Feels Like Falling - Kristy Woodson Harvey Page 0,76

around with you when I have an eight-year-old and am in the middle of a divorce.”

“I’m the one who pursued you and wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Andrew said.

I sighed. “Andrew, come on, this has to stop.” But I think we both knew I had no intention of stopping anything.

“Why would we stop something so amazing?”

“Because it’s a fun summer fling, but we’ve taken it too far.”

He lifted his head from my shoulder. “I’m ready to not say that anymore. I don’t want to hear it again.” He paused. “It is going to be my birthday. I want to go out with you in public. Those are my terms.”

I was about to say no, but he was serious. No Andrew coming over to keep me company when Wagner was gone.… No one making me laugh, wrapping his arms around my waist, telling me I was beautiful.… I wasn’t ready for this bright spot to be over.

I smiled. “Okay. I agree to your terms.” I shook his hand with my left one because it was easier to move, my bangles tinkling as our arms moved up and down.

“Yay!” Marcy cheered.

“But we are not telling Wagner.”

Andrew nodded.

“So, what did you have in mind there, soldier of love?” Marcy asked Andrew.

“Oh, I have something in mind that would be perfect,” I said.

“What’s that?” Marcy asked.

“Hospital. Foundation.”

We both laughed because we knew, without further explanation, that those two words translated to: Beating. Greg.

Andrew kissed me, and I felt like, out in public, in private, wherever he wanted me to be, I was the winner here no matter what.

diana: settled

Of all the photos I ever developed, the wedding ones were my favorites. The laughing, the kissing, the kids all gathered around the bride in their Sunday best. Every last one of those photos reminded me of Frank. In every Costa Rican sunset, there’d be his head and mine; in every hand-holding, before-the-priest moment, it was me and Frank.

Only it wasn’t me and Frank, because we’d ruined that good a long time ago. He’d been texting me since that afternoon he left. I hadn’t responded, not even one time, because I wasn’t real sure what I wanted to do. But the girls, they got me thinking: here’s a man I’d been holding on to in my heart for more than two decades, and this was my chance to see if all that had been worth it. I tried telling myself that it didn’t matter if we ended up in those wedding photos. We just needed to see if, all these years later, it would work out in any form.

My old Impala was spitting down the road, and I started having some second thoughts. Frank had been the light I’d carried inside of me all these years, the person who, through it all, I believed was the one. If we did get back together and it didn’t work out, I wouldn’t have anything to hold on to anymore, nothing to get me through the dark days and nights when life feels like being too alone to even take.

My stomach was churning; I was exhausted from being up these past few nights trying to figure what was the right thing. I pulled into Meds and More where I used to work, and next thing I knew Mr. Joe was right there beside me, hugging my neck in the Tums aisle.

“We sure do miss you ’round here,” he said, little wet eyes shining.

“I sure miss y’all too,” I lied. Well, I mean, it wasn’t really a lie. I did miss the people.

“I begged Bill to bring you back in. I overheard him telling this lady that comes in here all the time that he fired you on account of some cropping not being right and a lot of problems with the photos. But I told him that wasn’t on account of you not being good at your job. That was on account of the machine and—”

I put my hand up to stop him, my mind racing. “Wait. So you mean Mr. Marcus told her it wasn’t her fault I got fired?”

Mr. Joe, he looked kinda confused. “Well, I…” he stammered. Then he shrugged, all red-faced. “I don’t really remember, Di. I didn’t realize it was important.”

I felt glued to my spot, my heart racing, but I couldn’t tell exactly what I was feeling right yet. “Gray Howard? Eight-year-old son?”

He nodded. “Yup. That’s the one.”

I didn’t say anything, caught somewhere between super pissed off and washed over with love.