The "What If" Guy (32 page)

July arrived with weather hot and dry enough to make my hair generate power for half the town. Elliott went camping with Cody and three of his boys, then attended a symphony camp with Garrett and Marshall.

Elliott was really angry. For the first week after Henry left, my son had barely said two words to me. Without my father puttering around the house, the silence was crippling. Eventually, mainly out of necessity, El had spoken to me again, but his despondence etched itself on his face.

He wanted a father. I knew it, and he knew it, and he knew that I knew that he knew it. Whatever. The bottom line was: Henry was the closest thing Elliott had ever had to a father, and now he was gone. In El’s mind, it was all my fault.

To be honest, I wasn’t sure I disagreed with him.

As two weeks turned into three, and then four, my heart started to shrivel. People asked when Henry was coming back. All I could do was say, “I don’t know.”

I hated that we’d parted ways in such an ugly manner. I hated that my last words to him weren’t
I love you, even though I understand that you are the kind of man who feels obliged to give Laurel another chance
. And I hated that I would never again hear his voice, feel his breath on the back of my neck, or feel his chest rise and fall against my back as he slept.

I eventually stopped doing everything but working and painting. I no longer answered the phone unless I recognized Elliott or Holly’s phone numbers. All other calls were ignored. I came home after work, fed Elliott, then set up on the porch with the paint set my father had given me for Christmas.

I spent hours staring at the fields. Sometimes I painted landscapes, other times I did portraits—Elliott, my father, and sometimes Henry. Holly said I was depressed, and I didn’t argue with her. Depression seemed like a reasonable result of a broken heart. I accepted my lot.

“Can I go swimming?” Elliott asked, one stiflingly hot afternoon.

I sat on the porch, paper and paints in hand, staring off into space.

“Mom.” His voice broke impatiently.

“Yes?” I blinked a few times, then faced him. He exuded unhappiness, making my heart sink.

“I said, can I go swimming? Cody is taking his kids swimming at the Y in Spokane. They invited me.”

“They did?” I sounded more like a stoned teenager than a mom. “Well, sure. I guess its fine. You don’t want to spend your Saturday with me?”

He glanced from me to the empty field. “And miss all this?”

“Fine.” I rubbed my forehead. “Well then, when are they picking you up? Do you need money?”

Elliott kicked at an empty flowerpot. “Holly said for you to bring me to their house, and I need two bucks.”

I heaved a long sigh. I didn’t want to go to Holly’s. If I went to her house, she would invite me in. I’d been avoiding that for weeks. Holly asked too many questions.

Has Henry called yet? Is he coming back for the new school year? What did you say to him that night? Why don’t you stop being such a stubborn ass and track him down?

“Okay,” I grumbled, getting up. “But I’m just dropping you off. I’m not going in to visit. Don’t let Holly send you back outside to get me.”

“She’s not gonna quit buggin’ you until you stop walking around like a zombie.” Elliott stormed back inside.

I followed, dragging my feet. “I’m not a zombie.”

El turned and raised an eyebrow at me.

“If I’m a zombie, then you’re a grump.”

“I’m not a grump.” He shook his head impatiently. “Or… I wouldn’t be, if—”

“If what?”

Elliott pulled his swimming trunks from the dryer, slammed the dryer door and stomped past me. “You know.”

I sighed and rubbed my eyes. “Don’t start.”

“Whatever.” He slammed into his bedroom.

I didn’t follow him.

This wasn’t our first fight since Henry had left. Elliott wouldn’t understand the specifics of why we’d split, and even if he did, it wasn’t appropriate for me to share them. He was a kid, and he didn’t need to hear that his mother had fallen for a married man. And he missed the man who’d been his dad for a while. I couldn’t blame him for being resentful.

In a sudden act of desperation, I decided to try Henry’s cell again. I looked over my shoulder at Elliott’s bedroom door—closed tight. My hand shook as I punched the numbers I remembered so well. Numbers I would
never
forget. Was Henry’s phone reconnected? If it was, would he answer?

I finished dialing and pressed the phone to my ear. If he answered, I had no idea what I would say. Maybe I’d just hang up.

That’s mature
.

The line crackled and wheezed for a few seconds, then an automated voice came on, announcing that the number was no longer in service. The brick in my gut expanded, pressing painfully against the walls of my stomach.

The tears I’d been avoiding filled my eyes, and threatened to spill. I pressed my hand to my mouth, struggling to remain silent.
Keep it together.

Fortunately, Holly lived only five minutes away, because Elliott and I drove in a very cold silence. When I pulled the car into her driveway, Cody was packing their van with flotation devices, water wings, and squirming little boys. Holly stood on the porch, bouncing baby Trista in her arms.

“Crap,” I said, putting the car in park. There would be no avoiding Holly today.

“Just get out and talk to her.” Elliot unbuckled his seat belt.

I looked at my son. So much had changed in the last ten months. When we’d moved to Fairfield he’d still been just a boy, but now he was nearly a teenager. His hair was longer now—stylishly shaggy—and his round, youthful face had started to thin out, his features growing more and more chiseled. But that wasn’t all. Elliott had changed on the inside. He’d overcome a lot, experienced so much loss. He’d gone from disgruntled to happy, then back to unhappy again.

He faced me, his eyes pleading. “You’re falling apart. Just talk to her.”

I rested my head against the steering wheel. “I am, aren’t I?”

Elliott grasped my shoulder softly.

I closed my eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m just so sad. I miss Henry. I miss your grandpa. I miss how good life was.”

“I know.” El tugged at a loose thread on his shorts. “I do, too.”

“Sometimes I wonder if we should get out of this place. Maybe we need to get away from all of the memories.”

He released my shoulder and dropped his hand into his lap. “I was wondering when you were going to say that.”

“You disagree?”

Elliott sighed, his frown deepening. “I don’t know. I mean, I like it here. If I make it into the Junior Symphony, things will be almost like they were in Seattle. My friends are all here now, and Grandpa’s house is here.” He gave me a sideways glance. “I just want you to be happy again.”

“That feels impossible,” I confessed.

“How will moving make it any better?”

Emotion wrapped itself around my throat and squeezed. “Because then I won’t have to wake up every morning and see your grandpa’s empty chair. I won’t have to walk to work every day and see Henry’s empty house. I won’t have to face my pissed off son every day, and my glaring failures won’t be staring me right in the face every single time I
move
.”

Holly stepped off of the porch, watching us closely. I lowered my voice. “Maybe a change of perspective would be good for us.”

He shook his head. “Gimme a break.”

“Excuse me?”

My son faced me. “
I said,
give me a break.” He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. “That’s exactly what you said to get me to move here in the first place. You said we were coming here to get a change of perspective. And here we are, and I’m happy. Or, I was, until everything turned to shit.”

“Elliott.”

“Sorry,” he said. “But you can’t run away from how sad you are. It’s stupid. You think that selling grandpa’s house and going back to Seattle will fix all of our problems, but they’ll just follow us there. You’re gonna miss Grandpa and Henry no matter where we are.”

I covered my face. There was something really wrong with the fact that my son was better adjusted than I was.

“You’re going to run away and forget about all of the people here who love you—who love
us,
just because you’re sad and you don’t know how to deal with it?” Anger tinged Elliott’s tone. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Didn’t you pay any attention to what Grandpa said that day at the fishing hole?”

I looked up and followed Elliott’s line of sight to the clump of willow trees at the edge of the Judds’ property. My gaze shifted to the dilapidated barn where Henry and I had sought refuge in the rain. I brought my red-rimmed eyes back to Elliott.

He defiantly pushed up his glasses. “Grandpa said that this whole town worked together to help raise you, that they love you like their own daughter. And if you’d just pay attention, you’d notice that they’re doing it again. They’re trying to help you through all of this. They want to help us. They want us to stay in Fairfield. It’s our home now.”

I looked at Holly, who chewed her lip and watched us. I’d been so rude. She’d gone out of her way to do so much for me since I’d been back, and this was how I repaid her? By ignoring her? She probably thought I was on the verge of a mental breakdown.

Maybe I was.

Elliott plucked his trunks and money off of the backseat. “If you want to move back to Seattle, then fine. Whatever. But you really should look at all of the people around us. They care about us. And you’re feeling too sorry for yourself to notice. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

He was completely right.

“I’m so sorry,” I said tearfully, wiping my nose on a stray napkin. “I’ve been terrible these past few weeks. So lost. I’ve been totally, completely wallowing. And I’m sorry.”

“I know.” El looked afraid that he’d gone too far, but I wasn’t about to reprimand him.

“It’s gonna get better.” I sniffled as Holly approached our car. “I promise you.”

“Does this mean we can stay in Fairfield?” His eyes were no longer filled with resentment. They silently pleaded with me.

I wanted to run. Holy mother of heaven, how I wanted to run. Back to the city, back to anonymity and submersion in crowds. Where I could be left alone to lick my wounds in private. Where nobody knew my father or had memories of him to share every time I saw them at the
one
store in town. And, even more, where nobody knew about my failed relationship with Henry—and my broken heart.

Elliott’s eyes begged me.

What the hell was I doing? How selfish could I be? My son was desperate to stay in a town that embraced us wholeheartedly. He intimidated me with his wisdom beyond his years. I would still miss my father, and long for Henry, even if I moved to Paraguay. No matter where I went, I would hurt.

A tear slid down my cheek. I reached over and brushed El’s hair back from his forehead. “Yes, honey,” I said shakily. “We can stay.”

“Yes.” Elliott swung the door open, stopped himself, then leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Thanks, Mom. I love you.”

For what felt like the first time in forever, my heart swelled, and I smiled. “Love you, too.”

He got out, then stooped down so I could see his face. “Go talk to Holly.”

I glanced at Holly, who waited near my door, bouncing the baby on her hip. “All right.”

He grinned happily, then jumped into Cody’s van. Slowly, trying to even my breathing before facing Holly, I pulled my keys from the ignition and glanced in the rear view mirror. I looked pretty haggard lately, and today was no different. My eyes were sunken, circled in purple, and my hair stuck out of a haphazard bun that resembled an orange porcupine clinging to the back of my head.

As I emerged from my old, beat-up Volvo, Holly put her arm around me and smiled patiently. “I made some fudge.”

I looked at my best friend and dissolved into a fresh crop of tears, my arms hanging limply at my sides.

“I know.” Holly pulled me close. “Let’s go inside.”

Finally, after weeks of isolation and loneliness so crippling I wasn’t sure I’d make it through the night, I leaned on someone else’s shoulder and let it all out.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“I’m so proud of you,” Doris said.

She clucked happily behind me as I balanced precariously on a ladder, stocking the back-to-school supplies. August had come, and we anticipated a rush on all of our school-related merchandise. It felt good to stay busy, to focus on getting Elliott’s school clothes, to interview with Colleen Delgado, and to spend time with Holly. It felt good not to focus on Henry.

Henry
.

I wasn’t over him. Not by a long shot. There wasn’t a night when I crawled into bed without wishing his arms were around me, not a morning when I didn’t wish his breath danced on the back of my neck. Sure, I’d learned to cope for my son’s sake, but Henry was still in my heart, and I missed him desperately. For thirteen years, I’d had to survive without him. It should have been easier to re-learn it, but it wasn’t. I was doing better, but I never stopped longing for him.

“Thanks, I’m proud of myself, too,” I said.

Doris handed me another handful of notebooks. “I know your father would be proud.”

“That makes this success even sweeter,” I mused.

Someone at Colleen’s magazine had spotted the photographs of the Flag Day mural and the mural in Layla’s house, and I’d been commissioned to paint two more in the Spokane area. The article featuring me and my work was scheduled to run next week. I wouldn’t be quitting my job at the pharmacy anytime soon, but my art career was slowly taking off.

“You’re going to be a local celebrity before long.” Helen clapped.

“I’ll be happy if I earn enough to remodel my kitchen.”

I’d decided to keep my father’s house. At first, I’d thought we couldn’t stay in that house after all we’d been through. But once I’d stopped walking around like the living dead, I’d discovered that my dad’s house wasn’t so bad after all. A few updates—okay, a lot
of updates—some paint and new windows, and the place would be the perfect home for El and me.