Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Ben
“Have you seen Dad’s business partner?” Ollie says as Amy slides a bowl of carrots across the dinner table. “She’s hot.”
I pause cutting my meat, my knife poised, ready to slice. Not only has my son noticed that my business partner is attractive, but every time the thought crosses my mind, guilt stabs deep in my chest. I have no right to think of her that way.
My home returned to chaos the minute my sons arrived back a week ago. And it looks like today will be no different. Liam scowls at his brother. Then picks up a roast potato, launching it through the air. It hits Ollie square between the eyes. My sister-in-law chuckles.
I twist my ring. It’s feeling heavier these days, since my thoughts about Antonia changed from professional admiration to personal appreciation.
Last week, I took it off to shower. The skin beneath it was pale. It lay in the little dish Bex left in the bathroom so she could do the same and not risk losing hers. I’d dressed, then realized I hadn’t replaced it. My finger was bare. A careless miss.
I considered leaving the house without it, but that felt like a step too far. But part of me wanted to walk outside without the claim of being Bex’s husband.
“Do you not think so, Dad?” Ollie continues, completely oblivious to the silence surrounding him. If there’s one of my children I can rely on to speak out of turn, it’s him. He calls things as he sees them—it’s a positive and negative quality in equal measure.
“We don’t need to hear about your crushes on old women,” Liam snaps, pushing his meal around his plate, eyes locked on his brother. Jaw tight. Ollie ignores him.
I’m used to this tit for tat bickering between them, but today, Ollie’s on shaky ground. And the subject he’s chosen is uncomfortable for more than one of us at the table.
“Ollie, I’d rather you didn’t objectify my business partner,” I say, thinking that will derail the conversation. Or even make him pause to consider what the word objectify means. It doesn’t.
“It’s a simple question, Dad. Do you think she’s attractive?”
I’m boxed in with no way out. My eyes plead with Amy to save me from this questioning, but she’s suddenly fascinated by her gravy. Her fork draws circles in the sauce. Whatever way I answer this, someone isn’t going to be happy, or I’ll be called out for being a liar. I go with the truth.
“Antonia’s attractive, yes.” Liam’s gaze lands on me, and everything suddenly feels warmer. Shame builds in my throat, blocking the words. I push them out. “But it wouldn’t be appropriate, and I’m not looking.”
Amy tuts, the air hissing between her teeth. I lay my hands on the table, my wedding ring glinting under the light. A safety net I don’t know how to take off. Last week proved that.
No one speaks for a few minutes. Ollie stuffs a spoonful of mashed potato into his mouth, cheeks bright after being proved correct. Thankfully, the conversation passes. Liam stays quiet for the rest of the meal.
But it makes me consider whether the thoughts I’ve been having recently are more obvious than I hoped.
Antonia Cole is turning into one of the first things I think of in the day when I open my eyes.
That’s a change. But one I’ve no interest in investigating the cause of.
Or that’s what I’m telling myself anyway.
I’m afraid the guilt would eat me alive.
Later, the boys are cemented in front of the XBox, playing whatever soccer game they managed to talk me into purchasing when they arrived home last week. It’d been a relief to pick them both up from the airport—in one piece and still smiling. They’ve had the most incredible experience.
Each telephone call we had while they were away gave me a little insight into the people they’ve grown into.
Ollie, always the joker, but fiercely protective of his younger brother.
Liam, methodical and dependable, already talking about funding grants for studying at a university where he can expand his soccer career.
Every call ended with me feeling prouder than when it started.
But as soon as we were back through our front door, their sneakers were dumped, and the toilet seat was left up.
Their rooms, which have sat perfectly clean and tidy all summer, exploded with dirty plates and underwear.
I’m almost at the point of opening their doors to spray air freshener before entering.
It’s strangely comforting. And a much needed distraction from what my summer turned out to be. Chaotic, exciting, and nothing I ever expected.
Since Opengate agreed to funding for the retreat, it’s like a boost button has been pushed. Sure, I was moving fast before, but somewhere between the architect and funding meetings, everything slotted into place. The land grant was approved. Planning passed. And we break ground next week.
I’d hit a snag on planning. The local office didn’t agree with a roof elevation in part of the design.
One call to Antonia, and suddenly, we were all systems go.
When I said I’d expected it to take months to have all the paperwork in order, she smiled.
It lightened her from the hard-nosed CEO to someone more human, normal even.
It’d been nice to see. I saw the girl beneath the corporate woman for a second. She was endearing. Mesmerizing even.
Antonia’s the most professional person I’ve ever met. Constantly straightening her shoulders or diverting discussion back to the topic at hand. There’s never a personal note to anything; it’s all timescales, spreadsheets, and goal achievement. I wonder if she ever relaxes.
Her pink Wellington boots on site had been a surprise. Fun, almost. I’ve never seen her with her hair loose. I’m not even sure what that would look like. It’s always perfectly pulled back into a ponytail, secured in place with a simple black band.
There’s so much about her I notice day to day that I shouldn’t. And do anyway. Sometimes it’s hard to drag my eyes away. That makes the guilt worse.
“Mostly, it’s just having the correct phone number,” she said. “And the families we want to help don’t have months to wait. I want us to be open by summer.”
“Summer?”
That’d taken me by surprise. We’d discussed timelines early in the process. Two years had been thrown into the ring, and it was better than I expected. Antonia didn’t challenge the proposal. But now she was.
“Yes, summer. Things are progressing well. If we keep up the heat, there’s no reason we can’t be open. Do you agree?”
I’d nodded, too speechless to disagree. She was so certain there wasn’t an argument to be had.
Things have been smooth so far. Who was I to argue?
Opengate was my lifeline to breaking ground at all.
Antonia was the one who threw down the rope.
If she wants it opened by summer, then I’ll do everything in my power for it to happen.
“So,” Amy says, reminding me she’s washing dishes at the sink while I sit at the counter. “This Antonia, is she pretty?”
I look up, cursing her under my breath for reigniting a discussion that was already put to bed, not comfortable admitting I’ve noticed out loud.
She pauses, pan in one hand and scrubbing brush in the other. Waiting.
“By normal standards, she is.”
“Hmm…”
“What does hmm… mean?”
Both boys turn, peering over the back of the sofa. I glare at my sister-in-law.
“Well, if you like her…”
“That’s not what I said,” I snap. This discussion needs to be closed down. “We’re working together. I don’t think about her like that.”
“Maybe it’s time to start thinking a little more.”
“You haven’t met her,” I mutter. “She argued with me and won about the color of paint.”
Amy snorts. “What?”
I shake my head, our conversation roaring back to life in vivid color from a few days ago in my mind’s eye. Standing in what would become the retreat’s communal dining hall, she disagreed with my color choice by two shades.
My choice was a lighter blue. Fresh and uplifting.
She wanted a tone that mimicked the ocean.
“The children can imagine the seaside,” she said, nose high, expression steel. “We can have an artist draw a mural of the beach.”
“No, I already ordered this shade.” My finger stabbed at the color book lying open on a dust-covered wooden table. Shade #3467. “It’s bought and paid for.”
She shrugged. “Return it. I want this one.” A long, slender finger landed on the alternative. She leaned in, and so did I, neither of us backing down. The air crackled with heat I couldn’t name the source of.
“Return it,” she repeated. “I’ll have Clara do it. If you don’t know how to contact a delivery company.”
I’d bit back a retort, not wanting the standoff to turn into a full-blown argument over paint color. But something deep in my stomach didn’t want to stop. I was enjoying the banter.
“I’m sure I’ll manage,” I muttered. “Though I don’t see why your color is so important.”
She giggled then, her icy facade disintegrating when she realized she’d won. I ran my hand through my hair, beaten.
Her breath was warm on my lips, only centimeters apart. “Because it’s my choice of color,” she whispered, so no one else working around us could hear. “And I like being right.”
“So…” Amy prompts. “Are you going to tell me the story or just stand there smiling to yourself?”
I swallow. “Not today.”
Her scrub brush pauses mid-stroke on the pan, her eyes landing where they see too much. “Yes, I think it’s time to start thinking a little more,” my sister-in-law confirms to herself. “It’s time.”
My ring taps against my glass, that knot in my chest tightening, the way it does anytime Amy hints that it’s time to move on from her sister. The same one that’s been twisting since I’ve noticed Antonia more.
Amy places the wet pot on the drying board, then steps across to face me over the island counter. Her expression is kind, but with the firmness I’ve seen when I know she’s going to say something I don’t like. She’s as subtle as a hammer.
“She’s been gone over four years,” she says quietly. “Maybe it’s time she was a memory, rather than a ghost in this house.” Her focus moves to Bex’s apron still hanging on the hook, her car keys still in the bowl, then the family photo on the wall. “Moving forward isn’t erasing her.”
My glass is drained within seconds, my focus on the apron. Amy returns to cleaning the next pot. The boys are still playing their game. If they heard her, they’re pretending not to have. That brings a little peace.
When Bex died, they both lost. But Liam lost so much more. Sometimes Ollie forgets that he still has a mother, while his brother doesn’t.
More than once, I’ve witnessed Liam lingering on a photo of his mother on the wall. Or how his eyes move to her image whenever conversations get tough. The worst was Mother’s Day the year after her death. The school arranged a ‘bring mum to school day’. Liam stared at the note, completely blank.
I offered to go. So did Amy. He took the day off instead. Some voids can’t be filled with a replacement.
I look around. The house still fits me. Every room used. Every photograph a reminder. There’s no reason to change. It’s safe here.
I’m surrounded by love, and that’s more than I already deserve.
But I know safe isn’t the same as alive. And the thoughts I’ve been having, the guilt that feels worth aching from, tell me it’s not where I want to stay.
If I’m honest, I want more in my life than what I have now. And that means leaving those who loved us in the past.