Page 83 of Every Good Thing
“He was only on his second wife then… I still should’ve known better than to listen to him.” Her tone shoulders bounce in a sheepish shrug. “Good memories, regardless.”
A smile emerges, remembering her face buried in my shoulder and me, eyes closed, trying to be “the man” and not cringe every time a knife plunged into a victim. I hated those movies and still have a problem with gratuitous violence.
I wonder how Lena and Ruthie are faring.
“Lena’s amazing,” Lauren says, returning my attention to her. “And beautiful.”
“Yes.”
When I don’t engage, Lauren launches into a long-winded oration about her boys and how violence in movies increased their aggression as middle schoolers. I zone out.
More regret bombards me. The other night, Lena suggested we watch the first Hunter movie together. I made a snide remark about getting enough of Jim Hunter already and went to bed early, claiming a migraine. It felt easier.
Standing here, shooting the shit with Lauren when I should be chasing Lena to apologize, also feels easier.
But that’s not the only reason I stay.
I glimpse John and Jillian watching from several yards away. A familiar warmth rekindles in me. I recall my homecomings. Lauren would drop everything for my return, commit all her time and energy to me, knowing every second was a countdown before another long stretch apart. Disappear with me, she’d say. Her complete attention kept me going until my last tour. I lived in two worlds; in hers, I found incredible comfort, zero pressure, and love.
Until I didn’t.
“I wonder how else he steered me wrong,” she says.
“Who?”
“Rob.” Her dainty head tilts, contemplating me. “Where were you just now?”
“What do you mean?”
Her finger twiddles around my face. “That faraway look of yours, like the old days.”
Her inside knowledge unnerves me. “I wasn’t anywhere. Here. Thinking about Lena.”
She nods, glancing at her feet, and I feel sorry for my curtness, especially after Lena’s insights in John’s office. The Rileys pressured her about everything—her appearance, education, job choices, relationships. That pressure surely extended to me. Even now, maybe.
“I was… thinking about your great-aunt’s questionable potato salad and your grandmother getting pissed at Rob for that awful joke he made at my last going-away party,” I say.
Her entire demeanor lifts. Even her feet rise onto her toes. “Oh, gosh, I remember. The potato salad was crunchy—what the hell made it crunchy? Oh, and Rob… you’d think a doctor would refrain from dirty jokes.”
“Rob doesn’t refrain from anything.”
She laughs.
Glancing over my shoulder, she mumbles a quick, “Oh, shit.” She reaches for me but thinks better of it. She cowers instead, peeking carefully over my shoulder on her tiptoes. “Not again.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Ryan from accounting.” She huffs and rolls her eyes. “Don’t look.”
I look.
Behind me, thirty yards and closing, an average-looking guy in a flamingo shirt scans the crowd.
Lauren edges closer, using me as a human shield and pleading with her gray eyes. “We went to dinner once, and he’s weirded me out ever since.”
My brow furrows, and I prepare to have a word with him.
Lauren slaps my chest in amused protest. “Ben. Relax. He’s a decent guy, just not for me.”
