At Peace
Page 70
I took a sip of wine and stared at the wall.
His hand came to my jaw and he repeated, “Hey,” as he forced me to look at him.
“Can I use your bathroom?” I asked, staring at his nose.
“You can, you look at me and tell me why you got tears in your eyes.”
I blinked back the tears, swallowed then looked at him and whispered, “Sorry.”
“About what?”
“It doesn’t happen much anymore, but when it does it throws me, always,” I shut my eyes tight, then opened them and repeated, “always.”
His hand with his wine glass curled around to the small of my back, pulling me closer, and he asked softly, “What doesn’t happen much anymore?”
I shook my head, putting my free hand on his shoulder, my hand with the glass to his waist. He didn’t seem at all hesitant about sharing about his kids, his ex, and being totally honest about it.
I didn’t find it that easy.
But since he gave it to me, I figured I should give it back and when I figured that, I was reminded of Joe telling me about the scales.
Balancing them out.
Shit, Joe was too wise for my good and it pissed me off when he was right.
“Just that…” I trailed off, not knowing how to explain it, “getting reminded of things. You know, like my girls’ll never cuddle up to their Dad again, watch a movie.”
His face changed, grew gentle, his hand tensed at my jaw and he whispered, “Sweetheart.”
I shook my head again. “It’s okay, it’s cool. Sorry. It isn’t cool, just that I should say, it’s good that you have that with Clarisse.”
“Yeah,” he replied, his eyes never leaving mine, “’cept, next time, it’ll mean a helluva lot more than normal.”
I bit my lip thinking I was standing mostly in the arms of a really good guy.
Mike read that I needed a subject change pronto and asked, “You wanna see why I bought this place?”
“Sure.”
He let me go, took my hand and led me to the French doors and out onto the white-painted, wooden balcony.
There were a couple of Adirondack chairs there, also painted white, no pads. His yard below had a high fence all around to shield his business from the neighbors.
But I knew why he brought me to his bedroom when I saw, beyond his fenced yard, there was also a view of straight, flat cornfield, the corn growing, knee height now. Beyond that were some dense woods. Smack in the middle of it, there was a yellow farmhouse with white woodwork, a wraparound porch and a red barn with green lawn all around, some graveled drives, a white gazebo with wisteria growing from it, a grape arbor heavy with vines.
Something about the view stunned me. I’d seen many farmhouses but this one, from our elevated view, seemed picture perfect. There was intricate, lacy woodwork in the corners of the posts holding up the porch roof; the lawn looked like mine, green and healthy; and the pristine rows filled with the wide leaves of the growing corn, both spiky and bowed, all of it exquisitely cared for and cultivated showed these farmers loved their home, their farm, the pride went deep and it was amazing to behold.
Not a lot of people would think this was picturesque or at least not beautiful. It wasn’t a beach or a view of the mountains but I thought it was gorgeous. I could totally see buying this house if I could sit in an Adirondack chair, drink wine and stare at that view.
“Grew up in this ‘burg and my high school girlfriend grew up on that farm,” Mike told me and I looked up at him to see his eyes on the farmhouse. “She got married to some guy she met at Notre Dame, moved to DC. Her brother runs that farm now.” He looked down at me. “I always loved that farm.”
“Did you wanna be a farmer?” I asked.
“Fuck no,” he grinned, “still, liked her farm. Her folks were great too. And she had this sister…” he stopped talking and I waited for him to say more. His face had grown thoughtful in a faraway way and since he didn’t seem to mind sharing, and he wasn’t sharing, I figured he didn’t want to so I changed the subject.
“How’d you meet Audrey?” I asked, leaning against the railing and he came back to the conversation and leaned with me.
“Blind date.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he grinned again, “friend of mine was dating a friend of hers. Thought we’d get on.”
“Obviously, you did.”
He didn’t answer, he looked out to the farmhouse again, taking a sip of his wine, his face grew pensive again and I thought I read what this meant.
“You really liked her,” I said softly, not wanting to push.
Mike’s eyes came to me. “Audrey?”
“No, your high school girlfriend.”
He burst out laughing.
“What?” I asked when he was mostly done laughing.
“Debbie was sweet, but she was career minded. Hated livin’ here, couldn’t wait to get out, doesn’t come back often. She didn’t want kids, wanted to be a lawyer and she became one. Her brother tells me she’s a shark. Makes a mint, works eighty hour weeks, lives and breathes her work. Saw her at Christmas a few years ago, she was with her Mom in the grocery store and she had her Blackberry in her hand, e-mailin’ people while she was at home for the holidays, out with her Mom, buyin’ egg nog. Seriously, sweetheart, that is not my thing.”
“And Audrey was your thing?”
The humor moved out of his face and he said, “You don’t wanna know about that shit.”
“I do, unless you don’t want to tell me.”
“Violet –”
“Mike, honey, I just nearly burst into tears in your bedroom. You can feel free to tell me about your ex-wife.”
He smiled, took another sip of wine, then slid an arm around my waist, inching me closer and when he had me where he wanted me, he left his arm there.
“I won’t lie, lookin’ back, she gave me signals, lots of ‘em. But she could be funny, f**kin’ hell, she could be funny. Never laughed so hard as I did with Audrey in the beginning, thought that’d be my life, laughter. She was gorgeous and she made me laugh and I kept my focus on that and ignored the signals. It started six months in, after we got back from our honeymoon, which, by the way, she demanded was at an all-inclusive that cost a f**kin’ fortune. I was twenty-four, my parents had to help me pay for it.”
He paused to allow me to let this information sink in, I nodded for him to continue and he did.
His hand came to my jaw and he repeated, “Hey,” as he forced me to look at him.
“Can I use your bathroom?” I asked, staring at his nose.
“You can, you look at me and tell me why you got tears in your eyes.”
I blinked back the tears, swallowed then looked at him and whispered, “Sorry.”
“About what?”
“It doesn’t happen much anymore, but when it does it throws me, always,” I shut my eyes tight, then opened them and repeated, “always.”
His hand with his wine glass curled around to the small of my back, pulling me closer, and he asked softly, “What doesn’t happen much anymore?”
I shook my head, putting my free hand on his shoulder, my hand with the glass to his waist. He didn’t seem at all hesitant about sharing about his kids, his ex, and being totally honest about it.
I didn’t find it that easy.
But since he gave it to me, I figured I should give it back and when I figured that, I was reminded of Joe telling me about the scales.
Balancing them out.
Shit, Joe was too wise for my good and it pissed me off when he was right.
“Just that…” I trailed off, not knowing how to explain it, “getting reminded of things. You know, like my girls’ll never cuddle up to their Dad again, watch a movie.”
His face changed, grew gentle, his hand tensed at my jaw and he whispered, “Sweetheart.”
I shook my head again. “It’s okay, it’s cool. Sorry. It isn’t cool, just that I should say, it’s good that you have that with Clarisse.”
“Yeah,” he replied, his eyes never leaving mine, “’cept, next time, it’ll mean a helluva lot more than normal.”
I bit my lip thinking I was standing mostly in the arms of a really good guy.
Mike read that I needed a subject change pronto and asked, “You wanna see why I bought this place?”
“Sure.”
He let me go, took my hand and led me to the French doors and out onto the white-painted, wooden balcony.
There were a couple of Adirondack chairs there, also painted white, no pads. His yard below had a high fence all around to shield his business from the neighbors.
But I knew why he brought me to his bedroom when I saw, beyond his fenced yard, there was also a view of straight, flat cornfield, the corn growing, knee height now. Beyond that were some dense woods. Smack in the middle of it, there was a yellow farmhouse with white woodwork, a wraparound porch and a red barn with green lawn all around, some graveled drives, a white gazebo with wisteria growing from it, a grape arbor heavy with vines.
Something about the view stunned me. I’d seen many farmhouses but this one, from our elevated view, seemed picture perfect. There was intricate, lacy woodwork in the corners of the posts holding up the porch roof; the lawn looked like mine, green and healthy; and the pristine rows filled with the wide leaves of the growing corn, both spiky and bowed, all of it exquisitely cared for and cultivated showed these farmers loved their home, their farm, the pride went deep and it was amazing to behold.
Not a lot of people would think this was picturesque or at least not beautiful. It wasn’t a beach or a view of the mountains but I thought it was gorgeous. I could totally see buying this house if I could sit in an Adirondack chair, drink wine and stare at that view.
“Grew up in this ‘burg and my high school girlfriend grew up on that farm,” Mike told me and I looked up at him to see his eyes on the farmhouse. “She got married to some guy she met at Notre Dame, moved to DC. Her brother runs that farm now.” He looked down at me. “I always loved that farm.”
“Did you wanna be a farmer?” I asked.
“Fuck no,” he grinned, “still, liked her farm. Her folks were great too. And she had this sister…” he stopped talking and I waited for him to say more. His face had grown thoughtful in a faraway way and since he didn’t seem to mind sharing, and he wasn’t sharing, I figured he didn’t want to so I changed the subject.
“How’d you meet Audrey?” I asked, leaning against the railing and he came back to the conversation and leaned with me.
“Blind date.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he grinned again, “friend of mine was dating a friend of hers. Thought we’d get on.”
“Obviously, you did.”
He didn’t answer, he looked out to the farmhouse again, taking a sip of his wine, his face grew pensive again and I thought I read what this meant.
“You really liked her,” I said softly, not wanting to push.
Mike’s eyes came to me. “Audrey?”
“No, your high school girlfriend.”
He burst out laughing.
“What?” I asked when he was mostly done laughing.
“Debbie was sweet, but she was career minded. Hated livin’ here, couldn’t wait to get out, doesn’t come back often. She didn’t want kids, wanted to be a lawyer and she became one. Her brother tells me she’s a shark. Makes a mint, works eighty hour weeks, lives and breathes her work. Saw her at Christmas a few years ago, she was with her Mom in the grocery store and she had her Blackberry in her hand, e-mailin’ people while she was at home for the holidays, out with her Mom, buyin’ egg nog. Seriously, sweetheart, that is not my thing.”
“And Audrey was your thing?”
The humor moved out of his face and he said, “You don’t wanna know about that shit.”
“I do, unless you don’t want to tell me.”
“Violet –”
“Mike, honey, I just nearly burst into tears in your bedroom. You can feel free to tell me about your ex-wife.”
He smiled, took another sip of wine, then slid an arm around my waist, inching me closer and when he had me where he wanted me, he left his arm there.
“I won’t lie, lookin’ back, she gave me signals, lots of ‘em. But she could be funny, f**kin’ hell, she could be funny. Never laughed so hard as I did with Audrey in the beginning, thought that’d be my life, laughter. She was gorgeous and she made me laugh and I kept my focus on that and ignored the signals. It started six months in, after we got back from our honeymoon, which, by the way, she demanded was at an all-inclusive that cost a f**kin’ fortune. I was twenty-four, my parents had to help me pay for it.”
He paused to allow me to let this information sink in, I nodded for him to continue and he did.
