by Tracy Ewens
He had a date tomorrow. A day date that included his son, but a date was a date. Climbing back into his truck, Boyd felt closer to his son than he had in months. All guys, young and old, were made of the same stuff, he supposed. Wanting something more, faster, better never went away. He’d simply been on hold for a few years.
Chapter Eighteen
Ella knew there was a reason she hated Fridays. She was in the hospital cafeteria telling Bri about her roadside assistance and the note. She sighed as friends do and for the first time, she was comfortable letting someone into her feelings.
“I’m so happy for you,” Bri said right as Ella glanced up, and it was as if someone had rolled over onto the remote control of her life.
Mask pulled around his neck. Familiar dark stubble and eyes made for both intimidation and seduction in equal measure. What man pulled off a scrubs cap like that? He did, and Ella cursed herself again as Dr. Marc Pierce walked toward them.
Did his wife still see the man she met in college when she looked at him? Ella wondered. Or did she only recognize him the way he was now: expensive shoes and sparkling smile? There must be memories packed into their relationship somewhere: a tired resident she loved a lifetime ago before he became a cheating prick. No man started off as the self-absorbed narcissist smiling at her now, did he? Surely there was a time when Marc had been genuine.
His greeting was one of long-lost friends. Ella stood quickly, her entire body on alert and prepared for a blow she thought she’d taken for the last time. She glanced at Bri, who now stood at her side as if she too knew what was coming. That was impossible. She didn’t know Marc. In over two years of solid and honest friendship, Ella had never shared that part of her life with anyone. Which somehow made the entire moment even more constricting, as if she was still trapped in a secret she’d never asked for but now needed to keep. Bri was her friend, but also her colleague, as were all the people in this hospital. Ella couldn’t jeopardize that. Above all else, she couldn’t taint what she’d built for herself.
She’d left him behind along with her career. She was happy now, connected, and it was as if some beacon went off once she and Boyd figured out their next step. Like Marc was in his asshole cave and received the message, “Time to shut this shit down now.”
His eyes sparkled with mischief, and Ella knew some sick part of him found this romantic. That he’d played this exact moment through his mind. She was going to be sick, but not right now.
“Ella? Wow, I did not expect to see you here.”
She was once again flooded with the “how” and “why” she’d ever let him into her heart.
“Sure you did.” She stepped back when he went in for the standard longtime-no-screw hug. The one that was supposed to render her speechless, captivated by his expensive cologne or his aura of excellence.
Mother of God, he was standing in her hospital cafeteria. She nearly forgot Bri was there until she cleared her throat. Ella turned, expecting to find Bri salivating on herself. Marc had that effect on women. But that was not the expression at all. Bri was chin held high, eyes serious and ready for a battle there was no way she even understood. She was a much better judge of character, or it was simply years of experience spotting jerks.
Ella wanted to turn and walk away without a word, but she knew Marc. He’d find that even more of a challenge. Son of a bitch.
“Dr. Marc Pierce.” He extended his hand to Bri, and Ella thought she might puke right there on the floor.
Bri nodded. No hand.
“Dr. Pierce, this is Bri. Bri, Dr. Pierce. His is one of the top cardiothoracic surgeons in the country. Right here in little ole Petaluma. Shame though—we were leaving.”
Bri didn’t say a word. She simply held Ella’s arm, and somehow that made her feel better, stronger.
“I finished the first part of my lecture on thoracoabdominal aortic aneurysm repair. Such a small world, right?” His attention flickered between Ella and Bri as if they were all colleagues.
“Not really. We’re not a trauma center.”
“Well, your medical director wanted an expert and I volunteered. Since my wife and I have separated, I’ve had some extra time on my hands.”
Ella laughed. It was a blurt of laughter, like the kind kids couldn’t hold back across the dinner table after a crass joke. It was a milk through the nose laugh but without the milk. This one had a heavy layer of disgust. Was he telling her and a total stranger that he’d separated from his wife? Was that supposed to matter after close to two years and a tangle of lies she’d been incapable of unraveling?
“Maybe you should volunteer with Doctors Without Borders.”
His jaw twitched, barely there, but she knew she’d made contact. He flashed his dazzling grin. Sick bastard.
“Yeah, well, this has been fun.” Ella turned to Bri, who’d still said nothing. Her eyes softened and she pulled Ella in the direction of the ER.
“Are you okay?” she asked as they walked down the white hall, clogs squeaking on the slick floor.
Ella nodded and glanced over at her. “How did you—”
“I’ve never seen that look on your face. Since you’ve been here, never. I remember about a year ago telling myself someday I’d understand what happened to you, why you didn’t want anyone close. Today was that day.” Bri pushed them through the doors and into the back hall of the ER.
She led Ella into the on-call room. “I need to know you’re okay.”
“I’m okay.”
“I doubt that, but I’ll take it for now. Stay in here. I will come and get you if they need you. I know you want to charge out there and push whatever the hell that douche bag was to you behind your job, but please stay here and let it hit you. I won’t hug you, but don’t crawl back into that isolation, honey.”
Bri’s eyes watered as she turned and left Ella alone with her secret.
She stood with her back against the wall and commanded herself to not cry. She would not shed one more tear for a man who cheated on his wife, on his daughters. What he’d done to her, to her heart was collateral damage, but the main point of impact was that woman, the one he’d promised. The thought that Ella had been a party to destroying another woman was almost more than she could take two years ago. The shame had dulled now. She was moving on, and there he was, snake in the grass, still slithering around.
Ella sat in the chair and glanced at the yellow piece of paper tacked to the bulletin board across from her—I attract only good things to my life—it read. Closing her eyes, she struggled to remember a time when she’d attracted anything more than chaos outside of work. The one thing she knew how to do was be a doctor. She was so well suited for her job she sometimes questioned if that was why nothing else fit into place. Most people hated their jobs—and Mondays, she reminded herself.
She met Marc her first year of residency. He was approachable and outgoing for a cardiologist. He wore a backpack to work and often forgot to shave. Ella would never know if any of that was genuine or an act he put on for unloved residents looking for their first mistake, but from the minute she laid eyes on him, she was intrigued. What followed were months of romantic dinners, extravagant gifts, and eventually an apartment they shared near the hospital. After about a year, things had settled into a routine. Marc was gone for two or three weeks at a time. She would text him and he’d call her when he could. He was off doing good in the world, so she thought. He even created a schedule for her so she would know where he was and the time zones.
Ella rested her head back on the chair and did exactly what Bri had advised, she let the whole thing crash around her.
They’d met for coffee the night Marc ended things. The one right across the street from the hospital. He was smart to choose a place in public, but they kept getting interrupted by colleagues standing in line for one last dose of late-night caffeine. Ella remembered glancing at her phone at 9:53 p.m. and wondering if the shop closed at ten or eleven.
“How was Bangladesh?” she’d a
sked him once the crowd had shrunk and all she could hear was the tapping of laptop keys nearby.
“I didn’t go.” He’d taken her hand across the table.
She almost laughed now as she recalled the look on his face, all sad eyes and feigned hopelessness. She would learn later that Marc had never been hopeless a day in his life.
“Why not? Is everything okay? Did they send you somewhere else?” she’d asked. Christ, she must have sounded so naïve.
“I can’t keep doing this, babe. It’s not fair to you and it’s not healthy for me.”
“What are we talking about?”
“I don’t work for DWB. I’m married.” That part had hit like one of those sequences in the martial arts films her roommate in medical watched to “unwind before bed.” They were poorly dubbed so the words and the mouth movement didn’t match. Ella had stared at Marc’s lips that night, bewildered.
“I live in San Diego. I’m only up here for certain surgeries.”
She didn’t remember most of what happened after that, but she knew she stood up at some point because the scratch of the chair along the hard floor made a noise not suitable for a mellow coffee spot so near closing time.
She didn’t say anything that she remembered. There was no “you bastard” or a drink in the face. All she could recall, even years later with distance behind her now, was the ice-cold chill of numb. Dead like a corpse on a classroom table.
Marc stood at some point and took her wrist. “I’m sorry, El. I love you, but things got so twisted and I’ve got kids I need to worry about.”
She’d grabbed her coat off the back of the chair and snapped her arm from his grasp. During the hundreds of times she had replayed the scene, one moment stood out: when she pulled her arm free. Every time she beat herself up over not smacking him or making the scene he was so careful to avoid, she hung on the fact that at least she’d pulled away.
Marc had followed her out to the parking lot. “El, let’s not end like this.” Holding his arms open under the fog-splintered light, he said the words that would haunt her every minute that followed.
“Can I at least get a hug?” He moved closer and wrapped his arms around her.
Ella had allowed it. She’d allowed him a goodbye and while it took her months before she fully understood the tableau, she remembered the tears on her cheeks. Not for her broken heart or what he’d done to his family, but because she was going to miss him. In the middle of a parking lot, wrapped in the arms of a man who had lied to her for the better part of two years, she was still sad for the loss.
She had never been able to forgive herself for that moment. She knew she had not consciously stopped hugging after that, but something broke her that night and until recently, she’d never bothered to repair the damage.
Opening her eyes now, Ella thought of Mason. Thirteen-year-old Mason, and she recalled the day he told her to “hug it out.” Smiling, she realized that was exactly what she was going to do. That was her way forward through whatever new game Marc was playing. She may have skulked away with her heart dragging behind her the first time, but he was messing with the wrong woman now. She was no longer distracted by ambition or approval. She was fueled by simple joy this time around and strengthened by friendship.
Sitting in an old chair that could give out at any minute, things were so clear. She was able to recognize the wisdom of a teenage boy. Maybe Marc circling back around was the final push she needed because Ella felt awake again, alive for the first time maybe in her whole life. The heart working away in her chest wanted a man because he made her knees weak and he was good. She didn’t yet know what he ate for breakfast or the things that made him tick, but she knew she deserved every “could be” Boyd managed to stir in her. That knowledge was more powerful than anything Marc had left in his arsenal.
“Hug it out,” Mason had said. Ella would hug until she was brimming with so much that the ugliness of her past had no choice but to let go and drown.
“I think I’ve held them off as long as I can unless you want me to come up with some elaborate lie, which I’m down for but we may need props and—”
Bri was silenced when Ella grabbed her and pulled her into her arms.
“Oh, well okay.” She didn’t even tense or pull back. Her friend was a natural hugger and Ella was happy to finally return the favor.
“Thank you,” Ella said, squeezing her a little tighter.
“Breathe, honey.”
Ella found she was trembling and, still holding on to her friend, she cried.
Chapter Nineteen
Boyd had no idea what he was doing. He was thirty-seven years old and still had superglue on his hands from fixing Mason’s science fair car. He’d won third in his class and seventh overall. Not bad. He told Boyd he wanted to keep the car, so they’d cleaned off the Big Red and fixed the wheel properly. It was on the top shelf of Mason’s bookcase next to the alien made of bottle caps Boyd bought him at Everything Old is New Again a couple of years ago. The comic books were still in the closet, but now there was something.
Standing in the fogged mirror of his bathroom, he closed his eyes. He didn’t want this date to feel like a mistake. He wanted to plan it all out in his mind, kind of like a new recipe and have it work, but even he knew the perfect brew took time, trial, and error.
This was a trial, he told himself as he opened his eyes and wiped the steam from the mirror. Nothing had been set in stone. He was going to the Art Walk with his son and his… friend. That’s how West had put it opening night at the Tap House, and maybe that’s what it was. Ella and Mason were friends, and there was no reason Boyd couldn’t be her friend too. He lathered up his shaving soap. A couple of wrinkles with that theory, he’d never had a friend he wanted to know more about and kiss in equal measure. A friend who made his pulse charge forward while his heart, suddenly alive and well, started tapping on his rib cage asking to be heard.
She wasn’t his friend. There wasn’t enough beer or denial in the world to stop what was happening between them, and his determination was overwhelmed by want. That was the problem. He’d grown so accustomed to managing his want. He worried that if he satisfied some of it, let himself like Ella or imagine how she could fit into their world, he might let it all out and screw things up royally. He hadn’t had a relationship since Mason was born, and Claire had left six months after that. He knew some headshrinker would have a party with that, try to paint him as some abandoned heartbreak, but the truth was he’d been so busy securing a life for Mason—both financial and fun—that it had been easy to keep his own wants at bay.
Until now, he thought and immediately remembered the first time she’d said those exact words to him in the emergency room. He’d told her he had never cut his hand on the keggle. “Until now,” she said, and given him a glimpse into something that, if he were completely honest, he wasn’t sure he knew how to have. His relationship with Claire had tanked and in the end, he’d made a fool of himself. What had started as “What should we paint the baby’s room?” had quickly spiraled down to him practically begging, “Please don’t do this to him—he needs two parents.”
Claire had left shortly after and Boyd shoved everything that didn’t pertain to Mason or the brewery to the back of his heart. It was the only way he knew how to give his son the childhood he deserved.
There was another problem, he thought, wiping the excess shaving soap off his neck. He knew how to be a dad, knew how to be a son and a brother. He had no clue how to be a partner, a lover, someone Ella could count on.
Boyd pulled on his shirt and buttoned the front. It was a date, one date in the middle of the afternoon. His son would likely be there handling all the conversation. Why was he letting himself get so far ahead?
The answer stared right back at him in the now-clear mirror. He wanted something, someone, and the last time that happened he was turned away and left scared out of his mind. Boyd didn’t have the strength to go through anything like that ever again. But like a f
ool, there he was holding up a different shirt and wondering which one looked better. He hadn’t second-guessed anything he had worn for years. He sat on the edge of his bed to tie his shoes.
“You ready yet?” Mason called from the living room.
Not even close, kid, Boyd thought, grabbing his keys and wallet off the dresser.
“Did you like high school, Ella?” Mason asked as they shared a hot pretzel and made their way through everything from oil paintings to macramé plant hangers.
She didn’t know what to say. Was there a good, better, best response to help a young man on the edge of high school? She glanced at Boyd and he shrugged, indicating there was no right answer. Huh, so honesty, she thought, that was how this parenting thing worked.
“I did not,” she said, pulling another piece off the pretzel Mason held between them.
They stopped to look at the glass-tile elephants and Mason slurped the last of his soda. He handed the pretzel to Boyd and searched for the last drops of soda, his straw making that groaning sound.
Right as Ella thought answering his question had been easy, Mason said, “Why not?”
“I… it took me a while to figure out who I was and what I wanted. High school can be a confusing place for a girl trying to sort things out.”
“Like what? What were you trying to figure out?”
Boyd snickered and she bumped him.
“Where my parents left off and I began.”
“Huh. Are your parents nice?”
“No.” Ella reached for the last of the pretzel. Mason grabbed it like he was going to beat her to it and then pulled the last piece in half. It was nuts how much she enjoyed this kid.
“Are they jerks or do they drink too much?” He stopped walking. “Do they knock you around?”
Boyd laughed. “Sorry, not funny. Funny delivery, but not funny.”
Ella tried to find the right words. “They’re troubled.”
