Ready to Fall (7 page)

A
FTER
LITTLE
DELIBERATION
, I bought Kelly chocolates for Valentine’s. The idea of shopping for lingerie and running into someone I knew decided it for me. The island was too small, and somehow I knew my luck would follow me over to town where I would’ve run into Sally or one of her gossiping cluster of women. Plus, a bearded guy in Carhartt’s and boots standing amongst a bunch of nighties and bras came too close to Monty Python’s lumberjack. Even I laughed at the image.

Chocolates, dinner, and sex—we had a classic Valentine’s Day celebration. Kelly acted into it and into me. I couldn’t complain about that or the hot sex with her.

The complaining happened the next morning when she got in the shower. I asked to join her, but she said she didn’t want to miss the ferry, so I headed downstairs to make us some coffee.

Her phone rang.

Normally, I never picked up her phone, but it was ringing and vibrating on the kitchen counter. I reached over to turn it off. Rick’s name flashed on the screen.

What the hell?

Curiosity got the best of me and I answered it.

“Hello.” I tried to sound disinterested.

“Hello? Who’s this? Is this Kelly’s phone?” His voice revealed his confusion mixed with a touch of anger. He was calling my girlfriend, or whatever she was, how dare he be angry.

“This is John,” I said. “Kelly’s in the shower. You want to leave a message?”

“John who?”

Are you fucking kidding me?

“John Day, the man whose shower she’s using right now.”

“Well, John Day, this is Rick, her husband.”

Like I didn’t know who the fuck Rick was. He either didn’t have the same knowledge of me or he was being a dick and pretending he didn’t. Asshole.

“Don’t you mean ex-husband? I know who you are.”

He had the nerve to laugh. Yeah, he was an asshole.

“Ask her about the ex part when she gets out of the shower, buddy. Have her call me.”

He hung up.

No good-bye. Nothing.

Asshole.

I slammed the phone down on the counter.

Kelly strolled downstairs a few minutes later and wrapped her arms around my waist before standing on her toes to kiss me.

I turned my head.

“Hey, what’s up?” she asked, kissing my neck.

“Rick called.”

I could feel her stiffen against me before sliding down and stepping away from me.

“Were you snooping on my phone?”

Knowing there was no point in denying it, I told her I saw his name and answered it. “Why is he calling you first thing in the morning? What’s going on with you two?”

She strode over to one of the bar stools, spun to face the beach, and then back toward me. Even though her body turned in my direction, her eyes landed anywhere but mine.

“I don’t know what’s going on. We’ve been talking. More. A lot.”

Gut punch.

“I thought we talked about this. You were going to keep me in the loop. What gives?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t. He’s different. He wants to try. He says he wants kids, the dog, the picket fence. Everything.”

A growl rumbled in my chest. “He only wants you because you’ve moved on. You believe him?” My anger simmered.

“I might. My mom does.” She paused. “I knew you were upset at dinner last month when she brought him up and I didn’t want to fuel any fires.”

“Fuel the fire? Give me a fucking break, Kelly.” My voice lowered. The simmering turned into a slow boil. “If you want to get back together with him, then do it. Don’t play both teams. Are you fucking him?”

“He’s my husband.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“No, we’re not having sex. He wants to, but I told him I’ve been seeing you.”

I knew he was being an asshole on the phone. Asshole.

“He acted like he didn’t know anything about me during our chat. But he has every right to be pissed some guy is answering his wife’s phone first thing in the morning.”

“I was separated and getting divorced when we met.
And
I’m not cheating on you with my husband.”

“Sure feels that way. Everything is different now.”

She blinked at me, finally meeting my eyes.

“Are you breaking up with me?”

“You’re married. Still. Despite my reputation, I don’t fuck around with married women.” I’m not my father. Her marriage status changed everything for me.

“Seriously? I’m still separated. We don’t even live in the same house anymore.”

“Fuck the details. I’m not going to entertain you while you figure out if you want to stay married. No way. I’m not that guy.” I tossed my coffee cup into the sink, where it clattered around but didn’t shatter.

“Wow. Kind of harsh, John.” I could see her eyes getting wet with tears.

“Tell me about it. Last summer you were all about moving forward, falling for me. How you couldn’t believe you overlooked me in high school. What a catch I am. You used me.”

“I didn’t. I swear. I meant all of that, I do. You’re a catch. I’m the one who’s confused. I don’t want to lose you.” Her voice wavered and cracked.

“You never had me. You never did.” I crossed my arms.

It was her turn to say ouch. Wiping her tears, she pushed back from the counter and stood, her body swaying in my direction, but she didn’t move toward me.

“What do you want me to say to make it right between us?”

“‘I divorced my husband’ is a good place to start. Until that point, maybe we need to keep our distance. I’m not getting involved in your divorce. Make up your mind and let me know.” I stuffed my fists into the front pockets of my jeans and leaned against the fridge.

“That’s it? You’re done?”

“Done.”

My anger had returned to its simmer, beneath it hid a bruised ego and a scratched heart. This moment was the reason I didn’t get involved in relationships. Drama. I didn’t need the drama.

Buried even further beneath the anger, ego, and scratched heart lingered fear. I pushed it down and covered everything with my practiced nonchalance.

“You’re going to miss your ferry.” I nodded toward the clock on the oven.

“I might be the one with the messy life, but you’re a jerk.” She grabbed her bag and slammed the door on her way out.

Happy Fucking Valentine’s Day. At least I didn’t spend the money on lingerie she’d probably wear for Rick. Asshole.

I took my frustration out on the woodpile. I chopped, split, and stacked a cord of wood the week following Valentine’s Day. Diane had enough wood stacked next to the house to last all winter. So did the three neighbors’ houses on either side. That might be exaggerated a little, but I had a lot of pent up anger and frustration.

According to Donnely, those weren’t the only pent up things about me. That’s how he convinced me to tag along with him to Everett to see some band. He promised we wouldn’t run into anyone from high school or any exes. Or for him, “Repeats.” Donnely was all class.

The band played mostly classic rock covers. I may have been born in the 80s, but my music taste definitely leaned a decade or two earlier. Listening to the band crank out
Mustang Sally
, I got lost in my head. I missed Kelly. Missing her made me angry. Angry about her stupid non-divorce-divorce and marriage. Angry at myself for letting myself start to fall. Yeah, she was a lot of work, but she was Kelly Gordon. The girl who held my teen heart in her hands for four years. She thought I kidded when I told her about my crush. I should’ve known better than to think things would have worked out for us. Second chances in love were bullshit.

Maggie’s face popped into my head. She’d found her second chance with Gil. I blamed her for my current situation. I believed in her fairy tale. Confused it with my own life. What did I have to show for it? A lot of chopped wood and an empty bed.

After draining the rest of my beer, I scanned the room. Fuck second chances. I was going to take a page from the old me and listen to Donnely.

Where was Donnely? I scanned the room. He sat at the bar next to a blonde. At least he had a consistent type. I remembered his attempts to pick up Diane at the Doghouse. Crashed and burned. Yet he continued to put himself out there, thinking eventually he’d hit gold.

I ambled over to him. It turned out the blonde had a friend— a bored looking brunette. She eyed me and then smiled, pleased with what she saw. Worked for me.

Her name was Stacey, with an ‘e’. She worked as a bookkeeper, was twenty-six, and had two cats. That’s all I can remember. She didn’t make me laugh, but she made me miss the last ferry that night.

S
UNDAY
NIGHTS
FAMILY
gathered for dinner at my uncle’s house. Every Sunday. Some people attend church on Sundays, I went to my aunt and uncle’s. Honestly, I didn’t mind it. Home-cooked meal, family, and sometimes laundry. My aunt doted on me. My uncle told fishing tales and complained about ferry lines. They were family, and on the island, traditions were important. Opening day of hunting season, opening day of fishing, and opening day of crabbing—time on the island could be measured by what was being hunted, caught, trapped, or the length of the ferry line.

Usually a cousin or two would be there. Maybe a grandkid. The dryer would be clunking in the laundry room next to the small kitchen while my aunt, and whichever female cousin or girlfriend or wife showed up, would make dinner.

Tonight was only the three of us. Quiet. Lasagna baking in the oven and the scent of garlic bread filled the house. Uncle Peter sat in his recliner, his round belly protruding, and told me about the time he had a halibut the size of a VW on the line in Alaska and lost it. Classic Peter. Always about the one who got away. Sometimes I pretended he spoke metaphorically, but more often than not it was about a big fish.

Helen called us to the long, pine dining table and coughed until Peter said grace. Once we were all seated, the grilling of John began.

“Why don’t you bring that girlfriend of yours to dinner sometime? What was her name? Kalie?” Helen passed me the basket of warm bread, keeping her eyes on my face. She could read me better than anyone.

“Kelly. And she’s not my girlfriend. We’re not seeing each other anymore. Turns out she’s more married than divorced.”

With a soft expression of pity I hated, she gave me an extra piece of eggplant. Feed the feelings was the motto in this family. “Well, she doesn’t know what she’s missing if she can’t see what a good man you are.”

My uncle broke into the conversation and spouted on about fish in the sea and baiting your hook with the right lure. This time I was pretty certain he wasn’t talking about fishing, but with him you could never tell.

“What about your neighbor? She’s a nice lady.” She didn’t let the subject of my bachelorhood drop easily.

“Maggie? She’s living in Portland with her new guy … well, old guy. He showed up last summer and they picked back up again after all that time. Meant to be I guess.” I stuffed a piece of bread in my mouth to shut myself up.

“Anyone living in her cabin?” Peter asked.

“Yep. She’s rented it out to some woman from back east. Seems like a real city girl. Didn’t know to open the flue for the wood stove.”

“Oh, dear. She could have burnt the place down. Can you imagine?” My aunt held her hand over her pink sweater covered heart at the horror.

“Good thing I was home to help her. She appears to have gotten the hang of things. Steve hooked her up with a car.”

“Sounds like you’re keeping an eye on her. Is she single?”

“Helen, enough,” my uncle chastised her. “Leave the poor man alone.”

“The ‘poor man’ being alone is exactly my concern. His folks are down in Arizona. He has us and that’s it. A person needs a family of their own. I worry. I’m allowed to worry.”

“Thanks for your concern, but I’m okay. I work, I have friends, stuff to do, and in case you’re worried, my health.” I patted my toned stomach, despite her best efforts to fatten me up. I might have been single, but I wasn’t letting myself go. “I like being single. Women are too much work.”

“Hard work is what life’s about, John,” Peter said. He had been a logger same as me, but spent his years in the woods working the saws and loading trucks. From him I knew what it meant to work hard and break your back doing it.