Where We Left Off (29 page)

At a quarter to seven, I stopped obsessing over my appearance, and instead obsessed over the very real possibility that I was minutes away from a breakup. As I guided my car out of the garage, I caught Corbin’s eyes in the mirror that hung against the backseat. He was so obliviously unaware. I envied that—how his little boy’s life was already stacked with so much pain yet unrealized, but he smiled through it all, the blissful naivety of a child.

“I understand,” I recited as the car coasted down the lane. “It’s okay, Heath, really. I figured this would be too much.”

My words couldn’t even convince myself. There’s no way he’d buy any of it.

Maybe anger would be a stronger reaction. But I just couldn’t muster that for him. Heath had the right to walk away from this. There was no obligation here. The memories we had could stay just that, memories. They didn’t need to morph into a future, as badly as I wanted it.

My eyes were wet with the emotion that contradicted my brave face when I pulled into his driveway. I took the keys from the ignition and listened as the engine hummed until there was no noise as all. I could see my heart pulsing under my skin and thought, for a moment, that the tank top wasn’t a good selection. I’d give away my nerves the instant he laid eyes on me.

I didn’t care. I wasn’t about hiding anymore, never really had been. I was allowed to feel scared about the possibility of tonight. Emotions were meant to be felt. That was exactly their purpose.

I wanted—more than I could express—for Heath to feel something, too. He had been a brick wall this afternoon, an impenetrable stone exterior. I planned to crack that.

After I
scooped
Corbin from the backseat, I walked up the steps to Heath’s second-story apartment. We’d never spent much time here since he had a roommate and I had a baby. My house was always our home base. The fact that he was about to break up with me on his turf intensified the ache in my gut even more.

With two knocks, I sucked in a breath and put on my big girl panties.

“Mallory.” Heath opened the door and then backed up quickly to allow me through, tripping over his feet like they’d suddenly grown two extra sizes. Instantly, out of habit and affection, Corbin reached for him. I let him. I could’ve been controlling and held my son to my chest, a vise grip of possession, but I allowed them their moment. Corbin deserved to have his own goodbye, too.

“I’m glad you could make it.” Though he said the words, nothing about his demeanor or tone showed any ounce of gladness. It was all rote and repetition. His gaze was sidelong, not meeting mine. “Want anything to drink?”

“You said this wouldn’t take long.” I tried so hard to hold the snarkiness from my tongue, but it wouldn’t obey.

“Right. I did.” Corbin’s hand repeatedly smacked Heath against his cheek, all in a playful manner, but I couldn’t help but laugh. With his free hand, Heath grabbed on to the little flailing arm and secured it to his side.

“So.” I looked around the room and pushed the hair from my face, letting out a breath. “What did Tommy send you?”

“You want to see it now? I
was thinking
we could wait a little bit.”

Waiting on heartbreak was the stuff of insanity. I didn’t want to drag the moment out any longer. I was not a glutton for punishment by any means. “Now would be good.”

“Um.” He swung around, eyes wild. Two
huffs
and an excessive amount of swallowing and he answered, “Okay, just give me a second. Is it okay if I hand you—?”

He started to push Corbin away from his body and I reached out to take him. “Give him here.”

Then Heath was gone.

“This is so weird,” I whispered against my son’s forehead. “Men can be
so
weird.”

Three minutes later and he was back, only to disappear again into an office just off the family room. Maybe he’d been drinking. That could explain this odd behavior. Or maybe he’d been drinking the whole time we’d been together, and only now, sobered up, did he realize the errors in his ways. In picking things right back up with me.

“Okay. All set.”

Heath brought with him a parchment paper package, one unmistakably holding a painting of my
father’s
under its protective cover. Propping it up against the wall, he stepped back like it was about to go off, some bomb under wraps. He brought his hand to his chin and tilted his head the way a dog does when you ask if it wants to go for a walk.

“Should I be doing something with this?”

“Open it.” Like he could nudge me with air alone, Heath bobbed his nose in the direction of the package. “I’m curious to see what it is.”

“You haven’t looked yet?” This was getting increasingly bizarre by the minute. I was definitely not ruling out alcohol. Heath was all jitters, springs bound in his muscles, ready to snap.

“I wanted to open it together.”

Breakups were never easy, but Heath had never been good at them, I supposed. The last time he broke up with me, he left town, never to be heard from again. At least
this time
we were both present. I guess I could thank him for that.

“So I just, what? Just rip it open?”

I looked over my shoulder at Heath, whose knuckles stroked against his scruffy jaw. “Yeah.” He broke from his daze. His eyes refocused as they met mine. “Just go for it. I’ve been waiting
for
this answer for weeks now.”

My head wobbled hesitantly. “Answer? There’s some kind of answer in here?”

“I asked him a question when we were in Kentucky. I’m assuming this is finally his answer to that.”

My forehead wrinkled, causing my eyes to narrow. I hooked a finger under the flap at the top of the package and balanced Corbin against my hip, over-exaggerating my stance to keep him securely there. “Do I get to know the question?”

“Depends on his answer.”

“Oh, Heath, you absolutely confound me.” Then, before going any further, I spun around on my heels to look him wholly in the face. “So this is not a breakup? You’re not breaking up with me?”

Every muscle in Heath’s body slumped, the air and strength sapped out of him. His head slunk forward and his gray eyes bulged. A tentative smile built on his lips, growing slowly like it was being pulled at the corners. “Are you serious?”

I was about to signal my answer with a nod when he propelled toward me. His arms were the pressure of a boa constrictor, bound all the way around, and it made me yelp in his embrace.

“Oh, sweet Mallory. You came here thinking I was going to break up with you tonight? How sad is that?”

“Super sad.” My words slurred against his chest and Corbin continued with the face-slapping thing now that Heath was again in arm’s reach. “Seriously, I was super sad over it.”

“You didn’t even seem sad. If anything, you seemed crazy pissed.”

“Well, you seemed nervous as hell! What was that about?”

“I
am
nervous as hell! I’ve been staring at that package for days now.”

That an inanimate object could derive so much emotion was impressive and a little intimidating. “So why didn’t you just open it?”

“I wanted you here.” Heath shrugged. “I want you here for everything.”

That was all I needed to hear.

“Well then, without further ado, let’s get to it, shall we?”

Like Christmas morning, I ripped into that package with gusto. The brown paper floated in strips to the floor. I shuffled back on my feet, my chest heavy, my hands sweaty.

I scrutinized Heath’s eyes more than the painting.

The artwork was like many of Tommy’s other pieces: colors spun together, brush lines crafting form from flowing and blended strokes.

“So … what is it?”

Heath’s lips lifted. “
A yes
.” His face lit up entirely, a one-eighty from this afternoon. This looked so much better on him. “It’s a definite yes.”

Heath

I had his blessing.

One down, one to go.

Sleep eluded me all week. I’d nailed Tommy’s painting to the wall across from my bed, thinking it would serve as inspiration, but in truth, it only made me exponentially nervous each time my gaze settled on the canvas.

Without his answer, my hands were tied, and having your hands tied wasn’t always a bad thing. It meant I could stall. Procrastinate. Wait on making the biggest decision I would ever make. Sure, I’d proposed before, and to say that didn’t mean anything would be to rob that moment of its value. There was something valuable in my first marriage. I’d learned lessons. Learned who I was supposed to be and how I was supposed to treat others. Kayla wasn’t the only one to make mistakes within our union. I’d certainly been responsible for plenty.

I didn’t want to make mistakes with Mallory.

And I hoped it wasn’t a mistake jumping into this, both feet first.

All I knew was that I couldn’t wait another minute without making her mine. Forever this time.

Tommy’s answer was so well kept within the paint that I knew without a doubt Mallory had no clue to its meaning. The image was identical to the one at the studio. The one where Mallory and I were intertwined on the hospital bed, the outline of the boat surrounding our tangled bodies. I’m sure she figured she was looking upon that same image. Only I’d noticed it, tucked
away like
one of those Search and Find books where the pages were cluttered with colorful objects and distractions.

There, on her fourth finger, was the shiny glint of an engagement ring.

And that’s all I needed.

Well, that and one more thing.

I slouched against the leather cushion, letting the vibration of the potholed road ease out some of the apprehension wound in my chest. My arm swung out the window; my thumb drummed against the steering wheel. To the vehicles passing by, I’m sure I looked the picture of relaxation: the way my sunglasses shaded my eyes from the glare reflected through the bug-splattered windshield, the music thumping out a hypnotizing beat with too much bass, the breezy rush that ruffled my hair, grown too long with neglect.

Yeah, I looked calm and collected. Not a care in the world.

Couldn’t be further from the truth.

I drove past the house one time. Then another. And another. The last swing down the street, I was forced to stop at my destination. The woman watering her plants four doors down—wearing a pink fluffy robe and leopard print slippers—she also wore the look of a person well acquainted with calling the police when a suspicious fellow happened upon her neighborhood. And I definitely looked suspicious. Gone was that carefree dude coasting down the highway. I was all shifty eyes, clammy hands, sweat laden brow.

Hiding out in the driveway wasn’t an option with Nosey Neighbor eyeing me, so I engaged the truck in park and hopped out from the cab, not without flicking a friendly wave to the woman in her robe.

“Evening!” I hollered, then, two at a time, I bounded the steps to the porch, ready to knock when the door fell open before I had the opportunity.

“Heath! We’ve been expecting you.”

They looked like most parents did. Good ones, actually. He was easily six and a half feet, and burly to boot. The handlebar mustache, flecked with gray, was a nice frame around his genial and authentic smile, and the way he kept his hand pressed to his wife’s back did something to my stomach that felt like a memory. Warm and natural.