24. Miles
MILES
I reluctantly leave Jenna’s house for my parents’, but the whole way there, I can’t stop thinking about her.
I don’t exactly know how I got here, to the place where I can’t stop thinking about a girl I just met.
I have never been the guy who wants a damn couples costume.
I have the overwhelming urge to be near her, to tell my mom I can’t come over and drive straight back to Jenna.
I wish I could spend the whole night holding her, so she doesn’t feel alone.
Why was she crying? It’s gnawing at me that she wouldn’t even talk through it with me.
I thought we were growing closer these last few days, but I’m worried that it’s only me who is invested in this.
She’s dealing with a lot. Maybe I am just a distraction.
Being with Jenna has made me realize that I take having two healthy parents for granted.
I live in the same town as they do, and I can see them any time I want.
They were there for me when Erin broke my heart.
They invite me over for dinner every night of the week.
Literally. It’s as if my mom thinks I won’t feed myself a proper meal at forty-one.
The point is, I have them. I can’t imagine what my life would be like without them and my heart breaks for Jenna.
She seems so alone, and I don’t want her to be. Maybe that’s why she was crying.
Halloween is coming up, then it’s the holiday season, and I can’t help but think, where will Jenna be?
I want to convince her to stay. I’ll be her family.
Whoa, that is an alarming thought. Yet I can’t shake the feeling that there is more to this—that she’s somehow a part of me.
I’m dying to know if she feels the same way.
I married Erin in my mid-thirties, mostly because if I hadn’t, she would have left me.
And I loved her, I really did. I fought damn hard for that marriage, until I couldn’t anymore because nothing was ever enough.
With Jenna, I get the impression that everything is enough, because no man has ever taken care of her.
Maybe it’s all in my head, I don’t know.
But Jenna lets me be who I am. She probably doesn’t love that I surf at night just to feel invincible.
Or that I’m divorced. I’m sure there are a lot of things not to like about me, but if Jenna thinks about them, she never says a word. She accepts me for the man that I am.
When I pull up to my parents’ house, my mom is dragging a humongous, heavy box with the skeleton across the front lawn. “Ma!” I shout from the car. “I told you to wait for me.”
“I got tired of waiting,” she huffs, pushing the box a bit further. “I thought you weren’t coming.”
I roll my eyes. “I told you, I had to see someone first,” I mutter, crouching down to open the box.
“A lady friend?” My mother wiggles her eyebrows. She loves her two sons and her grandson, but I know she wants us to find partners and give her more grandkids before she’s too old to enjoy them.
“Maybe. Don’t worry about it,” I tease, knowing that all she’ll do is worry about it until I fill her in.
I get the box open and pull out all the pieces of “Bone Daddy” as my mother affectionately calls him. This is the second year that she’s had him, and I swear it’s just to drive my Halloween-hating dad crazy. I set the base down. “Is this where you want him?”
“That looks great,” my mom says. “Though, I’d really love it if he went right in your father’s parking spot.” She snickers.
“Well, he can’t, you antagonist.” I roll my eyes. “He has to be staked into the ground. Pass me his leg poles,” I say, and she hands them over. I get to work snapping them in.
“So, you’re not going to tell me anything about this girl?” my mother presses further.
I sigh and look at her. “Hip bones.” I gesture toward the box. “What do you want to know?”
“Okay, for starters, how did you meet her?” My mom hands me the giant hip bones and crouches back down to pull out the skeleton’s ribcage.
“She's a client,” I say cautiously, worried she’ll tell me to leave it alone.
My mom gives me a knowing look. “Oh, Nate said you were into a client who is just passing through,” she says. I get the sense she’s holding back.
“That little narc,” I scoff.
She laughs. “If she’s just passing through, why bother? When are you going to get serious about someone again? I hate seeing you alone.” My mother’s tone turns patronizing. “Don’t you want what Dad and I have?”
I groan, exasperated. “Of course, Mom. But it’s not that easy. Divorced at forty-one isn’t exactly a selling point.”
My mother rolls her eyes. “It could be worse. You could be Ross from Friends . ‘Three divorces, three divorces.’” She laughs at her own joke, and I crack a smile to humor her.
I grab the ribcage, connecting the wire that makes Bone Daddy’s eyes glow. I don’t answer her.
My mom’s voice softens. “You're a catch. The right girl will see that.”
“I am hoping she sees it enough to stay here,” I mumble, forcing the ribcage into the hip bone until it snaps into place.
“That’s what I’m worried about, Miles,” my mom says with genuine concern.
I puff out a defeated sigh. “Okay, Mom. I don’t really want to talk about this with you anymore. I’m sorry.”
“Fine, fine,” my mother relents, and we go back to assembling in silence.
We work quietly for a few more minutes, the only sounds the rustling leaves in the fall breeze and an occasional car passing by. At last, I snap the large skull into place and push him up to a standing position. “I have to stake him in, do you have them?”
She hands me the stakes, and once he’s secure, we stand back to admire our handiwork. Bone Daddy’s blue eyes glow in the dusk.
“Your dad is going to hate this!” My mother shrieks with glee.
“You’re insane.” I shake my head, laughing. But I have to admit, whatever my parents are doing, it’s working. They know the secret to a happy marriage, even if it is lovingly tormenting the other on occasion.
“I know.” She grins, and the crinkled lines around her eyes remind me that she’s not going to be around forever. “Thank you for helping me. Let’s get you some dinner, huh?” My mom links her arm through mine.
I need to cherish these moments, even when she relentlessly probes into my life. I grab Bone Daddy’s box and carry it to the porch. “What did you make?” I ask, holding the front door open for her.
“Beef stew, with your favorite biscuits.” She winks.
“You’re too good to me,” I follow her into the kitchen and sit at the same table my parents have had since I was a kid.
They are creatures of habit, and if something isn’t broken, they’re not fixing it just for the sake of buying something new .
Nate and I constantly tease them about this old, nicked table, but my mom waves us off, saying, why would I get a new one when this one is perfectly fine?
My mother busies herself filling a bowl, heating it up, and buttering a biscuit. It’s taken me all night to ask the question that’s been gnawing at me for days. I clear my throat.
“Ma, do you remember anything about the guy who rescued me?”
I don’t know why I suddenly need to know. I never have before, but now, it seems to be life-altering information that I am not privy to. Her back is to me but her shoulders stiffen.
The day I nearly drowned was a bad day in our house.
Aside from the obvious, I had gotten an English paper back—and it wasn’t good.
I was fifteen and only interested in baseball, parties, and girls.
My parents and I got into a screaming match over my plummeting grades, and they grounded me.
I stormed out, grabbed my shortboard, and hopped on my bike.
Leo was on the beach when I got there. He looked as though he was done for the day, but he stayed when he saw me.
“What’s up, bro? You look pissed,” Leo greeted me.
“I am,” I snarled. “My dad sucks. Gonna surf it out.”
“It’s rough out there,” Leo warned, gesturing to the manic ocean.
“You leaving?” I asked. “Ride with me.”
“Well, I was, but…okay, yeah. You shouldn’t surf alone.
” Leo’s warning did nothing to deter me.
The weather channel had been calling for storms all week.
They hadn’t arrived yet, but the ocean was raging, just like me.
There was no one else on the beach at four thirty in the afternoon in late October, except a family with one child.
I paddled out, Leo trailing behind. I got a few good runs in, and I felt invincible against the vast, angry waves.
My rage was already dissipating, but the waves were big—easily ten feet overhead—and crashed with relentless force.
To get past them required every ounce of strength and focus I had in me, but I was up for the challenge.
“You done?” Leo asked after the last good run.
I glanced at the shoreline, where the family was packing up their things. It couldn’t be past five thirty. “Couple more,” I said, not waiting for Leo to follow.
“If you’re cool, I’m going to just watch. I’m beat,” he called from the shoreline.
“Whatever,” I called back, paddling out.
The ride started like any other. I was strong and had control of the board as my arms sliced through the icy water.
I popped up on my board with practiced ease, catching the tip of the wave.
I waited for the dopamine hit—that rush of fleeting freedom made even more intangible by my recent grounding. But this time, it didn’t come.
My foot slipped and I faltered. My board dug into the wave, throwing me sideways, the crash of the water swallowed me whole.
I flailed as the force of the water sucked me under, the roar of the ocean drowning everything out.
Disoriented, I fought to reach the surface, but each relentless wave dragged me deeper and further out.
Every time I surfaced, I waved at Leo, hoping he realized I was in trouble.
It felt like an eternity before I heard him screaming for help.
I will always remember the burn in my throat from swallowing copious amounts of ocean water.
The world was a blur of darkness, my strength was waning, and I was about to give up the fight when a strong arm grabbed me and pulled me onto a longboard.
I sprawled on the front, and he paddled us back in.
Beach patrol and EMTs waited on the shore, and I was immediately put on a stretcher, in pretty rough shape. I never saw the man again.
“Mom,” I say when she doesn’t reply. “Did you hear me?”
She sighs, turning around and walking over with my bowl of stew. “You know I hate talking about that day, Miles.” Her eyes glisten, and I instantly worry that she might cry.
“I know,” I croak.
“We nearly lost you. And to think you still ride that damn surfboard.” She swats my arm.
“But you didn’t lose me, Mom. I’m right here,” I urge her. “I just need to know. It feels important. I need to know if you know who he is. What is his name?” I’m almost afraid to hear her answer.
My mom stares at me for a moment too long before she speaks. “Oh, Miles.” Her gaze is watery as she takes a deep breath. “He died that day.” Then her tears spill over.
I feel like I got the wind knocked out of me. A knot forms in my throat, and I swallow hard. “What?” I whisper. “He died? Rescuing me?” I blink at her—words aren’t registering properly.
My mother nods, turning away from me.
Tightness claws at my chest and I press my fist against it. My savior died rescuing me.
My fork clatters against my plate as I shove it away. I angrily run my hands through my hair, gripping the back of my neck to hold myself together. I look up, my eyes burning. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”
She winces. “I… Miles, we didn’t want to upset you. You had been through so much.” She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “He collapsed on the beach right after pulling you in. Heart attack from exertion they told us.”
“Well, who was it?” I demand. My anger is misdirected but I am so mad I can’t see straight. “I want a name.”
“I don’t remember his name, Miles, I wasn’t the one who spoke to the authorities. He was gone by the time they brought you to us. I think your father spoke to someone but even then, it wasn’t clear.” She keeps her voice calm. I don’t know why she’d lie but I’m still not sure I believe her.
I inhale a deep breath and nod. My mother pulls out the chair next to me and sits. She covers my balled up fist with her hand, her face softer now.
“After it happened, we contacted the police to ask the man’s wife if she would see us.
If we could properly thank her. Your father sent flowers on our behalf to a house in town, but I just don’t know, Miles.
I wish I did. We sent a card with a phone number, in case she wanted to call us.
She did.” She pauses and sighs. “She asked us to stop reaching out. It was too painful for her and her young daughter.” My mother’s voice remains steady. “I never did get to meet them.”
Daughter. The word echoes in my mind. The family on the beach.
I swallow a hard lump in my throat. “How old was the daughter?” The back of my eyes sting.
“I’m not sure. Younger than you for sure.” My mom exhales. “Is that all you want to ask?” Her pained expression lets me know that it’s time I drop this.
I drag my hands down my face as if I can wipe the raw emotions away. “Yeah. That’s all,” I grumble, picking my fork back up and taking a bite of stew but it sours my stomach immediately. I force myself to swallow before pushing the plate away once again.
The front door shuts loudly and I startle. “What the hell is in the front yard?”
Dad’s home.