Page 4 of Rough and Tumble

For a while, I figured it was the loneliness. That maybe I’d clung to the idea of her as a way to get me through the cold nights. Then, I figured it was obsession. That isolation had led me to a mental illness I had no control over. It wasn’t until I spoke to a buddy down at the post that I realized it was probably a little of all those things. Hell, the version of her I have left probably isn’t even accurate anymore. Even if it were, I had no right feeling the way I did. She had a fiancé, even if he was all wrong for her.

Drawing in a deep breath, I stare out at the mountain range in the distance. This cabin may be run down, but the view is incredible. Jagged white caps, tall pine and balsam, a valley in the distance below.

For a second, I picture Aspen next to me, her hand in mine, a blanket on her lap. Everything is better… until it’s not, as reality sets in and I realize she’s never going to be next to me. In all likelihood, I’ll never see her again. I’ll never know what she smells like after a shower, or what it’s like to hold her under the stars, or what she sounds like crying out for pleasure.

The realization forces panic into my chest until I stand up and begin to pace. Maybe it’s time to get her out of my head for good.

Chapter Three

Aspen

“Can’t a girl be thankful for her best friend?”

Lark admires the bracelet I made for her last week. It’s made with turquoise beads that are supposed to bring good fortune. I found all the beads at estate sales.

She gushes. “You can, but this is so sweet!” Her lips pout. “I love you!”

“I love you, too!” I hug her and we settle at the small round table inside the small café off Main Street. They opened up last week and it’s the first time I’ve been inside. So far, so good. The décor reminds me of an old train car with rows of boldly colored booths lined up against windows with chrome finishes. This is the second-best hobby I’ve found lately. I love keeping a little journal to rate all the restaurants in Colorado. I even bought little stars to make the pages look pretty. My main hobby right now is jewelry making. Last month, it was line dancing. The month before that, candle making. I can’t remember what came before that one, but I think it was watercolor.

Lark’s brows narrow as she stares at me. “So, how are you doing?” There’s empathy in her tone as she plunks a cube of sugar in her tea. “You weren’t great the last time we talked. Things getting any better?”

I never know what to say to people. Am I supposed to be sad that my marriage failed miserably? Am I supposed to be torn apart and grieving? I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I should be, but it’s mostly when I think about my daughter. Sure, she’s grown, but I know the thought of us divorcing rattles her core. How couldn’t it? I love going home to see my parents for Christmas. Knowing they’re together makes everything so much better. I couldn’t give that to my daughter, and it’s eating me alive.

“I’m okay,” I finally say. “What about you?”

Lark drags in a deep breath as she shoots me a knowing look. “You’re not okay. What’s wrong?”

I shrug, biting back tears. “Really, I’m good. I’m just… figuring things out.”

Lark bites her bottom lip and stares out the window before glancing back again. Sometimes, I’m jealous of her. In her mid-twenties, she’s younger than me, has her whole life to make mistakes with, and her eyes still sparkle with excitement for what’s ahead. “You’re not fine. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t know,” I sigh. “It’s nothing. If I start, I’ll cause a scene. Trust me, I’m good.”

“No way! Cause a scene! Be about it! If friends can’t help you through your bullshit, what good are they?” She stirs her tea, watching the sugar dissolve before snapping her gaze back up toward me. “I’m serious. Tell me everything right now.” She grins. “I order you.”

I stare toward her and exhale, metering how much I should say. Do I tell her about the late-night fantasies I have about a man from twenty years ago, or do I keep those to myself, because I’m pretty sure hanging onto anything that long without action is the definition of insanity, right?

Finally, I say, “I’m lost. I mean, maybe it was too much to file for divorce the year Everleigh left for college.”

“Okay, so you’re lost. What do you think would help?”

I smile. “A map would be nice. You have one of those?”

“I do.” She leans in. “First stop is the land of fuckery. You need to get laid.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah. That would be nice, but I think you need a man for that, and well…”

“There’s no one? No one from work you’ve had your eye on, or maybe a guy from the past you can look up?”

When she says the last part, I’m brought back to my crazy thoughts of the big, rough Alaskan I never stopped thinking about flooding in all at once.

“You’re thinking of someone,” she probes. “Spill it.”

“Okay,” I sigh, “there was this one guy, but he lives out in Alaska, and he’s like twenty-five years older than me. So by now, he’d be in his mid-sixties. That’s weird, right?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Is it a hot mid-sixties or an old mid-sixties? There’s a difference.”

“Yeah,” I grin, “wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen him in eighteen years. I think he had kids my age, so… I probably misread the connection.”

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