Page 46 of Every Good Thing
“Our paths will cross. He’ll work more with my father. He thinks the world of Ben. Always has. Not that he had much choice.”
“How come?” Dot asks.
Lauren’s shoulders rise slightly. “Oh, Ben and I were inseparable back then.”
“Inseparable, huh?” Dot challenges with another Cheeto.
“Not true. My many deployments suggest otherwise,” Ben says in awkward defense, easing his hand around my waist as if I need comfort. Or control.
Lauren shifts on her expensive wedges. “Dad took a great interest in Ben and his military career. Mentored him, even. They were close for years, even before we got engaged.”
The word hangs like a noose dropped from the ceiling beams, dangling between us and waiting for a taker.
Dot’s eyes burn a hole in my face. It takes every iota of fortitude I have not to break eye contact with Lauren. Or give Ben the angry stare-down he deserves.
Keep it together. A tense beat passes.
“Well, that’s ancient history,” she adds awkwardly. “I better get back. I hope you’ll make it to the picnic.”
“We’ll consider it,” Ben says while I belt out, “We’ll be there.”
“I’ll text Ben the details. Nice to meet all of you. Feel better, Lena.”
She floats toward the door with Mr. Wickers dutifully following. When the glass door eases shut, a collective sigh waves over the crowd as they stare at me quizzically. I’m rattled—they all see it. And I hate it.
“Keep your shit together,” Dot whispers with Cheeto breath. “At least until she’s left the parking lot.”
“Um, thanks, everyone, for helping,” I say. “Saddletree’s in good hands, so I’ll just, um… I have a… Oh, I forgot to…”
I want to run as far away from people as possible. But their watchful eyes, my rubber boots, and my insane soreness prevent me. As I descend the patio, the dogs rush up, and I lavish them with love. Everything’s normal. Nothing to see here.
Ruthie plods up. “Can I feed the bunnies?”
“Yes, please. That would help.”
She rushes to the pens. I can’t get her to clean her room, but she loves farm chores.
Mr. Wickers meets me as I cross the driveway toward the barn. He waves a five-dollar bill in the air. “A tip! My first tip!”
“That’s nice,” I manage.
“Everything okay, Lena?”
“Fine, Mr. Wickers.”
“Things are always fine until they’re not,” he says. “Anything I can do?”
“Um, keep an eye on Ruthie? She’s feeding the bunnies. I need… a minute.”
“Sure thing, Lena.”
Mr. Wickers also loves farm chores.
I quick-step toward the house, hoping to secure myself inside before breaking down. Ben lied to me. Again. Harsh, bitter feelings circulate like poison in my bloodstream, sadness most of all.
I miss Mom. If she were here, she’d put her arm around me and give me all those magical assurances that only moms can give. You’re safe and loved and everything’s okay.
I bypass home for her tree, hoping to feel close to her, since I no longer feel close to my husband.
