Sitting on the bench where we’d been kneeling, I only half-realized I was leaving my one client of the day hanging. It didn’t matter. She turned and sat beside me, looking at her own shoes the way I studied mine.
“Now your turn.” She sounded like the grandmother I didn’t have. “Why would your fine not be very convincing?”
“I am so sorry.” I stood then, starting to move past her to the next machine, but she caught my arm.
“It’s okay to talk.” Her smile was warm, soothing. I turned my palm up and ran my finger over the black teardrop I’d inked there years ago.
“It’s not my anniversary or anything. But sometimes I feel like my life will always be this way.”
She held my hand. “What way?”
I blinked up at her and did a little smile. “Alone. Missing... I was only twenty-one when Blake died, but it never seems to get easier.”
Compassion was all over her face, and for the first time in a while, it didn’t make me want to clam up or run away. “Was Blake your boyfriend?”
I thought about the question as I looked at the small window above us. “He was my first real boyfriend. When he said he was leaving for Princeton, I couldn’t let him go, so I married him and went with him.”
“Oh, dear!” She stood up and pulled me into a hug. “I’m so sorry.”
Shaking off the bad memories, I forced a real smile. “Now who’s spoiling Friday? I’m sorry. Let’s work on your balance.”
She followed me over to the large ball in the center of the room. Facing each other, I held her hands as she slowly lowered to a sitting position on top of it. Her gray eyes were full of concern as she watched me.
“You lost him... five years ago?” Her voice was quiet, and I nodded.
We were talking softly, although the only other person in the club was a man on the treadmill running hard, earbuds firmly in place.
“Was he the father of your sweet little boy?”
At that question, my cheeks warmed. “Umm... no,” I stammered. “That was somebody else. Sort of a random thing that turned into something more permanent, I guess. But we’re not together or anything. Patrick’s just my friend.”
It was hard to explain my relationship with Patrick Knight to anyone who didn’t know him. We’d had a stupid, drunken hook-up that turned us into parents. It didn’t change the fact that we were completely wrong for each other. Now he was blissfully engaged to someone else—to Elaine—and I was... alone.
Still, that encounter had given us Lane, my beautiful little golden-haired boy with the big blue eyes. He lived with Patrick and Elaine, but I visited every chance I got, and when I hugged him and buried my face in his soft skin, I could almost believe it was enough.
Mrs. Clarkson was strangely reassured by my news. “That is a very good sign.”
I almost laughed. “The fact that I’m an irresponsible person who shouldn’t be allowed to shoot Tequila is a good sign?”
“The fact that you were willing to open your heart again. Maybe you handled it poorly, but you’re too young to give up on love. I’m glad your heart knows it even if your head has to be checked out for it to happen.”
“Head checked out. That’s a great way to put it. I should’ve had my head checked out.” I did laugh then.
We were finished with her routine, and I walked with her back to the juice bar. Before we parted, she took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “You have a kind, loyal heart. It’s not a betrayal to Blake’s memory to live your life.”
It was the same thing everybody always said, but for some reason, hearing it from another survivor hit me hard. I had to clear the thickness in my throat before I was able to answer.
“Thank you.” I whispered, nodding, and she was gone.
A quick glance at the clock told me it was almost eleven. The women were filing out of Tammy’s class, laughing and making noise. Zumba was one of the few fitness classes where participants came out more excited than when they went in. My irritation started to return, and I collected my things.
Eleven was close enough to noon, and I really needed a break. Stopping at the cubbies where we stowed our personal items, I saw a small, white box in Mariska’s. Pulling it down, I recognized Pete’s handwriting and shook my head. As many times as she said No, he still gave her little gifts. It was sweet and heartbreaking at the same time.
It also reassured me that he was in the club somewhere. I grabbed my keys and my hipster bag and headed out the door.
Chapter 2: “Inhale the future; exhale the past.”
Slayde