Page 30 of Reformation

Nope. Not me. Not this girl.

“Yes,” I reply, trying to make myself busy so I don’t continue to ogle him. “When you’re picking up trash anyplace cars drive through, safety is important. Are you willing to risk going back to the hospital because you didn’t prioritize your safety?”

Garrett groans, which causes my laughter to pick up again, but before he can continue complaining, the volunteers are called in to go over the duties for the day.

The high school National Honor Society adopted the streets around the school complex a few years ago as a part of their service project. Once a month, the kids and their advisor take to the streets and pick up any loose litter. Whenever I’m available, I lend a helping hand. I love that the students are getting involved in their communities at an early age.

What would have happened to me if I would have started volunteering in high school? What would that have changed? Would I be here?

The hustle and bustle of teenagers dispersing, armed with trash bags and garbage grabbers, breaks me away from my thoughts.

“You know, when you asked me to meet you early on a Saturday morning and to bring coffee, I was hoping we were volunteering at another run. That’s more my pace,” Garrett says as we make our way to our designated pickup area.

“Now, what fun would that be?” I say, beginning to start reaching for trash that has made its way into some shrubbery. “I had a feeling the other night when you asked if you could do more, it was because you didn’t feel like making a few phone calls wasreallyvolunteering. You don’t get much more volunteering than picking up trash on a Saturday morning.”

“That you don’t,” Garrett replies, jumping right in, filling his bag with trash and tree debris. “So, what made you want to volunteer with this group? Let me guess. You did this in high school and wanted to keep giving back?”

I flinch at his question, hoping that he didn’t see my reaction. The conversation he is trying to have is absolutely normal. Normal people, friends even, talk about what they were like before they knew each other. Normal people don’t physically recoil when the topic of their high school life is mentioned. Bringing up who I was back then isn’t something I want to do now, or ever.

“Yes, I was, but we didn’t do anything like this. What about you? You had to be. I bet you were. Were you valedictorian? Did you play sports? I bet you did. I’d peg you for a baseball guy.”

By the look on Garrett’s face, my habit of rambling when I don’t want to answer a question isn’t lost on him. But bless his heart, he doesn’t push the issue.

“Yes, I was valedictorian. No, I didn’t play baseball. I was a bit of a nerd back then, so sports and I didn’t mix. Yes, I was in NHS. Our community service was usually caroling at the nursing home and calling it a day.”

I laugh, trying to picture a younger Garrett singing “Jingle Bells” to senior citizens. “That’s part of the reason I help. These kids could have done something super simple, a one-and-done outing and say their duty was fulfilled. The fact that they chose to do something that requires a long-term commitment, well, I was proud that they did that and wanted to be a part of it.”

We continue picking up the trash while making small talk, because if we keep the conversation moving forward, then the chances are better that Garrett won’t go back to the topic of my life in Alabama. We finally share our ages—him forty-two to my thirty. I tell him about my students and the antics of his nephew. He opens up to me about his health scare and that his dad died of a blood clot, which is part of what really shook him.

Now afraid that the conversation is about to turn back to my family, I ask the first thing that comes to my mind.

“Does your wife mind you being out here this morning?”

OK, that wasn’t the question I meant to ask, but for some reason, it’s the one that came out.

Good move, Paige. So smooth. Not awkward at all.

I can’t lie and say I haven’t been curious as to how his wife has been reacting to his desire to give back more. I would hope she’d be proud. Heck, I’m proud of him and we are still practically strangers.

That is, if he’s still married. I noticed he hasn’t been wearing his ring, but that could be for a dozen reasons.

Or, I could quit lying to myself and admit that as a woman, who is attracted to a man, that I want to know the status of his marriage.

Not that I could do anything about it. I just want to know.

Geez, Paige, you’re even rambling to yourself in your mind.

“She doesn’t mind. Then again, I haven’t seen her since Tuesday,” Garrett says in a very nonchalant, I-didn’t-just-semi-admit-I’m-not-with-my-wife way.

“Garrett, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

He waves my comment off. “Don’t worry. I asked Annika for a separation.”

“Is she trying to fight you on it?”

“If your definition of fight means she is outright refusing to talk about the logistics by going MIA, then sure, she’s fighting it. That’s why I had dinner with Charlie and Mark after the fundraising meeting. I hadn’t told them yet either. They are supportive and just want me to be happy, just like I knew they would be. They even offered me their guest room until I figure out what my next move is. I might give him shit, but he’s a pretty damn good brother.”

“I’m so sorry. About Annika, that is. Is there anything I can do?”

---