Second Chances: The Seahaven Series - Book One (10 page)

I pull my hand back. “Did I just go from laughing to being really internal?” I say.

Matt nods a yes. “I'd say that's about exactly it.”

“I'm going to apologize in advance for what might happen in the next few minutes,” I say. “I'm really, really sorry.”

Matt looks puzzled. “I don't understand what's happening right now. Tell me.”

Paul walks slowly to our table. I can feel him even before I see him.

“Hello, Ellie,” says Paul, looking down at me in the booth.

Matt looks at me, then looks up at Paul, then back at me. Then he settles back in his seat and waits. I'm pretty sure if I took Matt's blood pressure right now it would be off the charts.

“What are you doing here?” I say as evenly as possible. No point beating around the bush.

“You know, work. It's good to see you, Ellie. You look great. Really great.”

“Take a seat, mate,” offers Matt, tight-lipped.

“No,” I say. “I'd prefer he didn't.”

“Who's your friend, El?” Paul looks at Matt and holds out his hand. Matt takes it civilly and gives it a quick shake.

“Matt,” Matt says.

“Paul,” says Paul. “Has she told you about me?”

To his credit, Matt doesn't take Paul's bait. We haven't been in a situation like this where I've gotten to see how much of a genuine gentleman he is. He's the opposite of Paul. He isn't a boy, he's a man. Because instead of falling into Paul's childish trap and getting mad or irrational, Matt says, “If the two of you would like a minute I can step out.” He's looking at me to see what I want, not what Paul wants. My eyes smile at him gratefully.

“No,” I say again. “If you need to talk to me you can call me later, Paul. Okay?”

Paul thinks about it, weighing his options. Matt and I wait, wondering where he'll take it next.

He finally nods in acquiescence. “Okay,” he says. “I'll call you later. Nice to meet you—Matt, right?”

Matt nods.

“And what do you do, Matt?” asks Paul.

“Doctor,” says Matt.

“Ahh, a doctor,” says Paul. “You always did like the whole white coat and stethoscope thing, Ellie. Well good for you.”

I feel a flash of anger. How dare he come in here and try to poison us with his negativity and games. I hate it that he can still rattle me. And I'm angry that moving as far away from him as I did, all the way here, back home, isn't enough of a barrier to keep him out of my life.

Paul squats down next to the table and looks right at me. “You know,” he says, “sometimes I think it might have been easier if you'd died. Then I could just move on.”

My mouth opens in shock and I see Matt standing up and saying, “You'd better leave now.”

But Paul is already up and retreating to the door, putting his sunglasses on.

Matt sits back down, watching him go. The door jingles closed and Paul is gone.

Matt settles back against the booth. He brings his hands above the table and unclenches them.

I cover them with mine, but I'm not sure he wants that right now. At least he doesn't shake them off.

“Were you going to punch him?” I ask.

“I was thinking about it.” He looks out the restaurant window. “Is it too late? I could probably still catch him.”

“He'd run,” I say. “He's a runner. Not the marathon kind. The kind that avoids sticky situations. Like other men trying to punch him.”

I know he's got to be thinking about what else Paul is, and how well I know him. Then he just asks it. “Who is he to you?”

I don't want to talk about Paul with Matt, but it's going to come up again, so I should get it out of the way. And knowing how jealous he is, this must be driving him crazy. We should just get it over with.

I take a deep breath. “He's my ex-husband.”

He exhales and pulls his hands away from mine. “You were married.”

I watch him, trying to gauge how this is going.

“I was young,” I say. “I didn't know myself yet. I let him make choices for me that I should have made for myself. It wasn't all bad, but then it got really bad.”

“How long?” asks Matt, watching my eyes.

“Thirteen years. Together for fifteen,” I say.

Matt lets out a low whistle.

“And now he wishes you'd died so he can move on,” he says. “What a terrible thing to say.”

“Now I'm better at getting out of the way of things that can hurt me,” I say. “He gave me that.”

Matt nods, thinking about something. His face has darkened and he looks troubled.

I take his hands again across the table again and hold them. He looks at them together.

“I mean we're at an age where we've lived stuff, right?” I say. “We aren't fifteen, falling in love for the first time. We haven't been in a cave. You have a past, too. I saw the photos in your house.”

Matt pulls his hands back across the table towards himself slowly.

“We can talk about it,” I say. “Or at least I think we can. We should be able to.”

Matt is shaking his head almost imperceptibly. I still can't tell what's going on with him or what he's feeling.

“Or the woman on your laptop,” I continue, “The one you were online with. I was jealous.”

“On my laptop?” he asks.

“After the movie you fell asleep,” I say. “I brought it in from outside so it wouldn't get wet, and then I opened it to check my email and she was on the screen. But what I'm saying is if we talk about things like Paul, and your laptop, and the woman in your photos, then we'll get past it. It's all in the past. Right?”

Matt's avoiding my eyes again, and my confusion is growing about what's going on. We love each other, the past is the past. Is he this rattled about me having an ex-husband, jealous even when he sees how terrible Paul is and how there's nothing left between us? Or is he feeling caught by me talking about the woman in the photos and on the laptop, and he's living a double life with someone back in Australia? Is it that I'm temporary entertainment, and he's capable of saying “I love you” casually to more than one woman at a time?

I shake my head. “Between your silence and my imagination I'm starting to drive myself crazy thinking about what you're thinking. Spill it, Runyon. Then I'll spill it too. We'll do it together and then we can get back to normal. When we're done we'll even get you some fresh, hot eggs.” I'm being serious, but joking too so he doesn't feel pressured.

He shakes his head. “No,” he says.

“What do you mean?” I say.

“I can't,” he says. And he slides out of the booth and leaves.

I sit staring at his empty place in the booth, wondering what he means, wanting him to clear it up. He can't hear about my past, or he can't tell me about his?

A few minutes later I exit the restaurant into the parking lot and look around for Matt. I shield my eyes from the early morning sun and spot him leaning against my car. I walk towards him.

“You kinda stuck me with the bill back there,” I say, still trying to lighten things up. “You owe me ten bucks.”

“Sorry,” he says. He's still not back to normal.

I watch him for a minute. It's clear he isn't in the mood for banter, or for being reassured, or for company in general. Something has changed. I want him to talk to me and reassure me that everything's okay, but I also understand it. I understand needing space. So I give it to him.

I unlock our car doors and climb in. He climbs in after me. I start the car. But before I put the car in reverse, I say, “I just want you to know that he means nothing to me anymore. I love you.”

It hangs there in the air. He doesn't say anything back. And I wish he would, but I get it that he can't. I still don't know why, but I'm going to give him the space he needs to work it out.

I drive back to the hospital and park next to his car. He climbs out without saying a word and gets into his own car and drives away.

Chapter Sixteen

I pull into the parking lot of the Seahaven Retirement Community and check myself in the mirror. Tired. I look tired.

It's been a day since I last talked to Matt and it's not working for me. I miss him. I'm scared, I'm worried, I'm lonely, I'm feeling rejected, I'm feeling hopeless. I have no idea if I'll ever see him again. All of this makes me feel like I'm failing, like my happiness is too wrapped up in someone else and I'm too co-dependent. I want to be happy standing on my own, but the truth is when love hits you like a lightning bolt, you can't stop it. You feel helpless and consumed and it's just the nature of things. There isn't much to do about it.

I take a deep breath. I'm here now. I'm focusing on this. I can do this.

I climb out of the car with my package and walk towards the automatic door entrance. I continue inside and get hit with the scent of antiseptic cleanser as I veer towards the reception desk.

“Hi, Angie,” I say to the woman sitting behind it.

“Oh, hi, Ellie,” she says. “He's having a good day today. Had his lunch, now I think he's watching TV.”

She hands me a “Visitor” sticker and I put it on my shirt. “Thanks,” I say.

I start the long walk down the hall to room 107, passing old people in wheelchairs sitting, staring, waiting, as I go. What they're waiting for, I don't know. I've probably given most of them ambulance rides.

I get to the door and pause outside it. Every two weeks I do this, and every two weeks I feel the same nerves. I take a deep breath. I knock.

“Entrar,” says an old man's voice.

I turn the knob. I peek inside cautiously.

My father sits in a wheelchair in front of the television watching soccer. He glances up as I enter, sees it's me, and then goes back to staring at the TV.

“Hi Pop,” I say. “Thought I'd come say hello.”

He grunts. “Kick the ball! So stupid. It's right in front of you!”

I sit down on the edge of his bed near his chair. I look around his small assisted living apartment just as I do every time I come, making sure it's clean and that he's not neglected. Today it looks good as always, so I know they're taking care of him.

“How's the food been, Pop? Any good?”

He focuses on the TV. He raises a fist at the umpire's call. “Bozo! El burro sabe mas que tu!”

If I had a nickel for the men in my life who won't talk to me.

“I brought you some buñuelos. I'll put them over here.” I set the box on his small kitchen counter, and when I turn back towards the bed he is staring at me not with thankfulness or appreciation, but with a scowl. I stop. After a lifetime of this you would think I'd be used to it, but it punches me in the gut every time. I swallow hard and promise myself I won't cry.

“Okay,” I say. “I'll leave you with your game.” He turns his gaze back to the TV and continues to insult the refs and the players. I take a look around and then move to the door. As I exit, my father is still glued to the action. He couldn't care less that I have come and gone.

I make my way down the hallway, and as I walk I peel my visitor's badge off and throw it in the garbage. I look up to see elderly residents in the common room with their adult children, laughing and visiting.

It will never be like this for my father and I, and I should know that. It's ridiculous and fruitless to feel sad about something that never was and never will be. As I walk toward the exit I take a deep breath and square my shoulders, bracing myself for the world outside which I will navigate alone if I have to, without love or someone to share a home with, if I have to. In the end, we can only ever really count on ourselves.

Chapter Seventeen

Tonight's shift is crazy busy, and Danny and I haven't had a minute of rest. It's been call after call ranging from a husband pushing his wife around but claiming she was hitting him (“Look at the bruises she gave me!” But there are never any bruises), to another motorcycle accident (thank God for the helmet laws in our state or the heads of these guys would be like smashed watermelons), to a Class A house fire with a smoke inhalation survivor. The woman will be okay, but the after effects of inhaling smoke is brutal. It feels like your lungs are on fire for weeks.

At the house fire call we worked alongside the firefighters from Engine Company 12, and they're a good bunch of guys. Danny's cousin Dean is one of them, so he was there on hose duty. And as we waited for them to pull out the house's inhabitants, Dean asked me when I was going to marry his cousin.

“Dude, shut up,” said Danny, and shoved him.

“Dude, don't mess with me, I'm spraying,” said Dean.

I just laughed with them and pretended to forget the question. Apparently the whole town is working together to try to get me together with Danny.

“What about you, bro, who're you ba—seeing these days?” Danny looked sheepish after starting to say banging in front of me.

“Nobody, not a one, and I love it, dude. I work around the clock for a few days, then I have a few off, I go to the mountains, I hike, I fish, I do what I want. It's fan-fucking-tastic.” He glanced at me. “Pardon my french.”

I put my hands up to say no apology needed. “It sounds fucking great.”

And then they talked about work, and then just as it started to rain, a big cheer went up and they carried the elderly lady from the house out to loud applause. We quickly loaded her into the ambulance and I started a line and some oxygen because she was having trouble breathing.

Danny got us on the road and called it in while I held the old lady's hand and reassured her. When we were almost to the hospital she lifted her oxygen mask and said in a weak voice, “I know you are a good daughter.” It took me so much by surprise that I felt tears come to my eyes. I smiled at her, patted her hand, and looked away.

Now we're at the hospital, waiting to sign out on the last call we brought in, a kid with a broken arm. We got involved because the mother called 9-1-1 saying the father did it. The father denies it, but he's drunk, and he's got a few related misdemeanor priors.

The father is sitting across the room from me in a chair drying out with a cop next to him, and I can see the kid in one of the rooms near the nurses' station with a fresh cast on his arm. His mother is next to him, her eyes red, and Maria's in with them figuring out their insurance.