Page 20 of Third Time's the Charm

“Ma.”

She turned her attention back to the water, where three surfers were now up and moving. A couple of dolphins (or maybe they were porpoises? I never knew the difference) danced between them. “I just feel like sometimes you build the life youthinkyou should have instead of the life you actually want. That’s all.”

“Do I still do that?” I thought I was doing a pretty decent job of that lately.

She cocked her head to the side. “Why do you want to be married? Is it because you think you should be or because of something else?”

That was actually a really easy one to answer. “I want what you and Pop had. I don’t think you guys realized how much you made each of us fall in love with falling in love, because you and Pop were too busy being in love.” They set the bar high from their not-so-secret love notes all over the house, to the late night dances, to the genuine care and respect they had for each other. “Pop showed me that a man shows up, he builds up the people around him. He showed us the power of being a partner. I want that.”

And I failed miserably at doing it.

But I didn’t fail at finding that partner. I knew without a doubt Berlin was the perfect woman for me. She was my partner in crimeandin life. The problem was that I didn’t act like a partner.

Or a man.

Not like I used to. We had a rhythm for a while. She’d come up with an idea and I’d make it happen. I prided myself on execution and making Berlin happy. Because if she was happy it meant we were doing something fun together.

Like when we moved here. We weren’t ready to live here full time, I was coaching in Tennessee and Berlin hadn’t gotten the fellowship yet, but the house became Berlin’s and we set it up as our home away from home. Berlin thought it would be fun to do something nice for each of our new neighbors. Something anonymously nice.

So on my road trips for the next month, I did research on each of them and sent info to Berlin, who came up with an idea for each of them. The Mendozas loved sunflowers, so she bought them a new potted sunflower. I left it on their front porch. The Scott’s liked pie, so Berlin got the ingredients and together we made a pie and left it on their porch. Across the street, Conchita liked soap operas.

But before we could do anything about that, she marched up to our door and knocked.

“You.” She pointed at me. “You will come and help me.”

We followed her across the street. She popped the hood of her car and pointed. “Help me get this out.” There was a ball python sleeping under the hood. “I have the carrier over there for him to go to Dr. Adames, but I have to get him into the carrier.”

“Is he yours?” It was a really big snake.

“Is it mine? Hell no. These things are everywhere these days. You will help me get him out and then you don’t have to make me a pie, okay?”

Berlin covered her mouth, trying to hide her smile.

“What?” Conchita looked at each of us. “I pay attention. You help me with the snake instead of a pie. I make my own pies.”

So we helped her get this giant snake into a carrier and the next daywehad a Key lime pie on our porch from Conchita’s bakery. We laughed about that encounter for days. And sometimes I still get a chuckle when I see a python on television. Or when I eat Key lime pie.

Then we stopped laughing and all I did was coach hockey like a selfish jerk.

I took Ma to lunch where we ran into her poker club. Apparently my mom was big into poker and all the cards these days. It was good to see her with a group like that. It was different from the Mistletoe Key Preservation Society or even her volunteer work in the Everglades. Poker was for fun and the men and women she played with seemed like a real good time.

I wondered if Antonio was a poker player too.

What was this guy like?

I’d certainly find out soon.

Main street was a zoo. Even more decorations were going up. Tonight there’d be caroling, cookies and hot chocolate, and the great gift exchange. I wondered where Berlin was and what she thought of our kiss last night. Did she hate me even more now?

Or did she feel what I felt too? That this wasn’t over yet. And even if she did feel it, would she ever be willing to forgive me, try again? Maybe all of this was useless wishful thinking on my part.

I stopped at the Mistletoe Key bookstore to pick up a package for Zoe. And that’s when I ran into Ryker.

“Jack.” He nodded at me, three books in his hands. It looked like all of them were nonfiction.

Yuck.

“Ryker. How are you?”

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