Page 84 of All Your Fault

“Hank told me about Michelle.”

I stiffened once more, the anger threatening to come back. “Hank doesn’t know anything about how I feel about Michelle.”

“You’re right. No one does because you don’t tell us anything.”

My heart ached. It ached as badly as if there was an iron fist around it, crushing the life out of it.

“You care about her, Will, I know you do.”

I shook my head. “I’m falling in love with her,” I whispered, the truth shocking me, rattling me straight down to my core. “Hell, I think I’m already there.” My throat burned with the pain of it.

“So, what’s stopping you from telling her?”

I could have told her what I knew, that she wasn’t ready for me. That she’d probably never be ready for me. But it wasn’t all on Michelle. It was me. I proved it tonight, right there at the table, I was my father’s son.

“The last time I thought I could be with someone,” I said, “I fucked it up. I couldn’t…” my voice cracked. “I couldn’t keep my family together. I’m just not the kind of person who can make someone happy.”

“Do you realize how crazy that sounds?” Stella asked softly.

“Maybe,” I said. “But I don’t know how to fix myself. I look at Dad and I see me in thirty years. Bitter. Angry. Alone. Michelle deserves better. She deserves the best, and I’m too broken to give her that.”

Then, before Stella could say anything else, I strode to my car, slammed the door and drove away.

* * *

An hour later,after I’d driven aimlessly around half of Jewel Lakes County, I found myself in downtown Barkley Falls.

The whole town was shuttered but all the lampposts were festooned with twinkling lights and wreaths. There was a constant debate at town hall meetings about how much money and effort should go into decorating for each holiday. I knew some people might imagine me on the side of not wanting to waste precious town resources on fanciful things like lights and giant stocking decorations or hanging flower baskets in the spring, but I loved them. I wouldn’t tell anyone of course, but they helped make Barkley Falls the homey, magical place it was. The only thing besides my girls I could love unconditionally, and who I couldn’t hurt with my shit.

Hopefully.

I parked at the top end of Main Street by the lumberyard. The whole of downtown took about twenty minutes to walk from end to end. I could probably do it with my eyes closed—I knew it like the back of my hand. I strode past the long, snow-covered logs. That’s where I’d helped Hank pick up a bunch of wood last summer for the renovations on their barn and house. Further down the street, I passed the medical clinic where Mom once took me for a broken arm I’d gotten saving a kid from getting run over by a horse at a pageant when I was twelve. “You’re my little hero,” she’d said. Really, I’d been scared shitless, but I’d lapped it up. Her attention was like lifeblood compared to Dad’s silence.

My feet crunched in the snow as I passed Aubrey’s. Aubrey, who was actually Aubrey Junior, had retired this fall, and with the mayor on a golf trip, I’d served as proxy in honoring the spot as a municipal landmark. Her son now ran the diner, and I made a note to have the next few town events catered by them so they could keep thriving over the slower winter season.

There was the vintage clothing store, run by Casey’s friend, and Graydon’s sister. Further along this block—all of which was owned by Charles Haverford, the mayor’s business associate—the empty storefront on the corner. The one I kept teasing Michelle about when we used to text, because it would have made a brilliant Italian restaurant, run by the brilliant, gorgeous, perfect Michelle Franco.

There was aLEASEDsign in the window. It felt symbolic. Like an opportunity I’d somehow squandered.

I walked faster.

There were places I wouldn’t pass on this walk down Main Street. Good Fortune, the Chinese restaurant where Graydon and I used to gorge ourselves back in high school after football games. Archer Mechanical, our family garage that Stella announced earlier in the day she’d be turning over to Luciana permanently as she was staying in Michigan. The place I used to change spark plugs while arguing with Dad about everything and nothing.

I thought about Dad at dinner tonight, how red-rimmed his eyes had looked. How bad his cough had sounded. I shouldn’t have been so hard on him. I should have just let it go. That’s what Hannah would have told me if she’d been there. How had I raised such a perfect diplomat? Maybe she was the one who should become a politician.

I didn’t know where I’d been going until I arrived: The town green. Whereas a couple of cars had passed by on my hike through town, there was no one here at all.

The silence was glorious.

So was the open space—snow blanketed not just the green but Opal Lake too—it was a sea of pristine silvery white in the starlight. I tromped up the steps of the gazebo and sat down on the bench, not caring that snow soaked through my pants. I needed to feel.

I pulled out my phone, looking at it for the first time since this afternoon. I’d missed an email from the mayor’s assistant sending me instructions for the stay at the Rolling Hills Resort over New Year’s. I’d completely forgotten about that. I’d agreed to go sometime between pizza at Michelle’s and the other night. The thought of staying at a fancy resort in a few days seemed absurd to me now, especially when further down in the email it said I was also booked for a couple’s massage, dinner at the restaurant, and various other activities designed for two. There’d been a postscript from the assistant that said, “You’re more than welcome to participate in any of these activities on your own, Will,” which was so sad I had to laugh.

There were no other messages. I considered texting my daughters, but we’d already spoken at length today, and they’d probably worry about me if I sent a cryptic Merry Christmas.

The only person left was Michelle.

Despite every terrible thing about me, what I’d done, how I’d let her down, I couldn’t let this day go by without telling her I was at least thinking about her. Even if it was the last thing I said to her, and even if she ignored me.

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