Zack(78)

“Okay…a guy that buys a girl a drink at the bar is hitting on her,” I tell her simply.

“He bought you a drink too,” she points out.

“But he was eyeing you like you were a piece of juicy candy,” I retort.

“Whatever,” she says dismissively. “Guys don’t look at me like that.”

“You’re wrong about that,” I tell her firmly.

I sure as fuck look at you like that.

All the damn time.

“Boring,” she says with an exaggerated yawn. “Let’s talk about something more exciting.”

I snicker and give her a nod of acquiescence. “Like what?”

“Like what’s the game plan for tomorrow?” she asks as her finger plays around the edge of her wineglass.

“Well, movers will be there at eight…they said it would take about three hours to load the entire house. Another couple hours to unload, so we can start unpacking a few things in the afternoon.”

Kate nods in agreement. “I’ve packed up a set of sheets and blankets for each of our beds and a few changes of clothing, plus some toiletries to get us by. We can order some pizza. It will be like camping out…in a new house.”

I laugh at her. “Fun times.”

“Are you excited?” she asks me with sincere interest.

The question gives me pause, because I’m not sure how I feel about it. I’ve been so busy with playing hockey, buying a new house, and packing that I haven’t had time to process. But Kate’s making me do it now.

And for the first time since Gina died, I reveal a bit of the Zack Grantham that was left behind.

“I’m a bit sad,” I tell her truthfully, and her eyes go warm and understanding. “There’s a lot of memories there I built with Gina and Ben. I don’t doubt what I’m doing. I feel it’s the right thing to do, but I do regret that for me, leaving that house behind is what’s right for me. But I’m excited too…excited to watch Ben grow up in a great house that will just be ours. I think Gina would understand that.”

“I’m sure she would,” she tells me as her hand reaches out under the table and squeezes my knee reassuringly. It’s not a sexual move and lust doesn’t course through me at her touch, as would normally happen.

Instead I feel comfort and peace.

For the first time since the accident…mark that down on an event calendar.

“I feel good about the decision,” I affirm.

“No guilt?” she asks quietly. “Because you shouldn’t feel guilty about selling that house. You’re not leaving the memories behind. You take those with you. You’re just leaving the structure that held those memories temporarily.”

I give a short laugh that’s devoid of any humor and filled with irony. “No. Not feeling guilty about that.”

“Ah,” she says as she leans back in the booth. “But you’re feeling guilty about something.”

I nod, fiddling with the paper napkin under my beer. “Not sure how I make it go away.”

“Maybe your perspective on it’s wrong,” she says as she reaches out for her wineglass. When she has it in hand, she gives it a slight wave in the air. “Maybe you’re not looking at the big picture.”

My eyebrows rise and I ask, “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is that guilt is born of a circumstance. Something that happens…usually an event, right?”

“Right,” I say in agreement.

“It’s also about how you perceive that event,” she points out. “I’m not a rocket scientist, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that what you’re skirting so delicately around is that something about Gina’s death is making you feel guilty. Maybe it’s the accident itself, maybe it’s because we’re having sex. But maybe…just maybe…you’re looking at it through filters made of grief and that could be coloring your subjectivity.”

I shake my head at her in amazement. “I’m not even sure I just understood half of what you said, but it sounded damn good.”

She laughs and then takes a sip of wine. Setting the glass down, she says, “Zack…lay it on me. Just tell me what’s eating at you and I’ll give you my honest opinion about it. You know I won’t hold back.”

No, she won’t hold back.

But am I ready for her brand of honesty? Am I ready for her to call me out on the carpet and tell me I’m being an idiot or, even worse, that I should be suffering from guilt because I’m a horrible person?

Fuck it…I’m going for it.

“I killed Gina,” I say softly, refusing to meet her eyes.