Tag: second chance

A full year had passed since we separated, and six months since the divorce was finalized, and still just the sight of her knocked the air out of my lungs. I fought the urge to embrace her. My ex-wife. I still couldn’t get used to the phrase.

Levi

Wind whipped around the corners of the house, creating an eerie howling effect. I sat in the kitchen, listening more to the wind than to the guy I called my best friend. Guilt picked at my stomach, making it acidic. I should’ve been making an effort to be there for him. The only thing I could focus on, though, was the time ticking closer on the wall.

“I think it might be stress,” Theo said in his soft-spoken voice. It was hard to believe that a nearly seven-foot man could have such a gentle voice. He spread his dark hands. “Pamela’s got her hopes so high, and she gets so frustrated.” He cleared his throat.

My gaze snapped up from the kitchen table. I met his brown eyes across the table. “Sorry, man.”

“Is Noah dropping off Joey this morning?” he asked.

I nodded, rubbing the back of my head. “Any minute now.”

“I guess there’s no chance in me stealing you for a run.” Theo grinned, and for the first time I realized he wore his running gear.

I glanced down at my long-sleeved henley and jeans. Maybe I would’ve been better off throwing on sweats. I no longer had the effect on Noah that I’d had on her in college, but I still tried.

It was pathetic.

“A run might help get your mind off things,” Theo said, his voice returning to that lulling level.

“Yeah,” I agreed, “but I can’t leave Joey.”

“I’m sure Pamela wouldn’t mind looking after him.”

I laughed, the sound bitter. “And have it get back to Noah that I dropped my kid off on someone else the second he got here? No thanks.” I rubbed at my beard. “How did I get here, man?”

“It takes time.” He stood to his full height. After over ten years of friendship, I was used to him towering over me. At UConn, people called us Sully and Mike when we walked around campus together. He’d go to basketball practice and I’d head to my pre-med classes.

Or the poetry class where I’d met Noah.

Together, though, Theo and I were a duo. When people threw parties in their dorms, they told each other: “Make sure you invite Sully and Mike.”

College. Those were the good days.

The doorbell rang, yanking me out of my thoughts. Standing, I tried to arrange my features into what I hoped was a relaxed expression. Instead, my brows rested heavily over my eyes as I made my way to the front door. Taking a deep breath, I swung the door open wide.

“Daddy!” Joey threw himself into my arms.

I scooped him up, hugging him to my chest. “Hey buddy.” Over his head, I glanced at her.

Noah.

A full year had passed since we separated, and six months since the divorce was finalized, and still just the sight of her knocked the air out of my lungs. She lifted her angular chin, sapphire eyes looking at Joey and me but avoiding my gaze. She nibbled at her full, pink lips.

Releasing Joey, I fought the urge to embrace her, too. My ex-wife. I still couldn’t get used to the phrase.

“Uncle Theo’s in the kitchen,” I told our son.

Joey’s eyes lit up. Dropping his backpack in the entryway, he took off toward the kitchen.

“This isn’t a dumping ground!” Noah called after him. Her eyes sparkled with amusement, though.

A year earlier, this had been our home. Yet there she stood, in the doorway, half out of my life.

“Want a cup of coffee?” I asked, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans. Cold air swirled around my bare feet.

“I should go.” She jerked a thumb toward the car idling in the driveway. When she left, she didn’t even keep the car I’d bought for her. She drove a brand new Toyota Camry that she was probably leasing—and paying out the nose for every month.

I didn’t get it. She could’ve kept the Jaguar. I’d bought it for her.

“It’s cold,” I said. “Just come in for a few. Run me through school?”

For a second, her eyes lit up. Then her lips tightened. “I’ve got lesson planning to do.” She turned, low ponytail whipping around through the bottom of her beanie.

I closed my eyes. I’d meant Joey’s school, forgetting entirely that she’d started grad school—all while caring for our son and teaching English at the high school. “Wait,” I called. “How’s business school?”

She paused, boots crunching over the salt on the shoveled front walk. Turning, she shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat. Her eyes lifted, but still didn’t meet mine.

When I breathed in, my chest ached. Without her in my life, I rattled around in my body, in the big empty house we’d once shared. Though she haunted me, I was the ghost.

“Demanding,” she said. “I’ve gotta go.” She hesitated as if she had more to say.

“Noah . . .” A thousand questions burned on my own lips. Even after all those months, I still didn’t know why she left me. I’d thought we had a good thing going. Sure, my job could be demanding. I was the best pediatric urologist in the region. Those kids needed me, and I couldn’t exactly ignore my pages. I knew Noah wanted me home more, but I thought she understood.

Until I came home to a dark house.

“Can you drop him off tomorrow night?” she asked, eyes on my beard.

I suppressed a grin. She’d always liked when I went without shaving for a few days. I was pushing dress code at work, but seeing the look in her eyes was worth it. “Of course,” I said, voice soft.

“I would just get him myself, but it’d buy me some extra study time.”

“It’s no problem.” I swallowed, and stepped onto the porch. “Look, Noah, I can take him for the week, if that helps.”

Those triangular eyes narrowed. “Our current custody agreement works just fine.”

“I know,” I said quickly. “I just meant, if you need me to step up to sixty/forty custody, just to give you more time for school—”

She laughed, a short, bitter bark. “How exactly would that work? Are you going to take a vacation?”

I licked my lips. “I’m trying to help.”

“Or are you just going to send him to your mom’s?” She clenched her keys.

Jaw tightening, I sucked in a deep breath. “I’m just going to finish my coffee,” I sat flatly. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Great,” she said. She turned, boots scraping against the ground. Her heel spun, sliding over a small patch of ice that the snow removal guy had missed. Legs flying out in opposite directions, she started to fall.

I jumped down from the porch, bare feet slapping against the freezing cold walkway. Pebbles of salt bit into the soles of my feet. Arms outstretched, I reached for her. I hooked one arm under her bottom, wrapping another around her shoulders, and drew her into me.

We both went down.

I landed hard on my back, the air exiting my lungs in an icy whoosh. My body absorbed the impact, and I cradled Noah in my arms. With a grunt, I met her eyes.

Only inches separated us. Those blue eyes stared into mine, both wonder and fear mingling in them. I frowned. She had nothing to fear from me. I would never hurt her. Both the oaths I’d taken bound me from harming her: the Hippocratic Oath, and my marriage vows.

Even though our marriage was technically over, I’d never break them.

“Are you okay?” she whispered. Her breath warmed my face.

“Yes,” I rasped. I tried to suck in a deep breath, but my lungs were still in shock.

A strand of hair escaped her beanie, caressing my cheek. “I’m sorry,” she said, lips so close to mine, all I had to do was lift my head.

“Good thing,” I panted, “I’m off today.”

“Good thing you’re a doctor.” A corner of her mouth lifted. “Tell me what to do for you, Dr. Wester.”

Come home, I wanted to say. As my lungs started working correctly, though, I realized my arms were still around her—my hand still on her ass. I loosened my grip, releasing her.

She brushed snow out of my hair. “Thank goodness your head landed in the snow.”

I glanced around. Sure enough, we’d twisted as we fell. The snow wasn’t exactly soft, but it’d saved me from cracking my head open on the pavement.

Noah rolled off me, and my body instantly went cold without her. I sucked in a deep breath to salve the ache in my chest. She stood, holding her hand out to me.

Reaching for her, I braced my elbow against the walkway, pushing off as her hand closed around mine. I outweighed her by at least 100 lb. “Thanks.”

Biting her lip, she walked around me, evaluating. “You look okay to me, but you fell hard, Levi.”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “Really. It’s nothing a little Advil can’t fix.”

Most of the damage wasn’t physical, though. All of the painkillers in the world couldn’t help me, not with Noah out of my life.

“Theo’s inside, too,” she said, as if reminding herself that she had no obligation to stick around and nurse me.

“He’s going to be devastated to hear that I won’t be running with him for a while.” I shooed her. “Go. We’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” Her eyes flicked up to mine for a moment, then darted away. Without another word, she moved carefully down the driveway.

Just like in our divorce, I’d absorbed the impact. Noah always got away clean, leaving me to lick my wounds. Before she left, all I’d wanted was a family and a career, but I couldn’t juggle the two. After, I’d thrown myself into work, dropping the ball as a father in an effort to save my patients and give my son everything he wanted. Sometimes I thought I’d never find the right balance.

The Stairs Between Us

No matter how much time passed, part of me would always long to be back in that house. I wanted the man I’d married. The man who looked at me as if I was his whole world, his eyes filled with the dreams he had for us. The Levi who saw the whole picture and wanted to keep looking.

That Levi was gone. I didn’t know how to get him back, so I left.

Noah

The early morning glow filtered through the blinds—the wrong kind of light. It should’ve tipped me off, but it never did. I rolled onto my side to face him, a hand automatically stretching out. My fingers touched cool sheets.

Empty bed.

No husband.

There were still mornings when I woke, half expecting to find myself in my husband’s house, in our bed. Most mornings, actually. I should’ve been used to it, but somewhere between sleep and the land of the living, my brain kept glitching out.

Levi always kept blackout curtains in our bedroom. Those sheets never saw the light of day. With his odd hours, he needed to be able to sleep no matter what time of day.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself back to that bedroom, to that life. To the person that I was. The velvet inside of my eyelids glowed red from the diffused light, the illusion shattered.

Even though I’d divorced my husband, I still missed him.

No matter how much I missed him, though, I’d had to leave.

I glanced at the alarm clock on my nightstand. I didn’t have to get up for another fifteen minutes, but I couldn’t go back to sleep. My brain already ticked through each thing I had to do for the day, a perpetual running list that never shut up—even while I slept.

Running feet pounded the carpeted hallway as my six-year-old son zoomed toward my room. He flew through the open door and bounded into bed with me.

“Good morning, Momma!”

Pushing away all of my worries, I snuggled him into my arms. “I love my cup of morning Joey.” I inhaled the scent of his mousy brown hair, breathing in the scent of sleep and berry kids’ shampoo from his bath the night before.

“Am I going to Daddy’s today?”

“Tomorrow, buddy.” I hugged him tighter. “Today’s Friday.”

Joey giggled. “No, Momma. Today’s Saturday.”

He was right. I threw on a smile to hide my grimace. “Are you sure? I can still bring you to school.” My fingers found his ribs, tickling lightly.

He squealed, wriggling away from me. “No school. I want to go home. I mean, to Daddy’s.” He studied my face with dark eyes that were so like Levi’s, waiting for my reaction.

“Daddy’s house is your home, too,” I reminded him. My heart throbbed with guilt. What I did hadn’t been easy on my son. As much as I missed Levi, I knew Joey missed the three of us being together even more, no matter how much of a brave face he put on.

“Why . . . ?” His voice trailed off.

“What, buddy?” I sat up in bed, tendrils of dark hair reaching down my back, tickling my skin as they tumbled over my shoulders.

“Never mind,” he mumbled. His eyebrows remained pinched together, though.

“Honey? Talk to me.” I stroked his smooth, creamy white cheek with my thumb.

“Why can’t we go home?” Those round brown eyes stared up at me.

“We are home.” I gathered him into my lap. “This is my home, and Daddy’s house is his home, and both of those places are your home. Remember?”

Twisting in my arms, Joey came face to face with me. “Seems like a lot of homes.”

I chuffed a tiny laugh through my nose, a smile touching my lips. That was another way that Joey was like Levi. They both thought logically. All of the pieces needed to fit, no room for arguments or emotions. Sometimes I wondered if this boy was even mine. The only physical feature he’d inherited from me was my chin. My sapphire eyes skipped him, and his genes took off running after his father.

“Sometimes mommies and daddies need to have more than one home.” I patted his leg.

“Yes,” he said, as if explaining to a toddler, “but one home costs less money.”

“I know you want things to be the way they used to be, but we’re still a family.”

Joey slid out of my arms and off the bed. “We have a lot of bills.” He turned and padded toward the hall in his bare feet. “Can we have pancakes?” he asked over his shoulder as he ambled out of sight.

I sighed. Even though he was only six, he saw and heard everything. He noted the bills piling on the table, some with red PAST DUE stamps, and assembled the pieces. Just like he saw Levi’s empty kitchen table, the mortgage already paid off and the bills automatically withdrawn from his checking account.

Leaving my husband had cost me more than I’d been prepared to lose.

Life went on, though. It had to. If I spent too much time assessing my decision, I might doubt it. And I didn’t have room in my life to start second-guessing myself.

The damage was done, as they said.

I climbed out of bed and wrapped myself in my thick flannel bathrobe, tucking my feet into slippers. As I moved through my room, I glanced out the window. Part of me hoped that I’d see snow on the ground, January continuing its pattern of dumping snow on our small New England town just so I could keep Joey for one more day. No such luck, though. Both the sky and streets were clear.

That soft morning sunlight kept on shining.

On Saturday mornings before it all fell apart, Levi let me sleep in. I’d wake up to coffee in the carafe and my husband flipping omelettes on the stove. I’d hop up onto the counter, he’d hand me a plate, and I’d wrap my legs around his waist. Then I’d feed us both little bites while we talked about our dreams and laughed.

Sometimes dreams can turn into nightmares, though. You can become consumed by what you think you want, until your view of everything around you slowly narrows and you lose sight of what’s important. The people you leave behind are forced to pick up the pieces, to make the hard decisions.

I couldn’t explain these things to my son, though. At only six, his world view was simple: mommies and daddies stayed together. At least, his were supposed to. No matter how many times I read him children’s books about divorce, or how many kids in his first grade class told him their parents separated too, Joey would always want us back together.

I couldn’t blame him.

No matter how much time passed, part of me would always long to be back in that house. The days I longed for, though, weren’t the later years of our marriage. I wanted to return to before Joey was born. Not because I didn’t want my son, but because I wanted the man I’d married. The man who held my hand on our walk over to campus, who slipped sweet little notes into my backpack.

I wanted the Levi who looked at me as if I was his whole world, his brown almond-shaped eyes filled with the dreams he had for us. The Levi who saw the whole picture and wanted to keep looking.

That Levi was gone, though, replaced with a cold lookalike who barely saw me when he bothered to come home. The doppelgänger who came home from the hospital hardly glanced at our son, ignoring his pleas to “Come play dinosaurs with me, Daddy.”

I shuffled into the kitchen where Joey already stood on a chair at the counter. A mixing bowl and the box of pancake mix sat in front of him.

“I waited for you,” he told me.

Kissing the top of his head, I grabbed a measuring cup. He was already six. There weren’t too many pancake mornings left, fewer still afternoons spent playing with dinosaurs in a sandbox.

Whether you paid attention or not, time kept moving forward.

“Wanna stir?” I asked my son. He nodded and I handed him a rubber spatula. “Go for it.”

“Momma,” he began as I poured water into the mix.

I paused, holding the measuring cup over the board. “Yeah?”

“You’re putting too much water.”

Peering at the pancake mix and the water already in the bowl, I shook my head. “Honey, I’ve been making pancakes since before you were born.”

“Momma,” he said again. “It’s a two to three ratio.”

I blinked at him. “It’s a do what now?”

Joey sighed. “It’s one and a half cups of water for every two cups of mix.” Gently, he took the measuring cup from my hand and set it down. Then he grabbed the box and pointed to the chart on the back. “See?”

Shaking my head, I moved toward the coffee pot. “I’ll just let you handle that, then,” I told him, reminded again of how like Levi he was. Math and science—those came easily to the men of my heart. When I made pancakes, I just added water until the batter was right. When Levi made them, the measurements had to be exact.

Precision made for a fantastic surgeon. Surgeons made for terrible spouses. I just hoped that Joey wouldn’t take after his father in that department, too.