Page 107 of Second Chance

I’ve upset you. I apologize.

I curse myself when I check social media later that night. I abruptly left our conversation when Cora called out to me asking if everything was okay. She knows I’m on baby watch for Hollilyn.

Hey.

The message comes through almost immediately as if he can see I’m on social media and I flinch back in the dark office. If I get a new job, this office will be mine, but better yet, I think I’m ready to move. Something smaller. Something without maintenance. Something outside of town.

Do apologies through social media really count? Way to get to the point. I sigh as if he can hear me through the computer. Social media needs sound effects.

How is Blue Ridge?

What are you doing? I exhale again.

I’m asking about town.

Why? I don’t understand. Honestly. Why does he care? He left. He didn’t look back just like the first time.

Because it seems easier than asking how you are, worrying that you’ll say you’re good and better without me.

I blink. I blink again. Well, way to get right to the point, Denton. My heart races. Can I answer him honestly? Can I tell him I miss him? I’m in a fog without him. I’m not better with him gone. Come back.

Blue Ridge is fine. BRMP Oktoberfest is this coming weekend. I decide avoidance is best.

I heard there’s a big playoff game this weekend and a high school reunion of sorts.

Right. The reunion where football players from the class of 1991 will return to be honored and two men will be missing from the lineup. Chris Rathstone (Rath) and Denton Chance. The boys’ football team isn’t in playoffs yet, though. The only playoff game is…

How do you know about the volleyball team? I know the answer before he needs to answer.

Dolores and the high school’s sports page. My shoulders fall, realizing he’s been in touch with his sister and not me, but then again, it seems to be the way of things for him. He’d been in contact with his sister all along, but the sports page?

Stalking me?

A smiley face emoji follows.

In rapid succession, I post and then he does.

How was Costa Rica?

Can I ask you something?Oh no. Not this again. If he wants to know if I’m lonely or touching myself or thinking of him, he should be here with some answers.

It’s getting late. I need to head to bed.

Alone? Does he seriously want me to answer that? My irritation grows at the accusation. I’m not the one who ran off to Costa Rica with a top model when I was supposed to be in New York.

How do you know about Costa Rica? Stalking me?

I’m not answering. Instead, I type: I’ve got to go.

I can explain. I can explain. Nothing happened. It didn’t mean anything. I’ve heard it before from him.

Nothing good ever comes from a statement like that. I’m thinking the conversation will end, and almost hoping it will. I’m too exhausted to emotionally spar with Denton. Hurt. Betrayed. Confused. I don’t understand life outside of marriage, commitment, and loyalty.

Forget that question, then. You said it was getting late. Am I too late?

Too late for what, I wonder, but I don’t ask. Was this your question?

It is now.

I don’t know. I just don’t know.

Goodnight, Denton.

Dream of big things, Mati.