Chapter 19
SEVEN
I park the four-wheeler at the small pond where Sprout likes to fish and sit staring at the bugs swarming above the golden water for over an hour. There aren’t many days like this left in the year. Soon, the sun will be setting hours earlier, over a sheet of ice surrounded by snow drifts.
Sprout’s so excited for skating season. I promised I would bring her up as soon as the ice was thick enough, and we’d spend the entire afternoon on the pond. I already have everything I need to make a little warming hut for her as a surprise. I figured I could put a firepit in there, our old futon, and supplies for making hot chocolate, so we could really make a day of it.
But in my mind, Binx was always here with us.
She’s a phenomenal skater. Last year she took Sprout with her to watch the intramural hockey tournament Binx plays in with her brothers. Sprout couldn’t stop talking about it after. She doesn’t want to be a figure skater girl anymore, she wants to be strong and fast, like Binx.
I hate that I’ve taken someone she loves so much away from my daughter.
I hate the black hole in my gut that feels like it’s sucking all the misery in the world deep inside it.
I hate that I have to go back to the cabin and sleep alone in the bed I shared with Binx, the one where the sheets still smell like her.
It makes me wish I’d razed the cabin to the ground, after all. It had mold in the walls and foundation issues that took months to get sorted out before I could even start the renovation. It wouldn’t have cost much more to demolish and start with a fresh slate, but the cabin is nearly a hundred years old. I wanted to help preserve the history of the camp, while building additional facilities to attract new people to the land.
Now I think—fuck history.
I wish I could erase the history of the past two days from my mind. I wish I had no idea how good it feels to touch her, kiss her, hold her close as she falls asleep and feel like I have everything I need right there in my arms.
I was at peace with her, but it was a stolen peace, a rotten one.
“It’s your fault,” I mutter to my dick as I relieve myself against a tree. “You’re a weak-willed piece of shit.”
It has the decency to look ashamed of itself as I tuck it back in my pants, but shame isn’t going to do either one of us any good.
That’s what I always tell Sprout—don’t let shame take root inside you. It’s okay to feel bad about something you did; it’s not okay to feel like you’re the bad thing. That kind of thinking only dulls your light, hurts your heart, and makes it harder to be the good person you want to be.
It’s hard to love other people right if you don’t love yourself.
I know that to be true with every piece of me. I also know that it’s way easier said than done, especially when you’re a middle-aged man who’s made so many mistakes. I thought I’d have more things figured out by now, but all I really know is that I’ll never understand other people. I’ll be lucky if, some day, I reach a place where I truly know myself.
Trying not to think about the memories I wish Binx could have made with us here this winter, I get back on the four-wheeler and head toward the cabin. I’ve been gone nearly two hours by the time I pull into the shed, long enough for the sun to set and soft pink light to fill the air.
There’s a chill in the air, too, the cold cutting through my shirt as I head toward the porch, intending to snag the plate of sausages I left outside and force myself to eat something.
But when I reach the grill, the plates and the veggie tray are gone. For a second, I wonder if Tater Tot somehow found his way up onto the grill and made off with all the food, but there’s no sign of a smashed plate on the ground. And Tater Tot is surprisingly agile, but he’s also bulked up for winter. I don’t know if he’d be capable of climbing the grill at this point, which is a good thing. Eating a bunch of processed meat would have made him sick if he’d tried it.
As soon as I dismiss that theory, I realize what must have happened.
Binx cleaned up before she left.
Instantly, I feel even worse than I did before. I broke her heart and in return, she cleaned up my mess. Or maybe she took the sausages with her as some small form of retribution.
I hope so. I hope she took all the food in the house and left me to forage for acorns with the groundhogs. It’s what I deserve…better than I deserve.
With a sigh, I double-check again to make sure the propane is turned off on the grill, then plod inside, trying to think of what to listen to on the speaker that might take my mind off my abject misery. Maybe that podcast about people getting murdered in national parks. Those people had it much worse than I’m having it right now.
Maybe I’ll manage to unsettle myself enough that going to sleep in the middle of the woods alone with no way out will start to feel scary. Better to lie awake in bed, fearful of being axe-murdered, than lie awake thinking about Binx.
“Binx.” Her name bursts from my lips without my permission when I close the door and turn to see her sitting on the couch in the living room, surrounded by pieces of paper from the notepad I use to make lists for the hardware store. She’s bent over the pad now, writing furiously, the tip of her tongue sticking out between her lips as she concentrates.
“Yep. It’s me. I’m still here.” She doesn’t so much as glance up from her scribbling as she adds, “You didn’t actually think I would leave, did you?”
The dinosaur jaws locked around my chest loosen, and I draw my first deep breath since I saw her mother standing in front of the cabin.
No, I realize, I didn’t actually think she would leave. Maybe that’s part of the reason I felt like such absolute shit when I thought she had.
“I’m sorry,” I say, knowing there’s so much more that needs to be said, but I’m just so grateful to see her sitting there, looking absolutely unconcerned with the future, that I can’t think straight.
“You should be,” she says, still writing. “That was mortifying. It’s hard enough to have your profession of love dismissed without having your family there to watch it happen. Especially my mom. She practically had kittens when I told her I was staying to talk to you, and that if she wanted me to leave, she would have to physically overpower me and tie me up in the back of her SUV.” She dots a period onto the paper and finally looks up, her eyes pink from crying, but now dry and clear. “I think she thought about it for a second or two, but then she remembered I’m not four years old anymore. She can’t just pick me up and carry me away from things I love, kicking and screaming.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I say. “I never did.”
“But you did,” she says calmly, the complete lack of blame in her tone somehow making me feel even worse. “You really, really hurt me, and I think I know why. It’s not because you’re dead set against getting involved with someone so much younger than you are.”
I arch a brow, but don’t speak. Words are still elusive. I’m too lost in the emotions slamming against my chest like ocean waves on a stormy day. Fear, grief, gratitude, guilt, misery—they slam into me over and over again, while high above the shoreline, a single seagull cries out not to lose hope.
But that’s the problem. I don’t have enough hope to make it through all the challenges Binx and I would face as a couple. The world has beaten the hope out of me.
I’m about to tell her as much when she says, “You don’t think you’re good enough for me,” and my next breath gets stuck in my lungs.
I hold it for a long beat, then exhale in a rush, back to not knowing what to say.
She’s right, but she’s also wrong. I’m not good enough, but not because I’m a bad man. I just…
“I’m just so fucking tired, baby,” I say my voice rough.
She frowns. “No, you’re not. You’re the strongest man I know. You run at least five miles a day and could bench press a Volkswagen.”
“I don’t mean that kind of tired.” I move into the kitchen, bracing my hands on the island, facing her across it. “I don’t believe in happy endings anymore. The world isn’t happy and neither are most of the people in it. That doesn’t mean they’re bad or that I’m bad, it just…is what it is. I’ve come to accept that and be mostly okay with it. But learning to be okay with it…” I trail off, my shoulders inching closer to my ears as I drop my gaze to the counter. “I don’t know. I think it killed the part of me that believed I could make love work for the long haul.”
“You love Sprout and your mom,” she says. “And your brothers and your nephews.”
“It’s different.”
“How?” she asks.
I look up, meeting her still calm gaze. At least she’s taking this well. But, of course she is. She’s the strongest person I know—male or female. “They’re family.”
“Which means,” she presses.
“They’re family, they’re…forever,” I say, with a soft huff of laughter. “I couldn’t get rid of them if I tried.”
“You can’t get rid of me, either,” she says, arching a brow. “I’m still here. I’m not going to leave you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not—” I break off, the words feeling like a lie in my mouth.
But I’m not worried that she’s going to leave me.
Am I?
“I’m not going to leave, even if things get hard,” she continues. “Even if you get old, and I’m not quite as old just yet. Even if you grow a giant wart on your shoulder that makes your clothes fit funny and you aren’t as hot as you were before.”
“A wart could always be removed,” I say, addressing the easy part of all that.
“Okay, then it’s not a wart. It’s a hematoma, and it’s all tangled up with your nervous system. They can’t remove it or you’ll be paralyzed from the neck down, so you have to keep it. Right there on your shoulder, huge and gross, like a creepy, puss-filled second head.”
My upper lip curls. “Gross.”
“Damn straight,” she agrees, uncrossing her legs and rising to her feet. “It would be disgusting, but it wouldn’t make me leave you. I’d draw a smiley face on it, name it Athena, and kiss it goodnight when we got into bed.”
My nose wrinkles along with my lip. “I don’t want that for you. Or me.”
“Well, tough shit. That’s what you’re getting. Turns out, I’m even more loyal than I thought. Once I fall in love, that’s it. There’s no undoing it.” She reaches down, gathering several of the sheets of paper from the couch and coffee table in front of her. “That’s why I made you a list.”
I arch a brow. “A list?”
“Yes, a list of all the reasons I’m not good enough for you,” she says, rifling through them until she finds what she’s looking for. “Number one, when I was a freshman in high school, I cheated on all my history quizzes. My friend, Wendell, would tip his paper so I could see his choices, and I blatantly copied and took my B+ like I deserved it. And I didn’t thank him for the help nearly as much as I should have.”
My lips twitch. “Terrible.”
“I know. But don’t worry, it gets worse,” she agrees, tossing the first sheet into the air. As it flutters to the ground, she reads from the second one, “When I was five and Wendy Ann was two, I carried her up to the treehouse and left her there. Because I was annoyed with her for always following me around, and I knew she couldn’t get down on her own. And yes, I was pretty sure, at five, that she was too much of a scaredy cat to try the ladder, but I could have been wrong. I could have killed my little sister.”
“You were five,” I say. “It wasn’t your responsibility to keep your little sister safe. Someone should have been watching Wendy Ann. And you. An adult. I never left Sprout alone outside unsupervised until last summer, and even then, only for a little while.”
Binx’s lips hook into a humorless grin. “Yeah, well, that’s not how the McGuires did things. I’m sure one of my brothers was supposed to be watching us, but went to go play basketball instead. We had too many kids for Mom to keep up with all of us, and Dad was at the store working most of the time.”
“So, I’m a better parent than your mother?” I tease. “Is that what you’re saying?”
Her brow furrows even as her gaze softens. “Yes! So much better. Don’t you dare let her get into your head about taking a few days away from Sprout. Parents need vacations and time away from their kids. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s healthy for everyone.”
“I know,” I say. “But she’s not wrong about everything. I have a reputation in this town. Whether it’s deserved or not doesn’t really matter. I’m always going to be defined by my mistakes, and if you were with me, you would be, too.”
“I don’t care,” she says without a beat of hesitation. “Not even a little bit. You know why? Because I’ve done way worse things than drive a getaway car. I just didn’t get caught.” She pulls in a breath and her throat works as she swallows, making me think this is a more serious confession than the other two. “But I’ve never told this to anyone. Never. I don’t even like to think about it in my own head. Every time the memory comes up, I shove it way down and pretend it didn’t happen. But it did and…if people in Bad Dog knew, if my family knew, they would think I was the bad influence.”
I nod slowly, my brows inching closer together as I study her face. She’s pale and there’s sweat breaking out on her lip despite the chill in the cabin. “You don’t have to tell me,” I assure her. “We all have things we’re ashamed of that we keep to ourselves. That’s totally normal.”
She gives a quick shake of her head. “No. I want to. I’m going to. I just…” She swallows again. “I just need you to turn around. I can’t say it to your face, but I’m pretty sure I can say it to your back.” I start to protest, but she breaks in, “Please, just…turn around. You owe me that much for bailing on me outside with Mom and Wendy Ann.”
“I owe you at least one,” I agree, but I hesitate again. I don’t want her to do this. I seriously doubt anything she has to say is going to make me think any less of her, but this is obviously painful, and the last thing I want to do is cause her more pain. “I hate to see you hurting,” I finally say.
Her lips twitch, though her eyes remain haunted. “That’s why you’ve got to turn around, dude. Do it. I want to do this. I need to do it.”
My tongue slips out to wet my lips. I want to keep fighting her, but she has that determined look in her eye, the one I know makes her nearly unstoppable. So finally, with one final sigh, I turn around, lean back against the counter with my arms crossed, and brace for whatever is about to happen.