Page 86 of Second Chance

35

Pillars Not Pedestals

[Mati]

I couldn’t tell him how much it hurt me when he left without an explanation. Telling me all those years ago he wanted to go alone made no sense after all the plans we’d made, and then to take Kristy drove the proverbial knife deeper. It took time to forgive Denton. Maybe the sex I finally had with Chris served as the necessary distraction. Getting pregnant certainly realigned my priorities. Denton became an afterthought of yesterday while the future grew in my belly. Yet, deep inside, I still harbored a little salt in the old wound.

And true to Denton’s history, he left.

I didn’t break into tears although they teased my eyes. Instead, I slid to the floor, pressing my back against my front door, and tipped my head to rest on the cool window.

What was I thinking the other night, letting Denton touch me again and taking him in my mouth? I’d been caught up in making new memories and forgetting the painful old ones caused by the same man. Carefree, careless, he would leave as he should, and I didn’t need the complication our situation provoked. I’d be the one left behind again. Denton didn’t need the complication either. His mama was dying. His sister was distraught. His grandmother would be left alone in a big old decrepit house.

A tear escapes and I curse myself. I haven’t cried this much since Chris died. I find I’m more weepy than upset, and I chalk it up to my personal news—an interview. I’m excited but nervous, and it would have been nice to share the jittery turmoil inside me with someone. Chris knew college coaching was a one-day dream, yet my one-day hadn’t arrived. Children. Wife. A job close to home.

There was no longer anything holding me back. It was time to do something for me.

I couldn’t say Denton was in my way. He’d not stop me from doing what I wanted. It was simply I couldn’t open myself up to him. I couldn’t share my excitement knowing he wouldn’t understand it and leave for a different life—a bigger life—one that involved models and movie stars. He’d told me about his pending photoshoots. The ones that involved him on both sides of the lens. He was an artist in his own right, but his pretty face was still a commodity.

You can come to California.

It’s as if he mocks me, promising me once again an adventure we never took together. I couldn’t go now. I had my own life, and it blossoms with possibility, starting with the future interview. Northeastern Georgia decided to instate a women’s volleyball program to their athletic roster, hoping to boost the attraction of the school. An opportunity like this couldn’t be turned down. A chance to implement the program from the ground up? It was like a drizzle of caramel over vanilla ice cream on top of Apple Jane’s crumble apple pie.

Damn Denton for stealing a little of my thunder by his aggressive attitude. I realize it wasn’t intended solely at me. Like I said to him, he has a lot on his mind. Whatever was bothering him, he’d never take it out on me, but he’d pressed for a fight. He wanted to argue. In the past, he’d apologize, and we’d go for a ride.

I could wait him out, but for how long? Instead of giving in to Denton’s whims, I need him to give in to me. My heart creaks open like a swollen door toward him, only to be slammed back with his behavior. My body had too willingly given into him. The attraction was an ache—an unfilled need. I didn’t want to regret it, but my thoughts ran wild with concern. What was I doing with him?

I just want time with you.

Maybe I wanted time with him as well. Unfortunately, being with Denton seemed more than fulfilling some deep-seated desire. This was Denton—a man I’d always wondered about. What would his touch feel like? His hands. His lips. His tongue. Now that I knew, I wasn’t sorry, but I was sad. I didn’t want to be alone any longer. I wanted to share my life, live my life, and I foolishly thought Denton would be the one. One half of me yearns for him to stay, settle next to me finally, but the other side of me knows it isn’t in his nature to stay put. He’s proven it repeatedly—running is his skill—next to music and women.

+ + +

A few days pass before Cora insists I go with her to Magnolia’s again. The girls have had back-to-back games, winning both matches and the hum of the interview ripples under my skin. These wins add to my existing stats, and once again, I consider we might head to the state championship. I’m in the midst of explaining this to Cora when we pull into Magnolia’s crowded yard. Cora demands she drive this time, so I can’t ditch her, as she claims I did previously.

Once again, I don’t want to enter the sick room of Caroline Chance, but I do what I can in the kitchen. I organize casseroles, toss what is no longer edible, and wash dishes. As I’m drying, a familiar voice speaks behind me.

“Well, Matilda Harrington.” The elegant, rich Southern voice of my mother drawls across the kitchen, and I nearly drop the glass I’m swiping dry.

“Mama,” I address her like a child despite being a woman. While my mother couldn’t handle my rejection of all things feminine, she also has a difficult time accepting I am a grown woman with my own children. Too often, she reminds me of Cora. They are cut from the same mold.

“It’s been weeks since I’ve seen you.” There’s a question in the statement—Where the hell have I been?—but Mama would never curse. I typically visit my parents once a week; another ritual I fell into after Chris’s death. Daddy could give or take my weekly dinners as he sneaks into the brewery or the pub often enough and we chat then, but Mama lives by rigid schedules.

“There’s been a lot going on,” I nonchalantly offer but cringe knowing it won’t be enough of an explanation for her. I’m not ready to share my interview. She’ll hijack the idea, and my confidence will wane before I even go for it. An interview isn’t a promise of a job, I remind myself, and I don’t need her reminding me of that fact, either. Nor do I need her telling me I should have stayed home. I didn’t need to work. Blah, blah, blah.

“A lot or Denton?”

“Mama,” I admonish, turning my back to her to hide the heat darkening my cheeks.

“The prodigal son returns…” Her voice drifts as if implying something scandalous, but I don’t take the bait.

“Yes, he did. His mother’s dying.” I reach for the cupboard as I speak and set the glass on the shelf with a little more tap than necessary. “But he won’t stay.”

“You know I just worry about you. He broke your heart once before.” She’s referencing his leaving me and our road trip plans. “I don’t want to see you shattered again.” My mother was my rock when Chris died, so she knows what she speaks of. It was difficult for her to watch me fall apart as I’m not the type to break so easily. The scrape of a stool against the old linoleum tells me she’s settling in for further grilling.

“How’s Miss Caroline?” I interject, hoping to deflect topics to something more relevant.

“She’s not going to last the night.” The comment makes me drop the next glass I hold, which thankfully bounces in the metal sink.