Page 106 of Townshipped
“And how is that?”
Duke gives me a look that says I’m dumber than my llama. And maybe I am.
“How can I tell her? She’s got to be free to choose to return to the life she had before the accident. I always knew it might come to this. I don’t have a right to impose myself on her. I’d just confuse and complicate things when she’s trying to piece together everything she lost.”
I expect Duke to argue, saying something about how he’s never seen me so consumed by any other woman, and how I need to fight for a woman who makes me feel like Em does.
Instead, he says, “I hear you.”
“I sense abutin that statement.”
“Only this. When do your needs and wants come into the picture? You’ve always got everyone else covered. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You’ve got someone else’s kids depending on you. You’ve got that stray dog, and I know he’s fitting right in now, but he’s still another mouth to feed. You’ve got your goats and your llama. You took Em in without blinking an eye. You fill the gaps. But what about you? What about what you want?”
I think back over the past twenty-four hours. As soon as Em saw those two photos of her parents, she’s been mentally packing to leave. She’s already been through more than a person should have to endure.
Maybe I do want her. There’s no maybe about it. But this isn’t the time or place to start inserting my wants into someone else’s life. She needs to go home and figure things out. I can’t meddle. I have to let her go.
Duke studies my face. He knows me well enough to see when I won’t budge.
“I’m not going to stop her,” I finally say.
Duke’s lips go thin and he gives a slight shake of his head, but then he shrugs and shifts the topic. “OSU women’s ice hockey has two games left this season. Want to catch one with me?”
“Women’s ice hockey?”
“Women. Slamming one another on the ice. Competing like beasts. Trust me. You need this in your life.”
“Maybe,” I say, unable to contain the half-smile my moron of a best friend brings out of me with his Neanderthal suggestions.
“Distraction is the key after your heart is broken,” he adds.
“One. My heart isn’t broken. Two. I think raising a kindergartener and a preschooler is distraction enough. And three. What do you know about broken hearts?”
“Nah. You need the right kind of distraction. And just because I’m gorgeous and I drive a car that makes women weep doesn’t mean I haven’t got a heart behind these pecs. I’ve had it broken. I just don’t talk about it.”
“I wish you would,” I say, realizing that sounds way too touchy-feely now that it’s out of my mouth.
“Well, let’s get a bag of chocolates and a big box of Kleenex one day and I’ll fill you in. In the meantime, Women’s ice hockey. Trust me.”
“We’ll see,” I say with a chuckle.
Duke and I talk a bit more. We make plans for him to come out and meet the kids later this week.
I drive back home, feeling torn between a longing to spend every second with Em before she leaves, and this impulse to drive down the road past my house and keep driving without turning back, like Forrest Gump on a run, only motorized.
I go home, of course.
When I walk through the door, I shout, “I’m home.”
Then I turn to see Em in the living room readingPride and Prejudice. She started reading it a few weeks ago, right after she arrived here.
“Hey,” she says, looking up from her book.
“Hi.”
