Page 24 of Retrofit Analysis

“Another copy? What?”

He rolls his eyes at me. “There’s a free promotion through our cell phone service. I’m going to ask Granddad if I can have his code, too. Can I go now? I’ll walk.”

He tosses on a hoodie and heads for the door without glancing back at me. “Text me when you get there,” I shout to his back, but he’s off. I want to chase after him, to make sure he knows the way without getting lost, even though of course he knows. He probably knows exactly how many sidewalk squares he’ll cross between our two houses. And he’s determined to go now. There’s evidently some sort of free video game code and his body is drawn to it like a beacon.

When he’s gone, I take in the stillness in the house, how it doesn’t feel oppressive or frightening. It just feels content.

When Kellen rings my bell a few hours later, I’m more relaxed than I’ve felt in years. I spent hours alone, reading a romance novel that made me blush. So this is what it’s like, I think, marveling at how quickly I feel like a goddess, how little down time it takes to help me feel like my lungs fully expand. I’m so used to being on, so used to being fully attuned to Jake’s specific needs. Is it possible that all of the therapies are kicking in? That he’s navigating the world with less assistance?

Did I not notice things getting easier before the move or has it really been this sudden? “Beth?” I hear Kellen’s voice on the other side of the door and realize I’m standing in my hall, talking to myself.

I pull open the front door and the sight of him takes my breath away. He’s standing there looking unbelievably sexy in dark jeans, a button down shirt, and a blazer. And he’s holding flowers. I literally swoon, sagging against the door frame. “Kellen,” I breathe.

His jaw works up and down as he stares at me, and I smile when he says, “I feel the same way. You look breathtaking, Elizabeth.”

We stare at one another for a few beats and then I reach for the flowers. “Let me put these in water,” I say, hobbling to the kitchen and plunking the flowers in an empty water glass I pull from the sink. I don’t have a vase, but I can’t find it in me to care.

I get to go out with this man, looking like this, looking at me like that. He reaches for my hand and we walk back across the street to get in his car. “How do you like mussels,” he asks. I melt into his interior.

“My favorite.”

“I normally walk to Park Bruges,” Kellen says, putting his arm around my seat as he backs out of the driveway. I’m immediately taken back to 30 years ago when I used to swoon when he’d do this, driving us somewhere in his parents’ car. It gives me comfort to know that some things like this don’t change, even when people have lived a lot of years of a lot of struggle and change.

“Next time we’ll walk,” I tell him. “When our old feet are up to it.”

It’s less than a mile drive, and Kellen is able to find a parking spot near the restaurant. It’s early enough that there’s no crowd inside the sunny little cafe. “I’ve never eaten here before,” I tell him. “I’ve heard of it, though.” The restaurant is famous for their Belgian beers, their fries and their mussels. Kellen slinks an arm around my waist, drawing me out of the way as an employee rushes past with a hand truck holding two barrels.

“Careful now,” he says, his breath tickling my neck. “We’re here at the same time the food’s getting delivered.”

I shrug. “It’ll just taste that much fresher, right?”

Twenty

Kellen

I’m not sure how many hours pass at the restaurant. Elizabeth and I have each had a few drinks, shared several pounds of bivalves, and are holding hands on the table. I keep staring down to make sure it’s really my skin against hers. A living woman. Someone I admire. She strokes my palm with her thumb and I feel the motion in every cell of my body.

“Tell me about your job search,” I say, dipping a piece of crusty bread in the buttery sauce from our dinner.

She frowns. “It’s a bit stagnant right now. I’m being really particular,” she says, and shrugs. “I can get by on the support from Todd.”

She hesitates, and I jump in, saying, “As it should be. Fucker.”

She squeezes my hand. “Yes, he is that. But it’s more like…I put up with bullshit for so many years. I just don’t have it in me to devote my time toward something that’s not dramatically fulfilling.”

“I love that,” I tell her. “Life is definitely too short to put up with bullshit.”

Elizabeth pulls her hand back, tucks her short hair behind her ears. “I am so sorry about your wife, Kellen.”

“Thank you.” I sigh. “Orla thinks I’ve been just waiting around to die.”

She laughs. “I don’t get that impression at all,” she says. “I’ve met your family. It’s a pretty wild bunch.”

“I agree,” I tell her. “It’s just…she’s a little bit right. I haven’t exactly been grabbing every opportunity, seizing the day.” I adjust my legs on the bench and my foot comes in contact with Elizabeth’s calf. I don’t pull it away and she doesn’t move her leg. “I’ve been…”

“Stagnant?” Elizabeth raises her brows at me and presses her leg into my foot. I nod.

Suddenly feeling anxious for reasons I can’t describe, I clear my throat and pull back my leg. “Elizabeth, I love talking to you,” I tell her. As the afternoon gave way to dusk, she and I sat here discussing history documentaries, our shared love of very dark chocolate, and Dolly Parton podcasts. She opened up about some of the struggles Jake faces in schools when rigid teachers can’t seem to follow the impact of their strict rules on a young man who just requires more and different explanations than other kids. I spent at least an hour of our conversation wanting to quit my job and go become a high school teacher so I could give Jake and kids like him a safe place to learn about physics.