Page 17 of Every Good Thing
What I know about Ben. Her words flip a switch that floods me with Ben-isms.
He likes a schedule and thrives on routines. He even schedules time to update the schedule (Sunday nights before bed). He’s a meticulous record keeper, and since he’s dyslexic, keeping everything organized and correct is like slaying his personal dragons. He updates a detailed family calendar app that syncs on our phones with his work shifts, car maintenance, doctor’s appointments, and Ruthie’s school schedule.
I don’t always check it, but I try to remember.
Ben does what he says, says what he means, and never says more than necessary. This sometimes comes off as unfriendly to new people. But underneath his rigid composure, he’s compassionate and kind. He understands brokenness and trauma better than most and has a soft spot for anyone who needs help.
He always knows what I need. He’s surprised me with hot baths, beach trips, back massages, late meals, flowers, and often, the horses, all tacked up for a family trail ride. He promised to always romance me. Only lately that’s fallen to the wayside.
Or maybe I’ve been too busy to make the time for it.
Ben shows up. He’s dropped everything over fevers, flat tires, scheduling mess-ups, and once when our dog Penelope got into a thorny bush, requiring an emergency vet visit.
He may be short on words, but he’s strong on commitment.
He’s my perfect partner.
But lately, he’s been distracted and irritable. His hearing has worsened—he hasn’t told me this, but it’s obvious given his frequent headaches and how often he asks me to repeat myself. Cochlear implants are the next step, but Ben seems reluctant.
So, he puts up with more migraines when he’s overstimulated or has a rough day. These debilitating, stomach-turning, pounding headaches blur his vision and piss him off.
Sometimes, he lets me help. More often lately, he doesn’t. The last time, he got frustrated with me for offering to rub his head despite the relief it usually gives him.
He didn’t want my help.
Work adds more frustration. He received a complaint from a witness because she misconstrued Ben’s inability to hear her as his refusing to listen.
Days later, a well-check call led him to find Adam—an eight-year-old, locked in a dog crate. The night it happened, he came home after midnight and held me tighter than ever, so tight I could barely breathe. He shared the upsetting story later, a bare-bones version anyway.
Adam now lives with an amazing family. His foster parents, Jack Graham and Rowan Mackey-Graham, have become good friends. But despite Adam’s happily-ever-after, Ben seems disillusioned by the community service he once loved doing. That’s what I suspect, anyway.
It’s hard to know for sure.
What I do know about Ben, and what Dot reinforces, is that he’s honest and loves Ruthie and me more than anything.
“You’re right,” I say finally. “It’s a bad morning, but Ben loves me.”
“Whatever’s going on with him, he’s having trouble talking to you about it. Work your magic and get him talking.”
“Easier said than done.”
Dot motions toward my phone pocket. “Text him. Get the conversation started.”
I take a breath and do as she says. I’m sorry about this morning. Let’s talk tonight. Dinner under the stars?
A moment later, he texts back. Yes. I’ll be home early.
A long exhale releases my tension. “He’s coming home early for dinner tonight.”
Dot snaps her cheesy fingers and scrolls through her phone. “How about I take Ruthie for one of our epic sleepovers? Huh? I’ll feed her nothing but junk food, show her all the scary movies, and keep her up all night.”
She smirks, and I laugh—she’d never do that to Ruthie.
“Lena, babe, just kidding. We’ll watch the latest Pixar and play cards with Aunt Barb. Ruthie’s becoming quite the poker player.”
I sigh. “What’s cute today will be hell for us when she’s a teenager.”
Looking over my shoulder, Dot’s eyes go from amused to deer-in-the-headlights. She grips my bicep, yanking me to her like a human shield and spilling my Cheetos. “Holy shit, is that her? Is this a set-up? What’s she doing here?”
