Page 77 of Learning at 40

As I wander through her place, I hear voices coming from the front yard, recognizing both Trevor and Oliver’s tones but not the third. Quickly, hackles rise on my neck. We’ve talked about not speaking to strangers, especially after the surprise of seeing my father at the canoe rental place. I didn’t tell the boys who the man was, other than a rough lecture about not offering information to people they didn’t know.

As I race down the stairs and out the front door, a man I newly recognize stands in the front yard.

“No!” I yell out, pointing a finger at him. “Get out of here.”

Robert freezes where he stands beside an old beat-up car. It’s sporty in style, though ancient in make and model. Rusty and used, it has potential. I don’t want to think about how he got it or where.

He holds up his hands in surrender, and déjà vu fills my head. His arms in the air. His calm demeanor. His voice as he spoke to the police who stood at our front door.

Robert Weller, you’re under arrest . . .

“Get away from my boys!” I shout.

“I didn’t know they’d be here. I didn’t know you were here.”

“I don’t care.” I don’t even want to know why he’s here. “You need to leave before I call—” the cops. I stumble over the words, and my brows lift. Robert must hear the unspoken, and his forehead furrows as well. His arms remain in the air. Could I call the police on him?

We remain in this position—him with his arms up, me with a scowl on my face—when a car pulls into the drive.

River? She’s home early.

As she parks, I rush to her. “What happened?”

Glancing from me to Robert, she hesitates. “I could ask you the same thing.”

I gaze over my shoulder. “I don’t know what he’s doing here. I’m trying to get him to leave.” Before I turn back to her, a hand comes to my forearm, and I peer down at it before looking up at River.

“Listen,” she whispers to me. Her eyes softening. “Just listen.” Her eyes well with tears.

“What’s wrong?” I step closer to her, brushing her cheek with the back of my knuckles.

“It isn’t me. We’ll talk later.” She nods at Robert, and I glance at him once more. “He’s here for you.”

Shaking my head, I bring my attention back to River, trying to catch her eyes. I can’t do this. I don’t want him here. I want to know why she’s about to cry.

Too quickly, she slips around me, though, and approaches Robert.

“Hello, Mr. Weller. It’s nice to see you again.”

“I told you to call me Robert, honey.”

Closing my eyes, I’m ready to lose my shit. I spin on my heels, and my entire body vibrates. I want him out of here. I want him gone, but River has her arm around Oliver. He’s looking up at her, questioning what’s going on, while at the same time, he looks comfortable and comforted pressed to her side. Trevor glares at me, his eyes filled with questions.

“Why don’t we all go to the backyard for a bit?” River’s eyes meet mine, and she tips her head. Silently, she seems to say, I’m right here. I won’t let anything happen. Whether she means to the boys or me, I can’t be certain. She’s that Wendy character, taking care of her lost boys.

She shifts her gaze to Robert and offers him a genuine smile. I see he’s captured under her spell, and he silently moves forward, following River and the boys around the side of the house toward the backyard. I have no choice but to follow as well.

The boys head for the tree fort, and River disappears into the house but quickly returns with a pitcher of iced tea and some glasses. I want to snark that this isn’t some social visit, and she doesn’t need to entertain him, but I bite my cheek. Personally, I could use something stronger than iced tea. River glances at me, offering me a glass, which I accept while Robert declines. Giving us space, which I don’t want, she wanders into the yard, still wearing her scrubs and her clogs. With her back to us, she allows us privacy while her position suggests she won’t go far.

“Just say what you came to say so we can get this over with,” I snap, pinning my eyes on a man I no longer know. He leans forward, elbows on his thighs, and I notice the tattoos on his knuckles. I don’t want to know what they mean or where he got them or why. He shakes his head.

“Your mother—”

“You leave Mom out of this,” I immediately growl.

Sitting upright, he swipes a hand through his thin hair which is more silver than dark brown now. He looks toward Anna’s house, and I want to demand he shouldn’t look in that direction. He shouldn’t look toward the family who took us in, told us over and over we were their family, and cared for us. I glance at River’s back, drawing strength from her presence.

“You’re right,” he says, his voice rough. “I had a problem. I didn’t think I was good enough. I wanted to give her more. I didn’t want her to ever be sorry she chose me.”