Page 64 of Every Good Thing
“Everything okay?”
“Yes, we’re great. We’re at Greenfield Lake. Ruthie insisted on dinner with the gators, and Mrs. Moore let me borrow her MINI Cooper. We brought dinner. Any chance you can join us? We don’t mind waiting.”
She’s talking a mile a minute, which tells me she’s nervous, probably that I’ll say no.
I try to interject, but she continues, “I thought you might have a meal break soon. I brought your migraine meds, too, if you need them.”
“Is that Lena?” Lauren asks louder than necessary. “Tell her we say hello.”
There’s a pause before Lena says, “Was… that… Lauren?”
Lauren fucking Riley. My irritation spikes.
“Invite her to the booth, Ben,” John tacks on. “Her and Ruthie.”
“I have to go.” I exit their booth before they can argue, shutting the door behind me. “Lena?”
She’s no longer there. I call her back.
“I thought you had to go,” she answers, her voice distressed.
“No. That wasn’t directed at you. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
I hurry to arrange my meal break and get to my patrol car. Lena likely feels suspicious, perhaps even betrayed—I can’t blame her. Lauren has wedged between us for the second time in two days, creating doubts where there shouldn’t be any.
Lena overlooks the lake and Ruthie from a park bench while our daughter gator-hunts safely behind the raised boardwalk’s railings. They don’t see me at first. I stop beside a bursting palmetto and breathe in with relief. It’s quiet, a welcome change from the ringing in my ears. My headache subsides with the peacefulness.
Seeing them makes me grateful and more upset with myself. Her head sinks, and her shoulders droop, making me wonder what she’s thinking.
And if she’s crying.
She looks up when I move to the bench, her eyes sweeping over my uniform with guarded relief as if she worried I’d lied to her again. She swallows her distress, reaching for the cooler by her feet. “Hungry? Ruthie helped me make very messy subs.”
She refuses eye contact as if she’s overloaded emotionally. “I don’t want to fight in front of Ruthie,” she says, strained and desperate as she fumbles to open the cooler.
“Lena, I wasn’t there with Lauren. I was assigned to the concert. I had no idea she’d be there.”
Her eyes catch mine in a huff. “How do you expect me to…”
She can’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t have to. How can I expect her to trust me now? I move beside her, setting the cooler aside. Her hand is limp in mine, trembling just enough to know that I’ve hurt her. Again. I grip it tightly.
“Forgive me, please. For causing you anxiety today. For everything yesterday. I was an asshole and said things I didn’t mean. I let my frustration take over, and you didn’t deserve any of it.” I take a breath, words getting stuck in my throat. “All I do is fuck-up lately.”
Her shoulders sink, and she smirks through her hurt feelings. “I know the feeling. We all fuck-up, Ben.”
“Yeah, but you never take it out on me. I’m so fucking sorry.”
She nods, forehead pinched with worry lines, but her hand locks around mine. “It’s okay. We need to talk more. Tell me what happened today.”
“Nothing. She was there with her family for the concert. The only reason I went to the booth—”
“Booth?” she interrupts with confusion.
“They call it a booth. It’s a skybox. It’s where rich people watch concerts.”
“Oh.”
“I went there to tell John I didn’t want the job.”
