Page 80 of Clear Shot
After doing mostof the things we said we were going to do, it occurs to me that we have neither toilet paper nor towels nor anything else to clean up with. And we’re both a mess. We just finished another round in the pool and now we’re soaked. It’s warm out but we’re going to need to dry off before we can get back in my SUV.
“I don’t think we thought this through,” Hana giggles, resting against me.
“Not entirely, no.” I hug her to my side. “Regrets?”
“Hell no.”
“Same.” I stare up at the blue sky. “Welcome home, Mrs. Barbeau.”
“Thank you, Mr. Barbeau. And thank you for those heels. I love them. You didn’t have to replace them, you know.”
“I wanted to. You seemed so sad that they were ruined.”
“I saved up a long time to buy them,” she says. “It was a bucket list thing to own a pair.”
“Okay, don’t take this the wrong way—I’m happy if you’re happy—but what’s special about them?”
She chuckles. “They’re a status statement, like someone who can afford Louboutins has made it. And I wanted to feel like I’d made something of myself with my last job.”
“You’ve made something of yourself even without the job,” I point out gently.
“I know. But it was important to me that I purchase a large ticket item like that myself. I didn’t want my brother to buy them for me or something.”
“So… you didn’t want me to replace them?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I love that you did that for me—I absolutely love them! The point was that I earned my first pair myself. The fact that the hurricane ruined them is separate. I still earned and bought them. It was a point of pride for me. Celebrities wear Louboutins.”
“And you.”
“And me.”
We sit quietly for a while, letting the sun dry us off.
Eventually, I sit up and reach out a hand to her. “We should probably get dressed and head back to Johan’s. We need showers, and I’m starving.”
“Me too.” She gets up and we pad back into the house, collecting our clothes and getting dressed.
“We need to order all kinds of household supplies,” I say. “Everything from paper towels to toilet paper to laundry detergent and everything in between.”
“We also need towels,” she says. “I think we need to go a store for that. Ordering cleaning supplies is one thing, but I need to touch towels. They have to be soft and fluffy against my skin.”
“We can run to the mall after we get cleaned up if you want. And then we can go to dinner. I don’t know if I’ve ever taken you out to dinner.”
“You just bought me a million-dollar house,” she replies. “I think I’m okay with the trade-off.”
I loop my arm around her shoulders as we walk out to my SUV.
Shopping has never been my thing, but I’m looking forward to spending the rest of the day shopping for items to make our new house into a home. My apartment notwithstanding, I’ve never had one. Certainly not growing up, and while I’ve always had a place to lay my head as an adult, it was never what I’d call a home. Those were simply places to keep my stuff and sleep at night.
The house I just signed the papers on is something else.
This is the beginning of the rest of my life—the life Hana and I are going to build together. We took a round about way to get here but now that I have her, I know it’s what’s been missing in my life.
I never felt this way with my first wife. I thought I loved her, and we had a lot of fun together for a while, but my feelings for her were superficial compared to what I’m starting to feel for Hana. Hana makes me want to be better, to move past the ugliness of my childhood and look toward a life both with and without hockey.
She even makes me forget that I suffer from depression. I haven’t had a moment of true blackness since we got married, which says a lot. The meds work well, but there’s usually twinges of darkness a few times a month. Hana and I have been married for over a month and there hasn’t been anything.
I’m not stupid. I’ve lived with this disease long enough to know it’s coming, but I also feel a lightness I’ve never experienced before, and that can’t be a coincidence.
