Page 49 of The Sky in Summer
“My parents were still young, so they figured we could hop on a plane to see each other. My sister was just graduating from high school and deciding whether to go to college. My parents had big plans to have the sort of retirement they always dreamed of.”
“How did you end up going back to Denver then?”
“When Ken and I divorced, the twins were just starting grade school. He had a job that took him out of the country, more often than not. So they wouldn’t be around him every week. Sometimes it was a month between visits. I needed the emotional support of my family around me. Raising twins alone is no easy job. We had stayed here for eight years. But the thought of running into one of twenty family members was too much for this wounded heart.”
“What made you decide to come back last year then?”
“I healed and I remembered why I liked Ken. Having the boys close to him and his family would benefit their lives. Sometimes the darkness is necessary to know what the light looks like. I came to believe it wouldn’t be an insurmountable sacrifice on my part.
“Did David or Tyler ever voice a desire to move back to Montana?”
“As they grew and became more vocal, I could see how much they missed being around their father. His visits were good, but always too short to really participate in their lives. I made the decision for their welfare. Boys need that male influence, and we couldn’t get it from my family. My father passed away when they were nine. It changed everything.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. How did that effect your decision to move?”
“Barbra came with us. Thank God. I don’t know how I would have fared without her. My mother is a vagabond. She and my dad grew up in the sixties. I think she is taking advantage of the freedom she has for the first time. She’s living in Mexico as of the moment.”
Our conversations grew longer. Holes in the stories were filled, and people fleshed out. What shapes us can only be seen from the distance. It all fits together like a puzzle. I am as interested in her story as she is in mine. The more we discover, the closer I feel. It’s satisfying to go deep. That has surprised me the most.
There is an obvious truth. I never really have known the depth ofanywoman outside the family. It was always thought of as a win when I didn’t have to get inside. My attention span, up to now, has been barely visible. More like a blip on the screen.
Something my father said a few years back resurfaces. I had mentioned to him I was surprised to learn the woman I was seeing for six months had a degree in Literature. He gave me a side-eye and there was a knowingness in his expression.
“Obviously, you haven’t taken the time to know who she is,” he said. “You are only interested in the surface of a woman, not the undercurrents. And those are what directs the course.”
“That’s not true,” I answered, slightly insulted to know it was so easy to see through me.
He disregarded my opinion because he did not need me to acknowledge the truth.
“The good thing is, it won’t always be that way,” he said chuckling.
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because when the right one shows up, you’ll want to be the man who knows her best.”
12
Layla
September creeps close. Like a malevolent character in a scary movie. The slow approach works for me. I can pretend to ignore the persistent sense of foreboding. Lazy days spent at the lake distract. Clean crisp sheets and stolen nights in Van’s warm embrace. If I could stop time this would be when it would happen.
There is something divinely magical about this year, and it is not just because we are settling into our new lives. Not just because I see the boys reconnecting with familiar friends. It is not only the security of knowing I made the right decision moving back here. It’s Van. I feel like I am falling. I won’t finish that thought. It is too big.
It will stay with me though, buried under all the feels. He will never know how often I have reconsidered what I was so certain about. There will be no declarations or announcements. It was me who pressed for friendship, and he is very comfortable staying there. Van’s move and new position with the company is set in stone, and I would never ask him to reconsider. It is unimaginable to think of requesting he give up the dream or have a long-distance relationship.
And how would it all end for me? Even if the best outcome happened, and he returned the sentiment, it would be dulled by the future distance between us. Some French filly would grab his attention. And then what? I know what. And what about the twins? I would never let someone that close to us only to have them disappear. They have already lived being separated from a key player in their stories. Better they believe the friend angle.
Although, who am I kidding? They know we are spending far too much time together to be “just friends.” That ship sailed a month ago. But I have tried to shape the narrative into something acceptable. As of now, they know Van is someone I find fun and vice versa. We are enjoying each other’s company until he leaves for foreign shores.
They seem to be okay with that. On some level, I think the fact he will be gone soon has given them permission to really like him. The man in mom’s life is no threat to their normal. So, they have relaxed into the idea that we see each other often. Obviously, they don’t know just how often.
Stop thinking. Oh, that’s always a good sign, when I tell myself not to think something out. Being a responsible woman who can and does guide herself through life requires me to use good reasoning and come to the right conclusions. Oh, shut up. I hate that fucking straight arrow on my shoulder. She is consistently a buzzkill.
Walking up to the door of his apartment, the excitement rises. That electric feeling has persisted, despite the fact we see each other at least three times a week. Sometimes more. I ring the bell and hear the occupant calling.
“Come in, Layla!”
There is almost an echo, made possible by the lack of almost all furniture and accessories. All the remaining boxes that sit in the guest room will be put in storage with the rest of his possessions. It’s just another signpost on the road to Paris.
