Return To You: A Small Town, Second Chance Romance

7. Ethan

seven

Imanage to stop asking questions about Grace. Mainly because it turns out, Mom and Dad have become quite social since I last lived in Emerald Creek, and now, they host Sunday dinners. I’d heard of those. I didn’t know what it meant.

What it means, is that once a month, everyone they know—and they know almost everyone—has an open invitation to the King farm.

And like Haley told me, this includes Grace.

Which was also explicitly confirmed when Mom called her best friend, in front of me, to confirm that she and Dennis and Grace and maybe even Colton were coming.

I acted like I wasn’t listening. I focused on keeping my breathing even. On pretending this didn’t mean anything to me.

Now I’m outside with a beer and offer to take over the barbecue since Justin called to say he “couldn’t make it,” and it seems that this is his primary function at Sunday dinner. Manning the barbecue.

I don’t have his cooking expertise, and I don’t care. I just need a vantage point from which to observe the dynamics. Specifically, what the hell is going on with Grace.

She’s wearing a white summer dress that shows her shoulders and cascades down to her calves on one side, a little higher on the other. Her hair is pulled back loosely, with a bright pink flower pinned in it. She moves around with ease, smiling at everyone, holding a little girl’s hand. She looks like she could be her daughter, though, so I pay double attention. And what if she had a child? God the kid is cute. I get all soft at the thought of Grace having a daughter who would look just like her.

Lucky father.

But she calls her Grace, and weirdly enough, I breathe easier.

She’s Skye, her cousin Chris’s daughter.

She and Haley sit next to each other at the end of a long trestle table. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I see Haley pointing from her plate to me. Grace’s gaze follows and gets lost somewhere over my head, like she couldn’t be less interested.

Like I’m a total stranger.

She eats salad.

When everyone’s seated, I load a plate with burgers, hot dogs, and chargrilled marinated chicken and squeeze on a bench across from them.

I set the plate in front of her. “Help yourself.”

“Oh thanks,” she says in a crisp, airy voice. She looks everywhere except at me. She doesn’t help herself.

As I stare at her, her cheekbones color, and the skin above her breasts turns reddish in places.

“Massage was great,” I say, still staring at Grace, feeling Haley’s eyes drilling daggers in my skull again.

“The lotion help?”

“I dunno. Didn’t try it yet.”

She blinks a few times like it’s a stupid thing to say, but she has no comeback. No advice.

And above all, she still. Doesn’t. Meet. My. Gaze.

I can’t confront her here, right? I can’t come back, ten years later, and make a scene in front of the whole village because a girl I thought loved me seems to think I’m some piece of shit now.

Just because I didn’t get closure at the time doesn’t mean I can get it now.

We’re on different timelines. I should have confronted her ten years ago. Now’s too late.

Now, it doesn’t matter. She moved on, got married. Got divorced. I’m a blip in her life. I can’t expect her to feel anything about me.

“Who’s that little cutie?” I ask, looking at Skye who has climbed onto Grace’s lap and looks just like her.

“I’m Skye,” the mini Grace answers. “Who are you?” She reaches to the platter, takes a hotdog, bites it, then sets it on the side of Grace’s plate.

“I’m Ethan.”

She widens her eyes at me. “Uncle Justin’s big brother?”

That gets me a chuckle. So sweet that she calls him Uncle. “That’s me.”

“Wow.” She takes another bite of her hotdog.

Wow what?I don’t know much about kids, so I have no idea if this is good or bad.

“Did you kill a lot of bad people?”

Um. Again, not sure what to make of that question. “Not a lot.”

She looks disappointed. Then her eyes brighten, and she straightens with excitement. “Did you take them as prisoners?”

“No prisoners.”

“That’s okay,” she says in a comforting tone. “I’m sure you did your best.”

Haley, Grace, and I share a brief laugh, and Grace’s gaze finally meets mine, setting a burning path from my irises down to a place right below my ribcage. The feeling stays there as Grace visibly relaxes.

“Hey, man.” Chris walks up to us, his arm around the shoulders of a pretty young woman. Shit. I haven’t seen him in ten years. He’s changed. He’s… a man now. I remember a skinny, angsty teenager. He’s nothing like that. Looking at him, I measure how much time has passed. How we all must have changed.

“Daddy! This is Uncle Justin’s brother!” Skye squeals as I stand up to greet him.

I go to shake his hand, but he pulls me into a back-slapping hug just like Colton had. “Missed you,” he mumbles. Pulling away, he adds, “This is Alexandra.”

“Alek-zandra is Daddy’s girlfriend,” Skye pipes as I shake her hand.

Grace starts to scoot over on the bench. “Why don’t you guys join us?”

“Daddy, you promised I could ride Sunshine,” Skye cuts in, sliding off Grace’s lap and running toward the barn.

“That’s—yup—actually why we came—to get Skye,” Chris says as an apology. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

Haley stands up. “I’ll go saddle her for you.”

I’m not left alone with Grace, not even for a minute. A young woman slides next to her. “Hey, I heard. Sorry.”

What did she hear? What is she sorry about? Is it about her father’s declining health? Grace gives the woman a small smile and a shrug. “Thanks. I’ll figure it out.”

Not her dad, I guess.

“If you need us, just holler. We’re wrapping up at the resort and after that, we could have time for small projects.”

Definitely not her dad.

Grace’s face lights up. “Thanks!”

“There you are.” Lucas, the guy I briefly met during the fair setup, sits next to me, slaps my back, and takes the woman’s hand in his, twining their fingers. “This is the guy I told you about,” he tells her. “Ethan.”

“You’re the carpenter? I’m Thalia.”

Grace frowns, her inquisitive gaze going between the three of us.

“I’m hardly a carpenter,” I tell Thalia. “It’s just a hobby I picked up.”

“In case you want to turn it into more,” Thalia says, pulling out a business card. “We’re looking to hire.” Is it me or does Grace looked panicked right now?

I take the card out of politeness. “I’m leaving in a few days, but thanks. You never know,” I add with a chuckle.

“Ethan is with the Air Force,” Grace volunteers, her cheeks tinting. “He hardly ever comes to Emerald Creek.”

“Oh, sorry,” Thalia chuckles. “I don’t know why I thought—never mind.”

“It’s my fault,” Lucas interrupts. “I’ve been telling her non-stop what a great job you did at the fair and how I could use a guy like you.”

“He’s always been good with his hands,” Grace drops, then blushes as she realizes what she just said. “You know, carving things and stuff,” she adds quickly.

Carving things? A vague childhood memory pops up. Little wooden figurines. I pocket their business card with a smile. “Thanks. Something to fall back on if all else fails.”

Thalia shrugs, “Or if you ever get bored while you’re here. We always have small jobs lined up.”

“Let’s get some food,” Lucas says, maybe reading my eagerness to be alone with Grace, maybe simply hungry. He stands and pulls Thalia to him.

“So… What’s going on with you? What Thalia said,” I ask Grace the minute they’re gone, for now putting aside her comment about me being good with my hands.

She furrows her eyebrows at me, picking at the half-eaten hotdog Skye left on her plate.

“Thalia asked if you were okay. Offered her help.” I know it’s none of my business. But Thalia and Lucas are new in town, he said so himself. Thalia can’t be that close of a friend to Grace. So if she knows something’s bothering Grace, why shouldn’t I? “She said she heard and she was sorry,” I insist. Grace can’t possibly pretend she doesn’t know what I’m talking about now.

“Oh—nothing,” Grace waves her hand. “My uh—my lease. I might lose my lease. For the spa.” She tears a piece of bread from the hotdog and pops it in her mouth.

“Oh, shit. That doesn’t sound good. How come?” I push my plate to the side and prop my arms on the table, leaning closer to Grace.

Her eyes fleetingly meet my gaze, then narrow back down on her plate where she’s destroying the hotdog bun with her fingers. “The building is for sale, so whoever buys it can break the lease. It’s-it’s-it’ll be fine.”

It doesn’t seem like it’s going to be fine at all. “How can Thalia help?”

She shakes her head slowly. “Um—if or when I have to move elsewhere, I’d probably need some work done.”

I don’t know anything about spas. But I can imagine there’s got to be electrical and plumbing needed, and that’s always costly. And then décor. Paint. Floors. “That sucks. I’m sorry.”

She takes a shaky breath that nearly does me in. “Life of a small business owner.” She smiles with her lips sealed tightly to each other, then deepens her inhale. As she exhales, her gaze falls on mine. “It’ll figure itself out. It always does. How about you? How’s your job treating you?”

I blink. “I uh—I wanted to apologize.”

Her eyes widen and she straightens on the bench.

“The other day, at the fair, I was rude to you.”

Her face softens.

I continue. “I was taken aback. I wasn’t prepared to see you again, and it was—it was…” What was it? Surprising? Earth-shattering? “I just wasn’t prepared, and I was a jerk. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” she chuckles. “Same here. I didn’t handle it too well. I’m glad we’re past that, though.”

Past what exactly? “Yeah… About that…”

She looks at me with alarm, stacking her cutlery on her plate. “I should probably check on Dad.” She stands slowly. Deliberately. Not like someone who retreats in haste. More like someone who’s made the conscious decision they’re not going to engage. For whatever reason.

”Any chance you’d want to talk? About what happened back then.”

She lays a thoughtful and deep gaze on me. “We were different people back then. Dwelling on the past doesn’t help. Never does.” She picks up her plate. “Have a nice stay, Ethan,” she adds and until then, until then I was going along with her story, but the way she says my name, Ethan, the way it rolls in her mouth and on her tongue, she way she drags it out a little… nope.

“Let’s have coffee.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

And why not? Friends have coffee together. Ex-lovers? Generally not. What am I to her? “Just two old friends.”

She smiles softly, almost sadly. “Bye, Ethan.”

I knew it.

She swerves back to the porch, climbs the steps, stops to talk to someone, disappears inside the house. We have unresolved matters, and I need to clear them, if only so I can move forward. She said herself we’re different people now, and she’s right.

What does she think of me? Does she think I fled Emerald Creek to avoid facing my responsibilities? Which I did. Is that how she sees me?

Of course she doesn’t see anything else in me than the guy who bailed on everyone when things got tough.

Why would she see anything else? What have I done with my life that means something here? I didn’t try to build a family. I didn’t try to build a business. I didn’t try to build a house. I could have tried all of these things.

I might have succeeded. I might have failed.

Chris, Justin, Grace. They all tried. They succeeded. You could say Grace failed at her marriage. But was it really a failure? At least she tried.

They all built something with their lives. They faced challenges that they overcame. They have something to show for the past ten years.

All I did was run away. And sure, that communication thingy, like Mom says. That holds value for me. Outside of Emerald Creek, with the Air Force, I’m someone. Here? Not much.

Later in the evening, anyone still here is marveling at how beautiful the witching hour is. How the air brims with fragrance and the sounds of the meadow.

But Grace is long gone, and the air feels empty to me.

The wraparound porch where we’ve retreated offers me a front row seat to the scene of my childhood and early adulthood. It feels intimately close and yet remote, like something I broke and shouldn’t come near. It’s almost painful in its beauty. I should think about this more often when I’m away. Remember this beauty is always here.

Even if to some extent, I’m eager to leave already.

I’m lost in my thoughts when Mom comes out of the house, handing me the cordless landline phone. “It’s for you. Coach Randall.”

I stand, feeling awkward to take this phone call sitting down, and step away. “Coach!”

“King. How’ya doin, son?”

“Good! Great. I was actually planning on swinging by the Arena and catching up. How’s tomorrow?” I glance at Dad. For approval, and maybe there’s something planned? Something they need me for?

“Another time, son, I”m afraid. My sister passed away—”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, well, a blessing. She had Alzheimer’s. Been mourning her for years now.” He clears his throat. “Anyhoo. I gotta leave town. Memorial is next week. Haven’t seen my other siblings in way too long… you know how it is.”

“Yeah.” Why is he telling me this?

“So I have this Varsity Preseason camp next week.”

Oh hell no. Feeling what’s coming, I step off the porch completely, away from company.

“Was hopin’ you could jump in and take over.”

Hell. No.

“Whole plan is typed up, schedule, all that. You’d just have to follow along my notes. Nothing to improvise.”

“Uhh. Jeez, coach, I don’t know. I—I actually might have to leave town next week,” I lie. There is no way in hell I am coaching a bunch of kids in hockey.

“You still play, right?”

“Y-yeah, course, but like I said—”

“It’s just kids, King. They don’t bite. And they need you.”

I kick the dirt with the tip of my sneaker. “Coach, I dunno.”

“I guess I could ask Owen to jump in. We’re close to getting to Nationals this year, but they need a lot of work.”

Fuck. “Owen Parker?” He’s got to be kidding.

“He’s all I got. ’Cept you. So—whaddayasay?”

I look up to the sky, then close my eyes when all I hear is his silence, heavy with expectation.

“I heard you already met our Tracy,” he drops. “Wait ’til you see her on the ice. She’s quite something. So—what should I tell the kids?”

I take a deep breath. “What time tomorrow?”

As I walk into the Arena the next morning at eight, I curse this small town for making me do something I did not want to do, while at the same time, my eyes dampen, my chest tightens.

The sharp, crisp air of the rink hits my nostrils, and from memory, I can almost taste the cold on my tongue. On the ice, two players are already practicing, their skates scraping the ice, their sticks slapping the puck. A rush of adrenaline fills me, remembering these quiet moments of warming up, of focus before a game, before the place filled with the cheers of the crowd, the flash of team colors, the thud of colliding bodies.

This used to be my life. My home away from home. My refuge.

And it’ll be my refuge from Grace. No chance I’ll run into her here now.

She used to be on the bleachers. Not anymore.

Fuck.

I school myself into being in the moment.

”Ethan!” A woman about Mom’s age is beaming at me.

“Mrs. Parker! How are you?” Owen’s mom was always on the bleachers, cheering us on.

“I missed you!” she answers with a huge smile, hands on her hips. “Why—do you look handsome. Coach tells me you’re filling in for him this week,” she says as she goes into the glassed office off the entrance. “Come over here!” she calls over her shoulder as she grabs a three-ring binder. “I work here now,” she explains. “Well, I’m not paid, so technically I volunteer, but if you ask me, some people who volunteer think they’re at a buffet or something. Do whatever they please, come whenever they want. Not me.” She straightens and leafs through the binder. “Lessee. Yup. It’s all there.” She hands me the binder. “You bring your skates and helmet?”

“Nah.” They’re with my move from Germany, somewhere in a container. “Figured I’d borrow some. Just like a rookie. You gonna have my size?” If all else fails, I’ll coach from the sidelines, but I’m not gonna lie—being at the Arena just woke up an itch in me. I skated in Germany, but this is different. Here, I feel a buzz of excitement coursing through my veins that I wish would die down. Must be a Pavlovian response, I tell myself to make it go away.

“Well, lessee,” she answers.

We do find skates that fit me, and a helmet. The stick isn’t an issue. And to assuage her concerns, I put on Dad’s jacket and gloves that I’ve been carrying bunched in my fist.

She makes a funny face.

I can’t really move my shoulders, and the sleeves end several inches above my wrists. She insists on rummaging through the lost and found until she finds a jacket and gloves more to my size.

“Thanks, Mrs. Parker.”

She folds back the jackets that didn’t fit me. “Suzy, please. Mrs. Parker makes me feel old.”

I smile at her. “I’ll try.”

She straightens from the lost-and-found chest, her face flustered from leaning down. “You know,” she says, blowing hair off her forehead, “you were one of Owen’s best friends. I bet he’ll be happy to know you’re here.”

Best friend? “We actually bumped into each other the other day. He seems good. We were busy, didn’t have time to catch up.”

She frowns at me. “Huh. He was always a knucklehead, you know. But you… you set a good example for him.” She seems lost in contemplation, and honestly, I don’t know what to tell her. “Anyhoo, you know the place, so I’ll let you get on with it.”

Twenty minutes later, all the kids are here.

“Listen up!” I semi shout to get their attention right at nine o’clock.

Something stirs inside me as they quiet and look at me expectantly. After a quick and—it turns out—unnecessary introduction of who I am, I take attendance, trying to memorize their names. Lots of familiar last names. It’s odd and comforting at the same time. Like slipping into jeans again after months of wearing fatigues. Then I ask them what their goal is this year for the team. As the answers roll in, I push them into their whys and hows. “Coach! Can we go train now?” one of the boys asks.

“We are training. Know your why.” They’re impatient, though, and I get it. “Alright, let’s hit it.” We head back outside for dynamic stretching, then agility ladders, and finally light jogging. “Alright, let’s hit the ice.”

They run like a pack of puppies to get changed. Man! their enthusiasm is incredible. This is going to be fun.

The day goes by super fast, with a quick lunch break where we go over strengths and points to improve. I check the schedule again to see how Coach Randall structures the afternoons, and something catches my eye. “Is someone getting a massage?”

Tracy, the girl who I met at Colton’s the day I got to Emerald Creek, raises her hand shyly. “Me. I got injured earlier this summer.”

I’d noticed she wasn’t engaging much. I didn’t say anything yet, was just trying to figure out their strengths and weaknesses, see how they worked as a group before tackling them individually. “That’s great. Good for you. I take it your PT cleared you for training, yeah?”

“Yes, Coach.”

“Lemme know if anything bothers you. Don’t push yourself.”

She nods.

“Kay, let’s hit it.”

Three hours later, we wrap up. The clatter of pucks against sticks recedes and the air fills with chatter as we file toward the locker rooms.

I glance toward the bleachers absentmindedly, looking for someone who hasn’t been there for me in over a decade.

And I freeze as she slowly steps down.

And looks over my shoulder.

“Ready, Tracy?” Grace smiles.