Contents
Cover
About the Book
About the Author
Also by Debbie Macomber
Title Page
Dedication
Author’s Note
Prologue
Chapter 1 Nichole
Chapter 2 Nichole
Chapter 3 Leanne
Chapter 4 Nichole
Chapter 5 Leanne
Chapter 6 Nichole
Chapter 7 Nichole
Chapter 8 Leanne
Chapter 9 Nichole
Chapter 10 Leanne
Chapter 11 Nichole
Chapter 12 Leanne
Chapter 13 Nichole
Chapter 14 Leanne
Chapter 15 Nichole
Chapter 16 Leanne
Chapter 17 Nichole
Chapter 18 Leanne
Chapter 19 Nichole
Chapter 20 Leanne
Chapter 21 Nichole
Chapter 22 Leanne
Chapter 23 Nichole
Chapter 24 Leanne
Chapter 25 Nichole
Chapter 26 Leanne
Chapter 27 Nichole
Chapter 28 Leanne
Chapter 29 Nichole
Chapter 30 Leanne
Chapter 31 Nichole
Chapter 32 Leanne
Chapter 33 Nichole
Chapter 34 Leanne
Epilogue
Copyright
The Inn at Rose Harbor
Angels at the Table
Starting Now
Rose Harbor in Bloom
Starry Night
Blossom Street Brides
Love Letters
Mr Miracle
Last One Home
Silver Linings
Dashing Through the Snow
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Epub ISBN: 9781473506640
Version 1.0
Published by Arrow Books 2016
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Copyright © Debbie Macomber, 2016
Debbie Macomber has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in Great Britain in 2016 by Arrow Books
Arrow Books
The Random House Group Limited
20 Vauxhall Bridge Road, London, SW1V 2SA
www.randomhouse.co.uk
Arrow Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com
The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 9780099595090
To
Jim and Dolores Habberstad in appreciation for the joy and friendship they bring to Wayne and me
Dear Friends,
As an author with a long publishing history, I’m often asked if there’s a favorite book I’ve written. Certainly some stories are stronger than others. That said, I’m proud of every single published book. Perhaps the best way to explain this is to say that behind the words on the page beats the heart of the writer. My love of story is right there ready to link with your love of reading.
I want you to know A Girl’s Guide to Moving On is a special book. I couldn’t wait to get to my computer each morning, and the chapters poured out of me in such a rush that I could barely get the words on the page fast enough. My hope is that you feel that same enjoyment when you read Nichole’s and Leanne’s stories. When I read a good book the story will often linger in my mind. It’s hard to let go of the characters. I had a hard time letting go of Rocco and Nikolai. Treat them with care and fall in love with them the way I did.
Hearing from my readers is a huge bonus to me as an author. I’d love to hear from you. Contacting me is easy. You can leave me a message on my webpage at debbiemacomber.com or on Facebook or Twitter. If you’d prefer to write a letter, my mailing address is P.O. Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366. I look forward to reading your comments.
Warmest regards,
Debbie Macomber
Not so long ago I assumed I had the perfect life. Because my husband made a substantial income, I was a stay-at-home mom for our toddler son, Owen. My husband loved and cherished me. We lived in an upscale community outside of Portland, Oregon. Jake and I were members of one of the area’s most prestigious country clubs. My in-laws lived close by and adored their grandson, especially my mother-in-law, Leanne.
Then, in a single afternoon, my entire world imploded. I learned that my husband had been having an affair, possibly multiple affairs, and had gotten his latest conquest pregnant. Leanne was the one who told me.
It was common knowledge that over the course of their marriage my father-in-law had been less than faithful. I often wondered if Leanne knew or if she turned a blind eye.
She knew.
When Leanne learned that Jake had followed in his father’s footsteps she couldn’t bear seeing me go through the humiliation and crippling low self-esteem she’d endured through the years. Her fear was that Owen would grow up to be like his father and grandfather, disrespecting his wedding vows, tearing apart his wife’s self-worth.
I wasn’t like Leanne. I refused to look the other way and I couldn’t pretend all was well in my marriage. That said, I was afraid to walk away from Jake. I feared being alone, facing all the struggles of being a single parent and so much else. A divorce would mean a complete upheaval in my and Owen’s lives, not to mention our finances. I needed encouragement and support.
My parents were gone, having died within a short time of each other. My two sisters lived in another state, and while they were supportive and wonderful, I needed someone close who would walk with me through this valley of tears.
That person, to my surprise, was Leanne. When I filed for divorce, she followed suit and filed at the same time, walking away from her thirty-five-year marriage. She’d had enough.
This was how we ended up living in apartments across the hall from each other in downtown Portland. We became our own support group, encouraging each other. She helped me wade through the emotional mire that went hand in hand with the death of a marriage. Together we faced each day of our new independent lives. I don’t think I would have survived without her, and she said the same of me. We’d been close before, but we were even closer now.
Soon after we moved in to our apartments, Leanne and I made up a list of ways in which we would get through this pain. We called it A Guide to Moving On.
The first item on that list was: Don’t allow yourself to wallow in your pain. Reach out. Volunteer. Do something you love or something to help others.
That was easier said than done. I often found myself weepy and struggling against this desperate loneliness. I missed Jake and all the little things he used to do, like gassing up my car or changing batteries and fixing things. It added up to a thousand annoying tasks I was forced to do myself now. Plus, being a single mother is no cakewalk, either. I’d always lived with others, first at home with my family, then in college with roommates, and from there Jake and I married. For the first time in my life I was basically alone, and that took some getting used to.
Leanne was the one to suggest we each take on a volunteer project. One that would get us out of the house and force us to stop dwelling on our own loss. She opted to teach English as a second language two nights a week. And me … I love fashion and keeping track of the latest styles. One of my favorite things to do was read magazines while Owen napped. That was a luxury now. When it came to being a volunteer, I found an agency that helped dress women going into the workforce for the first time. To my delight, I discovered I enjoyed it immensely.
The second item on our list: Cultivate new friendships.
We’ve both lived the country-club life, our social lives revolving around our friends from the club. I thought I had good friends in Lake Oswego, but all of a sudden I was a third wheel. As soon as I filed for divorce my social life dried up. That didn’t bother me as much as it could have. What bothered me was how eager my so-called friends were to talk about Jake. They were looking for gossip. A few well-meaning ones couldn’t wait to let me know that they’d been aware of Jake’s indiscretions for years and just hadn’t known how to tell me. Yes, it was definitely time to find new friends, which was one reason Leanne and I chose to move to the thriving downtown area of Portland.
The third item and possibly the hardest, for me, anyway: Let go in order to receive. This one came from Leanne, who felt it was important that we not get caught up in a quagmire of resentment and bitterness. She seemed to have a better handle on this than I did. To be fair, she’d separated herself emotionally from Sean years earlier.
This divorce business (emotional separation) was new to me and I struggled to have a positive attitude. (Even now our divorce isn’t final, almost two years into this mess. Jake has done everything humanly possible to delay the proceedings.)
This was by far the hardest because it was a mental game. There wasn’t a checklist I could mark off. The goal was to think positively. That was a joke, right? Leanne assured me that once I let go of my bitterness my heart and my life would then be open to receive.
I’ve had two years to practice and I admit I have been getting better. I don’t hate Jake. We have a son together and my soon-to-be ex-husband would always be part of Owen’s life. Leanne was right, but this step demanded effort. Real effort.
Leanne is emotionally stronger than me. She is older and has the advantage of life experiences. I appreciate her insight and wisdom. I was also the one who came up with the last item on our list simply because I felt it was that important: Love yourself.
Again, this isn’t as easy as it sounds. When I learned Jake had been having affairs, I immediately felt that there was something lacking in me. Okay, not immediately, but a close second to the consuming anger that attacked first. This is really about separating ourselves from the weaknesses in our husbands. I lost fifteen pounds the first month after I filed for divorce. My skinny jeans fit again, and while that was great, I was depressed and miserable. It’d been a low point. Loving myself meant eating, sleeping, and exercising—taking care of myself emotionally and physically. (I was so much better off making a list, and I could do that with this step.)
It meant taking care of myself spiritually, too. After Owen was born I’d gotten slack about attending church services, so after filing for divorce I went back, needing the positive messages and the fellowship. Leanne did, too. And Owen loves his kids’ club class.
The church offered a divorce support group, and Leanne and I both attended the classes. They were wonderful and many of the items we discussed were part of the list we’ve compiled. The pastor made a funny comment. He said that when he taught marriage classes most of those attending took naps. It was the divorce classes where everyone took notes. I could understand this. I certainly hadn’t gone into my marriage thinking Jake and I would be divorced one day. To me, marriage was forever.
So this is it. Our guide to moving on. Our guide to letting go and taking the next step to whatever the future might hold.
The first step in our Guide to Moving On was also the most enjoyable. Every other Saturday I spent the entire day at Dress for Success, a gently-used-clothing boutique. I loved dressing these ladies, whose courage inspired and stirred me. Many had come out of abusive relationships or were looking to get off welfare and find their place in the workforce. It was a joy to fit them with a wardrobe that gave them confidence and the hope that they could succeed.
“Would you look at me?” Shawntelle Maynor said, as she studied her reflection in the mirror. She turned around and glanced over her shoulder, nodding, apparently liking what she saw. “This hides my butt good.”
Shawntelle was a good five inches taller than my own five-foot-three frame. Her hair was an untamed mass of tight black curls raining down upon her shoulders. She critically studied herself in the outfit I’d put together for her first job interview.
I found it hard to believe the difference clothes made. Shawntelle had arrived in baggy sweatpants and an oversize T-shirt. Now, dressed in black slacks and a pink Misook jacket, she looked like a million bucks.
“Wowza.” I stepped back and reviewed my handiwork. The transformation was stunning.
“I need help with this hair,” she said, frowning as she shoved it away from her face. “I should have known better than to let Charise cut it. She was all confident she could do it after watching a YouTube video. I was crazy to let her anywhere close to my hair with a pair of scissors.” Her fingers reached up and touched the uneven ends of her bangs, or what I assumed must be her bangs. “I thought it’d grow out, and it did, but now it looks even worse.”
“I’ve already made you an appointment next door.” The hairstylist in the shop next to Dress for Success volunteered to give each woman at the boutique a wash and cut before her job interview.
Shawntelle’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Get out of here. Really?”
“Really. When’s your interview?”
“Monday afternoon.”
“Your hair appointment is set for ten. Does that time work for you?”
Her smile was answer enough. Shawntelle had recently graduated from an accounting class and was looking for her first job. She had five children and her husband had deserted the family. The agency had gotten her an interview with a local car dealership. She’d gone through several practice interviews, which had given her a boost of confidence. Now, with the proper outfit, she beamed with self-assurance.
“I never thought I’d make it without LeRoy,” she whispered. “But I am and I refuse to let that cheatin’ scumbag back. He’s screwed me over for the last time.”
I smiled at the vehemence in her voice. I was walking this same rock-strewn path. In addition to my volunteer work, I was a substitute teacher for the Portland School District. My degree was in French literature with a minor in education, which qualified me for a teaching position. Unfortunately, no full-time positions were available, so I filled in as needed.
Thankfully, Leanne was available to watch Owen for me and as a backup there was a drop-in daycare center down the street from our apartment building. I eked by financially, in stark contrast to the lavish lifestyle I’d become accustomed to while married.
I had to remind myself I was still technically married. The final papers had yet to be drawn up to Jake’s satisfaction. My husband had made this divorce as difficult as possible, thinking he could change my mind. He’d been persistently begging me to reconsider. When he finally realized my determination to see this through, he’d set up every roadblock he could, dragging out the settlement hearings, arguing each point. Our attorney fees had skyrocketed.
Divorce is hard—so much harder than I’d ever imagined it would be.
“You’ll call after the interview?” I asked Shawntelle, determinedly pushing thoughts of Jake out of my mind.
“You got it.”
“You’re going to do so well.” I gave her arm a gentle squeeze.
Shawntelle turned and wrapped me in a hug. “Them Kardashian chicks ain’t got nothin’ on me.”
“You’re beautiful.” And I meant it.
By five I’d finished for the day and I was eager to get back to my son. Leanne had taken Owen to the park. At nearly four my little man was a ball of explosive energy. I imagined my mother-in-law was more than ready for a break.
I got in my car and was starting the engine when my phone rang. I drove a ten-year-old Toyota while my soon-to-be ex-husband was in a nearly new BMW, a car I’d bought him with the inheritance I’d gotten after my parents died. That was another story entirely, and one I had to repeatedly push out of my mind. Rule number three: Let go in order to receive.
I frantically searched through my purse until I located my phone. Checking caller ID, I saw that it was Jake. No surprise. It seemed he found an excuse to call me just about every day. I was able to remain civil, but I resented his efforts to keep me tied to him. Friends had been all too eager to tell me he hadn’t changed his womanizing ways. Now that I was out of the house my husband didn’t bother to hide the fact he was a player.
This was supposed to have been his weekend with Owen, but he had a business trip. Or so he claimed. Because of what I knew, I’d become suspicious of everything he said.
“Yes,” I said, making sure I didn’t sound overly friendly. It was difficult to maintain an emotional distance from him, especially when he worked overtime to make it hard. Jake knew all the right buttons to push with me. Through the negotiations for the divorce he’d played me like a grand piano.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
“You have the wrong number,” I said forcefully. Every time he used an endearment I wondered how many other women he called “sweetheart.”
“Come on, honey, there’s no need to be bitter. I’m calling with good news.”
Sure he was. “Which is?”
He hesitated and his voice sank lower, laced with regret. “I’ve signed off on the final negotiations. You want a share in the house, then fine, it’s yours, but only when I choose to sell it. That’s what you asked for, right?”
“Right.” Which meant this bitter struggle was over and the divorce could go through. Twenty-five months after I’d filed we could sign the final papers.
“You signed off?” If that was the case I’d be hearing from my attorney shortly, probably Monday morning.
“It’s killing us both to drag this out any longer than it already has.”
From the minute I’d moved out of the house Jake had believed he could change my mind. I’d gladly given up living in the house despite the fact that my attorney had advised me to stay put. All I asked for was my fair share of the proceeds when he chose to sell it.
I wasn’t interested in living in that plush home any longer. My life there with all the expensive furnishings and designer details had been a sham. The memories were too much for me. Sleeping in our bed was torture, knowing Jake had defiled it. For all I knew he may even have made love to another woman in that very bed. Besides, holding on to the house would be a financial struggle. I needed to break away completely and start over. Jake had been surprised when I agreed to move out. I’d used the house along with the country-club membership as bargaining chips in the settlement agreement.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Jake asked.
I wasn’t sure what to say. “I guess this is it, then,” I whispered, staggering against a wall of emotion. My attorney assured me that eventually Jake would cave. It was either that or we would be headed to a meeting with a court-appointed negotiator. I was willing, but Jake had balked. Neither one of us wanted this to go to trial. The attorneys and the divorce proceedings were expensive enough.
“Yeah. It’ll be final soon,” Jake said, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. His words were filled with regret.
“Final,” I repeated, and bit into my lower lip.
“You okay?” Jake asked.
“Yeah, of course.” But I wasn’t. After all this time one would think I’d be glad this bickering and madness were about to end. I should be over the moon, eager to put my marriage behind me. I was more than ready to move on. Instead my heart felt like it was going to melt and a huge knot blocked my throat.
“I thought you’d want to know,” Jake said, sounding as sad and miserable as I was.
“Thanks. I’ve got to go.”
“Nichole … Nichole …”
I didn’t want to hear anything more that he had to say, so I ended the call. With tears blurring my eyes, I tossed my phone back inside my expensive Michael Kors purse. A purse I’d purchased because Jake insisted I deserved beautiful things. Now I understood he’d wanted me to have it because he’d felt guilty. As best I could figure, I’d bought the purse shortly after he learned Chrissy was pregnant with his child.
Wiping the moisture from my cheek, I put the car in reverse, stepped on the accelerator, and immediately backed into a ditch.
I don’t know how long I sat in my car with my forehead resting against the steering wheel. I was embarrassed and shaken, and it wasn’t only from the accident. My marriage was over. I thought I was ready, more than ready. The reality of it hit me full force; a deep sense of loss and unreality swamped my senses.
“Nichole, are you all right?”
A disembodied voice came at me. When I lifted my head I found Alicia, the hairstylist, standing alongside my upended car. When I didn’t answer right away she knocked against the driver’s-side window.
“Nichole. Nichole.”
I lifted my head and nodded. “I am such an idiot.”
“Are you hurt?”
I assured her I wasn’t.
“You’re going to need a tow truck to pull you out of here.”
I figured as much.
“Do you have Triple A?”
I shook my head. It was an added expense I couldn’t afford.
“Do you want me to call someone for you?”
“Please.” Still I remained in the car, praying I hadn’t done any further damage to my vehicle.
Alicia hesitated. “Are you sure you’re all right? You didn’t hit your head or anything, did you?”
“No, no, I’m fine.” I wasn’t. I wasn’t anywhere close to okay, but that wasn’t due to the fact my car was head up in a ditch.
Alicia hesitated and then left me. Breathless, she returned a few minutes later. I remained seated in the car, clenching the steering wheel. She opened the driver’s-side door. “Potter Towing will be here within thirty minutes.”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
“You need help getting out?” She studied me as if unconvinced I hadn’t suffered a head injury.
I sniffled, ran my hand beneath my nose, and shook my head. “I’m not hurt, just a little shook up.”
“Listen, I’d wait with you, but I’m giving Mrs. Fountaine a perm and I don’t want to leave the solution on too long. Denise has gone for the day, so I’m all alone.”
“Don’t worry; go take care of Mrs. Fountaine. I’ll be okay.” I wanted to blame Jake for this but I was the one who hadn’t looked where I was going.
Just as Alicia promised, a tow truck pulled into the parking lot about twenty-five minutes later. By then I had climbed out, had collected my purse, and was pacing anxiously, waiting. I’d called Leanne and told her what happened.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” Leanne asked, and I could hear the concern in her voice.
“No, no, I’m perfectly all right. I just wanted you to know I’ll be later than usual. Look, I need to go, the tow truck just pulled up.”
“Don’t worry about Owen. He’s doing great. Take your time.”
I disconnected just as a hulk of a man jumped out of the tow truck. He had on greasy overalls and a sleeveless shirt. Both arms revealed bulging muscles and full-sleeve tattoos. His eyes were a piercing shade of blue as his gaze skidded past me to my car.
“How’d that happen?” he asked, studying the position of the car.
“I wasn’t drinking, if that is what you think.”
He shook his head and grinned. “You mean to say you did that sober?”
For the first time since I’d ended the conversation with Jake, I smiled. “I guess it does look like I was on something.”
His smile was friendly, lighting up his eyes.
I wrapped my arms around my waist. “How much is this going to set me back?” I asked.
He named a figure that caused me to swallow a gasp. “I’ll need to put it on my credit card.” I had one I used only for emergencies. I’d once been free and easy with money. I could afford to be then, but no longer.
“I can give you a discount for cash,” he told me as he pulled out a thick wire cord and hooked it onto the car’s bumper.
“How much of a discount?”
“Ten percent.”
I did a quick calculation in my head. “What about my debit card?”
“Still got to pay the bank fees with that. Cash only.”
“Will you take a check?” I had a checkbook in my purse.
He paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Is it good?”
I was pissed that he’d ask. “Yes, it’s good.”
“Then I’ll take your check.”
Big of him.
“I know Alicia,” he said as he walked back to his truck. “She said you work at that used-clothing place.” He motioned with his head toward the shop.
“It’s a volunteer position, so it isn’t like a job.”
“Yeah, that’s what she said. She said it’s a shop that dresses women looking for work. Guess you must have a good eye for that sort of thing.”
He didn’t expect an answer and I didn’t give him one.
Once the car was connected to the tow truck, it took only a few minutes to bring it out of the ditch. He waited to make sure the engine started and I hadn’t done any further damage.
I set my purse on the hood of the car and pulled out my checkbook. He took the check, folded it in half. He looked at me and then paused before slipping it into his pocket. It seemed like he had something he wanted to say. I waited and then realized he was probably worried about the check.
“It’s good,” I assured him again, annoyed that he seemed to think I’d stiff him. Maybe he’d gotten stiffed before.
“Anything more I can do for you?” he asked.
“Nothing. Thanks. I need to get home.”
He gave me a salute and said, “It was nice doing business with you, Ms. Patterson.”
“You, too, Mr ….?”
“Nyquist. Call me Rocco.”
“Rocco,” I repeated with a smile. “Thank you for your help, Rocco,” I said, eager now to be on my way.
As soon as Leanne answered the door, Owen dropped his toy and raced into my waiting arms. I got down on one knee and my son hugged my neck, squeezing tightly.
“Did you have fun at the park?” I asked.
“Grandma took me on the slide.”
“Was it scary?”
He nodded and then, typically, the first question he wanted to ask was about dinner. “Can we have hot dogs for dinner?”
“Sure.” Wieners were his all-time favorite meal, along with macaroni and cheese. Good thing, because with what I’d been forced to pay for the tow, we were going to need to cut back on groceries.
“Did you have a good day?” Leanne asked.
I nodded. “It was great.” And it had been until the call from Jake.
I didn’t tell her about our discussion. I would later. Her divorce had been finalized eighteen months ago. Sean had made it as easy as possible, giving her whatever she wanted. He seemed almost glad to be out of the marriage. I was envious Leanne hadn’t been dragged into this emotional minefield Jake seemed intent on putting me through.
That was until I found Leanne crying nearly hysterically one afternoon, shortly after she’d signed the papers. It hadn’t been kindness or guilt that had prompted Sean’s actions, she’d told me. Sean said he was simply glad to have her out of his life. According to him, she’d gone to seed and he’d lost all desire for her years ago.
If I hadn’t disliked my father-in-law before, then I detested him now. How a man could be so thoughtless and cruel to a woman who had shared his life all those years was beyond me. Leanne was a beautiful woman. Yes, she was a few pounds overweight, but it didn’t distract from her overall appearance or beauty. She was kind and thoughtful, loving and generous. I admired her more than any other woman I’d ever known.
Owen collected his things and we walked across the hall to our two-bedroom apartment. It was about a third of the size of our home near Lake Oswego. I missed my garden and the flower beds. Gardening had become a passion of mine. When Owen and I could manage it, I’d buy a house and plant another garden.
Happy to be in his own home, Owen raced around the living room, his chubby legs pumping as he ran circles around me. I hoped it would tire him out enough that he’d go down for the night without a problem. I read to him each night, and the stack of books grew as he wanted to listen to all his favorite stories. I knew Jake didn’t read to him, because Owen complained that he didn’t.
We ate wieners for dinner along with green beans that Owen lined up on the tabletop in an arch above his plate. I managed to bribe him to eat two of the green beans. Getting him to eat his vegetables was an ongoing battle.
After I read him his ten favorite books, he settled down for the night. It’d been quiet all evening, which was unusual. I hadn’t gotten a single call, which made me wonder if I’d let my battery run down. I probably needed to charge my phone. But when I dug through my purse I couldn’t find it.
Immediately a sense of panic filled me. I needed my phone. Thinking I must have somehow missed it, I emptied the entire contents of my large purse and sorted through each and every item.
No phone.
I stood with my hand over my heart when the doorbell chimed. From the peephole I saw it was Rocco, the tow truck driver, standing on the other side. He must have known I was checking because he held up my phone as if to explain the reason for his visit.
Unlatching the door, I heaved a sigh. “Where did you find it?” I asked, with a deep sense of relief.
“After you drove off I saw it lying there on the blacktop and realized it must be yours. I got your address off the check you wrote.”
“Of course. Come in.”
He stepped into the apartment and his bulk seemed to fill the entire room. His size was intimidating. I figured he had to be at least six-four. He’d cleaned up and changed out of his coveralls. Now he wore a T-shirt and faded blue jeans that emphasized his long legs.
“I just realized I didn’t have my phone and was going into panic mode. Thank you.” I clenched the cell to my chest.
“No problem.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. His sleeves bulged with his muscles. I wanted to examine his tattoos but didn’t want to be obvious about it. It made me curious if he had more tattoos elsewhere on his body.
“Daddy?” Owen said, racing out of his bedroom. The doorbell must have woken him. Either that or he hadn’t been entirely asleep. He came to a screeching stop when he realized the large man standing just inside the apartment wasn’t Jake.
Owen’s eyes grew huge as he tilted his head back and gazed up with wide-eyed wonder at Rocco.
Rocco squatted down and held out his hand. “How about giving me a high five, little man?”
Owen hesitated for only a moment before swinging his arm into a big circle, slamming it down on Rocco’s open palm.
“That’s quite a hit for such a little guy.”
Owen smiled proudly.
I placed my hands on Owen’s shoulders, steering him back toward his bedroom. “Okay, young man, back to bed.”
“When will I see Daddy?” he asked, his big brown eyes pleading with me.
“He’ll come for you next weekend, buddy,” I assured my son. I glanced toward Rocco. “I need to put him back to bed.”
He surprised me by asking, “Do you mind if I wait?”
Although I was taken aback, I gestured to the sofa. “Make yourself at home. This shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”
Maybe Rocco was looking for a reward for returning my phone. My mind raced with what I could possibly give him. Maybe I didn’t want to know. It probably hadn’t been the smartest idea inviting him into the apartment. I was a woman alone, and I needed to be more aware of dangers. Funny, really. As big as he was, I didn’t feel the least bit threatened. I’d learned to listen to my instincts and they said I was safe.
Getting Owen down a second time wasn’t as easy as I would have liked. A good ten minutes passed.
When I returned, Rocco had turned on the television and had made himself comfortable. He sat with his ankle balanced on his knee and his arm stretched out across the sofa, looking completely relaxed.
“You have coffee?” he asked.
I blinked before I found the ability to answer. “I do.” I hesitated.
“Make yourself one while you’re at it,” he suggested.
This man had nerve. Nevertheless, I brewed us each a cup. He helped himself to milk, digging the carton out of the refrigerator and then putting it back.
Apparently he had an agenda other than delivering my phone. We stood in the middle of my small kitchen, facing each other, each holding a mug of coffee. If he could be direct, then so could I.
“What can I do for you, Rocco?”
He reached inside his pocket and removed the check I had written him earlier. “I have a proposition for you.”
Seeing the check sitting on the kitchen counter, I wasn’t sure I was going to like what he was about to suggest. “What kind of proposition?” I asked, frowning up at him.
The edges of his mouth curved upward as if he’d read my mind. “Whatever you’re thinking isn’t it. I have a fifteen-year-old daughter. Her name is Kaylene and, well, she’s a typical teenager. That girl has a mouth on her …”
“Most teenagers do.”
He didn’t agree or disagree.
“I substitute teach at the high school. I hear the way they talk.”
He arched his thick brows. “Must be hard to tell the difference between you and the students.”
I wasn’t sure that was a compliment, so I let it go. “What about your daughter?”
Rocco sipped his coffee. “She wants to attend this dance, which, according to her, is a big deal.”
“And …”
“And I am not letting her out of the house with the dress she bought with her friends.”
“And …”
“And so I thought we might strike a deal. If you help Kaylene dress for this dance in something I can approve of, then I’d be willing to tear up this check and call us even.”
That sounded almost too good to be true. “What will your boss have to say about that?” I asked.
“I am the boss. I own Potter Towing.”
“Oh.” Then I paused. “I thought you said your name was Nyquist.”
“Good memory. I got the business from a man named Potter. Do we have a deal?”
I didn’t need to think twice. “Sure.” So that was why he’d been so curious about my work with Dress for Success.
Rocco thrust out his hand and I did, too. His huge hand swallowed my much smaller one. As far as I was concerned, I was getting the much better end of this transaction.
I never expected to be living in an apartment at this time of my life. I held it in my mind that after Sean retired our relationship would improve. I thought that we’d travel and spend time together, and, optimist that I am, I hoped we’d make a go of it. I quickly learned that I’d been living a fantasy, believing that with effort we might be able to rekindle the love that had brought us together all those years ago.
Even in the early years of our marriage Sean had been a generous husband. Hardly a week went by when he didn’t bring home a gift of some sort. To anyone looking in on our marriage we were the perfect couple and my husband was crazy in love with me. In public, Sean was openly affectionate and I was the envy of my friends. He was a good provider and I’d never had to work outside the home.
We’d been married about five years when I first learned that Sean was involved in an affair. I was devastated, shocked, and unbelievably hurt. If I’d been in my right mind I would have confronted him then and there. Although I wanted to scream and cry and demand to know why he would do such a thing, I didn’t. Instead I swallowed my pride for fear of where it would lead, afraid of what would happen.
How foolish I’d been, but I loved my husband and Jake was a toddler. The thought of tearing our son away from his father, whom he adored, was more than I could bear. My parents loved Sean, and while it might sound foolish to say this now, there’d never been a divorce in my family. I didn’t want to be the first. In retrospect, that makes absolutely no sense. All these years later I can see that I had been emotionally wounded to the point that I couldn’t think clearly.
I became pregnant just a few weeks after we were married and Sean wanted me to be a stay-at-home mother for our son. He assured me that he needed me to be his emotional support and he didn’t want to entrust our child’s upbringing to a daycare worker. As his career advanced he seemed to rely on me more and more, as did Jake. I became involved as a school volunteer and chauffeured our son to sports and Scouts, church activities and tennis lessons, and never did take a job outside the home.
Over the years I discovered Sean’s involvement in a number of affairs. It didn’t take long before I was able to pick up on the signs that there was another woman in his life. The late nights, the extra care he took in his grooming, the unexplained charges on our credit cards. All the while I was praying desperately for a second child. Foolishly, I believed that if I was able to give my husband more children he would love me and wouldn’t crave other women’s affections.
When I look back on those years I want to slap myself. I did everything within my power to hold our lives together, to perpetuate the lie that we had a strong marriage. It was a fluke when I learned that Sean had a vasectomy, making it impossible for us to have more children. He’d had it done without me knowing, after a close call when he thought he’d gotten one of his women pregnant. All those years I’d been living in a dream world.
It wasn’t until Jake entered college that I gathered the courage to threaten divorce. I was serious and even filed. Sean knew that I’d reached my limit, and he begged me to reconsider. He swore on the life of our son that he would never cheat on me again. Fool that I was, I took him at his word. For six months I believe he made a sincere effort to remain faithful.
Six months was all it took. Then it started up again and I knew. And Sean knew that I knew. I moved out of our bedroom and into the spare room, and emotionally distanced myself from him. To the outside world I pretended all was well. It wasn’t. My self-esteem was shredded and my pride was eaten up with the acid of my husband’s infidelity. For ten years before the divorce we’d basically lived separate lives, but to our country-club friends we were the same happy couple.
The brightest spot in those years was when Jake married Nichole. She became a daughter to me. As far as I was concerned, Jake couldn’t have married a better woman. Her own mother was gone and Nichole often looked to me for advice. I came to love her, and after Owen was born my grandson became the center of my world.
It wasn’t until I happened to overhear a conversation between my husband and Jake that I learned that my son had followed in his father’s shadow.
“Dad, I have a little problem I need your help with,” Jake had said, keeping his voice low, barely above a whisper. I was in the hallway outside our bedroom, putting away towels in the linen cabinet. Funny how little details like that stick in one’s mind.
I assumed what Jake wanted to discuss had to do with finances. In the early years of our marriage, Sean’s parents had helped us out a couple times. I thought this little heart-to-heart was about money.
I was wrong, so very wrong.
Our son had gotten another woman pregnant. I stood frozen in place, sick at heart, hardly able to breathe, while Sean gave our son the contact information for a doctor friend of his who would perform an abortion.
For days I pretended to have the flu while I confined myself to the bedroom. My mind raced with what to do. I couldn’t tell Nichole. This news would devastate my daughter-in-law. At the same time I couldn’t keep quiet, either. I was consumed with guilt, knowing that by looking the other way, ignoring Sean’s affairs, I’d given our son tacit permission to cheat on his own wife. This had to end, and it had to end with Jake because I refused to let this behavior continue into the next generation.
I knew that Nichole wasn’t as naïve as I’d been. It would only be a matter of time before she’d figure out Jake was cheating. I didn’t want to be the one to tell her, but in the end that is what I did. The price of pretending to not know, of looking away, was far, far too high. For her and for me.
Seeing that Jake had followed in his father’s footsteps, I had to believe that when the time came Owen would as well. My grandson would grow up and think fidelity and marriage vows were mere suggestions rather than heartfelt, meaningful commitments.
The hardest thing I’ve ever done was tell Nichole about Jake’s affair. I had to admire my daughter-in-law for the way she took the news. Like I’d been all those years earlier, she was shocked and broken. I watched her crumble right before my eyes. But unlike me, she regrouped quickly.
That same afternoon she’d looked at me and said there was only one thing to do.
Her strength and courage caught me by surprise. How I wish I’d had the foresight to take hold of my life when I first learned of Sean’s affairs. It was then that I realized I wasn’t dead. It wasn’t too late. All that was left of our marriage was a thin shell. If Nichole could take action, then so could I, and I did.
Because of Sean’s repeated offenses, Nichole had no reason to believe Jake could be any more faithful than my husband had been to me. Unlike me, Nichole wasn’t willing to give Jake a second chance. As far as she was concerned, her husband had shattered her trust and there was no going back.
My divorce was smooth sailing. Sean seemed to be expecting me to file. It was almost as if he’d mentally prepared himself for the dissolution of our marriage. He made it as painless as possible, giving me half of everything. I would have no financial worries; he’d been the one to insist I remain at home with our son, and he paid dearly for that. My attorney saw to a fair and even distribution of our assets.
What I hadn’t been prepared for was the vindictive attitude that followed just before we signed the final papers. Sean made sure to let me know he saw me as unattractive and old. He took pleasure in telling me that my sagging breasts and body were a complete turnoff. He’d gone so far as to say I’d gone to seed. Although I no longer loved my husband—he’d destroyed that love when I’d learned about the vasectomy—his words hit their mark. I’d been crushed by his cruelty and found it hard to look at myself. I felt old, dumpy, and past my prime.
Jake didn’t take Nichole’s decision nearly as easily. I had to give my son credit. He didn’t want to lose his wife and son, and had gone to great lengths and expense to delay the divorce. I wanted to believe Jake was sincere and that he would change this need he seemed to have to seek out other women. Sadly, I had no way of knowing if he could. Evidence and experience said otherwise.
At one point, Sean had tried and been unable to change. I had to accept that Jake could take after his father in more ways than appearance.
Nichole and I moved into downtown Portland. The first few weeks we muddled through each day, depressed and uncertain.
One afternoon, in those early dark days when we were floundering in our misery, we wrote up a list … a list to help us move on and make a new, better life for us individually and for Owen. We listed only four items because we didn’t want to overwhelm ourselves. It was one step at a time. One day at a time. It helped tremendously that we were in this together.
The first item on that list was to ease the pain with a distraction, by giving to others. With me, that was teaching.
I’d graduated from college with a master’s in education, but I’d never taught. I wasn’t looking for a full-time position, so I found a volunteer job, an evening class two times a week, where I taught English as a second language.
It proved to be a good choice. I enjoyed my students and admired their determination to tackle the complicated idioms and slang of the English language. I had ten students that had immigrated from all around the world.
More and more I found myself looking forward to teaching my class. A large part of the satisfaction I derived came from one of my students named Nikolai Janchenko. At my best estimate Nikolai was close to my own age and from Ukraine. By far he was my most enthusiastic student. What I enjoyed about him most was his ability to make me laugh.
Monday night I parked in the Community Center parking lot. As soon as I pulled into the designated slot, I noticed Nikolai standing outside the center’s front door. He was a fine-looking man with a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair. From our conversations I knew he worked in a deli as a baker. His shoulders were broad from all the upper-body work he must do. He wasn’t a large man by any means, average height with strong but blunt Eastern European features. From what his school file told me, he’d been living in the States for five years and had recently acquired citizenship.
Nikolai must have recognized my car because he hurried across the street to meet me. By the time I’d reached for my purse and books, he had the driver’s door open and offered me a hand to help me out. I enjoyed how much of a gentleman he was.
“Good night, Teacher.”
“It’s evening, Nikolai. We would say ‘good evening,’ versus ‘good night.’”
“Good evening, Teacher.”
“Good evening, Nikolai. It’s good to see you.”
“It’s very good to see you,” he said. His eyes sparkled with warmth as he proudly handed me a loaf of bread. “I bake for you.”
The loaf was still warm from the oven and the aroma was heavenly. I raised it to my nose, closed my eyes, and inhaled the scent of yeast and flour.
“This is bread made with potato.”
“It smells delicious.” I would enjoy toasting a slice for my breakfast and planned to share the loaf with Nichole and Owen.
“I make it special for you.” He walked alongside me, his head turned toward me, watching me closely.
“I’m over the moon.”
He stopped abruptly and frowned. “Over the moon? What does this mean?”
“That’s an idiom, Nikolai, and what we’re going to be discussing in class this evening.”
“You explain this moon. You jump over it like cow in school rhyme?”
“No.” I had to smile. I found myself doing that a good deal whenever I spoke to Nikolai. His mind was eager to soak up everything I had to teach. All my students were keen learners, which made these two classes the highlight of my week.
It wasn’t a surprise to see Nikolai take a seat at the table at the front of the class. He chose the spot front and center each time and hung on my every word.
I put my purse and books down on my desk. Moving to the front, I leaned forward and placed my hands against the edge as I looked out over my students.
“Good evening,” I said.
The class returned my greeting in a mingling of different accents.
“Tonight I want to talk about idioms.” Knowing that some of my students needed to see the word written, I walked over to the board and wrote idiom in large letters for them to see and copy down.