Chapter 3 Lila #3
“I had a great time.” He thrust his hands into his jacket pockets. “I’m glad I haven’t scared you off yet.”
“Maybe we could do this again,” I said softly, surprising myself with the words.
He smiled, a slow, warm smile that made my heart knock against my ribs. “I’d like that. Very much. Tomorrow night?”
“Oh, tomorrow.” That soon? Was there some kind of rule about the number of days between dates? “Sure. I’m free.”
“Great. I’ll text you tomorrow. We can make plans.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
He held open my car door as I slid into the driver’s seat. Something about his long fingers holding the doorframe, with his neck craned to look at me, made me feel safe and cherished.
I got into my car, started the engine, and watched him in the rearview mirror as he walked back toward The Pelican, his hands still in his pockets, his stride unhurried.
What had just happened? I’d just spent the evening with a nice man. He’d seemed to like me. And I very much liked him. I hadn’t expected to feel so comfortable or to laugh so much. Or to share such intimate things about our pasts.
I flipped on the radio for the drive back to the house.
My thoughts tumbled from one thing to another.
Vance Prescott had been a surprise. He was handsome and intelligent.
In fact, there wasn't really anything I could find fault with.
He seemed like a wonderful man. Honest. Even vulnerable at times.
But there was his daughter. Drama. Heartbreak.
Legal complications. Was I willing to deal with all that?
I glanced in the rearview mirror out of habit. A car was behind me, headlights bright in the darkness. It had been there since I'd left The Pelican parking lot. Probably just someone else heading home. But something about it made my shoulders tense.
In the months after Carter left, I'd felt it constantly. Eyes on me. Watching. Waiting. I'd chalked it up to the paranoia that comes with a shattered marriage—that feeling that everyone knew, everyone was judging, everyone was waiting to see if I'd fall apart.
Eventually, the feeling faded. Or maybe I just got used to it.
I checked the mirror again. The car was still there, maintaining the same distance. At the next light, it turned off. I released a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.
Stop being paranoid. Not everyone is Carter. “Chasing Cars” by Snow Patrol came on the radio.
The song Carter and I had chosen for our wedding dance. Actually, Carter had chosen it. Said it reminded him of me—of how he’d always protect me. Hearing it now was like a sucker punch right in the stomach.
My hands tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. The song played on, each note unraveling me until I couldn’t stop the memory from crashing through. What an innocent I’d been. If I’d only known what was to come, only nine years after I felt like a princess in his arms.
I tried to push it aside, but the memory of that awful evening bombarded me. Mia and I had left for an overnight trip with her Girl Scout troop, but shortly after dinner she’d felt ill. A fever. I’d packed us up quickly and headed home.
I gathered my sick, limp child into my arms. The moment we came in from the garage, I heard laughter. A woman’s voice, playful and flirty. Mia stirred in my arms, her eyes fluttering open. “Someone’s here.”
“I think your dad must have a friend over. Don’t worry about it.
Let’s get you to bed.” I carried her up the stairs, past our bedroom, silent as a ghost, the sounds of my husband and a woman coming from behind the closed door.
Although I was in shock, I kept my head enough to know that I needed to get Mia into bed before I faced whatever it was Carter was doing in our bedroom.
After I gave Mia some medicine to take down her fever, I tucked her into bed, promising her I’d be right back, but she was already asleep by the time I closed her door.
Then, I walked the ten steps or so to the room I shared with my husband. I crept down the hall, my bare feet silent against the hardwood, and opened the bedroom door. And there they were. My husband and a woman. Her skinny legs wrapped around my husband’s backside.
I gasped loud enough that it interrupted whatever it was they were doing. The girl turned her head toward me and screamed, as if I were a perpetrator.
Carter kind of rolled off her and pulled a blanket over them both. Too late. I’d already seen their naked bodies, all sweaty and pink.
And everything came together in one horrifying, crystal-clear moment. My husband was cheating on me with his nubile intern. Our marriage was over. The man I’d given my heart to, had a precious child with, was in bed with a woman not yet old enough to legally drink.
Even in that state, I was a mother first. I didn’t shout or throw things. My daughter was running a fever. She needed rest, not to wake to the sound of her mother losing her mind.
“Lila, I didn’t think you’d be back tonight,” Carter said.
“Get out. Both of you.” My voice was deadly calm.
“Lila, let me explain,” Carter said.
The Girl Scout hot dog dinner was roiling in my stomach, moving its way up. “I’m going to vomit now. Don’t be in my bed when I’m done.” Then, I ran to the bathroom. Salt in the wound—Pixie’s red, lacy lingerie.
Now, as I was reflecting on this vivid occurrence, I reached forward and snapped off the radio, plunging the car into silence. My breathing was shallow. My vision a little blurred.
The memory of the second I knew my family would not survive would live forever in my mind. The exact moment that broke me, changed me forever. Snatched away my belief in true love and happily-ever-after. In building a life with a man I adored.
That kind of pain could not be magically erased.
Five years had passed and still it stung.
Yet here I was, a few minutes after a lovely date with a lovely man, trying again.
It might be foolish, but I was not going to let the past dictate the future.
I’d had a date with a man I liked. One I could see falling in love with.
What if I’m wrong again? I’d crafted my life to be safe from hurt. But this was life or death. I had to choose living. It was time. And I was just going to have to be brave.
By the time I got home, Mia was curled up on the couch in her pajamas, a bowl of popcorn beside her and a movie paused on the TV.
“Well?” she demanded the second I walked in. “How was it?”
I set my purse down and kicked off my sandals. “It was … really good.”
“I knew it.” She bounced up, grabbing my hands. “Tell me everything. What did you talk about? Was he funny? Did he kiss you?”
“No kiss. Just talking. A lot of talking.”
“Good talking?”
“Yeah. Great talking.” I sank onto the couch beside her. “He’s exactly like his profile—kind and funny and interesting. We didn’t run out of things to say all night.”
“Are you seeing him again?”
“Tomorrow.”
Mia squealed. “Mom, this is amazing!”
“It’s one date. Well, two. But still, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“I’m not getting ahead of anything. I’m just happy you had such a good time.” She curled into my side. “You deserve someone who sees how special you are. Like Alex sees Gillian.”
My throat tightened. I hadn’t always done a great job showing my daughter what healthy self-esteem looked like.
My first instinct was to say something humble, to remind her that gratitude should be enough.
But I wanted more for her. I wanted her to have it all—love, family, a meaningful career.
Why shouldn’t I want that for myself too?
“I want that,” I said softly. “Even though it’s really scary to be dating at my age.”
“You’re only thirty-six, Mom. That’s still young. And you’re so pretty and accomplished. Any guy would be lucky to have you.”
Then why had my husband cheated on me? I pushed the thought aside before it could sink its teeth in.
“Thanks for pushing me,” I said. “Sometimes it feels like our roles are reversed, but I’m grateful you did. You’re the best daughter I could ever imagine.”
“Oh, Mom, every mother says that.”
“Perhaps. But in this case, it’s true.”
It was true. Mia had been born with an old soul.
I kept waiting for the rebellious phase—the one that usually hits at the start of puberty, when everything a mother does becomes unbearable.
But it never came. She stayed the same serious, sensitive, remarkably self-aware girl she’d always been—and fiercely loyal to me.
She was nine when her father left, and for a while she withdrew, moody and tearful over small things.
But that only lasted a year. Even now, with her father remarried to the intern and raising three new daughters, she seemed unbothered by it all.
She’d told me once that she wasn’t like other people.
“If Dad wants to marry a girl barely out of high school and have more kids, why would I care?” she’d said. “I have you, Mom. That’s all I need.”
The memory made my eyes sting.
“Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re lost in thought. What’s up?”
“I think he might be the one.”
It was a ridiculous thought. And yet, a part of me wanted it to be true.
Could it finally be my turn?