Page 57 of My Dearest Mackenzie

“I can keep a secret.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” he teased before going somber. His voice soft, still deep, he spoke. “It’s not my favorite day. My mom left on my birthday. That was the actual day she chose. Left me a card and a present, said she’d be back soon, and never returned. Milly tried to make up for it with birthday pool parties and sleepovers. Nothing really worked. Then there was the college catastrophe. Needless to say, that was when I banned girlfriends.”

My hand wove its way into his fingers and my thumb caressed his. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” I mentally scolded myself for asking.

“About my one serious relationship? It’s so far in the rearview. And as for my mom, how could you know? I try to keep any discussion of her out of the spotlight. She knows where I am and how successful I’ve been, and I’m not looking to invite her in to any more details. I don’t want her in my life now. She never was a part of it when I needed her, so opening up the subject would be bad for all those involved.”

“Well, I hope today was okay. I wanted to incorporate some piece of Milly.”

“It’s my new favorite way to celebrate.”

Mine too, I thought but worried if this type of happiness was sustainable…

In the past, it hadn’t been.

My phone rang as I was lacing up my shoes on Sunday. I hesitated to answer since I’d come to the golf club to escape the world, but I knew it would blow back on me.

Scolding myself for not being the one to call months ago, I answered on the third ring.

“You’re a few days late,” was my brash greeting, knowing the other party could take the harassment.

I knew why he was calling; he was the only one who ever called this time of year. Not Susie or her husband, or their spawn. They only called when they needed something.

“I know. Jet lag is a real bitch. Cassandra and I were in Rome for two weeks. A third honeymoon kind of thing, living the good life.”

“Must be nice. Retirement, I mean. But you’ve been married for at least two decades, I think,” I told my longtime friend Teddy.

“You ever heard of the saying, ‘happy wife, happy life’? I live by it, bro. As for Rome—fuck, man, you could go for a year and it wouldn’t hurt your bottom line, Miller.”

I smiled to no one, sitting up and leaning against the locker. The golf club had a no-phones policy in the area, but no one was going to say a word to me.

Miller—not Mack or Millsy or Mackenzie—was what all my football teammates called me way back in undergraduate against the rolling hills of Virginia. I was the soccer player turned kicker, and they were the unlikely crew who accepted me. Most of us had lost touch other than holiday wishes and cards or occasional favors, but not Theodore and me.

“If I went a year without working, what would I do? Lose my mind?”

“I have some ideas.” I could almost see the ass smirking.

I closed my eyes and could feel my crow’s feet crinkling up from my grin. This guy had been one of the few people who’d broken through my hard exterior. Maybe one of three or four people aside from my grandmother…and the last person only happened recently.

“I don’t want to know about those ideas. Tell your wife,” I joked with him, laughing out loud to an empty room.

He finally cut to the chase for the call. “Happy birthday, man.”

He didn’t know there was someone in my world, and part of me didn’t want to let him in on it. Frances had taken up sacred space in my heart. So much so, it hurt thinking it might not last.

Teddy’s call also happened to be the one part of my birthday I didn’t share with her… In fact, I hadn’t spoken about Teddy to Frances at all. I didn’t know if it was his unspoken allegiance with Milly’s ghost or what. The pair haunted me regularly, and admitting all that to someone who’d captured my heart felt hard and heavy.

We’d already delved into the letters and the family history tying us together, and while she hadn’t seen Milly’s letter to me…I guess in the end, I didn’t want to disappoint Frances too.

If she knew how much I’d let my friend and my grandmother down, surely she’d think less of me.

Teddy knew I hated my birthday with a vengeance, yet he called me every single year. He would certainly get the significance of actually sharing the day with someone.

“How’s Arizona?”

“Changing the subject already? Tell me you didn’t sit in like a lonely piece of shit this year, sipping on Lagavulin?”

I’d have to tell him eventually, and better now than when it fell apart, right? “You’re not going to believe this, but I didn’t sit in. Well, I stayed in with a certain someone. Celebrated the occasion this year with a home-cooked meal, a half-decent scotch, and a beautiful woman.”

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