Chapter 12
Dave hadn’t been to a Friday dinner at Hank and Rosa’s in longer than he cared to admit. When he pulled into their driveway a little after six, he stayed behind the wheel, admiring the solar lights Hank had installed since his last visit.
Throughout the year, Hank and Rosa’s garden was full of color. Whether it was from the flowers and shrubs they’d planted, or the solar lights, it always reminded Dave of what a home should look like.
Rosa opened the door before he’d made it up the steps. “Well, look who remembered where we live.”
Dave handed her a bottle of wine. “I’ve been busy, Rosa.”
“You’ve been busy for too long.” She pulled him into a tight hug. “I’ve missed you. Now come inside. Hank has already told me you’ve been insufferable this month, and I want to see for myself.”
The house was warm and loud, the complete opposite of Dave’s home. The pot roast Rosa had cooked filled the entryway with the smell of garlic and herbs, a radio was playing in another room, and Hank was shouting something about the Griz game to no one in particular.
Dave took off his boots at the door and followed Rosa into the dining room. The pot roast sat in the center of the table. Creamy polenta, green beans, pasta, and two loaves of crusty bread filled the remaining space.
“Sit,” Rosa said, pointing at the chair that had always been his. “Help yourself to dinner. Then Hank can pester you, because Lord knows he’s been dying to.”
Hank hurried into the dining room, kissed his wife on the cheek, and told her everything looked delicious.
After their plates were full and Rosa was occupied with slicing a loaf of bread, Hank sent Dave a knowing look. “How’s the brownie situation? I heard that Beth brought another batch down this morning.”
“They were fine,” Dave said.
“Just fine?”
“You know the brownies are good, Hank.”
“That’s not what I asked.” Hank grinned and leaned back in his chair.
It was the same grin he’d had since Wednesday, when he’d caught Dave staring at the north wall for a solid minute without touching a tool.
“I’ve known you thirty years,” Hank told him.
“I watched you not smile for nine of them. And in the last few weeks I’ve counted more smiles out of you than the whole decade before it. ”
Dave shrugged and lifted a fork of polenta and green beans to his mouth. “I’ve had a good month.”
“You’ve had a Beth Kowalski month,” Rosa said with a smile. “Mabel’s practically running a betting pool on what’s going on between the two of you.”
Dave set his fork down. “There’s nothing to bet on.”
“That’s what I said the night before Hank asked me on our first date,” Rosa said, “and look how that turned out.”
Hank laughed, and Dave felt heat warm his face.
“Beth is good at her job,” Dave said, because it was true and because it felt safer than the alternative. “The building’s better for her being there.”
“Nobody’s disagreeing with you.” Hank’s voice softened, the joking mostly gone out of it. “I’ve watched you work with lots of people over the years. I’ve never once seen you look forward to a Monday because of one of them.”
Dave didn’t answer that, because there wasn’t a safe way to.
“Carol would have liked her,” Hank said quietly. “She’d have taken one look at Beth hauling brownies out to a job site and decided the two of them would be friends whether Beth liked it or not.”
Dave glanced at Rosa. She didn’t say anything, which from Rosa counted as its own quiet mercy.
“I like Beth,” Dave told his friends. “But I don’t know what to do about it. As far as I can tell, Beth’s not looking to start any relationship. Neither was I, before I met her. And even if she were—” He stopped.
Hank frowned. “Even if she were, what?”
“Even if she wanted to be more than friends, I don’t know how to want something again.”
“You don’t need a set of instructions. It’s there, beneath all the rusty hinges and self-doubts,” Hank said. “Nine years is a long time to leave a good truck sitting in a barn, but it still starts when you turn the key.”
Rosa’s eyes widened. “Hank Garrison, how on earth did you come up with that piece of wisdom?”
Hank shrugged. “It just came to me. I thought it was poetic.”
“Only if you’re talking about vehicles.” Rosa covered Dave’s hand with hers. “Ignore my husband. Nobody’s asking you to do anything, Dave. Eat your dinner and enjoy our company. And make sure you’re here next Friday. I worry about you when I don’t see you for weeks on end.”
“I will,” Dave said.
Hank raised his glass of beer and nodded to Dave. “To Fridays and friendship.”
“And to being happy,” Rosa added.
Dave raised his glass. Despite what Hank had said, he was enjoying having dinner with two of his closest friends.
“Tell us what Mark is doing,” Rosa said with a smile. “The last time we spoke he was flying around the country and hardly ever at home.”
“Nothing much has changed,” Dave told her. “He still works too hard.”
Dave told Rosa and Hank about Mark, about the lunch they’d had together, and the day-to-day things that weren’t much when taken separately but added up to a good life.
It was only on the drive home, with the dark road stretching out in front of him, that Dave let himself think about Beth. When she talked about her husband, she said his name like it still hurt and still mattered in the same breath.
It sounded as though they’d had a good marriage, the type of relationship Dave had enjoyed with Carol.
Somewhere between the brownies, the building, and conversations about their families, Beth had quietly become a friend, and someone he could imagine spending more time with.
But as he turned into his driveway, Dave sighed. They both had busy jobs. They both had families and friends who filled their lives with purpose.
And they both had the shadow of their former partners walking beside them.