Page 42 of Because of Them

“We can request changes. That’s what this meeting is all about. These are just the first designs.” I place my stack of paperwork on the table then lean back to settle into the leather armchair.

Noah turns his monitor so we can both see the site map now displayed. He clicks away at the mouse, zooming in on the imageand cursing when he reaches into a drawer to pull out a pair of thin framed, square glasses. “Don’t you dare tell anyone.”

The air I’d been cautiously holding in my chest releases with a laugh.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.” I throw my hands up. With my eyes wide, I seal my lips, miming the action of zipping them closed.

“I hate them, but I can’t read anything on this damn screen without them.”

“They look … smart.”

Noah rolls his eyes, turning back to the computer to pull up the plans.

We blunder our way through the confirmations together. Noah asks questions I can answer, and questions I can’t. But there are things that he doesn’t know either. For a moment, it feels like we are just two guys, faking their way through their big fancy jobs.

“It feels like that all the time,” Noah tells me when I voice my thoughts. “Every day I learn something new. Or have to relearn something I forgot. But that’s how everything goes. I just do my best every day. That’s all you need to do, and if you get really stuck, I’m sure your old man wouldn’t mind if you asked him a question. Hell, the guy’s going into retirement, he will probably love feeling needed every once in a while.”

Later, when we have a whole list of requested changes for the architects and Noah’s signature is signed across every page, we head back into the open space of the cellar door. The lunch rush cleared away while we were scouring the plans, but a few groups remain scattered around the space. The wide folding patio doors have been opened, extending the space into the outdoor area and kids run around on the grass while their mother’s sit sharing a plate of food.

Noah heads behind the bar to grab us each a drink, and I choose a table in the corner, as far away from the outdoor space as possible. Even still, the laughter of the children floats through the space and invades my ears. Cheerful chirps and squeals that sure, are pleasant, but also cause my fingertips to tingle and dig out a well in my stomach.

“You’ll be fine,” Noah says as he slides into the chair opposite me. “Both of you.”

I furrow my brow and fold my arms across my chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He makes a show of following my line of sight before turning back to me and picking up his wine. “Cassidy told me about the babies.”

I choke at her name, regret at how I treated her hangs low in an empty space under my ribcage. “Did she say anything else about me?”

Noah picks up his drink, twisting the stem of the glass between his fingers to make the deep burgundy liquid swirl.

“She said you were a jerk, but that, as long as you’re not a jerk to Audrey, the past doesn’t matter. Something about hoping time has treated you well and that everyone is entitled to a second chance.”

I nod. It’s about as good as I can hope for.

“It’s a Pinot Noir, by the way,” Noah says, holding his glass up in a cheers motion before taking a precise sip. The wine lingers in his mouth before he swallows.

“I’m not drinking it like that.”

“And I can’t help it anymore.”

I smell the wine before drinking it, uncertainty tingling my tastebuds. I’ve never been a fan of wine unless it was hanging in a silver bag from the clothesline. And it’s been a long time since I’ve been quitethatreckless.

Tentatively, I take a sip. It tastes like a lot, all at once. Cherry and wood and berries. The flavour sticks to my tongue even when I swallow the liquid. And I don’t hate it. I take another sip, longer this time as I appreciate the full flavour as it swirls a little in my mouth.

“Not bad, hey,” Noah jests.

AUDREY

My stomach twists. Again.

This time, the pain comes like a wave. Nausea first, followed by a heat that flows through my body, settling in my belly and causing every muscle in my body to tense. Then, like the tide pulling the water back into the ocean, the pain recedes. Only I’m left crouched over in my chair, willing my throbbing heart to steady.

I’m just dehydrated, that’s all. If I can just get to the kitchen and have a glass of water, then I’ll lay down for a little before I have to go pick Maisie up from her playdate. I’ll be fine.Right?

I repeat the words to myself as I use the windowsill to pull myself off my stool. The sunlight streams into the room, leaving bright angles on the far wall. My easel stands just outside the blinding ray, the almost finished painting for Cassidy sittingdelicately on the stand. If I could just focus, I’ll be able to get it done. If I can get it done, I’ll be able to cross it off my list and start worrying about the next thing. And the next.

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