From the Ruins

by Janine Infante Bosco

  The truth is in those shoes.

  They’re the reminder.

  For those red shoes don’t only symbolize the sharp knife of a short life.

  They prove the worse consequence of all is waking up every day in a world you’re unworthy of living in.

  That’s the fucking truth I forgot.

  The truth Layla made me forget.

  A truth I’m unworthy of forgetting.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Tommy, Jenna, Lexi, hurry up,” I call up the stairs as I slide my arms through the sleeves of my jacket. I reach for the three backpacks next to the door and pause when I spot the bin of shoes. The night before comes rushing back to me and I recall the tears I cried over a man and the loss he carries over a woman I’ve never met.

  Learning Lee had a wife and that she had died was not something I ever expected to discover. I knew there was pain living inside of him and part of me even thrived off it. I wasn’t naïve enough to think our demons were of the same breed, but selfishly I thought his suffering would make me feel better about my own. It didn’t. It made me hurt for him and made me feel horrible about myself.

  I’ve been grieving over a failed marriage and the changes I wasn’t prepared to face while Lee is mourning his wife and a marriage he didn’t throw away but was forced to give up. All the bitching I’ve done about broken down rentals, divorce attorneys, and the fact that none of this comes with a handbook seems ridiculous. Petty, even.

  You know what doesn’t come with a guide?

  Death.

  Losing the people in the world that matter the most and not having a say.

  Knowing their heart has stopped and yours must continue to beat.

  “Mom?”

  Shaking my head, I turn my attention to the kids.

  “Where is Lee?” Lexi asks as she takes her backpack from my hand.

  “He won’t be driving us today,” I reply quickly as I dig into my oversized pocketbook and pull out my phone.

  “Thank God,” Tommy mutters.

  “Quit it,” I snap, shoving the phone into his hand. “Do you know how to work the Uber app?” The fact that you can push a button and have a car show up to your house in under ten minutes is super convenient, but I don’t have a clue on how to work the fucking thing.

  “Are you serious, Ma? You just request a car.”

  It’s not that simple. There was a thing about carpooling on there, and what the hell is UberX? It sounds like an adult club.

  “There,” Tommy says. “Hazaan will be here in five minutes.”

  Grabbing the phone from him, I look at the app and see the little car move across the map. Hazaan’s picture flashes on the bottom of the screen along with the type of car I should expect to arrive.

  “Are you serious you couldn’t figure that out?” Jenna asks incredulously.

  “Back in my day, if you needed a cab you stuck your fingers in your mouth and whistled on the side of the curb,” I mutter, pulling open the door. I also flaunted my boobs and tried to get it for free, but I don’t think my thirteen-year-old daughter needs to know that.

  “Lee,” Lexi cries as she runs past me and straight toward the man at the bottom of the steps leaning on the bannister.

  “Hey, half-pint,” he greets, slowly lifting his eyes to mine.

  “Mommy said you couldn’t drive us today so Hazaan is taking us to school,” she informs.

  “Well, your mom was wrong,” he says as he continues to stare at me. “I’m taking you to school so call whoever Hazaan is and tell him he’s not needed.”

  “Hazaan is the Uber driver,” Jenna interjects. “Give me your phone and I will show you how to cancel the trip.”

  “Jenna,” Tommy groans. “You realize we cancel the Uber we gotta get in the car with this guy again?”

  “Give the girl your phone, Layla,” Lee instructs before peeling his eyes away from me. “Kid, if you keep complaining I’m going to buy you a box of tampons,” he warns with annoyance in his tone. However, he winks at Tommy a moment later and catches both me and my son by surprise.

  “What’s a tampon?” Lexi questions as she skips toward Lee’s truck.

  “Ask your mother in ten years,” Lee replies. “For now, keep drawing pictures and believing in unicorns and shit.”

  “You said shit.”

  “Let’s pretend I didn’t.”

  “That depends,” she counters and I wonder when my five-year-old and Lee became friends.

  “On?”

  “Whether or not I can ride shotgun,” she says pointedly.

  “Nice try, kid,” Lee replies, tugging on her ponytail. “We gotta work on your negotiating skills.”

  I’m sure I’m having an out of body experience. Jenna snatches the phone from my hand as I blink rapidly like a fool and openly gawk at Lee. He dismisses my little girl and tells her to get into the truck before he meets my gaze.

  “We’ll talk later,” he says, dropping his shades onto the bridge of his nose. He follows Lexi to the truck and helps her climb into the seat. Reluctantly, Tommy and Jenna follow suit, leaving me on the porch by myself. The tears I couldn’t control the night before threaten to resurface, but somehow I manage to pull myself together and keep them at bay.

  I make my way toward the truck and slide into the passenger seat as Lee turns the key in the ignition. His hand closes over the shifter between us and instinctively I lay my hand over his.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, feeling his hand tighten around the shifter. Instead of backing away, I push harder and squeeze his hand.

  He may not want my comfort but I was never one to ask for permission before doing what felt right. I act on instinct and morals, and right now both are telling me to hold on tight. After a moment, his hand starts to relax under mine and to my surprise he doesn’t push me away as he starts to drive. In fact, our hands stay just like that the entire ride. There are no words spoken between us which is fine because I think in those few moments we say more with our joined hands than either of us have the courage to speak.

  With three kids all in different grades and each of them in separate schools, the ride is long. Tommy is our first drop off and it’s when he leans into the front seat to kiss me goodbye that I remove my hand from Lee’s. As brief as it is, I feel the loss of the connection and debate on whether to reach for him again. He makes the decision by moving his hand to the steering wheel.

  We drop Jenna off next, leaving us with only Lexi. She talks Lee’s ear off, chatting about all her favorite things.

  “What’s your favorite color?” she asks him.

  “Black,” he says without hesitation.

  “That’s Mommy’s favorite color too, but it’s not really a color you know?” she retorts. “My favorite color is pink,” she adds.

  Lee’s lips quirk as he glances in his rearview mirror and locks eyes with my girl.

  “I never would have guessed.”

  Dressed head to toe in her favorite color she smiles brightly at him. The car comes to a slow stop in front of the school and I unbuckle my seat belt before stepping out of the car. I walk around the back of the truck to help Lexi out of the car but Lee beats me to it. I reach the door just as he drops her on her feet. He helps her put her backpack on and I stand there quietly, unsure how to process this is the same man from the night before.

  “Have a good day, half-pint,” he says as he gives her ponytail a playful tug. “Kick some ass.”

  “You said ass,” she giggles.

  “Yeah, you probably shouldn’t repeat that,” he replies, offering me an apologetic shrug.

  “I’ll be right out,” I say softly as I take Lexi’s hand.

  He nods slightly and I leave him leaning against the truck. I walk my little girl into school and kiss her goodbye. When I return, Lee is sitting behind the wheel smoking a cigarette. I climb in beside him and he takes off without a word.

  The silence that was comfortable with three bickering kids in the back seat is now awkward a
nd I struggle with what to say. For all I know he doesn’t remember telling me about his wife, and if that’s the case, I don’t want to make him rehash it.

  He makes a turn and I realize we’re not going in the same direction in which we came.

  “Do you have somewhere you need to be?” he asks, finally breaking the silence.

  “No, but…” My voice fades as he swings a sharp turn and pulls in front of diner.

  “I’m fucking starving and before we do this I’m going to need a cup of coffee,” he says as he turns the engine off.

  Confused, I narrow my eyes and watch as he pulls the keys from the ignition.

  “Before we do what exactly?”

  “Talk.”

  “We don’t have to—”

  “Yeah, we do. At least I do,” he interrupts. “But first…coffee.” Sliding out of the car, he slams the door shut as I force myself to get it together and follow his lead. He wants to talk, we’ll talk. I climb out of the truck and that’s when I realize I’m dressed in pajamas, a leather jacket and my daughter’s rain boots. Lifting my hand to my mouth, I try to remember if I even brushed my teeth this morning.

  As I fall into stride with him, he grabs a hold of my hand and leads me into the diner. I try not to read too much into it. After all, this is a man who is mourning his wife, and me, I’m a woman trying to stand on my own two feet. Neither of us are right for one another. In fact, there probably aren’t two people on the planet who are less suited to be holding hands. So, why does it feel right? Why does his tattooed hand look like it was created to hold mine?

  The hostess guides us to a corner booth and I get a glimpse of Lee’s manners as he waits for me to be seated before ushering himself into the seat across from mine.

  “Can we have two coffees,” he requests as she drops the menus onto the table.

  “Coming right up,” she says before leaving us alone.

  Opening the menu, I force myself to read the specials but it proves to be a difficult task as he spreads his arms wide across the back of the booth and stares at me.

  “Aren’t you going to look at the menu?” I ask, flipping the page.

  “I’m sorry.”

  This probably was a bad idea considering he’s only spoken two words and my eyes are already watering. I wonder if he’s ever had a side of tears with his eggs. Closing the menu, I fold my hands and meet his gaze.

  “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed…I mean it’s none of my business what you do or who you choose to keep company with. I was out of line.”

  “You came over with a plate of food and I treated you like shit,” he counters, bringing his arms to rest on the table. Leaning forward, he draws in deep breath and continues, “And what you assumed, well, it’s not like I didn’t give you a right to.”

  “Still, you were in a bad way and I pushed when I should have left you alone.”

  “I’m learning that being alone isn’t always the best medicine.”

  “I’m sorry about your wife.”

  “Yeah, me too,” he mutters, swiping his left hand over his face. I stare at his barren finger and wonder how long it’s been since she passed.

  “Go ahead,” he urges, scratching the stubble lining his cheek. “Come on, Layla,” he sighs. “It’s obvious you’ve got questions. For crying out loud I can practically see the wheels turning inside your head.”

  Naturally I have questions. Who wouldn’t after being handed that truth bomb, but I could live without the answers. I’m not sure he can live with retelling the story though.

  “I don’t want to upset you,” I answer honestly.

  “Look, I brought you here with every intention of making things right. I’m prepared to answer any questions you might have,” he says before pausing for a beat. “But I gotta be honest with you, killer. Tomorrow I might wake up with a different attitude so take it while you can.”

  Setting our coffees down in front of us, the waitress decides to take our order at that moment. Lee orders three eggs, a stack of pancakes and a side of ham while I order French toast.

  “Good choice,” he comments as the waitress leaves to put in our order.

  “Why is that?” I ask as I fix my coffee.

  “Well, I couldn’t decide between the pancakes or the French toast. Now I’ll have a bite of yours and it’ll satisfy me.”

  “What makes you so sure I’m going to share?”

  “It’s in your bones,” he replies instantly. “You’re a good person, Layla, anyone with half a fucking brain can see you’re a giver.” He pauses, cracking a faint smile. “A giving soul who carries a pair of brass knuckles wherever she goes.”

  “That’s not true,” I reply softly. “I keep them in my junk drawer,” I add, lifting the mug to my lips. Smiling over the rim of the cup, I take my first sip. In the light of day, with another night’s growth added to his beard, I study Lee. I take in the dull shine of his blue eyes and the faint lines that decorate the corners of them. The tattoos that travel the length of his neck and wrap around his arms.

  It’s hard to ignore how ruggedly handsome he is and not wonder about the stories behind all that ink. It also makes me inquisitive about the woman who caught his heart. I can only assume how special she must have been to make a man like him hers.

  “Were you and your wife together very long?”

  “A couple of years,” he replies. The answer makes me reflect on my own relationship. Seeing Lee as torn up as he was last night makes me wonder how Louie would have reacted if I passed. I’d like to think he’d be brokenhearted, but only because he’d be upset for the sake of our children losing their mother.

  Another reason why it’s better we’re divorced. If a wife has to wonder if her husband would mourn her then they probably shouldn’t be married.

  “What was her name?”

  “Oksana,” he says, taking another sip of his coffee.

  “Is it okay to ask how she died?”

  His reply isn’t as quick as the others and he sets his cup down before answering.

  “She was at the wrong place at the wrong time,” he replies finally. For someone who claimed to be prepared for questions, he sure was vague with the answers he provided. Thinking about his response, I decide that she must have been in some sort of tragic accident. I didn’t ask for further details.

  “The shoes.”

  “She wore them the day we married and they were on her the day she died,” he says hoarsely. “I took them and they took her.”

  Another apology sits on my tongue but never makes it past my lips as he reaches across the table and places his finger under my chin.

  “Truth?” he asks.

  Unable to utter a word, I nod my response.

  “I wasn’t a great husband. Oksana died without knowing how much she meant to me. Hell, I don’t think I realized how much I cared for her until I was left holding those fucking shoes.”

  His confession is a lot to process and I’m not sure how to respond. Not only did he lose his wife but he has to live the rest of his life with regret. I’m not sure how I’d handle that if the roles were reversed.

  “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life and when they caught up to me, Oksana was the one who paid the price. I’d like to tell you I’m wiser but I’m not. I leave a path of destruction everywhere I go.”

  He drops his hand from my chin and leans back against the cushions of the booth.

  “This,” he says as he points a finger between us. “You, killer, you should run. Take those kids of yours and run far away from me because if you stay, if you give…I’ll take and take until there ain’t nothing left. Layla, I’ll bleed you dry with my misery and make you regret the day your son ever wandered into my garage.”

  “Are you trying to scare me?” I rasp.

  “No,” he says seriously. “I don’t think I could frighten you if I tried.”

  “Then what are you doing? Why are you telling me this?” I ask hoarsely.

  “I forgot my pain
yesterday,” he admits. “I got a dose of you, got lost in your life, and for that short time I wasn’t looking to punish myself. I didn’t drown my sorrows in a bottle of booze or bury myself in a warm body to prove I was still breathing. I’m telling you this because that scares the fuck out of me. I know what I’m capable of. I know the mayhem I bring. I’m telling you to run because I get addicted to temporary highs, and the last thing a woman like you needs is a bastard like me getting hooked on her.” He pauses for a moment. “You’re too good to get twisted with a man like me.”

  You know that old saying, be careful what you wish for? I totally understand why so many people abide by those words. Everyone thinks they want the truth but it’s not always pretty. Most times the truth we crave is terrifying. Lee’s truth should scare me and I should absolutely yield to his warning. I should run because I’ve been burned before. I’ve got three kids who depend on me and I’m barely hanging on by a thread.

  But there is another saying I can’t ignore.

  Maybe you’ve heard of it.

  It’s from the ruins they will rise.

  I may be crazy. Fuck that, I think I’m past the point of skepticism. It’s safe to say I’m one hundred percent crazy, but I’m also a person who believes in helping others. I believe wherever there is an ending there is hope for a new beginning. I believe everyone deserves a second chance and no one should be judged for their mistakes. I believe in reinventing yourself and I believe in chances.

  After all, I am a mother first and foremost and being a mother has taught me that the best accomplishments come from the chances you were too afraid to take.

  I’m also a woman.

  A woman who has lost herself in a bad marriage and has been given the opportunity to reinvent herself one more time.

  I am a woman sitting in front of a broken man willing to take a chance on him.

  A woman, who if nothing more, wants to help heal him.

  And maybe while I’m at it I will find the strength to heal too.

  “Wow,” I whisper, leaning back.

  “Now you get it, aye?”

  I nod.

  “Yep,” I reply, reaching for my cup. “I totally get why you’re an asshole.”