Chapter Thirty-Five
Atlas
"Hi—uh... Mr. Durant."
The voice comes from my right, and I turn to see Aubree standing there shifting from foot to foot.
There's been a definitive change in this garage over the last month. Not just the fact that my office is once again covered in pictures of my life—as it should have been all along—but the energy feels more relaxed.
Not that we've grown lazy; our productivity has actually skyrocketed, and I attribute that to my mind feeling less clouded and panicked.
I'm actually getting full hours of sleep—without nightmares, or with very few. When I do wake up panicked from a night terror, I either call Wendy, who answers every single time, or I'm able to logic my way out of it.
I've realized that, as good as it is to hear Wendy's voice after waking up panicked, I can't use her as a crutch.
And my wife needs her rest even more than I do.
"What's up, Aubree?" I ask, glancing back at the engine in front of me.
Aubree is something I had to deal with the weekend after the boys slept over. We sat down in my office with Michelle, and I explained that I am a happily married man and her behavior—which I didn't realize was flirting—was inappropriate.
She had looked incredibly embarrassed while she apologized sincerely. I in turn apologized for putting her in that awkward situation, and she was really understanding about it.
It's still quite awkward, but I hope it gets better one day. I take it as my full responsibility that I gave the impression of a single man.
Even in the deepest pits of my struggle, I would never betray my wife like that.
Aubree clears her throat, "So, Morris Jefferson called. His truck's been acting up again, and he wanted to bring it in today."
I smile, "Tell him to bring that hunk of junk over now—use those words too and tell him we ain't offering senior discounts to men who refuse to let go of ancient relics."
Aubree blinks, before laughing awkwardly. "I'll just tell him to bring it in."
"Thank you, Aubree."
"So," Aubree clears her throat, and I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. "Penny at Brison is going on maternity leave. Your dad offered to transfer me over there. I'm going to take it."
"Okay," I nod my head, honestly feeling relieved and honestly happy for her. "It's a good spot."
Aubree gives me a small smile, turning to leave before she stops.
"She's really pretty by the way," Aubree comments, her voice genuine. When I look confused, she clarifies, "Your wife—Wendy, I mean."
"She is," I murmur, my heart growing warm at the image of her face in my mind. I reach to wrap the wrench I need and grin when I say, "I'm one lucky son of a bitch."
Twenty minutes later, a chugging noise makes its way toward the garage doors as Jordan guides Morris Jefferson's ancient Ford into the bay.
I wipe my hands on a rag and shake my head as Morris walks through the employee-only door from the reception area.
He smirks when he sees me walking over to him.
"Well, well, well..."
I snort, "That sign says employees only, Morris."
"What sign?"
He plays up the old-man card, though the shit-eating grin stuck on his face lets me know he's in full control of his faculties. He's made it this long, I'll let him have his fun.
"Alright, what is it now?"
"Oh, so he does speak more than five words," Morris snarks, crossing his arms over his chest and raising a salt-and-pepper eyebrow. "You were practically a zombie last I saw you."
I wince. "Yeah, I had to figure out some stuff."
"Figure it out?"
"Does anybody?"
"Hmmph. Let me put it like this then—are you addressing it?"
I stare at Morris, a strange feeling crawling up my back.
Morris is the grandfather of Trey, Liam's basketball coach. I know he's a frequent flyer at Mabel's, so he's probably been talking to Wendy, but I'm not sure what he knows.
Wendy usually keeps things close to the chest, but the Jeffersons have a way about them that can get you to speak. Morris is damn near a century old. I know he's got experience in all walks of life.
So, I wonder...
"Every day," I nod once. "Every second."
He studies my face for a long moment before the tight line of his mouth softens.
"That's all we can do," he barks, laughing. "And pray our lovely women don't get tired of our bullshit and leave."
I glance over to him, but he seems to be staring into space, lost in his own thoughts.
"You speak from experience."
He pauses, his face dropping slightly as he stares at his truck being lifted.
"I almost lost my Ronnie," he says, his voice low. "From my own stupidity. I grew up in a different time. Men were the breadwinners, and women took care of child-rearing and the household."
My throat feels tight at his words, and he laughs bitterly.
"I thought I was a big shot, making good money so I could do whatever I wanted.
Came home late from the bar, stumbling into the house and smelling like booze, demanding dinner that I missed hours ago that she made from scratch while wrangling three kids with a fourth on the way.
That was after she cleaned our entire house top to bottom, did the laundry, and helped the kids with schoolwork.
The entitlement I felt during those times still makes me sick to think about fifty years later. "
My ears burn shamefully. I know our situations aren't exactly the same, but I still wasn't showing my appreciation to my wife for the work she does, unpaid and with measly thanks.
I just thought that was the way things were—I made the money, she took care of the kids and house.
Harmonious. Happiness.
Something else occurs to me, "You didn't...with another woman—"
"No," he shakes his head, jaw clenched tight. "That's one thing I could never do, but... there are many ways to hurt your wife without cheating on her."
I nod, agreeing, thankful that we share that mindset.
"You know, we men like to say we're the head of the household, but the head is useless without the spine," he shakes his head, looking me right in my eyes. "Our women are the spine."
"God damn right," I practically growl, and Morris smiles, clapping me on the shoulder.
"Ultimately, I did lose my Ronnie, but she died happy and smiling, in her sleep—in my arms. I'll never regret that."
His words strike me dead in my chest. My worst fear—losing Wendy, her dying and leaving me alone, and Morris Jefferson is living it.
And yet, he still walks around with a smile on his face, because even though she's not here anymore, he had that time with her.
I wasted so much time. I lost an entire year with my Wendy because I was scared, and what if she had died?
I cannot control everything through my fear.
I know that now, so what if she had passed away thinking that I wasn't in love with her anymore, or that I was cheating on her, or that I didn't want her when it's the furthest goddamn thing from the truth.
That's what I should be focusing on—not the potential of it being our last day together, but living each day as if it is our last.
Making sure it's known how much I love her, how wonderful and beautiful her soul is. Every single second of every day, she will never doubt how much I love her.
So, when that horrible time comes, if she goes first, or I do, I will have no regrets.
And neither will she.
Morris seems to see my train of thought because he smiles and nods knowingly.
"I miss her, but I know I'll see her soon—and I know that I gave her joy at every opportunity I could."
I cross my arms and ask him, genuinely curious.
"How did you do that?"
"I treated every day like there were other men waiting in the wings for me to stumble," he smiles, glancing over to me.
"So, I never did. I wined and dined and wooed my woman; I told her my feelings straight from my heart.
I never lied to her. I brought her wildflowers because she loved them.
I rubbed her feet after she had a long day.
I kissed her like every one was the last, because it could very well be.
I loved my Ronnie and made sure she knew every single day. "
Date each other.
I smile, thinking back to the dinner we shared the other night after couples therapy last week.
Just us, in Antonia's, and even though it was so busy, it felt like it was just us there. She ordered her food, and I ordered mine, and we spoke about everything and nothing.
Even when we didn't speak, our silences weren't tense. I was just happy to be with my wife.
"I know you get annoyed when I bring this car in, but this car... after I removed my head from my ass, I took Ronnie out on dates in this car. We would go parking and..." Morris grins slyly at me, making me laugh.
"Drive-in movies, picnics, road trips to the beach. Like we were teenagers again, just me and my girl. When I look at this car, I think of those memories. And I won't let go of them."
His words strike me as I look at the car. A hunk of junk, I had called it earlier, but it holds so much meaning for Morris.
That settles it, I don't care if this car is on its last legs, I'm bringing it back to life.
For Morris, for Ronnie...
...and for my Wendy.
"Alright, let's take a look..." I say, stepping under the car and groaning at what I see. “Oh, good lord…”
Morris barks a laugh, and as he steps toward the exit, he calls over his shoulder.
"Get to work, boy."
◆◆◆
"Hello?"
She sounds breathless, and I wince, wondering if this is a bad time.
It's after six, the shop is closed, and everyone has already gone home. I've been in my office for the past twenty minutes trying to find the courage to ask and the words to say.
I figured now would be a good time—Liam and Noah don't have basketball or art tonight, and I know Wendy was off from work today, so they’re probably cleaning up from dinner.
"...Atlas, are you there? Are you okay?"
I clear my throat when I realize I haven't responded yet.
"Hi, is this Wendy?"
A long pause before she asks, sounding really concerned now.
"Atlas, are you alright?"
"Yes, this is Atlas," I say, hoping that she gets what I'm doing and I don't sound like a complete moron. "Is this Wendy?"
"...yes?"
"Hi, Wendy. I was calling because I wanted to take you out on a date."
Another long pause before she huffs, "Okay, what's going on?"
"What’s going on is that you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and I just wanted to see if you'll put me out of my misery."
"Hmm... I don't know, I mean—I don't usually accept date invites over the phone from... my husband..." She trails off laughing, and the sound hits me right in the chest.
"That's fair, but let me see if I can convince you," I clear my throat once more. "You—the most beautiful woman in the world, in that sexy little black dress you bought years ago—the backless one that's got me whistling like a cartoon wolf—"
Her giggle makes me close my eyes. "Go on..."
"Me—cleaning up nicely in a nice dress shirt, sleeves rolled up because you have an odd obsession with my forearms—"
"God, they're so strong and hairy and... masculine."
I grin, perking up like a peacock at her words.
"Us—dinner at Antonia's again, not because I'm cheap, but because I know you go half-feral for their tiramisu—"
"The cream is the perfect consistency, and he doesn't soak the lady fingers for too long!"
"God, I love you," I mutter quietly and then continue on before she can say something, "So, Wendy, would you do me the greatest honor and allow me to wine and dine you?"
"Hmm..." she hums, playfully thinking about it. "Well, that was a really great proposal... I guess I can take some time out of my very busy schedule to go out with you."
My heart jolts and I say, "One moment..."
I place the phone down on the table and leap from my chair, fist pumping. "Yes! Woo!!"
My wife agreed to go out on a date with me.
Happiness courses through my veins as I gather myself and sit back down. I place the phone at my ear, "Sorry, about that. Thank you for agreeing to go out with me."
She burst out laughing, the sound so bubbly and sweet that I can't help but join in. This moment feels so right, like we're right back to being Wendy and Atlas.
"Will you be picking me up or should I meet you there—"
I gently cut her off, "You aren't doing a thing besides dressing up pretty for this date—I'll handle everything, baby."
She mock-gasps, "We haven't even gone out on the date, and you're already calling me baby?"
"Oh, I apologize for being so forward," I say, sounding not sorry at all, and from her giggles on the other end, it sounds like I don't need to be. "I'm just so excited for our date."
Wendy is quiet for a long moment before she murmurs, so soft and sweet. "I'm excited for our date too, honey."
I smile, feeling ten feet tall.