KEPT_ A Second Chance Fairy Tale(32)

“You don’t ask me much,” she states, looking down and not at me.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you don’t ask me anything personal.”

She’s right. I don’t. I already know a lot more about her than she thinks I do, so asking would be a moot point, and a semi-deceiving one at that.

As if all I’ve done so far hasn’t been deceiving?

“What do you want me to know?”

Lucy shrugs. “I was married once.”

“I know.”

Her head pops up with sudden interest. “How?”

“Your name. Your maiden name is Morris. Your married name is Monroe.” She thinks briefly and her eyes narrow in thought, so I clarify. “Background check. When Corbin hired you, he did one.”

“Oh, yeah. Guess he probably did.”

Thunder claps outside and Lucy jumps. Her hands dig into the comforter, and she quickly pulls her legs up off the ground, crossing them in front of her.

“Have you ever been married?” she queries, then pulls back. “Wait, is that too personal?”

“No, I’ll answer,” I reply. “I was married for a few years. I’m not anymore.”

“My son is six. His name is Dillon,” she shares next. Again, I already know this because I met him, but rather than embarrassing her with the reminder, I nod. “He’s a great kid. I’m really lucky.”

I was lucky once, too, but my luck ran out the night my son died.

“God, I hate storms,” she admits, then looks around the room to the big window covered in heavy drapes. “If you see the lightning, it’s worse.”

I let her sit in silence for a few seconds as she continues to stare at the window.

“Lucy?”

“My husband, Gabe, died when it was raining. He was in a car accident.”

I close my eyes, remembering that same night with absolute clarity. It’d been raining the night of the wreck. With all the devastation and loss I had succumbed to after losing my son, I hadn’t given any thought to the rain. That’s not what killed him, though. It was the drunk driver who ran a red light.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her.

“It’s weird, ya know?”

“What is?”

“How you can be sitting home one evening, not giving much thought to anything other than what to make for dinner, but then you feel it.”

“Feel what?”

“The change,” she says. “It was like I knew, but I didn’t. If that makes sense.”

To me, it doesn’t.

I’ve never believed in the undeniable connection to someone that reached into the afterlife. When Caleb died, he just died. I didn’t know until the police officer came to my house and told me he was gone. The only constant reminders I have of that time in my life are the heartbreaking memories and the scar on my left arm which runs all the way down my finger.

“It makes sense,” I agree, if only to pacify.

“I’m rambling,” she states with a small smile.

“You’re stalling,” I counter. “You’re scared of the storm, and that’s okay.”

“I make Dillon sleep with me when it’s like this. Isn’t that awful?”

“No.” I smile. “You’re not the first parent to do that, I’m sure.”

“Michael?” she addresses, her tone more serious than it was. “I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have…”

I don’t want her apology. I’m glad it happened, but whether or not it should’ve is an entirely different discussion. “Don’t apologize. I’m not sorry.”

“You’re not?” she questions with surprise.

“No,” I tell her with certainty. The tension in her eyes is evident. She’s wrapped her arms around her legs and pulled them to her front, a clear indication she’s not comfortable being as exposed as this part in our conversation is making her. “It happened, yes. But no, I’m not sorry.”

Standing up, Lucy walks to her door. I don’t say anything further and, judging by the confused look on her face, my answer was the last thing she expected.

Before stepping into her room, she turns back. “Can I leave this open a little? Only until it passes?”

“Yeah,” I confirm. “For as long as you need.”





Lucy

HIS DARK HAIR BLOWS IN the wind as we stand outside the front door to the only house we ever shared. We’ve just finished dinner. It’s early evening and the sun is going down. Dillon’s in the yard, dribbling his soccer ball in circles as his father and I watch with proud faces.

Gabe looks apprehensive. He has more to say, but he’s stalling. I can see it in his furrowed brow and the way he’s standing so firm at attention.

“You’ve done a good job with him, Lou,” he tells me. His hands are in his pockets and he’s avoiding my gaze. “Dillon’s happy, healthy, and it’s obvious he loves his mom.”

“He’d love you, too,” I assure.

And he would. I know it deep down.

Throughout our short marriage, Gabe may not have always been everything I needed him to be, but he was always everything when it came to Dillon. The two of them are alike in so many ways, it was undeniable to anyone who ever saw them together.

Turning to me, I watch as Gabe’s face falls with painful regret. “I should’ve tried harder, Lucy. I shouldn’t have put so much pressure on you. I left you alone too much.”

When Gabe’s hand moves to frame my face, I grab his wrist and squeeze it gently. The familiar smell of him causes my eyes to close in reaction. His warm skin under my fingertips serves to recall the memories of us together when we first started out, before everything within our marriage began to fall apart.

“You did what you could. We were different people then. I know that now.”

“I hurt you,” he exhales.

“You didn’t,” I correct, still knowing what he says is true. Gabe did hurt me. He just couldn’t control it. No one decides how or when their time is up.

Standing near the flowerbed I made all those years ago, Dillon yells for his father’s attention. Gabe’s head turns and he locks focus on his son. Then he smiles warmly, as any proud father would.

After Dillon goes back to concentrating on the ball, Gabe lets out another sad breath and tells me, “I’m so sorry, Lucy.”

“For what?”

“For everything,” he responds. Gabe looks over my face quickly. “Do you love him?”

I don’t understand what he’s asking. “Do I love who?”

Keeping his composure, a small, almost shy smile forms before he answers, “Michael Holden.”

I’m not sure how he knows Michael, but it’s obvious he does. I don’t answer, but my chest grows heavy with both anticipation and dread, waiting to find out what he’ll say next.

“He’d be good for Dillon, Lou. He’s a good man. He was hurt, just like you.”

My eyebrows furrow, and I feel the tension pounding near my temples. “I don’t know anything about him.”

“Yes, you do. You know him better than you think you do.”

A tear I didn’t realize I was holding back escapes, and Gabe leans in and kisses it away. It feels wrong to discuss another man I’ve imagined myself with when the one I once thought I loved and respected is here beside me.

Leaning close to me, he holds his mouth near to my ear before advising, “Live happy, Lou.”

As he pulls back and starts to turn, I grab his wrist and squeeze it tight, making him unable to walk away. “Where are you going?”

“I shouldn’t be here,” he whispers painfully. “I don’t deserve to be.”

“I miss you,” I admit, my words just as painful as his. “We were going to be okay, weren’t we?”

Gabe’s expression registers recognition. He knows to what I’m referring. Our marriage, not always being what we wanted, was finally coming together.

“I don’t know, honey. Maybe,” he returns. “Promise me you’ll be happy again. Give someone else a chance to love you, but make sure they deserve it more than I did.”

More tears fall from my eyes as I watch him turn around and make his way to Dillon. I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even look back.

Once he’s standing at Dillon’s side, I see Dillon look up and smile at his dad. The two of them don’t know each other as they should—a doting father and deserving son. Dillon was too young to remember Gabe. However, even with the time that’s passed, it’s clear they still belong together.

So much has happened since Gabe died, so many changes. I can’t imagine what’s going through his mind as he pats Dillon’s shoulder before pulling him in for a hug that leaves me breathless.

I hear Gabe call him ‘Little Man’, just as he did when he was still a screaming infant. Then I watch as Gabe starts to make his way down the drive. He looks back, only to see Dillon standing in the yard, holding the soccer ball against his hip.

Gabe walks to the sidewalk near our mailbox, looks both ways, and starts to cross the street.

I don’t know where he’s going, and I’m too overwhelmed from seeing him again to ask. The rain I hadn’t seen coming starts pouring down, the water hitting the pavement making loud, obtrusive clapping sounds.