The What If Guy

by Moss, Brooke

  “Maybe not directly,” he said. “But I spent all of my time down at Smartie’s, and ignored you.”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore.” Emotion thickened my voice. “I turned out all right.”

  “Not because of anything I did.” His watering, red eyes made my heart stutter. “You’re a good woman. A good mother. All because you learned how to take care of yourself. You learned how not to raise a kid. You coulda turned out so much worse. A drunk, or worse. And if you had, nobody around here woulda been surprised, after what you’d been through.”

  Henry draped his arm around my shoulders.

  “I turned my back on you,” I said. “Sure, things were tough when I was a kid, but when I grew up, I abandoned you. I’m so sorry.”

  My dad pulled out a tattered bandana and quickly blew his nose. “No sorries. Not from you. I owe you an apology. For everything.”

  I gulped.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m glad I’ve had this time with you and the kid.”

  I glanced at Elliott. He’d teared up, too.

  “We’ve had a wonderful time back home with you,” I said. “I wouldn’t have traded it for the world.”

  “Me, either,” Elliott added.

  “Good.” My dad nodded firmly. “That’s all I needed to hear. Don’t need any apologies. Just need to know you’re glad you’re here. That it hasn’t been a waste.”

  I rested my head on Henry’s shoulder. “It hasn’t been a waste.”

  “I wouldn’t have all the friends I have, if we hadn’t moved here,” Elliott said, his voice shaky. “And I wouldn’t have met Tabitha.” His eyes darted to me nervously. “And I wouldn’t be getting cello lessons from Henry. And I wouldn’t be able to walk to the store by myself, or go get the mail by myself. You can’t do that in a big city, you know.”

  My father nodded. “So I’ve heard.”

  “And I wouldn’t know how to throw a left hook, either.” Elliott looked at me guiltily. “Sorry.”

  I laughed. “I already knew.”

  “You did?” My dad rumbled. “Damn. We could have practiced in the house, instead of freezing our asses off in the garage.”

  “Language,” I warned him.

  “He can’t say I didn’t teach him anything,” my dad snapped back.

  “Yup,” Elliott agreed. “I can throw a punch and cuss like a trucker now.”

  “Don’t be using that language in the classroom, buddy,” Henry warned El playfully.

  “And you.” My dad barked, pointing his shaky hand at Henry.

  “Yes, sir?” Henry said.

  My father’s face softened, and sunlight filtered through the willow branches, illuminating his yellowed skin and hiding the cracks and scars that hard living had left behind. “You,” he took a long breath, his lungs hissing and crackling before he released it. “You treat my girl right, you understand?”

  I put my hand over my mouth to stifle a sob. Elliott had taken off his glasses and dragged the hem of his T-shirt over his eyes.

  “You do what I didn’t do,” my dad said. “You take care of her. You encourage her to keep painting. And talk to her, listen to her, treat her like she’s made of gold. And love her. Always love her. Never forget how important she is.”

  Henry nodded solemnly.

  “And you treat my grandson with respect.” My dad gestured at Elliott, who sat, unmoving. “Make sure he keeps playin’ that cello. Don’t let him give up on somethin’ just because other people don’t understand it. You give him a role model he can look up to. You got that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Never give up on yourself, Auto.” Tears finally spilled from my dad’s eyes. The sight of it gripped my heart and squeezed like a white-knuckled fist. “Never turn your back on this place, either.” With trembling hands, he gestured at the fields surrounding our little oasis. “This town isn’t perfect, but its home. The people here love you, and they helped raise you, no matter what you think. This is God’s country, do you understand?”

  I was frozen in place by the seriousness of my father’s speech. I felt like a statue—afraid to move a muscle, or even blink, for fear of taking away from the sanctity of the moment. Elliott sniffled. Henry clutched my shoulder tightly.

  “Yes.” I dabbed my eyes. There wasn’t much else to say, except, “I love you.”

  “I know,” he croaked, looking down. “I love you, too.”

  A moment passed, the water bubbling a few feet away. My dad seemed to shake off his emotions. He wiped his face and eyes with the bandana, then threw a napkin at Elliott.

  “Enough of this sissy shit,” he growled. “Let’s do some fishing.”

  §

  Our perfect picnic day lasted a while longer, until Henry pointed at the grayish clouds rolling in. Such was springtime on the Palouse. “Looks pretty ominous.”

  I looked up, blinking. “Yeah. We should clean up and get my dad home.” I began gathering the remnants of our picnic.

  My dad sat at the edge of the water, eyes drooping, his fishing pole vibrating in his shaky hands. He struggled into a standing position, then reached for Elliott’s waiting arm. “I’m spent,” he wheezed. “Need to go home and put those damned oxygen tubes on for a while.”

  My stomach clenched tighter. “Okay, let me just—”

  He bent, his hands went to his knees, and he took several ragged breaths. “I’m really pooped. There any way Henry could run me home, real quick-like?”

  Henry shot up from the ground and brushed off his jeans. “Of course I can.”

  “Dad, are you okay?” I bent over to look at his face.

  “I’m fine,” he said in a raspy voice. “Really. Just need to put my feet up.”

  “Can I go with Grandpa?” Elliott stood at my dad’s side, his brow furrowed. “I’ll hang out with him until you come home.”

  “Sure.” I gave his wiry shoulders a squeeze. “Thanks.”

  “Come on.” Henry pulled his keys out. “Let’s get you home.”

  Instead of his usual reminders that he didn’t need a babysitter, my dad just nodded. “Yup.”

  Henry’s gaze held mine for a beat.

  Please let him be okay, please let him be okay.

  Offering me the tiniest of smiles, Henry took my dad’s arm, and he and El walked him to the truck. “I’ll be back to help you clean up,” he called over his shoulder.

  I gazed into the distance as Henry’s truck disappeared down the road toward town. I packed the leftovers in silence, heavy rain clouds billowing in from the west, the breeze becoming crisp.

  I wasn’t ready to lose my father. I’d just gotten him back. He had slowed down more than ever, sleeping more hours during the day, and eating less than a small child. He’d chosen not to try to get better, and now he was going to die. Part of me thought he wanted to die, rather than exist for years the way he was living. But it was too soon.

  Not yet, not yet.

  I plucked all of the garbage off of the grass, then slowly folded the tablecloth. I needed to be an adult about this. I was in my thirties, with a twelve-year-old child that depended on me to be strong.

  I sat at the edge of the water where my dad had been sitting and put my head in my hands. Being a grown-up just plain sucked.

  I don’t know how long I sat there, thinking, because I didn’t hear Henry’s truck pull up and didn’t realize he’d returned until his footsteps rustled the grass.

  “Those clouds are going to burst soon.” He sat next to me. “Your dad is resting comfortably with his oxygen, watching ’Sports Center.’ Elliott’s playing a computer game nearby. He’s got his cell phone in case he needs us.”

  I nodded.

  “What’s on your mind?” he asked softly. “Besides the obvious.”

  “That’s it.” I wiped away a tear. “Just the obvious.”

  Henry pulled me tightly against him. “Hey. Don’t do that. Don’t cry.”

  “He’s dying,” I said. “It’s not just a looming shadow
anymore. He’s really, truly dying.”

  Henry seemed to think about what to say before he said it. “Yes. He is.”

  “I don’t feel ready yet.”

  “When is anyone ready for their parent to die? I live hundreds of miles from my parents. I only talk to them every couple of weeks. But when it happens, it’s going to cripple me.”

  “I just connected with him, though.” I sniffled. “I need more time.”

  Henry lifted my chin with his finger. “I’m so, so sorry. If I could make him better, I would. I hate that you’re going through this.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered, then kissed him.

  It had started to sprinkle. I hadn’t felt a drop, but I heard them falling on the leaves of the tree above us. “I’ve got to tell you something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t think that a long-distance relationship would work between us.”

  Henry swallowed. “All right.”

  I reached up and gave his tousled hair a gentle tug. “Because I don’t think I could live without you.”

  Henry smiled. “On that, we can agree.”

  “So,” I said, “I think we should be together. You know, indefinitely.”

  “I see.” He played it casual. “And how are we going to manage that if you go back to Seattle?”

  I feigned seriousness. “There are plenty of teaching jobs in Seattle.”

  His eyes hardened a bit. “I’ve explained this. I like it here. I—”

  I pressed my lips to his. “I’m teasing. My father is right. Fairfield isn’t a bad town. In fact, it’s a wonderful town. These people really did help raise me. Elliott likes it here now, and I like it here.” I gazed into those pools of melted pewter that Henry had for eyes. “Why would I leave this town when everything I love is here?”

  “Are you serious?”

  I wrapped my arms around him and tackled him onto the grass. Raindrops filtered through the tree branches, sprinkling us. “Of course I am. This has become…” I sighed contentedly, “home.”

  Henry hugged me tightly, then rolled me beneath him. He propped himself above me. “You’re here to stay?”

  “Yes. Now let me up, the rain is getting in my eyes.”

  Henry leaned close and brushed his lips against mine. “Poor girl,” he whispered in between kisses. “Getting all soaked.”

  “Stop it,” I murmured.

  “I have a confession, too,” Henry said.

  “What?” I blinked, partially from the rain, but mostly because of the haze that came over me whenever we touched.

  He chuckled, his mouth against the pulse on my neck. “Laurel kicked me out because I was in love with you.”

  I pushed his shoulders, so that his mouth was no longer on my neck. “Excuse me?”

  Henry brushed a wave of hair back from my face, then rested his hand on my cheek. “I wasn’t lying when I said that I never got over you. Laurel and I started dating a few years after you and I broke up. I dated her because I figured it was time for me to move on. The reason we were together for eight years was because Laurel didn’t require more from me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Laurel knew the whole time she and I were together that I loved someone else. We went around and around about it. She said that I didn’t know where you were, or if you were even alive anymore, and that I needed to get over you.” Henry looked away. “I kept a box with a bunch of stuff from when we were dating. Receipts, pictures, stuff like that. Once day, when I wasn’t home, she threw it away. We broke up for three weeks over that.”

  Henry shifted his weight off me, and we lay on our sides, facing each other, the rain falling harder now. “I knew that the odds of seeing you again weren’t in my favor, but my heart belonged to you. I tried to get over you, did the typical guy things, but nothing loosened your hold on my heart.”

  He played with a strand of my hair. “Laurel was a distraction. And the sad thing was, she knew it. She didn’t like it, but she knew all along. I told you we had the big wedding. We did the mandatory Hawaiian honeymoon. When we got home, Laurel wanted me to see a shrink.”

  “Did you?”

  “I already knew what was wrong.” Henry frowned. “I didn’t love my wife. After a few weeks, the photographer delivered our wedding photographs. That was when Laurel snapped. In all of the shots from the reception, I frowned, stared off into space, and even grimaced behind Laurel’s back in one of them. Any time I thought nobody was paying attention, I looked completely unhappy.”

  Henry laughed, brief and hollow. “I forgot to keep my game face on all day. I was miserable. I didn’t want to be there.”

  “Oh, my gosh.”

  He raised his eyes to mine. “Laurel saw that as the last straw. She kicked me out and filed for divorce. Her family assumed that I’d cheated on her, which, of course, I hadn’t. They were angry because we didn’t have a pre-nup—Laurel’s choice. That was another way she’d tried to win my affections before our wedding. I didn’t care, though. I didn’t want her money. Still don’t.”

  “But you’re still not divorced?” I asked.

  He shook his head.

  I wiped a raindrop off his forehead. “What’s the holdup?”

  Henry sighed, and ran his hand through his hair. “Laurel thinks that if she drags this out, I might change my mind. She’s switched lawyers three times, and is now going after me for spousal support. The current judge disagrees with that, so her lawyer is moving to have the judge replaced. It’s a mess. I’ve signed everything and agreed to every term except that one.

  “I’m a teacher. I don’t make an eighth of what she makes, and her family is loaded. She’s got a trust fund worth more than ten of Layla Deberaux’s houses. Laurel doesn’t need my money. She’s trying to prevent the divorce.”

  “She’s hurt,” I said. “She’s losing you, and she’s upset about it. I can understand that.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “But I walked away with nothing. She even got the dog.”

  “You had a dog?” Somehow, this wasn’t a surprise.

  “His name is Sal.” His voice sounded wistful. “Short for Salvador Dali.”

  I giggled.

  “He’s a beagle, and he sounds like a train whistle when he howls. He’s a great dog.”

  “You really broke up with your wife because you were in love with me?” I asked. “I don’t know what to say. That makes me sort of uncomfortable.”

  Henry took my hand in his. “I didn’t even know we would wind up together when Laurel and I split. I only knew that I wasn’t in love with her. I shouldn’t have let things get that far. I should have broken things off long before the idea of marriage entered her mind. That’s why I left everything with her. I didn’t deserve any of it. I just want it to be over now.”

  Thunder rumbled, shaking the ground beneath us. Rain poured. My gaze shifted from the sky to Henry’s face “We’re getting soaked.”

  “We’d better get out of here.” Henry jumped up and pulled me to my feet. He patted his pockets with wide eyes. “Oh, crap.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  He scrunched his face. “I think I locked my keys in the truck.” He dashed over and tried the doors. No luck.

  “We’re getting drenched.” I put my arms up over my head.

  “There.” Henry pointed off in the distance.

  The Judds’ old, leaning barn stood a couple of hundred yards away, atop the hill at the back of their property. They didn’t use the barn for much other than storage. It was a dry place to wait out the thunderstorm.

  We took off toward the barn, breaking free of the willow oasis, leaping over small puddles that were rapidly deepening between the rows of wheat. Rain pelted our faces as we ran, soaking our clothes, and drenched my hair as my braid smacked against my back.

  Henry pushed the barn door open. “Think Holly and Cody will mind?”

  “I’m Trista’s godmother. I’ve got certain rights and privileges.�
��

  Henry laughed and kissed me, his lips nudging mine apart. He tasted like rain.

  I closed my eyes and released a long, blissful sigh. Let the rain pour outside. Let the wind roar. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered at that moment was me and my Henry, inside the barn, on top of the hay.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Smile.”

  My heart warmed at the sight of Henry and Elliott standing in the bright June sun. Elliott pointed a camera at me.

  Flag Day had finally arrived. The entire town was alive with patriotism. The day had started with a Fun Run, all the runners wearing outfits of red, white, and blue. Then had come the parade, filled with Fairfield’s youngest residents dressed in costumes reminiscent of America’s forefathers. We’d spent two hours sitting on lawn chairs outside our old, red house, watching the parade. Local school bands, antique cars, and fair royalty had rolled by, tossing Tootsie Rolls to the kids. I’d forgotten how much I’d enjoyed the parade as a child. The music, the pomp and circumstance, the candy flying. I’d always considered Flag Day to be the best day of the year next to Christmas. And for the first time in years, I remembered why.

  Booths selling handmade treats, burgers, and hotdogs filled the park, and the scent of kettle corn and cotton candy floated on the air, clear up to our house on the hill. Ray Charles’ version of “America the Beautiful” sounded from the loud speakers downtown. Everywhere I turned, I saw children wearing balloon hats and waving flags. Once the buzz from the parade died down and the sun set over the fields, there would be an adult dance, complete with a country western band and line dancing lessons.

  The air sparked with electricity and buzzed with the camaraderie between people as they gathered in the streets. The atmosphere compelled us to stay outside, to be a part of things, to revel in the celebration.

  “Ready for the big reveal?” Henry pulled me close and kissed my forehead.

  Butterflies launched in my stomach. Half of the town, plus hundreds of visitors, had gathered at the side of the post office. A podium stood nearby, and a bright red curtain hung over the mural I’d worked on for weeks. “Yes,” I answered nervously, waving at my dad, who stood in the crowd in between Doris and Helen. “There are so many people.”