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“Takes too much effort. Too many body styles. Just picture them all wearing the same zippered-up fleece shark costume, and you’ll suddenly feel all the confidence you need to get through it. And if you can’t, no worries. I’ll be right by your side. Now, let’s go stand by your mom and watch her marry the best fucking man on the planet!”
There was something different about her that evening. The hair, yes. But her body language was a little off. She exuded confidence when talking to people, but when she was by herself, she almost looked … lost.
I knew that expression. I saw the self-doubt in her eyes. The way she took heavy breaths while lifting her chin, as if trying to calm down the negative thoughts in her head. She was better than me because for each moment of low she had, she quickly morphed into this vixen in the ballroom, smiling, flirting, dancing.
I heard they were about to do the garter toss, and there was no way I was standing on that dance floor, being pushed on by my mother, who had recently started talking about me needing to meet a woman. I got a fresh glass of bourbon and walked myself outside.
The smokers near the door were enough for me to head toward the side of the building. A place where it was dark and quiet. Just how I needed it.
I found myself looking up. The moon was big that night. I’d never stopped and stared at it before, but for some reason, that night, I found myself getting lost in its beauty and looking for the face of the man on the moon, the kind kids were led to believe was there.
I was so lost in the craters and wondering if a flag could actually fly up there, and this exact moon was in the sky during the Roman Empire, that I almost missed her.
Tara jogged down the nearby path. I heard her breathing first. It was harsh and labored, like she was upset and couldn’t catch up with her feelings. She ran toward a tree and started to climb it. I couldn’t believe my eyes as I saw her bunch up the loose dress and hoist herself up. Her strength was evident with the swift way she got up that tree. I walked toward her, mesmerized by the sight of her at the top. She appeared to be looking at the moon as well and talking to herself.
This was a new version of the woman I’d seen. From the sight of her in an oak tree, she was definitely batshit crazy. Yet she was far more relatable in this moment than in the past.
She was unglued, and she was in pain.
I knew I had to stay there. My intention was never for her to see me, but I needed to know she was going to be okay.
And then she fell.
And so did I.
For her.
With her.
In her.
How Tara Parsons had gone from being the woman I ran from to the one I was crawling to was beyond me. I tried to fight it. I tried so damn hard.
I rise from my chair again and walk over to the railing.
I can still picture her crooked grin when she arrived every week, ready to start a new one with us. She looked like she was relieved to be here. Like she was home.
Home.
I liked my home with her in it. I liked the smell of her baking, the laughter that echoed in the house, the way Molly was always talking a million miles a minute to her, how Jesse jingled car keys, ready for her to take him driving, and how I felt when I came home and saw her eyes light up at the sight of my broody ass walking into the room.
Even when she hated me, her eyes gleamed when she looked my way.
Too bad she wouldn’t be looking this way again.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
Rob
“You done sulking over there, old man?” Will surprises me in my shed while I’m organizing my equipment from the long workweek.
“What are you doing here?” I look him over in his cargo shorts and polo. “Melissa’s got you looking like suburbia.”
“Don’t hate on the khakis. I’m getting into dad mode. Soon, I’ll be wearing tube socks and New Balance sneakers.”
“I’m a dad, and I don’t wear that shit.”
“No. You wear jeans in the dead of summer, like a psychopath.” He laughs at his own joke as he steps farther into the shed and leans against the four-wheeler parked against the wall. “Lots of gossip going around the Bronson households.”
