Written in the Scars(51)

And then I leave, the door squealing behind me.





ELIN

“Hello?” I squint against the late afternoon sun and toggle the phone against my ear.

“Where have you been?”

“Hang on,” I mumble, getting the phone situated before I pull out onto the highway. “Okay. That’s better. How are you, Linds?”

“Oh, I’m good. Just sitting over here, wondering why my best friend hasn’t answered my calls in two freaking days. Just peachy.”

Rolling my eyes, I smile. “I’m sorry. I just have a lot going on and need some space to think.”

“Space? From me? Sorry, my friend. You don’t get that.”

I laugh, squeezing my car in between two trucks and barreling down the road towards my house.

It’s been a long day full of addition and the letters S and T. Of course, half of the kids in the class that had to bring something that started with a T brought a tie. And every time I said “tie,” I was thinking “Ty,” and my heart hurt a little. Or a lot. Definitely more than was fair.

“Things are just weird,” I tell her. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Jiggs said that Ty’s been coming around to see you.”

“I’ve seen him a couple of times,” I admit.

She sighs. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“I don’t know. One minute I think one thing and the next . . .”

“Did he tell you where he went? Did he explain things?”

“Yeah.”

She pauses and waits for me to continue. I don’t. As much as I love her, Ty’s problems are his to tell. I won’t betray that, not even for her.

“So . . .” she leads.

“So he explained it and I understand.”

“What’s the hold-up then?” she asks.

I flip my turn signal on and make a left onto my road. “I just want to make sure it’s the right thing to do. I love him and I know he loves me. But, really, our problems aren’t resolved. We are just kind of in limbo right this second.”

“So you just don’t want to jump right back into it?”

“Exactly.”

She takes a deep breath. “Did you tell him about the baby?”

My chest squeezes. “No, I haven’t. It’s gonna break his heart and it’s going to be devastating to me to tell him. And, really, I’m not sure if it matters.”

“Of course it fucking matters!” she says. “I will always take your side in an argument publicly, but if you don’t tell him about this, and soon, you are wrong, Elin.”

I fill my lungs with air and blow it out slowly. This is something I’ve been pondering, something I know is true. I need to tell him. I need to let him know the truth. He deserves it. I just can’t bring myself to bring it up.

“Tell me about the baby,” I say, changing the subject. “How do you feel?”

“Gosh, I feel pretty good, actually,” she nearly sings. “I’ve been a little sick, but nothing I can complain about. I go to the doctor again in two weeks and I think we’ll be able to hear the heartbeat!”

I swallow past a lump in my throat. “I’d like to go with you. I mean, if you don’t mind.”

“I’d love that, Elin.”

“I’m pulling into the house,” I say as I hook a right onto the driveway. “But let’s get together this weekend and have lunch. Sound good?”

“Absolutely. And call me if you need anything. Please. Whatever you’re going through, you don’t have to do it alone.” She hesitates. “You know what, call me even if you don’t need anything. Call me because I’m a needy friend and you know I’ll bitch if I don’t hear your voice.”

I grab my bag off the passenger’s seat and head to the back door, chuckling. “I love you. I’ll call you soon.”

“Night, chickie.”

Popping the door open, I’m met with a chill. The air isn’t warm like I expect after leaving it set on 74-degrees. I flip on lights, set my bag down, and check the thermostat. It’s on but not running.

“Shit,” I say out loud, looking at the ceiling.

The furnace does this each start to winter. There’s some trick to it that Ty figured out the second year we lived here. A trick I don’t know.

I eye the basement door on the other side of the kitchen. It mocks me with its hidden shadows and bugs and damp crevices. Shivering, I wonder if Jiggs could get it working or if I’m going to have to call my husband.

My lip twitches at the thought of seeing him again, and I try to kick myself for it, but I don’t. Wanting to see him is as natural to me as breathing or sleeping or craving soda.