20. Twenty
Twenty
I’ve accepted my body does this thing where all breathing, heart beating, and logical thinking stops at the first moment of Bo recognition. I know now to expect an ache to touch him or be touched by him. I know that, for just a few seconds, my bones will go soft, and I will have to fight to stand upright. I’ve stopped stopping myself from noticing the way lines crinkle around his dark brown eyes with his slow-to-grow smile, the way his hair is tousled to accidental perfection, and how he wears a beard and T-shirt—tonight with a flannel over it—like I’ve never known possible. I know his smell, that damn Bo Mountain Breeze, will go into my nose then infiltrate my body like an infectious disease at first contact, making my mouth water.
And that toothpick that rolls across his lips that I once found ridiculous, briefly becomes the object of my intense jealousy for the audacity it has to be so close to his mouth.
I fought all those things the first times we saw each other, but now, I just let it happen. I accept that he has the power to do this—to ruin me. Like a traveler seeking refuge from a storm, I’ve learned to just wait it out until I can breathe again.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, almost dizzy from the shock of him.
He leans casually against the bar next to me. “You told me you might find your once in a lifetime love tonight, I needed to see who he was.”
I tuck my chin down to my shoulder, looking away to hide my smile.
“Any luck?” he asks.
The bartender sets the drinks on the bar, and I drop cash down before picking them up.
“Not yet, but the night’s young.” I raise my eyes to his. “Do you want to meet my date?”
“Lead the way,” he says, and picks up his own beer from the bar, following me through the crowd.
At the table, we sit. It’s introductions. There are, “I knew your grandfather, Bo” comments and him thanking them each for their service. He’s so damn thoughtful it hurts. I want him to say something stupid, be arrogant, show me something undesirable, but it’s impossible. My dad was right; he is a good one.
Then, one of them says, “You married that Greer girl, didn’t you Bo?” and I remember that .
Because yes, Bo has a wife.
Somehow, despite how big of a deal him being married is, I keep it shoved out of my mind. Between our hikes and grocery shopping and dinners together, she’s gone, and it’s been simply a legal matter. Like a pending date for traffic court. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
Bo clears his throat, toothpick moving slowly from the left to right side of his mouth as if he’s trying to figure out how to answer him. “I did.”
“Where’s she these days? You two still together?” the man asks.
I pull my head to one side, breathing through the question. Because yes, technically, they are still together, I realize.
“She’s in Nashville I think, but I’m not really sure.” He shifts in his seat several times.
Then Sam, who has been watching me the entire time Bo has been talking, says, “I went to Nashville once. That whole damn city is too loud if you ask me.” The man formerly known in my mind as grouchy Sam winks at me.
The music shifts to a slow song, a cover of “Unchained Melody,” and a handful of couples move to the dance floor, shuffle-swaying as they cling to each other. I turn to Sam. “Should we show them how it’s done?”
His eyes bounce from me to Bo as he rolls his cane between his hands. “Bah!” He lifts one hand from his cane and swats it through the air. “You’ll ruin my reputation.”
“Not mine,” Bo says.
Before I object—before I say anything—he stands, grabs my hand, and pulls me toward the small dance floor .
His fingers from both hands splay across the small of my back and mine interlace behind his neck. Every part of our bodies is touching but all I can think about is a wife he has that I don’t know.
“You’re upset,” he says softly, his words mingling with the moody lines of the song. Our sway falls into the beats of the music and our eyes lock.
“You’re married.”
“I am.”
“And even if I didn’t spend my days trying to outrun the cancer that I know is chasing me, you’d still be married.”
“I would.”
“And I don’t know what the hell to do with that,” I snap.
He nods; I look away. Staring at the other couples, some over twice my age, that somehow figured out how to make it. I’m jealous of them. So jealous it makes a sour taste fill my mouth.
“Maybe we were stupid to think this could be anything more.” When I say the words I know make logical sense, my insides twist at the same time his muscles tense beneath my hands.
The way his body reacts tells me I’m right, even though I don’t want to be.
The song ends, and I pull away. “I have to get Sam home.”
I don’t wait for his answer.
I gather Sam, say quick goodbyes to the table, and get into the minivan. Bo doesn’t chase me or try to stop me.
My jaw is clenched so tightly as I start to drive, I physically prevent a single tear from falling.
“I was married to my first wife when I fell in love with my second,” Sam says in the quiet of the drive.
My hands wring around the steering wheel, annoyed by how perceptive he is.
“She was dying, and I couldn’t leave her,” he continues.
Stopped at a red light, I glance over at him. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
He barks out a loud, “Ha!” then smiles. “My first wife was a pain in my ass. Complained about everything. Nag, nag, nag. She had some kind of heart condition. Bonnie was her name.”
“Bonnie? Really?” My voice drips with sarcasm. The name he always calls me is that of a dead wife that he apparently loathed. Swell.
He grins as the light turns green.
“Anyway, Bonnie was sick, and Margaret was the nurse. I loved her from the moment I saw her. Even though Bonnie was the bane of my existence in the end, she gave me children I loved, and we had good years before we didn’t. I couldn’t leave her—wouldn’t,” he says, looking out the passenger window.
“What happened?” I ask, blinker clicking as I turn. “With you and Margaret, I mean?”
“Well, she took care of Bonnie like she was supposed to.” He pauses. “And she waited. Her faith in me was stronger than her worry over what we should or shouldn’t do. How it would look. She waited. Bonnie was gone within six months, and I married Margaret three months after that. We had twenty-seven beautiful years together before she passed. ”
Then it’s silence that stretches the rest of the drive and as I help him into his house.
“Birdie,” he calls as I start to leave. “Even without the tits, you’re more of a Margaret than a Bonnie.”
I smile. “Sam, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
His old hand bats through the air and the grumble returns to his voice. “Don’t get used to it.”
I snort a laugh. Sam has gone from being a royal pain in my ass to one of my favorite people on the planet in the matter of hours.
After I drop him off, the drive home and my crawl into bed is filled with the loudest quiet I’ve ever known.
I’m in a war I don’t understand with myself.
Bo.
Bo and myself.
When my phone vibrates it’s a simple, Church tomorrow?, and my reply of Yes happens so fast it’s instinct—habit.
The only way to possibly respond.