18. Eighteen
Eighteen
LENA
W hite tractor-trailers stream down the old country road the next morning, slowly managing wide turns into the driveway and lining the field closest to the road.
The parade lasts almost a full hour. Ben and I watch from the upper deck, sipping coffee and cringing whenever the long trucks twist into the fence’s entrance. It’s a narrow turn, but they make it.
The driveway and field suffer some damage, though. A late-night storm rendered the ground soft, and the heavy trucks leave deep lines and mud tracks behind them.
“We’ll have to grate the driveway when this is over,” Ben says.
“No, they’ll grate the driveway,” I say, adding it to a mental list to discuss with the production manager, Elsie Todd.
“I should be down there.”
“We’d just be in the way. They’re the professionals,” I assure him. “I’m thinking of asking Cherry to design a logo for Saddletree… for the new van.”
“Good idea.” His green eyes latch on to me instead of watching the circus unfold. “We should go van shopping… but car shopping first. The Pilot’s totaled.”
I sigh. “I loved that car.”
“Would you love matching Jeeps?” He grins.
I perk up. “Oh, and we could take them off-roading together. Let’s go Jeep shopping after the appointment… or any shopping. We’re wealthy now.”
A bracing thud turns our attention back to the film crew, who have released the rear door of a tractor-trailer. A golf cart travels from the interior to the ground, followed by a forklift.
Ben grunts. “Looks like we’ll have many tire treads to worry about.”
“Not to worry about,” I counter, but he turns away and goes inside. Maybe he doesn’t hear me.
At ten, we meet Dr. Rob Riley in his swanky medical office near the hospital.
He quickly examines my wrist—it’s shaped less sausage-like today, though still blotchy with bruises.
He reviews the x-rays and shows me exercises to do when possible.
My fingers and hand barely move today, but he promises some range of motion in a week.
I smirk at Ben, watching nearby, as Dr. Riley demonstrates the movements.
“It’s ASL,” I say.
“Similar. You know ASL?” Dr. Riley asks.
“Yes, we use it in our house along with audible speech,” I say proudly.
Dr. Riley nods. “That’s our Ben. He likes to be prepared.”
I cringe internally at “ our Ben” as if he’s property belonging to everyone. Are all the Rileys this possessive over him?
“Ready to shoot some?” he asks Ben.
“Only if you remembered your calcium supplements today. Don’t want you breaking a hip.”
My head whips toward Ben with astonishment. Playful banter? I only see that at home, sometimes. Not that I’m complaining—it’s good to see him loosen up.
Dr. Riley throws his head back in laughter. “Ah, man, I’ve missed that. Come on… Lena, Ebony will be in to set your cast. Think about what color you want.”
They leave so quickly that my “have fun” gets drowned out by the closing door.
Soon, dribbling draws me to the office window. Ben and Dr. Riley shoot free throws at a portable hoop in the back lot, laughing like old friends.
They are old friends. The stoic tension Ben usually holds in his face vanishes into laughs and smiles like he’s entirely different than the man who comes off as unfriendly to folks at Saddletree. He looks himself with Rob—a thought that’s sweet and painful.
Does Ben feel like he can’t be himself at home?
I scan my brain for anything that would counter that theory. But Ben rarely ‘hangs out’ with anyone except me, Ruthie, and the girls on canasta night at Mrs. Moore’s.
Ben loves canasta.
Jack and Rowan, the couple adopting Adam, have become good friends. Jack considers Ben his hero for saving Adam, but even with him, Ben’s reserved. His quiet nature makes casual friendships tough.
Dr. Riley appears to be an exception. Or maybe I don’t know my husband as well as I think.
Ebony sets my cast. I go with purple, Ruthie’s favorite color, and I hope it’ll earn me some street cred since my inability to accomplish simple tasks has tickled her lately.
Thirty minutes later, I’m ready to show Ben my new bling. I leave the office and trek around the building. Me and my excitement stop short at the corner when I hear Dr. Riley say, “She wasn’t the same after you left.”
“Neither was I,” Ben says, dribbling.
“She left for over a year, traveling. Trying to find herself again. Came back with the twins. We thought she’d lost her mind, but they’re awesome. You’ll have to play basketball with Freddy and Omar on break.”
“Are they good?”
Dr. Riley looks stern. “Hell yes, and they don’t need calcium supplements yet.”
They laugh, and I feel bad for listening. But then Dr. Riley says, “She always thought you’d come back. See that she’s changed. Forgive her.”
Ben stops, one arm holding the ball while the other rests on his hip. “I never gave her that indication.”
Dr. Riley shrugs. “You were with Lauren longer than any of my marriages to date. No one believed you’d give up on her, least of all her. One moment shouldn’t have ended it.”
“Why the fuck not? One moment destroyed me.”
“That wasn’t Lauren’s fault. You took it out on her.”
“No, I didn’t. What happened couldn’t be undone. I don’t need the damn guilt trip. Let’s play.”
He laughs. “I’ve been waiting a decade to say this… shit happened, and you pushed her away, pushed all of us away. You’re the king of self-sabotage, dude.”
Ben shrugs lightly, tossing the ball into the basket. “Now, you’re a shrink, huh?”
“You need one,” he teases. “She needs your forgiveness, man.”
“I told her. She has it. But that’s her problem—nothing’s ever good enough for Lauren.”
Dr. Riley moves in and steals the ball. “Take the job. Let her have closure, and she’ll move on. It’s not like she has a chance with you anyway, right?”
So, she wants a chance with him. It’s understood. Ben sees it, too. We stare at Ben, awaiting an answer that takes far too long to deliver. Dr. Riley grins, probably latching onto Ben’s pause in a sort of victory. He’s considering it.
Meanwhile, my heart palpitates, and my breath holds in fear over his delay. Why isn’t he answering? The correct answer is something along the lines of right, no chance, no chance in hell, what a dumbass question. Instead, there’s only silence.
Ben slaps the ball away and dribbles around him for another basket. “I don’t operate by Rob Riley’s rules of marriage—the more the merrier.”
Dr. Riley belly laughs. “Hey, don’t knock it till you try it.”
Pressing myself against the brick wall so they can’t see me, I take several deep breaths, replaying the gist of Ben’s words the other day.
Hurt terribly. Irreparable. Angry. I didn’t know love until you.
But my anxiety bitches pull their punches.
She’s one of the hottest women ever, and she traveled the world and adopted two boys, hoping, all these years, that Ben would come back to her?
God, it’s like my anxiety bitches Frankensteined this woman out of my worst fears.
Pull your shit together, Lena.
Many long breaths later, I stroll around the corner, flashing my usual smile and holding up my cast. “All done. What do you think of my new look?”
Ben only nods.
“Ah, purple. Fun choice,” Dr. Riley says. “Did Ebony answer all your questions about cast care?”
“Yep. I’m all set. Get it? Set? Cast?”
Ben’s brow quirks. It’s a bad joke, but the best I can do.
Dr. Riley chuckles graciously. “Ah, you’re breaking my heart.”
I laugh. “Thanks for seeing me, Dr. Riley.”
“Call me Rob. Ben has my number if you need anything. Don’t forget those exercises.”
Ben relinquishes the basketball, looking almost disappointed.
At his favorite brewery for lunch, he stares into his beer and holds the glass like it’s a genie meant to solve his problems. Problems I wish I fully understood.
“Tell me about Rob,” I say. “He seems like a real character.”
Ben shrugs but doesn’t meet my eyes. “He is. Not much to tell.”
“Aw, come on. Surely you have a funny Rob story.”
A tiny smirk edges his lips like he might have thought of one, but it disappears just as fast. “I don’t know.”
“Were you two close?”
“We were all close,” he says with a pinched brow and an almost regretful tone, though it’s hard to tell.
A beat passes with zero elaboration. He doesn’t want to talk about it.
Hurt waves over me suddenly, thinking about how easy Ben was with Rob compared to the man sitting across from me now, grumpy, quiet, and winning a staring contest with his beer.
I finally understand why he comes off as unfriendly to people at Saddletree—it feels like he doesn’t want to be here.
Worse, his quiet nature isn’t just reserved for other people, like I thought. He uses it on me, too.
Strangling my napkin under the table, I go for old reliable. “What’re you thinking?”
“I’m unsure about turning down the position,” he admits, making eye contact for the first time.
My internal organs liquefy into an oh-shit feeling, but I manage a short smile. “Why the change of heart?” I ask, though I already know. Spending time with Rob has rekindled something he misses—perhaps the old Ben. Or even the real Ben.
He shrugs. “It’s lucrative and reliable. The movie deal is risky in the long term. My income will be necessary if Saddletree suffers for closing.”
My fault. Again. A quick breath eases my growing tension. I slide my good hand over his across the table. “Ben, Saddletree will be fine. It’ll reopen better than ever under improved management. Don’t do this for Saddletree. Do it for you… if it’s what you want.”
When he doesn’t respond, I squeeze his hand. “Is it? What you want?”
A heavy sigh precedes his answer. “I don’t know.”