Chapter Thirty Will
Chapter Thirty
Will
“Jamie wants me to talk to you,” Fitz says the next morning when I step into the kitchen I helped renovate last spring. Jamie wanted “calming blue” cabinets with metallic hardware and a gray granite with white veins.
“Oh?” I run a hand through my wet hair. “Why doesn’t she talk to me herself?”
He hands me a coffee mug and opens the drawer, displaying a vast selection of K-Cups. “Because she thinks you’ll be honest with me.”
“About?” I pick a random one and pop it into the Keurig.
“Everleigh.”
“What about her?” I lean against the counter and cross my arms as Fitz sips his coffee.
“Jamie seems to think you and Everleigh were sharing a lot of long glances last night. She wants me to ask if you’ve slept with her.”
“I took her virginity. I thought that was well established.”
“Listen. I don’t give a damn who you screw as long as it’s not my wife. So just cut the crap. Is there something going on?”
“No.”
“Great. Good talk. We hiking today? It’s supposed to get into the upper forties.”
I deflate. “There was a kiss. Well, more than one.”
Fitz drops his head back, face pointed at the ceiling, eyes closed.
“And if this is a full confession, I’ve checked out her new tits, and there was a finger—”
“Nope. I’m not your priest. Forget I asked. If Jamie wants details, she can ask you herself. Now, I promised I’d grab a few groceries for dinner tomorrow, then we can hike. Maren and Ozzy are going too.” He pulls a bagel from the bag and spreads cream cheese on it.
“Here’s the thing . . .”
“Will, we don’t have to do this. I honestly don’t care. For all I know, you were screwing her nonstop until the day you left.” Fitz takes a bite of his bagel and chews it slowly, eyeing me before shrugging. “And that’s cool, man,” he mumbles. “This time, you’re both consenting adults.”
I scratch my forehead with my middle finger, and he snickers.
“Have you seen her place?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“She spent a pretty penny on it. For someone who drives a used Subaru, she spared nothing in buying those ten acres. I’d be happy living on that land in her Airstream.”
“What are you saying?”
“Nothing,” he mumbles over a bite of bagel. “But it’s just across the road from the Delanys’ ranch. In case you’re wondering.”
“I’m not.” I sip my coffee.
“Well, I’ll be ready by one. So if you have any errands to run or people you’d like to visit, that’s the timeline.”
“You’re an asshole. I didn’t need to know where she’s living.”
Fitz smirks before taking the rest of his bagel upstairs.
By eight, I pull onto the long drive across from the Delanys’ and park next to the Airstream.
Everleigh’s barndominium is dark blue with black trim and huge windows.
I knock on her Airstream door, but there’s no answer, so I head toward the barn, slowly opening the unlocked front door.
Stacks of wood studs, plates, and headers fill the center of the space.
Everleigh is in the far corner, next to a miter saw, marking a board with a pencil and then sliding it behind her ear.
She’s dressed the part, in faded jeans, brown work boots, a red flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a bandanna holding back her hair.
Who would have thought this version of a woman would turn me on the most?
“Coffee?” I hold up the latte I grabbed on the way here.
She looks at me and slides her safety glasses onto her head.
Really. This is so weird. I can’t reconcile the vision of her in a doctor’s coat and dressed to frame the inside of a barndominium.
Her smile reaches her ears as she scuffs her boots along the concrete floor toward me.
“You’re a pleasant surprise.” She takes the drink from me. “Thank you.”
“It feels like an overdue visit,” I say, surveying the cathedral ceilings and partially framed walls.
“What’s that look?” she asks, bringing the cup to her lips.
“You build shit.” I grin slowly, shaking my head.
“I know.” With a flirty smirk, she lifts her shoulders. “What can I say? I’m the perfect woman for you, but you never got the memo.”
Oh, I got the memo.
“Heated floors?” I bend down and feel them.
“Of course.”
“Nice.”
“Want to see the plans?” she asks, turning toward the pile of wood with papers and food wrappers atop it. She brings up the plans on her tablet and shows me.
“You’re doing all of this yourself?”
“No. Maren and Ozzy have helped me. Lola too.”
I glance up from the tablet. “They didn’t mention that.”
“Because you insist they think of me as an enemy. So they don’t feel comfortable telling you the truth.”
I frown.
“Stop.” She chuckles, setting the tablet aside and sipping her coffee. “You moved to Somers. The world wouldn’t end if you told them the truth.”
I walk around, inspecting her work. It’s good. Really good. “And what is the truth?”
“Our love story has been beautiful and tragic. And we might not end up together, but not because we don’t belong together.”
“Love story feels a little exaggerated.” I open and close a window before facing her.
If my circumstances were different, I might agree with her.
Fuck it. I do agree with her. It was love.
It is love. And it always will be. Maybe I love her too much to tell her how I feel because that’s all it can be right now. Words. Nothing else.
“You’re right,” she says. “My love story has been beautiful and tragic. Maybe your love story has yet to be told. If that’s the case, I envy the lucky woman who gets to be your heroine.”
I survey the space again, anything to avoid prolonged eye contact. “We’re all hiking today,” I say.
“I know. I was there last night when everyone was talking about it.”
“Would you like to come with us?” I risk a glance at her.
She lifts her eyebrows without saying a word.
“Clearly, Maren and Ozzy like you. Jamie works with you, and Fitz doesn’t matter.”
She grins. “Poor Fitz.”
“No. If you’re going to be friends with us, the first rule is you can’t feel sorry for Fitz.”
Everleigh curls her lips between her teeth and nods.
“Is that a yes to going?”
She wrinkles her nose and looks around. “I’m not sure because I really need to keep working.”
“I’m here until Sunday. What if I help you tomorrow before Friendsgiving dinner?” I don’t recognize the voice or the words so effortlessly falling from my lips. It’s as if I want her to go hiking with us.
“Careful, Will.” She grabs a broom and sweeps up sawdust around the saw. “If you spend too much time with me, you might miss me when you’re gone.”
“Stop beating this dead horse.” I squat and hold the dustpan.
“You used to be more of a romantic.”
“I used to be a lot of things.”
“What happened?”
I stand and dump the sawdust into the trash bin next to her saw.
“My dad got sick. And it’s made me jaded and disillusioned.
My mom’s watching him slowly die, and it’s an awful end to their life together.
I think ’til death do us part is cruel. Sometimes, I want to tell my mom to get a train ticket and head as far east as it will take her.
Find a new life. A new man. And close the book.
This story is over. It’s not a happily ever after, so why finish? ”
“This is the romantic part.” Everleigh bites the finger of her glove and tugs it off.
Why do I find that so sexy?
“Wanting to be with someone until one of you takes your last breath is the ultimate love. Anything less isn’t love.
It’s lust. Infatuation. Maybe companionship.
But love is when you can’t buy that train ticket because a part of your heart is bound to theirs until one of you takes your last breath.
And then, in that moment of unimaginable grief, freedom is born.
I imagine it’s like learning to walk again.
A little unsteady at first. Scary. Lonely.
Then one day, you realize Celine Dion was right. ”
I narrow my eyes.
She grins. “Your heart will go on.”
I don’t want to grin, but dammit, this woman isn’t just smart, she’s witty. “Are you giving me crap about Titanic again?”
“I would never.”
“Do you make Celine Dion references with your patients?”
She tucks her gloves into her back pocket. “Of course not. Most of my patients are children. They don’t know who Celine Dion is. But I knew an old man like you would get it.”
My smile falls short of believable, and I see it reflected in her eyes and downturned lips. I’m so happy to see her, but it doesn’t change what’s waiting for me in Somers.
“I’ve read a lot of books,” she says, hands folded in front.
I nod. She’s probably read more in the past month than I have in my whole life.
“A lot of theories about life. Its purpose. Where we come from. Where we’re going.
But I think we know nothing. I think the deeper you go down the rabbit hole of science, the closer you’ll get to the conclusion that we’ve not even skimmed the surface of understanding life. I think we’re just here to love.”
“Love?”
Everleigh nods.
“That’s it. You think it’s that simple?”
She laughs. “You haven’t been listening. There is nothing simple about love. If it were, I would be out of a job; police wouldn’t be needed. There would be no crime. No poverty. No war. But love is complicated. So”—she shrugs—“here we are.”
“Well”—I turn away from her and pinch the bridge of my nose—“my father can’t love his way out of this.
I will never get his voice out of my head, the way it breaks when he calls me in a confused state.
His last shred of lucidity tells him something awful is happening.
He says, ‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. It’s awful.’”
I blink past the burning in my eyes. Dammit. I don’t want to cry in front of her. “So”—I look at the ceiling—“what am I supposed to say to that?”
“What do you say?” Everleigh asks in a soft voice.
Again I laugh, but it’s more of a grunt.
Gritting my teeth, I swallow past the lump in my throat.
“I say, ‘Yeah’”—my voice cracks like his—‘“it is awful. And there is nothing you can do about it. And it’s not okay, but it’s life.
’” I wipe the heels of my hands along the corners of my eyes.
“When he’s dead, it will be okay. But he’s not dead. He’s . . .”
“Dying,” she says.
I nod several times. Nope. I’m not crying in front of her. Life sucks too much to let her see me like this. “I gotta go.” I head toward the door. “We’ll leave around one, if you want to go hiking.”