Episode Three

Incongruent Behavior

Finding myself in a classic pickle, I can’t move on to second base, and I can’t return home to first. This is where I live, my now boxed in between my past and my future. Just when everything seems to be working out, boom! Curveball. On the one hand neither Jacks, nor Taff have any reason to judge. On the other hand, I can’t imagine either will be okay with learning the significance of the other. Jackson is on a high because he feels he has achieved something of value, and I am worried that my former entanglement could ruin things for him. Taff has no right to take his negative feelings out on anyone, but let’s get real. Feelings are just what they are, they don’t follow the moral or social guidelines we might think they should. Honesty is the best policy, has always been my motto, and a standard I expect from others. My only option is to sit Jackson down and let him decide what he wants to do. I know I am at risk of losing him. This is not about me. The only fair thing to do is to let him know what the possibility of having me in his life could do to his relationship with his new manager. Bottom line, secrets are destructive, and I don’t want to have that kind of ticking time bomb existing in the middle of anything I value. Jackson is someone I have really come to value.

Currently, I’m just trying to figure out the right time to talk it through. What is it about this kind of scenario that it never seems to be the right moment? I know the longer I wait the harder the whole situation will be. It’s now almost the end of October. I’m sitting at the bar with Chrissy on a Saturday night, but this one will be anything but typical.

“What is Olivia going to be for Halloween?” Chrissy asks.

Keaton and Nick are setting up. Keaton is working methodically on his drums while Nick is unwinding, and connecting cables from his keyboards to other impressive looking pieces of equipment. They now have a sound guy, an addition Taff has made to their nightly lineup. I’m curious to see if this will make a perceptible difference in their overall sound. Per usual Chris and Jackson have not rolled in yet.

“A witch, again,” I answer.

Olivia has chosen to be a witch that last two years. She doesn’t seem to understand that most people change it up a bit, and I am loath to disappoint her. She is the cutest little witch in the history of Halloween witches. I even apply some freckles over the bridge of her nose, and her cheeks. The effect is pretty adorable. She is out of her mind excited for Halloween as “Jacksom,” as she calls him, will be joining us. She is more in love with him than he is in love with himself, and that is certainly saying something!

“That’s so cute!” Chrissy gushes, “She is precious.”

Looking around I don’t see Taff anywhere. I don’t imagine he will be at every club they play, and this is a huge relief to me because it gives me a little space to sort out the inevitable. Mullet Boy arrives all smiles when he sees Chrissy. Again, I don’t even pretend to understand how those two will ever work out. Who am I to judge? For now he makes Chrissy happy so I am pleased for her. I signal to Chrissy that I am heading to the ladies’ room. When I return Taff and Jackson are standing right in front of me. Together.

“Scarlet, I want you to meet Llewlen, umm.. Taff, our new Manager,” he says.

At this he puts his arm around me. Cemented to my spot, I look up at Taff who is looking at me with an expression I can’t quite read.

To Taff, Jackson proudly says, “This is my girlfriend Scarlet.”

This is where I want to turn to slime and ooze under the nearest bar stool, but I decide to be brave and bold.

“Actually, Jackson, I know Taff already,” I explain, “We worked together last summer at The Atrium.”

If this isn’t the understatement of the century, I don’t know what is. All I get from Taff is a raised eyebrow, and Jackson hasn’t picked up on anything at all unusual. Then the cavalry arrives in the form of Chrissy, and Mullet Boy.

“Taff!” Chrissy Exclaims.

Mullet Boy and Taff shake hands and start jabbering on about something band related, but I’m not paying any attention because my heart is pounding in my ears. I am just focusing on breathing. Jackson plants a quick peck on my lips smiling contentedly as he heads off to get his bass set up. Clearly this is going to be an interesting evening.

***

This is a fine kettle of fish is what my mother would say about my current predicament. Without fail I am going to have to sit Jackson down tonight, and get him up to speed. In the meantime, I’ve noticed that Taff is eyeing me with a fair amount of dubiosity. It feels like one hundred or so degrees in the bar. Deciding to head outside to clear my head, quickly I realize that Taff is doing the same. It’s too late to turn back and avoid him. I push forward bracing myself for a possibly awkward conversation.

“Scarlet,” he says.

He’s leaning against the side of the building sipping some kind of liquor from a shot glass. Scotch? He’s looking out over the water, seemingly more than just a little surly. This is not something I am used to seeing with Taff.

“I’m sorry... I’ll leave you…” I start to excuse myself.

“Is that ‘The’ boyfriend?” he interjects.

“You mean Olivia’s Dad? God no!” I answer.

He turns and looks directly at me with a scathing look.

“Does he know?” he probes.

“Not yet,” I answer honestly.

“Good, you should leave it that way,” he advises.

I think about this for a moment, but before I can actually answer he continues.

“It will mess with his head, and obviously, us, is not happening again,” he throws out.

An intoxicated couple walks by us, and I wait until they are out of earshot before speaking.

“I’m not going to lie to him,” I assert.

He turns to leave, but thinks better of it, turning back to me.

“Is this about you or him?” he snaps.

He storms off angrily leaving me there alone, and confused. Men make absolutely zero sense. What am I supposed to do now? Then it dawns on me that maybe he doesn’t want anyone to know for whatever reason. This complicates things. The rest of the night is a kind of a blur, and I move through it on autopilot. Chrissy gives me more than a couple strange looks, but this is not something I can talk to her about.

***

Cooking up some eggs for Jackson while he’s in the shower, I’m completely engrossed in thought. I hate keeping secrets of any kind, but sometimes a secret doesn’t just belong to one person. Really, I know little to nothing about Taff’s personal life. What if revealing our brief encounter compromises something in his life? 

“Hey,” Jackson kisses me on the back of my neck.

Startled, I jump dropping the spatula and a blob of eggs on the floor.

“You scared me,” I scold.

“What is with you tonight Scar?” he asks.

“I told you not to call me that!” I rebut.

Jackson has been informed that Scar is a Disney villain, and I notice he is a little too amused by my outrage. I think he does this on purpose. I’m a humorous sight, standing here with my hair in a messy bun, in only shorts, and a T-shirt. Cleaning up blobs of egg off the floor I chuckle at my glamorous life. Jackson watches me toss the egg into a plastic shopping bag hanging on the pantry knob, next to the kitchen door. He suddenly looks puzzled.

“Don’t you have a trash can or something in here? he queries.

‘Nope,” I reply abruptly.

Do I really have to go into this with him? I keep the trash cans outside, and since I’m the only one in this place that empties the trash anyway, I just keep a bag here and move it straight out when I’m done. It’s my system, and why should I justify that to him? Who does he think he is anyway? My husband?

“You need one in here under a cabinet or something,” he muses looking around.

“Eat your eggs, and mind your own business!” I crack.

He sits down to eat, and I start filling the sink for the dishes. He is watching me as he eats. Working efficiently, I have finished all but his plate and silverware by the time he’s done eating. Joining me he grabs a towel, and starts drying things. Not the way I would exactly dry them, but it is a good effort none the less.

“Jackson the Rockstar drying dishes,” I needle, “If the girls could see you now!”

“I’m getting pretty domesticated,” he jokes, “I’ll be wearing an apron next!”

“No one wears my apron!” I glare.

“Momma?” A little voice summons me from the stairs.

Olivia is standing on the stairs in her pink pajamas rubbing her eyes. Jackson is on it before I can even respond.

“What’s the matter Ollie?” he asks her.

“Jacksom! I can’t even sleep,” she laments, “I have bad dreams!”

He scoops her up in his arms. She giggles with delight.

“How about a story?” he asks.

“Not a scary witch story?” she clarifies.

“Any story you want,” he promises.

“Watch out, she has a copy of Little Women up there!” I shout.

***

I finish cleaning up downstairs and shut off all the lights. When I arrive upstairs Jackson has fallen asleep three pages into a story. Olivia, curled up next to him sound asleep, holding onto her pink blankie. I gently pat Jackson on the shoulder. His eyes fly open.

“I must have nodded off there,” he remarks.

He carefully tucks Olivia under her covers, Places the book on her bedside table, and gazes up at me with tenderness. Olivia snuggles her pink blankie a little closer and flops over. We tiptoe out of her room and head into my room. He scoops me up. I’m trying not to laugh too loud.

“let me go!” I command, giggling.

“I have a little story for you too,” he taunts, tickling my ribs.

“Jackson, put me down!” I order.

He lowers me to the bed, snagging the scrunchie out of my messy bun, causing my hair to spill over my shoulders. He leans over me and his lips are on mine in one fluid motion. I’m not exactly sure how he can flip my switches from off to on so quickly, but he does. He stands and removes his shirt. I gasp. My blue eyes meet his and we are connected instantly. Just as he is about to remove the rest of his clothes I stop him.

“Lock the door!” I glower.

***

Some would call this a state of domesticated bliss, and I would be hard pressed to argue that point. Nagging at the corners of my subconscious was a dark specter, and it wouldn’t be relegated to the corners of my unconscious. Why is Taff acting so strangely? I couldn’t fit all the pieces together, and make complete sense of the picture. What I do know is that I have finally discovered something that filled the empty places that echoed within the broken remnants of my inner child. For once I was feeling soothed, healed, and whole. This new reality materialized out of the most unusual place, and from an astonishing set of circumstances. It’s not that I regret what happened over the summer per se, I absolutely don’t. It was a moment of awakening, and a time that brought me out of a kind of slumber, but would Jackson understand? Or would he judge me?

I look over at his peaceful and beautiful face. I am moved to tears. He looks angelic like a child when he is sleeping. Knowing I am falling in love with him, I am both elated, and fearful at the prospect of this. The fact is, we are so new, and so much is on the line. I have Olivia to think of too. Taking a deep breath I steel myself to just stay in the moment.

“Don’t overthink it,” I think.

As I lay listening to the rhythmic nature of  his breathing, urging sleep to finally come for me, one simple thought hovered on the line between conscious thought, and my dream state. How would I ever return to what my life was before him? Jackson stirs and looks over at me. Registering that I’m awake, an uneasy look eclipses his expression.

“What is it Scar?” he gently whispers.

Rolling towards me he props himself up on his elbow, procuring a better look at me.

“Just thinking,” I croak.

Moisture springs from the corners of my eyes. Although I’m trying to hide the fact that I’m crying, I rub at my eyes giving it away completely. His face changes instantly perceiving my anguish. He feathers gentle kisses over my tears before he speaks.

“It’s ok, you can tell me,” he murmurs sweetly.

The levees break, and I’m weeping uncontrollably, full on hiccups and gasps. I want to tell him I love him! I want to say I’m utterly tormented by my past, and that I’m worried that it is going to destroy my future. I can’t get the words out. Throwing my arms around him I lean into his chest, and bawl. I sob until I’m pretty sure my nose is running all over his shirt. I can’t even imagine what he must be thinking? Perhaps running through his thoughts is how to escape as soon as possible? He doesn’t leave, and he doesn’t talk. Stroking my hair softly he holds me until I am depleted. An occasional “Shh,” is all that he articulates. After I’ve finally gone quiet, he attempts to decipher my current emotional state.

“I’m here for you Scar,” he offers.

“I’m sorry,” I blubber.

He reaches over and grabs a tissue from the bedside table.

“I hate to see you upset,” he concedes, handing me the tissue.

“It’s nothing you’ve done,” a half-truth.

Jackson sits up and lifts me onto his lap. From this vantage point I am convinced he can see directly into my soul. Knowing that my face must be all swollen and puffy from crying, I try a distraction technique.

“You like this glamorous look?” I joke, “Sexy huh?’

He contemplates this for a minute before answering. Sapphire eyes clouded with worry, analyzing the moment. True to form he sticks the landing.

“There is nothing about you that I could ever find unattractive,” he simply says.

Is he kidding me? How is this possible? Olivia’s father hated this kind of thing, and with Taff there was no discussion, no future to even consider. Badly, I want to trust this, and let go.

“You say that now,” I flout.

“I will always say that,” he affirms.

Always? Did he say always? Before my mind can digest this, he’s cupping my face in his hands and we are kissing again. All the unspoken things communicated directly in his lips devouring mine. My mother did say that talk is cheap, and actions speak louder than words. Plainly, I don’t think this is what she meant. What was the word he used the night at the golf course? Different? He said he wanted things to be different. Sensing my distraction he gently bites my bottom lip snapping me right back to him, sending shivers reverberating over my entire body. Like a cat stalking unseen pray, he has my full attention. He pulls back slightly, his pupils dilated, dark eyes radiating affection on me.

“I love you Scar,” his voice low, but ripe with conviction.

He loves me?

“He did not just say that!” I think.

As much as I wanted to say it to him just minutes ago, now I can’t say it back. Peering at me with a thick lull hanging between us, I am dumbstruck for a reply. Hurt begins to skulk at the edges of his intuition. With no other alternative I react instinctively, climbing into the saddle, and taking the reins. Embracing him with all of my might, my lips burning on his with a new intensity. I fan the flames until the fire is burning white hot between us, and he has forgotten my former ambiguity, for the time being. Responding immediately to my precipitous change in tone, we roll over, and now he has the reins. An abdication I am happy to grant to him at this juncture. Once the fire is extinguished I fall deeply asleep in his arms.

***

A peaceful nothingness engulfs me until Olivia startles me back to awareness at the crack of dawn.

“Momma, I’m hungry!” she bellows.

Jackson is out of the bed before I can even totally open my eyelids.

“Come on Ollie,” he says, “Let’s let momma sleep.”

“Jacksom, do you know pancakes?” she sounds concerned.

“Of course I do!” he responds, “They happen to be my favorite!”

“Me too!” she responds, aghast.

Making their way down the stairs the conversation continues into the realm of what are the best kind of pancakes. Part of me wants to get right up, and yet another part of me wants to stay just where I am. Sleeping in is a luxury I have never before been afforded. Happy sounds of clanking pans and giggles drift in my dreams as I doze off.

 “Momma!” Olivia barks.

Rolling over I squint my eyes at her.

“What is that on your head Olivia?” I groan, half asleep.

“I’m a sheft,” she says proudly, “Come see right now!” she exclaims.

Pulling my hair into a bun, I secure it with a scrunchie, while slowly making my way down the stairs. The warm smell of breakfast hits me halfway to the dining room. Clearing the cobwebs from my eyes, I realize both of them are wearing white construction paper on their heads.

“What is this?” I enquire of Jackson flicking at the mysterious headpiece with my finger.

“A chef’s hat of course!” he replies astonished.

“Yea,” Olivia interjects, “Jacksom helped me!”

The table is set for three, and there is a heaping pile of pancakes on the table. As we dig in I can’t help noticing that Olivia has placed herself right in the middle. Jackson is exceedingly patient with my bossy little doppelganger as she directs him. She monopolizes his attention as we eat, and I am content to watch the interchange between them. You would never know he had zero experience with kids. He is clearly a natural, and Olivia is beaming at all the attention he showers on her. When my idyllic weekend was over I really didn’t want it to end.

***

Halloween is on a Tuesday this year, and this is perfect. Jacks had two shows over the weekend, but he is totally free on weeknights. Olivia is over the moon excited to have him trick or treat with us this year. Dusk arrives and I have Olivia ready to go, but no Jackson. We wait for an hour and it’s getting late. My daughter is starting to come apart at the veritable seams. Leaving Jackson a last message, I am completely annoyed. Lately he has been so punctual and always when it involves Olivia. This is unacceptable.

“Momma, where’s Jacksom?” she whines.

“I’m not sure sweetie,” I answer.

“He promised,” she pouts.

“Buckle up little lady because this will be a recurring theme when you get older,” I think to myself.

I resist the urge to snap at her that this is what men do sometimes. The night goes mostly as planned and Olivia perks right up as soon as there is free candy involved. “Thank God for small favors,” is what my mother would say at this moment, and I would roll my eyes. I don’t agree with attributing all the good that happens in the world to one being that is also responsible for all the pain, and sadness at the same time. This is where she would launch into a twenty minute dissertation on faith. Truth be told, I don’t have a lot of faith in blind acceptance. Unsolicited advice coming from a woman who chose cigarettes over God, is not really all that convincing. What do you do when your bible group makes you choose between them, or cigarettes? You go shopping for a new religion, of course!

Checking my voicemail as we arrive home, there are two messages from Chrissy that I skip, and none from Jackson.

“Bastard!” I curse under my breath.

Laying alone in bed, I play all the films from the last few months in my head. Tender moments, and the thought of Jackson declaring his love for me swirl in my memory. Then there are the other recollections that seep in over the happy thoughts. Visions of drunk Angie and her revelations. Then it dawns on me that there is a big detail I have overlooked in all the chaos of the past few months. Rushing to my calendar I count the weeks back precisely. A cold sweat swells over me as I realize I’m late. Really late.

How could this happen? Well, I know how it happened, but I am always very careful. I’ve been taking the pill since I had Olivia. There was only one day when I forgot. Following the directions, I took it as soon as I remembered, and then the next one as usual. Besides, in the beginning I was doubling up with condoms too. Tummy contorting into knots, I get a sick feeling. There she is again in my mind. The bright blue eyeshadow shimmering over her sagging eyelids.

“Scarlet, Flee from sexual immorality. Every other sin a person commits is outside the body, but the sexually immoral person sins against her own body.” She would exhort.

Stopping only to take a long drag on her shrinking cigarette, and exhaling towards the ceiling.

“Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit? You are not your own, you were bought with a price,” she finishes with a raised eyebrow, again blowing her smoke towards the heavens.

Although I really would rather leave God out of things, there was never any use in arguing with her. She was an encyclopedia of bible verse. For every dilemma she faced, she had a plethora of verses to suit the occasion. She paired her verses up with the moment like Paris Hilton coordinates shoes and handbags. Inexplicably or not, there was never any helpful or solid solutions in her advice. Trying to translate something helpful from my mother’s discourse was like trying to find out the next day’s weather from a fortune cookie. Over the years I had become very independent facing much of my life’s arcs on my own. Failure is just not an option. Especially not now. Tomorrow I would grab a test at the pharmacy, and try not to worry until I actually confirm there was something to worry about.

***

Wednesday would be a horrific emotional apocalypse. In the late afternoon I pick Olivia up at daycare and drop her over to her dad’s for the night. He was out of town for Halloween on business, and wanted to spend some extra time with her. Returning home I see Taff’s car in my driveway. What on Earth is he doing here? As I pull up he is waiting for me, and watches as I park, and get out of my car.

“Hey, Taff?” I address him brusquely, walking to my door.

He follows me into the house completely silent. Putting a handful of things in my arms down on my dining room table, I turn to him. There is a grave look on his face. I am suddenly afraid.

“We have been leaving you messages,” he notifies me.

I look over at the blinking light on the machine as he speaks.

“As you can see, I haven’t been here,” I counter sharply.

He takes a couple steps towards me before speaking, and this drives me back a couple of steps in return.

“Scarlet, there’s been an accident,” he conveys gently.

As he continues I know what’s coming before he says it. The room starts spinning, and retreats far away from me. I am there with Taff, and I can hear everything he’s saying. Suddenly there is a troposphere between me, and the words I don’t want to absorb.

“Scarlet?” he has both of his hands on my shoulders.

This snaps me back to now, but there is still a murky barrier between us. I sink to the floor onto my knees. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. I only hear the highlights; Jackson, car accident, the impact, he didn’t feel a thing, Keaton survived. Time amalgamated in a surreal centriole around me. Silently I weep, unaware of the tears spilling down my face. Taff guides me to the couch. He sits beside me, fingers pulling through his hair like he does. 

“Why?” I ask incredulously “I don’t understand.”

I cover my eyes with my hands.

“Things like this never make any sense,” he admits.

His words are laced with meaning, as if he has personal experience with loss. This catches my attention, and I become acutely aware that his appearance is more disheveled than usual. His eyes weary from lack of sleep. Slowly the fog recedes, as it dawns on me I am not the only one affected.

“Keaton?’ I gulp.

“Extremely lucky,” he replies.

Jackson was driving. He was broadsided by a drunk driver. The other car was moving so fast it was instant, and neither driver had any time to react. Killed on impact, Jackson was dead at the scene, but miraculously Keaton walked away with only some bruises, and an injured arm.

“When my wife died, I was a wreck,” he reveals, “but with a wee bairn you have to move on, you don’t have a choice, do you?”

“Wait… you are a widower?” I shake my head.

He nods, his eyes cast downward. How is it that I never knew any of this? Standing, I grab a handful of tissues from the box on my desk in the corner. Mopping up my face I return to the couch, sitting next to him.

“You never mentioned that,” I sniffle into my tissue.

His eyes connect with mine devoid of the usual sparkle, and in its place sorrow. Nervously he rakes the fingers through the hair again.

“There is such a thing as too much talk about too little,” he replies.

With Taff, there are a fair amount of British idioms one can only guess at, and they are more numerous when he’s tired or distracted. I’m assuming he wanted to avoid gossip and people feeling pity for him. Conversation was never the focus of our interactions before, and in fairness it would have been weird if he had mentioned it.

“Keaton is in bloody bits about this,” he worries aloud.

This comment triggers a vision of the always happy, and content drummer boy wrecked, and overwrought. How long had they all been friends? Chris and Nick must be ruined about this too. Chrissy! I had skipped over her messages!

***

The next few weeks were brutal, and I’m not sure how I even got through it. Someone losing their life as young as Jackson is the most tragic of circumstances. Heartbroken for Keaton, and the rest of the band, I had difficulty making eye contact with any one of them. There were no words at my disposal to convey my feelings to them individually, without completely losing my fragile composure. Explaining all of this to Olivia was surely the most difficult part of all of it. She’s never experienced the loss of anything more than a goldfish. I was caught in a strange quandary. It was not as if I could avoid the subject altogether, she had bonded with him, and noticed his absence. Walking a fine line between honesty and deception, I only revealed what was absolutely necessary in the moment. Giving only simple answers that she requested, letting everything else go until it came up again.

The days were long and fraught with drama, and the nights excruciatingly lonely. Although our relationship had only blossomed for a short time, his vacancy left a gaping void in my life. One night after putting Olivia to bed, I was tidying up her toys when I came across the little paper chef’s hats that he had made with her. Simple things like this would again unleash the breakwaters.

“Why you sad Momma?” she asks.

“I miss someone,” I reply simply.

I’m trying to wipe away my tears before she can see them. She watches me closely, and I know there isn’t much she doesn’t intuitively know.

“You miss Jacksom,” she nails it.

Walking over to her bed, I grab her favorite book, and I snuggle down next to her.

“Yes, sweetie, I miss Jackson,” I confess, “Now move over bacon!”

She laces her tiny leg over mine, smiling up at me.

“Don’t worry Momma, I won’t pass away from you,” she reassures me.

“I know honey,” I kiss her little cheek.

“Momma, what means pass away?” she enquires.

Taking a deep breath, I stall for a second to think of a non-scary way to explain this to a four year old.

“Well, it means that people are born, they live, and then someday they pass away to another place,” the delivery not as matter of fact as I would like.

“Grandma says people go to heaven if they are good,” she informs me.

How many times had I asked her not to discuss this with my daughter? Unbelievable!

“That’s what Grandma believes, different people believe different things,” I answer.

Olivia considers this for a couple minutes. I can see the cogs and wheels turning in her little mind. She nods to herself seeming satisfied with this answer.

“I think Jacksom was good,” she decides.

“Yes, he was very good,” I swallow a sob, and look away.

***

Chrissy was worried about me. She called, or stopped by almost everyday lately. Most of what I was going through I couldn’t begin to share with her, it was too intense. In order to keep all of my anguish suppressed, and in control, I couldn’t go there at all. Taff kept in touch, and oddly he was one person I could talk to. A little. I still kept him, and pretty much everyone else at a distance. Some time had passed since that day. I had not had the courage to face what needed facing. On several occasions I had walked past the feminine products section at the supermarket. Hoping each day that a cramp, or backache would signal my release from what I was coming to fear is probably inevitable. I had no idea what I would do or how I would handle another child.

It was a bright November day, warmer than usual. Clad in my favorite jeans, and flannel when I decided to rake leaves. I hate raking with a burning passion, but lately the more I immerse myself in these kinds of tasks, the easier it is. I had cleared most of the front lawn when Keaton drives up in his truck. He parks and gets out, a brace on his left forearm. He is also dressed in jeans, and a flannel. He is tall, his blonde curly hair sweeping away from his face in the breeze. He has light blue eyes like mine. Although, I never noticed, he has the most beautiful skin. Pink, almost golden is the only way to describe it, and the contrast with his blonde curls almost gives the appearance of a halo around him. When he smiles, I can hear that song my mother used to sing “You are my sunshine,” playing in my head.

I put my rake down, and take off my garden gloves. When he’s crossed the lawn I reach up and give him a good long hug, holding back, as much as I can, the tears. He hugs me back solidly, his long strong arms wrapped tightly around me. He is a good hugger, as there is empathy in how he holds me, lifting me a little off the ground. When it ends he places me back down, and unleashes his smile on me. Warmth emanates from him, and it has a soothing affect. It feels like the first time in the spring when the sun touches your bare skin, and you soak it in.

“How are you?” I start.

“Good, you have another rake?,” he looks around.

“Um, in the shed,” I reply.

Before I can move he is taking long strides around to the back yard. He disappears for a minute returning with another rake. This is someone who finds happiness in a mission. I’ve never known him to stand around too long. He’s a hardcore producer personality. Somehow he’s even more effective with his raking, even with his injury.

“Are you sure you should be doing this?” I motion to his arm.

“It’s fine,” he shrugs.

We work in a comfortable silence, and before long the yard was clear. It looked better than I could have imagined. We collected and put away all of the garden tools as the sun was setting.

“You have to let me cook you dinner,” I insist.

“Okay,” he agrees easily.

We move into the house, and he heads straight to the kitchen, and washes his hands thoroughly.

“What can I do to help?” he asks.

I grab some fresh veggies from the crisper, and we get to work slicing, and chopping. Soon we are sitting at the table eating and chatting easily about our day’s work. The cleanup is the same team sport activity. I survey the immaculate kitchen in awe.

“Our work is done here,” I note happily.

Keaton smiles like the sun.

“I noticed your doorknob was a little loose when we came in,” he mentions, “You have a screwdriver?”

Is he kidding me? I could probably keep him busy with stuff like this for months! I turn to my junk drawer and retrieve my adjustable screwdriver. My dad gave it to me for Christmas last year. It has all the interchangeable bits.

“Sweet!” he remarks, as I hand it to him.

He fiddles around with the bits, and has my doorknob apart in seconds. Watching as he fastidiously tinkers with the inner workings, and all the tiny parts until he has it all back together, I marvel at the way he works. He obviously has a very mechanical mind.

 “You really need a new one, but that should do it for now,” he observes.

“I really appreciate it, but you really don’t have to do this,”

He shrugs and grins. I realize, like me, this is his way of coping.

“Would you like a coffee?” I offer.

“That would be great!” he answers enthusiastically.

We decide to watch a movie, and sit easily in silence. Keaton creates an atmosphere of normal. Laid back, he’s unassuming and easy to be around. He has the same effect on me as the little weight on the end of a helium balloon. I feel anchored to the ground and not as likely to be swept away by a sudden unanticipated breeze.

***

As the days morph into a week I notice we are spending a lot of time together. One afternoon he stops by when Olivia is home. She careens down the stairs when she hears him come in the door. Hiding behind my leg, she peeks around me attempting to size him up.

“This is Olivia,” I introduce her, “This is my friend Keaton.”

She steps around me as he bends down to her level in a squat.

“I’m pleased to meet you,” he glows.

 “Do you like to play Lincoln Logs?” she tests.

“I sure do,” he responds cheerfully.

This was all it took. In record time there is an entire town constructed, and he has managed to use every last piece in the process. Olivia has brought out her peg doll people, placing them in their proper locations around the little town. She animates each character in a different voice as she plays.

Keaton joins us for dinner, and when I say joins, he participated in every step like he does. We had dinner done, and cleaned up in record time. Once I was done bathing Olivia I came down stairs to find him installing a brand new doorknob on my front door.

“Keaton, you just fixed that!” I exclaim.

“I know, but it wasn’t secure,” he answers, still focused on what he’s doing.

“Can I at least reimburse you for it?” I ask.

“Nope,” he winks at me, “This one is on me, how many times have you fed me this week?”

At this I give up, because I know it’s just his way, and this is all about healing. All clean and shiny Olivia appears on the stairs.

“Um, Keaton, can you read stories?” she requests.

“Olivia, Keaton probably needs to get going,” I explain.

He stands gathering up the remnants, and packaging from the old, and new doorknobs.

“One sec Ollie,” he winks at her, “I’ll be right there.”

A chill crawls the length of my spine. Did he know that’s what Jackson called her? He couldn’t possibly have known that.

Running a load of laundry while Keaton reads to Olivia, I am lost in thought. I’m thinking about the fact that I purchased a pregnancy test a few days ago, but am too chicken to use it. I’m conflicted about how I would feel about the result. Still waiting for something that probably wasn’t coming. These days with Keaton have thrown a veil of calm over my existence that oddly is still here even when he is not. I worry that the result of the test could disrupt this new scaffolding I feel growing up underneath me. Just wanting a few more days leaving things as they are, I push that thought away. Maybe tomorrow, I bargain with myself.

I lug my laundry up the stairs, and he’s there, ready to assist me. Always the boy scout this one.

“Ollie is requesting your presence,” he informs me.

He takes the basket from me and follows me up the stairs.

“Momma!” Olivia beckons me.

“Yes! I’m here,” I sit on her bed.

“I can't sleep without goodnight kisses,” she laments.

Showering her with kisses, she giggles up at me.

“Under the covers young lady,” I tuck her in.

“Where do you keep the towels?” Keaton calls from the hall.

“Linen closet in the bathroom,” I answer automatically.

Realizing he’s putting away my towels I sprint into the bathroom to catch him, but I’m too late. The test is right on the shelf above where I keep the towels and only a blind person could miss it.

***

To his credit Keaton puts the towels neatly away without a single word. In his signature way he calmly moves the moment forward without a speck of drama. Always letting me come to him, when I’m ready. Later we sit casually, sipping tea and coffee. I notice he’s watching me, like a lobster, surreptitiously from the corner of his eye. Still, he doesn’t mention anything about the test.

“It’s probably nothing,” I blurt out.

“What’s nothing?” he returns.

“I’m just a little late,” I minimize.

He nods at me sipping from his mug, an expression of contemplation on his face.

“Scarlet, can I ask you something?” he finally speaks.

“Sure,” I respond.

“You loved him didn’t you?” he ponders.

I could feel my throat tighten as the despair I had been suppressing rose up again within me.

“I loved him,” my voice barely audible.

“The day this happened, he was talking about you, we had to take a drive to pick up some equipment,” he stated coolly.

Looking down at the floor I can’t answer. Moisture springs from my eyes and I try valiantly to fight it, but I can’t.

“I don’t mean to upset you, I think you should know he was different with you, than any other girl I have ever seen him with,” He reaches over and wipes my tears softly with his sleeve, and continues, “You are special, and he would want you to be happy, that would make him happy,” he concludes pointing up the stairs presumably at the linen closet.

I steal a glance over at him and I see there are tears in his eyes, and the sun that usually shines there is clouded with torment.

Impulsively I embrace him, slowly and gently he closes his arms around me. We are both mourning in this moment for a lover, and a friend we will never see again. For a man that will never know the joy of seeing his new born baby for the first time. A life over before it was fully consummated. I’m not sure how long we sat there holding each other, but I now realize I had to know one way or the other.

***

“Okay, I’m ready, I need to know,” I say decisively.

Moments later I come out of the bathroom waiting for the plus or minus to appear. I sit beside Keaton patiently, letting the full five minutes elapse before reading the result.

I hand the test to him without looking at it, he reads it, and passes it back to me. I look down at the result, and then back at him.

Our eyes meet.

“How do we feel about this?” he stares, gauging my reaction.

The End