Blue Wide Sky Read online

  “Hey,” she says, concern wrinkling her small forehead. “What are you doing out so late?”

  “Can we talk?” I ask, just before tears roll up and spill down my cheeks like someone has turned on a waterfall inside me.

  Annie opens my door, and I step into her outstretched arms. She hugs me hard against her, and all I can think is that it’s been a really long time since anyone comforted me this way. I sob for a good minute or more, unable to stop myself, even as I realize how ridiculous I must look.

  Annie rubs my back and says it’s okay, then takes my arm and leads me to the front porch, where we sit side by side on a wooden swing. The porch is half in shadow, and we swing back and forth, arms entwined.

  “Gabs, what is it?” Annie says.

  “You’re not going to believe it.”

  “Try me.”

  I try to find the words, and then just blurt out, “It’s Sam—he’s staying at his parents’ house.”

  “Sam Tatum?” she asks, incredulous.

  I nod, not meeting her gaze.

  “Have you seen him?”

  “A few times, yes.”

  “Wow.” She releases a breath. “Do you think that’s a good idea, Gabby?”

  “No.”

  She sighs and rubs a hand across my hair. “Hey, I was here for the original fallout, remember? I’m not sure your heart can handle another letdown from him.”

  “We’re not—I mean, nothing is—”

  “Gabby. If the two of you are anywhere near each other, it’s going to be something.”

  I’d like to deny the accusation, but I can’t. So I don’t bother. “He came to the marina a week or so ago. It was such a surprise that I pretty much lost it with him.”

  “And?”

  “He said he deserved it.”

  “I guess that’s good to know. Have you seen him since?”

  I nod, wipe the back of my hand across my wet cheek. “Kat and I went on a picnic with him. He called a pediatric surgeon friend of his who’s going to see her on Monday at Duke.”

  I glance out at the dark pasture just beyond the house, make out the shapes of a few dozing cows.

  Annie can’t hide her worry. “Are you sure you want to do this to yourself, Gabby?”

  “I don’t know. At first, I didn’t want to see him. I just wanted him to leave again.”

  “Why is he here?”

  “I’m not really sure. He and his wife divorced about a year ago.”

  “Did he come back here for you?”

  “No,” I say, adamant. Even if there were any truth to the possibility, I’m too scared to believe it.

  I drop my head back against the top of the swing and sigh. “I went over to his house tonight.”

  “Mistake number one.”

  “He kissed me.”

  “Mistake number two.”

  “I wanted him to.”

  “That’s number three.”

  “I’m just so furious at him!” I cry out.

  “For kissing you?”

  “No! He told me something tonight that I have no idea what to do with.”

  “Unless it was I’m-sorry-Gabby-but-I-got-knocked-on-the-head-twenty-some-years-ago-and-have-been-comatose-since, I don’t see what he could possibly say that would justify what he did to you!”

  I try to hold onto it, but I feel the heat of my anger disintegrate like ash beneath a wind. My voice is small and a little broken when I say, “He slept with a girl one time and—”

  “She got pregnant?” Annie asks, incredulous.

  I nod once.

  “And this changes what?”

  “Nothing. I don’t know. If you could have heard him—”

  “You are NOT going to fall for this sob story, are you?”

  “I’m not falling for anything, Annie. I just—”

  “You’re falling for him all over again, aren’t you?”

  “No, I—”

  “The truth is you never fell out of love with him.”

  I start to deny it, but there’s no point. I’m not going to convince either myself or Annie. Annie who knew me when I was trying to put myself back together all those years ago.

  “What does he want from you, Gabby? A fling that he can take back to England as a memory? You’re really not going to serve your heart up on that platter, are you?”

  “I can’t,” I say.

  “No, you can’t. Do that to yourself, I mean. Maybe you’ve forgotten what it did to you before when he left, but I haven’t.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.”

  “Then don’t do that to yourself again.”

  I try to dredge up at least a piece of my former anger, the anger that Annie is feeling, but I can’t find it now in the numbness crowding my chest. “I don’t know how to think about this.”

  “Gabby! He cheated on you with another girl. He got her pregnant. He married her. Maybe they didn’t live happily ever after, but he made a life with her, not you!”

  The words hurt. I can’t hide it. And they’re out there, raw and wounding.

  Annie grabs my hand and clasps it in hers. “I’m sorry, Gabby. That sounded so awful.”

  “It’s true, though.”

  Annie chooses silence over agreement, and we sit, swinging for a good bit before I say, “If he hadn’t done that, if we hadn’t broken up, I wouldn’t have Kat.”

  Annie tips her head, starts to say something, stops, and then says, “And you’re going to let that condone what he did?”

  “No. But don’t you ever wonder why things happen? Why we don’t always get what we want, when we want it? That maybe God has another plan in store for us that can’t happen if we’re the ones making the choices?”

  “I don’t think God wanted Sam to cheat on you, if that’s what you’re saying.”

  “Maybe it’s just that we don’t always understand why things happen when they do. It’s only later that we can see what would or wouldn’t have happened.”

  “You’re playing an unfair card,” Annie says.

  And maybe I am. Because I do know that Annie has questioned such things in her own life. Like the accident Scott had been in five years ago and the fact that she and the girls had nearly gone with him at the last minute. The vehicle he’d been driving had been completely demolished in every single spot except for the driver’s seat and the left front end. Before that, Annie hadn’t been to church since her girlhood, but she’d gone on the Sunday following the accident, and she hasn’t missed one yet, to my knowledge.

  “If it applied to you, why shouldn’t it apply to me?”

  “Scott didn’t mean to get into a wreck!” Annie protests.

  “I’m not sure Sam meant to do what he did, either.”

  She gives me a “you’ve-got-to-be-kidding” look. “This is one wreck I can clearly see is going to happen,” Annie says, her voice resigned. “You’re about to have a head-on crash, Gabby.”

  It’s been a long time since we’ve had anything close to an argument. Most of our conversations these days revolve around raising children, how to stay fit and which vitamins are really worth taking. We haven’t touched on romance in years. Mostly because I haven’t had one, and somewhere along the way, I think Annie started feeling guilty for being so happy in that department.

  “I have no intention of doing anything stupid, Annie. I’m just trying to make sense of it.”

  “I love you, Gabs. I don’t want to see you hurt again.”

  “I know,” I say. And it’s true. She’s as close to a sister as anyone has ever been to me, and we look out for each other in that way. But sometimes I don’t think she understands what I felt for Sam. “It’s the same as what you feel for Scott, Annie.”

  “What?”

  “The way I feel—felt about Sam.”

  She starts to disagree, then seems to think better of it.

  “I know you don’t believe that, because if it had been the same, it would have lasted.”

  “I don’t think—�
� She stops and then shakes her head. “Well, maybe I do think that. Because wouldn’t it have lasted?”

  “I don’t believe he thought I could ever forgive him.”

  “Would you? If you had known?”

  I want to answer with an immediate yes, but I guess I don’t really know whether I would have or not. The me considering the question in the here and now is a very different me from the seventeen-year old I had been then. “I don’t know.”

  “I’m being hard on you, aren’t I?” Annie says, tipping her head against mine.

  “Maybe a little.”

  “But when he leaves—as he surely will—”

  “I know.”

  We sit for a while, swinging back and forth, the night around us silent, except for the squeaking of the swing’s chains.

  “So, what are you going to do?” Annie asks after a bit.

  I don’t answer for a moment, but it’s not because I don’t know what I’m going to say. There’s only one thing that makes any sense at all. “Nothing. I’m going home.”

  I stand and walk to the top step of the porch before turning to say, “I’m sorry for bringing this to you.”

  “Gabby, I’m here for you,” she says, guilt lacing the words. “Always.”

  “I know,” I say.

  “I want you to be happy.”

  “I am. I was. Before Sam came back. And I will be after he leaves.”

  “I feel like I’ve given you a really bad scolding.”

  I try to smile, but the edges of my mouth don’t seem to be working. “I guess I needed it.”

  “Call me,” Annie says as I get in the car.

  I pull away, sure that she is no happier at having delivered her opinion about what is best for me than I am to receive it. But then bitter medicine is never pleasant to dispense or to take.

  Not life, but good life, is to be chiefly valued.

  ~ Socrates

  Sam

  My ringing cell phone pulls me from a groggy sleep. I raise up on an elbow, squint a look at the clock beside the bed. 5:30. I glance at the cell. Analise. A quick mental calculation. It’s 10:30 a.m. in London.

  I fumble for the phone, knock it on the floor and then quickly pick it up. “Hey, honey.”

  “Daddy. Hi. The ring sounded funny on your phone.”

  “Oh?”

  “Like it does when you’re in another country or something,” she says.

  “Actually, I am.”

  “What?”

  “In another country. The states. At my parents’ old lake house.”

  There’s a moment of shocked silence, and then, “When did you go?”

  “A few days ago,” I say. “Last week, really.”

  “Why—did anyone know you were going?” she asks, and I can hear the hurt in the question. As if I might have told everyone but her.

  “No, sweetie. It was a last-minute thing.”

  “But I don’t understand why you didn’t tell us you were going.”

  “I was going to call—”

  “When?” she says, sounding more like the parent now than the child.

  “Analise, I knew you were busy with school, it being close to the end of the year and—”

  “Not too busy to take a phone call from you,” she protests.

  I want to remind her that isn’t exactly true. There have been plenty of times when she’s asked to call me right back and never did. But I don’t say any of that, simply, “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “What are you doing there, anyway?”

  “I just needed to get away for a little while.”

  She sighs as if she can’t imagine this is true, after all what would I have to get away from, and then, “Well, how long are you going to be gone?”

  The question is directed with all the outrage of offended youth. “I’m not exactly sure.”

  “How can you not be sure? What about your practice and your patients?”

  “I’ve taken a hiatus of sorts.”

  “Daddy!?! What is going on?”

  “It’s just something I need to do right now,” I say.

  “Are you having a midlife crisis?” she asks, her tone indicating her certainty that this can be the only possible explanation for my irrational behavior.

  It sounds so silly and flimsy to my ears in comparison to the reality, that I wish it were something that insignificant. “No. It’s nothing like that.”

  “Then what is it?” she insists.

  “I just needed to get away,” I say, and this is true.

  “I could have come with you,” she starts, and then, “School is nearly out you know.”

  “I know, but I kind of wanted to come now.”

  “Oh,” she says, sullen like a seven year old. “Well, I wish you’d waited.”

  I’m sure I was every bit as unreasonable to my parents, and so I simply apologize again.

  “What are you doing there all by yourself, anyway?”

  “Revisiting old places, old friends.”

  “I didn’t know you still knew anyone there.”

  “A few people.”

  “Does Mom know you’re there?”

  “No,” I say, and try my best not to remind her Megan no longer has any right to know where I am. I’m not exactly sure why, but even though Megan had been the one to bring about the demise of our marriage, Analise seems to see me as the culprit.

  “Are you going to visit Uncle Ben?”

  “Yes, in a week or so.”

  She’s quiet and then, “I really do wish I were there with you, Daddy.”

  My heart melts a little at the words. It’s been a long time since Analise has sounded this way—like a girl who misses her daddy. The past couple of years have been hard on us both, her transition from my little girl to teenager and then figuring out how to have a relationship with me that does not include her mother. “I would love to show you this place. I’m sorry I’ve never brought you.”

  “Me too. It feels like a part of you we’ve never known.”

  It is a soberingly accurate statement. And I guess I have to admit I have kept this part of my life from them. Whether it was to protect them or protect what I’d had here, I don’t know that I can say for sure. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I’d like to right that sometime.”

  “When are you coming back?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “Before I get out of school in two weeks?”

  “Maybe not,” I say, only now realizing I have mentally extended my stay.

  “May I come there then?”

  “If I’m still here, yes.”

  “Okay,” she says, and there’s relief in her voice, as if this at least makes sense to her. “Does Evan know you’re there?”

  “No, but I’ll call him today.”

  “It’s really strange, Daddy, that you would go without telling us. Promise you won’t do that again?”

  “I promise. I love you.”

  She hangs up without responding. I lie in bed for a good while after we hang up, trying to sort through what I’m feeling. Guilt for coming here without telling my children. And the undeniable reality that I can’t hide out here forever.

  We never know the love of a parent till we become parents ourselves.

  ~ Henry Ward Beecher

  Analise

  I will never be a parent.

  To be a parent, you have to be utterly selfish and have the ability not to care a bit how you affect the lives of your children. To be able to get a divorce and go on as if you were never a family of four, and all your history can just be obliterated with the signing of a document.

  I should know. I ended up with two perfect examples of this.

  I stare at my phone screen, debating whether to call Mom or not. I hear students talking outside my dorm room, laughing and rough-housing, as if their lives are just perfect. I have to resist the temptation to open the door and yell at them to shut up.

  I finally give in and call her. She answers out of breath.
r />   “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Yoga. Hold on just a minute, honey.”

  I sit on my bed, tapping out the seconds until she returns with, “Sorry, just grabbing a towel. How are you?”

  “Have you talked to Dad?”

  She hesitates as if I’ve thrown her a trick question. “No, Analise. I haven’t. We’re not really talking these days.”

  “So I guess you didn’t know that he went to the states?”

  “What?” she asks with enough surprise that I’m happy I’ve thrown her a curve.

  “He’s at that lake where he used to go with Grandma and Grandpa.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Analise,” she says, an irritated note in her voice. “Could you please try to work your way toward cutting your father and me the slightest bit of slack?”

  “I called to see if you had a guess as to why he went without telling us,” I say, ignoring her request.

  “I have no idea, Analise. Maybe he needed a vacation.”

  “He usually tells us things like that.”

  “Maybe he has a girlfriend.”

  “That doesn’t bother you in the least, does it?”

  “We are divorced, Analise.”

  “Must be nice to have a license not to care, Mom,” I say and hang up.

  I try to call Evan, but get his voice mail. I send him a text.

  Do you EVER answer your phone?

  I sit on the bed for a while longer, waiting for him to respond, but that ends up being a waste of time.

  I think about the list of friends I have here — not a very long one — and scroll my contacts for Helen Dintry. Unlike my brother, she answers on the first ring.

  “Hey, girl,” I say.

  “Analise,” she says, my name lilting up at the end, as if she can’t believe I’m calling. “Thought I was on your no-ring list.”

  “I’ve just been trying to keep up with the studying.”

  “Down with that. You’re not going to ask me to be your study buddy, are you?”

  I laugh a little. “No. Anything going on tonight?”

  “There’s a lot going on, actually.”

  “Good. I feel like getting trashed.”