clive’s like I’d meant business. It was out of character, but she’d winked and declared a victory in getting me to live life.

  “Ladies,” he said, his voice like hot tea with honey coating a sore throat. There were no words for the slight chin dip that accompanied his greeting. I was so undersexed and repressed, his stubbled jaw made way more than my blood flow.

  “Well, well, what do we have here?” I witnessed Mary take in his well-worn jeans, light gray V-neck T-shirt, and mussed hair. He looked like he’d just gone three rounds in bed. Hopefully, he had…and he was just being a friendly neighbor on a summer’s night.

  “Mary, shhh. He’s probably a student.”

  “Not a student,” Aiken declared as he slid back behind the poor excuse of a fence between our properties.

  “See?” Mary winked, then shoved her hand over the fence. “I’m Mary.”

  “Aiken. I just moved in.” He jutted his thumb behind him, indicating the yellow clapboard house, before extending his hand to her.

  “What were you doing on my side of the fence?” I couldn’t help but wonder.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. Noticed you had a floodlight out, and I was just checking to see what type of bulb it took. I don’t have any, but I was considering picking one up. As a peace offering…”

  I didn’t respond. Really. I couldn’t find my words. I’d lost them somewhere in between checking to see what type of bulb and peace offering.

  Mary rescued me. “You’ve got a great house.”

  And then she didn’t. “We looked at it when it first came on the market. For fun. Neither of us needed a house. I live over on the other side of campus, one of those boring developments with cookie-cutter houses, mostly cookie-cutter families. In other words, capital B boring. Here’s better, close walking to a lot of places, food, drinks, the mini-mart. I adore your house.”

  “You’re rambling, Mary. Probably boring my new neighbor. Come on, I’ll call you an Uber.”

  “We were just going to have a smoke.” Mary gave a flirtatious wink. “And since you’ve confirmed you’re not a student, why don’t you join us?”

  Aiken’s mouth smirked at me, the corner turned up, and for some reason, I felt playful. Alive, even in the damp, humid night.

  It was an unfamiliar feeling and one I’d pushed away a long time ago. A person could take only so many losses before they numbed themselves to feeling. Disappointment had become easier to swallow.

  “I’m sure Aiken thinks smoking is disgusting. Isn’t that right?” I felt my eyebrow lift, my mouth pinched tight, while I waited for him to agree.

  “Funny thing. You’re the runner. Maybe that’s why you were so out of breath the last time I saw you.”

  “It’s not really a regular thing for me. Not a habit, I mean, ugh, what do you care?”

  “Chill, I was just teasing. In fact, I have a cigar from my buddy I’ve been holding off on lighting up. Why don’t I grab it? In fact, how ’bout you ladies come on over here, and we’ll partake on my deck?” He flicked the gate open and held his arm out, welcoming us to his yard.

  “Where’s the cigarettes? You go wait over there, and I’ll be there in a sec.” Mary, always scheming.

  I wanted to argue, but felt my name on the tip of her tongue, and I wasn’t letting Aiken win so easily. “Under the flowerpot. Matches are there too.”

  “Come on, Smitty’s mom,” Aiken quietly said in the vicinity of my ear once Mary was out of the way.

  Words bubbled in my throat, to beg him to not call me that, but I pushed them down.

  I wanted him to think of me as a woman, a whole woman, not a dog’s mom.

  I wanted him to forget me.

  A small sliver of my heart wanted to tell him everything. Although it wouldn’t do any good. Next, he would be asking all kinds of questions, breaking down barriers, making me feel.

  Silently, I followed Aiken toward his deck, surveying the tidy yard, counting the crickets’ croaks in
my head. It was a nice house: perfect for a young couple who saw themselves having a family one day. Maybe he had a girlfriend…or boyfriend…moving in soon?

  “Have a seat. I just cleaned off the cushions. Want something to drink?”

  I shook my head, sitting on the edge of a chaise.

  “Be right back,” he hollered from the back door.

  Against the quiet night, I heard Smitty barking at my back door, probably at Mary shuffling around, no doubt making a mess.

  The screen door slapped shut marking Aiken’s return, and I fumbled for my words.

  “You know what? I forgot about Smitty…I don’t know how. Anyway, I’ve got to go let him out. Thanks again for inviting us, but…”

  I was up and walking toward the fence when Mary called out to me, “Got your hunk of a beast with the key from under the flowerpot.”

  I mumbled, “Troublemaker,” under my breath, making several mental notes not to drink again with Mary anytime soon. She yearned for adventure. I craved solitude. At least, I thought I did.

  Smitty came running into Aiken’s yard, busting through the unlocked gate, immediately lifting his leg on one of his tidy bushes. “Sorry.”

  He brushed his hand in the air, paying it no mind. “I’ll shut the gate so he stays in.”

  Mary had already propped herself back in a lounge chair, kicked off her red spiked heels, and was lighting up a smoke. “Here.” She tossed the pack my way.

  I was already unsettled, so having a smoke was the least of my problems. I lit up and exhaled into the evening air, smoke funneling in front of my face. My lungs constricted and expanded, welcoming the calming nicotine.

  “So, ladies, up to no good tonight, I see.” Aiken sat on the bottom step, cigar in his mouth, his lips in a round O, cheeks puffing as he held the lighter to the other end. Embers burned and crackled, the tip turning bright orange, before a wave of smoke wafted in front of him. I took another drag of my cigarette before I did something stupid.

  Crap, anything at this point is stupid.

  “That’s us, up to no good,” Mary said, exhaling tiny rings.

  “I should have you written up,” I told her. “I don’t think you’re a very good boss or role model. I want a new boss.”

  “Is that how things work around here? Party it up with your boss a lot?” Aiken looked directly at me, never once glancing at Mary in her low-cut sleeveless blouse and skinnier-than-skinny jeans. For our age, she looked great. Vibrant, youthful, bright.

  I looked like myself in a lackluster white tank, dulled bangle bracelets, and faded, hole-in-the-knee jeans—in other words, worn out. Like my heart. Yet, here I was, sitting in my younger neighbor’s yard, feeling the muscle beat in my chest, pounding heavier with his every side glance.

  “I was just getting my girl out for a night before she turned into a hermit,” Mary said. “Plus, my dear husband needed a dose of what it’s like to be home with kids every night. Guy has it made.”

  “I see.” He still didn’t look Mary’s way.

  “No kids for you, neighbor?” He winked, and it was almost enough to obliterate the sadness his words carried. They weren’t meant to be mean or harmful. He was only being playful, dashing. He didn’t know what had happened.

  “That’s a little personal for not even knowing my name,” I shot back, stubbing out my smoke on the side of my chair and standing. “I’m going to hit the hay. This hermit can only stand so much fun for one night.”

  I turned without another word, knowing Mary wouldn’t help me. She’d firmly entrenched herself in Camp Tough Love. It was time to move forward, get going with my life, according to Mary.

  “Shit,” Aiken mumbled. “Hey.” He ran after me. “Hey, you!”

  I was already on the other side of the fence, Smitty trotting next to me.

  “Claire. Her name’s Claire,” Mary called out.

  I was on my back porch, Aiken hot on my heels. I could hear his breath, smell his cigar, feel his heat.

  “Claire, wait.” I went to open the door, and he pulled me back, exposing my bra strap. His huge mitt of a hand singeing my shoulder, he used his pointer finger to right my strap, keeping his eyes focused on mine. “I’m sorry…I don’t know shit. Stupid-guy alert.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “I mean, I don’t know…maybe you couldn’t have them or were never married. I took you for a hot divorcée. Shit.” He took a drag of his cigar. “I’m fucking this all up. What I mean is this is coming out all wrong. Whatever the reason you have, I’m sorry I called you Smitty’s mom. I sort of get why you got mad now.” His words filtered out in a puff of cinnamonesque smoke, begging me to lean close and sniff.

  I resisted.

  “Really, it’s fine. It’s all me, this issue. It’s me. Swear—”

  “Come back. Let’s have a drink.”

  My eyes betrayed me, taking in his full length, the same worn-in jeans Mary had ogled, tight T-shirt, weathered flip-flops, biceps bulging, and hair askew—he wasn’t for me.

  He couldn’t be for me.

  “I can’t. Listen, let me put your guilt at ease. I am a divorcée, deposited on the side of the road for a younger make and model. A better one.”

  I took a deep breath and let him chew on that. He didn’t look fazed, so I went in for the kill.

  “As for kids, I can…could…have them. I did have one. Actually, the best one ever. A beautiful daughter named Abby. Bright, happy, full of life at one time. She’s dead now, because I wanted to take a bath and drink wine. I’m not for you, Aiken, even if you’re on some Mrs. Robinson jag.”

  When I stopped to catch my breath, I finally got a reaction, but it wasn’t horror like I expected. It wasn’t pity like I typically got.

  It was something worse. Empathy. His eyes glazed with sincerity, his brow furrowed with concern, his mouth opened to say something.

  I turned, walked into my house, and allowed the door to slam behind me without even a good night.

  Because it wasn’t.

  Aiken

  “Dumb fucking idiot.”

  That was what I mumbled to myself as I made my way back home, Claire’s friend still sprawled in my lounge chair, the glow of her phone illuminating her made-up face.

  I wanted to turn back and look at Claire’s house. Maybe if I stared long enough, I could make sense of what she’d said.

  Used to be a mom?

  Jesus Christ, what the ever-loving-fuck happened?

  And why the hell was I so fascinated with this woman?

  Yeah, she turned me on, even when she was sweaty and sticky from her run. With curves in all the right places and beautiful silky hair, she was a goddess. But after what she’d said, I should’ve run back home to Indiana and forgot why I even came here.

  “Struck out, did ya?” Her friend didn’t even bother to look up from plucking at her phone.

  Stubbing my cigar on the side of the house, leaning my shoulder into the trim, I waited for her to get up and leave. I needed time to untangle my thoughts. Shit, I was breaking out in a cold sweat over the babe next door.

  “She used to be fun, fancy-free, gorgeous, smart as fuck. Well, she’s still that and gorgeous—”

  “That part’s easy to see,” I interrupted, then quickly shut my shit down. No way I needed to explain myself to Claire’s friend. I had wanted to get to know my neighbor—in several ways. Now I wanted to hide.

  Or fix whatever happened.

  Jesus Christ, I was a man, not a fucking psychologist.

  What was happening to me?

  “But she’s not Claire Claire. To be honest, she hasn’t been Claire since David walked out. There were still tiny hints, but Abby dying was a game changer. Don’t be too hard on yourself…I’m pretty sure if Ryan Gosling walked through the gate, he’d get the same cold shoulder as you.”

  “Yeah.” I continued to tuck my jumbled feelings deep inside my craw, never one to let them hang out. I was a man’s man back home, full of pride. Stoic had suited me
for years.

  I’d already revealed enough to this stranger. Never one to wear my feelings on my flannel, I tried to tuck away this newfound gentleness. “It’s cool. I was just trying to be neighborly, but there’s something about her…”

  I didn’t want to tip my hand entirely, but that woman—strong beyond measure, proud too. And soft where it counted. She did something for me.

  Her friend sat forward, tucking her phone in her cleavage. “What’s your story?”

  “Really? You’re going to go that way now? I’m over here daydreaming about your friend, and…”

  Obviously, I wasn’t able to put a lid on my fascination.

  “Not like that.” Her sultry laugh rang into the night, but did nothing for me. “Stupid husband is just getting the kids down, so I have some time to kill. He may be stupid, but he’s all mine. I definitely don’t want anyone else.”

  “Well, you’re welcome to hang out, but I’m going inside. My story…is a closed case to you. Maybe not for her.” I cocked my hand toward Claire’s house.

  One, I’d had enough sadness for the night.

  Two, I knew if I had any chance in getting Claire to warm up, it would have to be an eye for an eye. Quid pro quo. I could tell this Mary had a big mouth. She’d be on her phone and spilling before she even got home.

  “Of course, you wouldn’t want me to know before Claire.”

  “That’s not gonna work, Mary. I’m young, not dumb. No way I’m going to fall for that tactic. Make sure the gate’s closed on your way out.”

  I hustled up the few steps and inside the door before she could protest…or not. She seemed somewhat content to have a moment to herself. Inside, I ran my cigar under water in the sink, before collapsing into bed with my clothes still on and my head reeling.

  The next morning, I woke early—a leftover habit of growing up on a farm. Stumbling into the all-white bathroom, I took a piss and gargled with mouthwash, noting I should paint it navy or some shit. Pulling the front window blind open, I surveyed the quiet street. Newspapers littered a few lawns, a sprinkler went off a few doors down, and across the way, clouds filled the sky. It wasn’t home home, but it was fine.