Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
I’m still weeping when I call Denise again, and still weeping when she arrives at my house. I weep as she wraps her arms around me, and holds me like a baby. I weep for what seems like hours while Denise says nothing and strokes my hair. I weep for the love that could have been, and the love for my baby that has already begun.
12
Ryan
A week.
A goddamn week!
I haven’t heard from Regina in a week.
She doesn’t answer when I call. She doesn’t reply to my texts.
What the fuck is going on? Has something happened to her?
How in the hell do I not have all of her contact information, anyways? I only have her cell, and not even her home phone, email address, or home address. Ursula doesn’t have it either. Her employment paperwork was supposed to be done the day after she arrived, but Ursula was out and then there was the fire. Hell, I don’t think Regina has even been paid yet. That’s not fair to her and it creates liabilities for me as well. I hate accounting discrepancies. Sloppy recordkeeping leads to sloppy operations and sloppy operations change the culture of an organization until—
“Stop it, Ryan!” I say the words aloud, and I’m surprised at how harsh the tone is.
“You better just go and see her, son,” my father says. He doesn’t look up from his fishing pole. The kids are fishing fifty or sixty yards away with my mom, my sister, and my nieces, and they have nary a care in the world. Their black heads gleam under the sun, and their merry laughter carries to where I sit with my dad.
For a man in his seventies, Ronald is unusually spritely and agile. He’s fishing too, and I treasure these moments with him. It’s quiet by the river, and a good time for us to catch up. I remember it was by the river when he told me that my supposed friend, Red Simpson, was the one who had stolen my bike. It was also by the river when he mentioned that Sandy was going to leave me. It was only a few weeks after the twins were born, and I’d dismissed his concerns as the worries of an old man.
I never dismiss his concerns now.
He lands a striped bass about seventeen inches long and in seconds, the bass is cleaned, filleted and packed away in the cooler: filets in one baggie and the rest in another. Ron never wastes anything. The bones and head will become stock and the guts will fertilize his olive orchard. Still not looking at me, he baits his hook and casts again.
“Take my car back to the house,” he says. “Just leave the keys on the table. There’s plenty of room for everyone in your sister’s car. Go find Regina. You miss her, and she needs you.”
I haven’t shared anything about Regina with my father, but naturally, the kids won’t stop talking about her. They chatter on about Regina this, Regina that, and my mom and sister are very amused. They’ve asked me a few questions about my very popular nanny, but I’ve sidestepped them. I answer vaguely, and never get into the details.
But Dad has some sort of almost magical ability to know what I’m thinking even when I don’t say it out loud.
“Does Mom know, too?” I ask.
Ron doesn’t look up from his line. His fingers are nimble as he cranks the rod.
“Of course she knows, son,” he says. “You may as well have it tattooed on your face.”
I shake my head.
“That obvious, huh?”
Ron chuckles to himself.
“Son, when Blythes fall in love, they fall hard. Now go to her. I can see that something’s on your mind, and the kids are fine here. Go.” I start to pack up my poles and he waves me away. “I’ll take care of it,” he says. “Something tells me that if you don’t leave now, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Go!” The command in his voice trumps my concerns, and I scramble from the shore back to the cabin. I grab a few things, throw them into a bag, and then rush into my car.
During the drive, I try to dial some florists, but it’s useless. I can’t manage my phone while driving, and the florists who answer say they can’t deliver anything today. I give up, throwing the phone down with exasperation. Why hasn’t Regina called me?
I review the past few weeks and search for any sign that she was unhappy with the way things went. Yes, our love was unexpected, but I thought she enjoyed it. I thought she loved being ravished in my arms every night. Was I too rough? Did I manhandle her one too many times? I did spank her on occasion, but it never led to more than a few red marks. Then I wince. One morning, she had the imprint of a man’s hand on her right hip, and I felt terrible. I pressed a kiss to it, tracing it gently with my tongue. I apologized, but Regina merely stroked my head and said it was fine. She said she liked being marked by me, and my chest almost burst with pride at those words.