I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that what we have isn’t too good to be true—it is true.
47
Astaire
Tears cloud my vision the entire drive home.
Giant snowflakes melt on my windshield, smearing as my wipers drag them away.
I had this whole evening planned—I wanted to take Bennett and Honor to the park to build a snowman. I’d even scrounged up buttons and a carrot for the nose as well as a spare hat and scarf. When Eulalia showed up at pick up, I asked if she wouldn’t mind running to the store to grab a few things for dinner and told her I’d take Honor home.
It was going to be a surprise.
But it turns out the surprise was on me.
Bennett’s words dominate my every thought, playing again and again, to the point I can still hear them as clear as the first time. “For the record, she’s amazing with the kid, but that’s the point. That’s why I’m keeping her around. She’s more for Honor than me … She helps out with Honor and it’s a nice arrangement we have, but it’s only that. An arrangement There’s no love. No expectations. Certainly not a future. If she gets sick of me, she gets sick of me. In the meantime, she’s good for Honor.”
Everything between us has been a lie.
Everything.
All he needed was a stand-in mother figure for his niece … and the ass on the side was nothing more than a perk seeing how his bachelor weekends filled with casual sex are out of the picture for the next thirteen years.
I’m halfway home when I think about what Beth said last week, about Schoenbach men ruining their women.
Errol was a monster in his own way, but there’s a chance Bennett is cut from similar cloth.
They share the same blood, after all.
And Schoenbach men clearly have a thing for using women.
As soon as I get to my apartment, I head to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face, avoiding the light because I don’t need to look in the mirror to know what a fool looks like.
So many things I could have said to him, but I’d have been wasting my breath.
Every conversation we’ve ever had, has been a lie—a complete waste of him.
The spoken words have no effect on him, whether they’re given or taken. He does what he wants, to whom he wants, and that’s that.
I change into comfortable clothes, silence my phone, and curl up on the couch while Gentlemen Prefer Blondes plays in the background. My eyes are on the screen, but I’m not watching. It’s just on to fill the void. To keep me company. To remind me that there are still things in this world that I love.
Even if Bennett can no longer be one of them.
There’s an ache in my chest, a deep void that wasn’t there an hour ago.
And then it hits me—he didn’t have a heart, so he stole mine.
48
Bennett
“We’re just waiting on Dr. Rathburn, then you’ll be free to go,” the nurse at my check-up says the following afternoon. She shuts the door to the exam room, and the plastic pharmaceutical company-branded clock over the door jolts.
Honor’s school dismisses in fifteen minutes, but it’ll take at least twenty minutes to get there by the time I leave. Longer if there’s traffic.
I’d originally given Eulalia the afternoon off because Astaire had planned to bring Honor home with her after work, but given yesterday’s events, obviously that isn’t going to happen.
Five minutes pass.
Then ten.
Still no Dr. Rathburn.
An hour ago, I called Eulalia to see if there was any chance she could come in this afternoon, but she was already in Gary, visiting her nephew.
Left with no other choice, I text Astaire and ask if she can bring Honor home today.
At exactly 3:01pm, she texts back with a “yes.”
Nothing more, nothing less.
Honor’s glittery backpack is the first thing I see when I get home. When I round the hallway, the second thing I see is Astaire.
“Hey.” I place my keys on the kitchen counter.
Her purse is hanging from her shoulder. It’s hard to say if that’s because she just got here or because she wanted to be ready to leave the instant I came home.
“Thanks for bringing her home. My appointment ran long,” I say.
“Not a problem.” She avoids eye contact. “She’s in her room playing.”
Silence invades the space between us.
“Did you get my calls?” I ask an obvious question. I’ve been calling her since the moment she left last night.
“I did. And your voice mails and text messages. Got them all.”
“Okay. So … can we talk about them?”
“Nope.” She eyes the foyer and drags in a breath that makes her shoulders shudder before finally turning her attention to me. “You are the worst kind of person. You use people and you lie and you’re beyond cruel. I’ll stand by my promise to be there for Honor in any way that she needs me—but you and I are finished.”
“Astaire.” I move closer to her. “If you’ll let me explain.”
She places her hand out to stop me. “You’re only going to tell me what I want to hear. But I’m not interested in that. I want the truth. And that’s not something you’re capable of giving me. So, no, Bennett. We’re done.”
I let her go one more time—but it’ll be the last time I do.
I said what I said to Errol, and she heard what she heard. I can’t take that back. And I can stand here and explain until I’m blue in the face if she’d let me, but at the end of the day, it isn’t what you say—it’s what you do.
I have to show her what she means to me.
49
Astaire
“Hey, stranger, long time, no see!” Ophelia wraps her arms around me the instant I walk into her namesake bar Friday night.
I needed to get out for a bit and now that Bennett has Honor, I figured this would be a safe place to seek refuge for a couple of hours. Besides, sitting around stewing and feeling sorry for myself gets old after a day or two.
“What are we drinking?” she asks.
“Gin and tonic.” I take a seat at the bar. I’d order that lemony champagne drink the last bartender made for me, but I can’t remember the name to save my life.
“Eduardo, get the girl a gin and tonic.” Ophelia raps on the bar top. The scent of roses and violets wafts from her as she moves, and her lips are the brightest shade of pink I never knew existed.
This afternoon, Honor asked if I was coming over tonight. She didn’t press it when I told her I wasn’t, and it didn’t seem to upset her. Fortunately, she’s too young to understand that the dynamics between Bennett and myself have changed.
I’ll always be there for her. Always.
Ophelia trots to the other side of the bar and mixes herself a martini with two stuffed olives. “So, I heard you’re seeing Schoenbach.”
“What? Where’d you hear that?” I ask.
The first time I met Ophelia, I never gave her my name. The second time I ran into her here, we had a quick chat by the ladies’ room and I took the time to properly introduce myself. There’s a warmth about her, and she’s one of those people you meet once and feel an instant connection with.