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I drive the few miles to my brother's house and grab a six-pack of IPA on the way over. After I park, I hear people in the backyard, so I go to the side fence. There are a few couples mingling and my brother is at the grill.
"Hey buddy," I say, raising the six-pack. "Want one?"
"I got a drink," he says, picking up his beer. "But there's a cooler by the back door.
"Thanks," I say. I look at the grill filled with burgers and brats. Damn, I'm a lucky man.
I set the six-pack in the cooler and grab one of the bottles, pop the cap and take a swig. Then I look around for my daughter.
There she is, darting out of the house, headed toward the field where some other kids are playing. I catch her as she runs by, wrapping my arms around her waist and tossing her in the air. Her giggle could wash anyone’s sorrows away. Her laugh is magical, her smiles are everything.
"Hey, LuLu," I say, blowing kisses on her neck. Her cheeks. I set her down and kneel in front of her. "You have a good day, babycakes?"
"Yeah, I drew you a picture in class," she says. "It's in the house, in my backpack. You know Auntie said I can sleep over tonight if that's okay with you? She says sometimes grown-ups stay up later than kids."
"Well, I'll talk to her about that."
"Okay. She's in the kitchen with Miss Smith."
"Who is she with?"
"Auntie Millie's in the kitchen with Miss Smith. She brought peaches. Well, a peach cobbler. Isn't that your favorite, Daddy?"
"Auntie really invited Miss Smith over for dinner?"
"Well, it would have been rude not to. Remember, Daddy, you say we have to be friendly to people. Make them feel welcome, right? Anyways we saw Miss Smith at the farmers’ market today. She looked so lonely. So sad. She doesn't have anybody. She's not lucky like us. We have one another."
I know my daughter is right. We are lucky. I cup my little girl’s cheeks and I kiss her forehead hard.
"You go be a good girl," I tell her. "And play nice. I love you, LuLu."
"And I love you, Daddy," she says, blowing me kisses as she runs away, squealing and immediately getting wrapped up in a game of chase.
Damn, to be young again? To run around without any worries?
Truth is, I don't have a lot of worries. Sure, things with Louisa's mom and I are bad, but that's the past. Now I have my own house, my own shop. I live in a great town; my family is close by.
I have everything I ever wanted. Everything I need.
But, sometimes -- like right now, as I look across the yard at Clementine walking out onto the back porch, her beautiful eyes glittering and holding a glass of white wine -- I know what I'm missing in my life.
A wife.
A mother for Louisa.
A lover.
I know it's foolish to think this way, to feel this way. To fall so hard and so fast. I hardly know the girl.
But is that really true?
Don't you see an awful lot when you look deeply into someone's eyes? Can't you see their heart for what it is? Pure and true and looking for love, same as me.
I know that's what I saw when I looked into Clementine's eyes. And sure, I may have fucked her on the hood of my car, but there was something more to it.
Something that was real.
I look across the yard now, and our eyes meet again. I see her pause, her breath catching, same as mine. I lift my beer in the air, raising it to her.
And she raises her glass of wine.
Then I take a step forward, knowing there's no way in hell I'm taking a single step back.
Chapter 8
Clementine
It's like there's a magnet drawing us together. My eyes are locked on Mike's and I can't help but move toward him. He looks so sexy in a plain white tee-shirt, clean-shaven, his blue sparkling eyes as clear as the sky overhead. I take one step forward and then another and then... I tumble down the steps of the back porch.
The people around me gasp, reaching out their arms to save me from my fall, but it's too late. I've already fallen on my ass. My glass of wine is tossed in the air and shards of glass go everywhere. Wine splashes all over the front of my dress and with my legs sprawled out every which way… and I am sure everyone has a decent view of my hoo-ha.
Mike is kneeling beside me a few moments later, his eyebrows knit in concern.
"Hey, Cutie, that was quite a fall," he says.
"I know." I groan, letting my head drop as I move to sit on the bottom step, loving his attention. Deciding to exaggerate, if it means his eyes will stay on mine, I say, "I think I broke my ankle."
