Page 50 of Kind of a Bad Idea

Yes, it will tear her apart if I walk away, but in the long run it will be far less painful than if we roll the dice and fail. She’s still so young. She still has hope. She’ll find someone else, someone better, less jaded, more open to life and love and becoming the kind of partner she needs.

For a moment there, I thought maybe I could be that man, but that was just my selfish side wanting to keep Binx in my life.

She deserves more. Her mother knows it, and I know it. I’m not enough for her, and the only way to prove I’m not the shit human being half the town thinks I am is to end this with a clean break. Right now.

So, I call on the skills I’ve acquired throughout a lifetime of dealing with cruel people and crueler twists of fate. I drag the soft part of me into a vault deep inside and lock it away. I snap the cord connecting my heart to the rest of me and say in a voice so calm it’s a little shocking, even to me, “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but we’re not on the same page. You should go with your mother. I’ll give you privacy to collect your things.”

Then I turn and walk away, headed back toward the shed at the rear of the property and the four-wheeler. There’s still a little gas left in the tank, enough to get me out of earshot for the next hour or however long it takes Binx to finish screaming or crying or cursing my name—whatever she has to do to work through her feelings and realize it’s time to leave.

But as I reach the shed and push inside, I don’t hear so much as a peep from behind me. Binx doesn’t call my name, she doesn’t cry, she doesn’t tell me I’m a pathetic, cowardly liar. There’s nothing, not so much as an outraged huff from her mom or a plea to come back and play nice from Wendy Ann.

As I rev the engine and pull through the open door, I risk a glance their way, just to make sure they’re all still standing, but no one is paying me any attention. Fran is already behind the wheel, checking her lipstick in the visor mirror, Wendy Ann is slumped low in the passenger’s seat, and Binx is nowhere to be seen.

She must already be inside, gathering her bag, which is…good.

It’s good that she instantly knew to take me at my word, that she realized continuing to fight for me was a losing game and popped right inside to grab her things. I’m truly glad she’s sparing us both a bigger scene.

I also feel like absolute shit.

Like garbage.

Like something even less desirable than garbage.

Nuclear waste, maybe…

That’s a fitting comparison. I’m toxic, dangerous. I always have been and I always will be. That’s why I should spend the rest of my life alone, focused on raising my child to be a good person who knows how to have functional relationships. I’m not going to make anyone’s romantic dreams come true, but Sprout might one day. She’s an incredible kid and has so much love in her heart.

And a lot of that love is for Binx, the caustic voice in my head rasps as I head up the trail into the woods. She’s going to hate you for fucking this up. She might never forgive you.

Maybe the voice is right, but I can’t worry about that right now. I made the only decision that I could live with. If I’d done anything else, I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself.

Holding tight to that thought and ignoring the other voice, the one in my gut screaming that I have to turn around now, before it’s too late, I punch the accelerator, sending leaves flying into the air as I zoom over the hill and the cabin disappears behind me.

Chapter 19

SEVEN

Ipark the four-wheeler at the small pond where Sprout likes to fish and sit staring at the bugs swarming above the golden water for over an hour. There aren’t many days like this left in the year. Soon, the sun will be setting hours earlier, over a sheet of ice surrounded by snow drifts.

Sprout’s so excited for skating season. I promised I would bring her up as soon as the ice was thick enough, and we’d spend the entire afternoon on the pond. I already have everything I need to make a little warming hut for her as a surprise. I figured I could put a firepit in there, our old futon, and supplies for making hot chocolate, so we could really make a day of it.

But in my mind, Binx was always here with us.

She’s a phenomenal skater. Last year she took Sprout with her to watch the intramural hockey tournament Binx plays in with her brothers. Sprout couldn’t stop talking about it after. She doesn’t want to be a figure skater girl anymore, she wants to be strong and fast, like Binx.

I hate that I’ve taken someone she loves so much away from my daughter.

I hate the black hole in my gut that feels like it’s sucking all the misery in the world deep inside it.

I hate that I have to go back to the cabin and sleep alone in the bed I shared with Binx, the one where the sheets still smell like her.

It makes me wish I’d razed the cabin to the ground, after all. It had mold in the walls and foundation issues that took months to get sorted out before I could even start the renovation. It wouldn’t have cost much more to demolish and start with a fresh slate, but the cabin is nearly a hundred years old. I wanted to help preserve the history of the camp, while building additional facilities to attract new people to the land.

Now I think—fuck history.

I wish I could erase the history of the past two days from my mind. I wish I had no idea how good it feels to touch her, kiss her, hold her close as she falls asleep and feel like I have everything I need right there in my arms.

I was at peace with her, but it was a stolen peace, a rotten one.

---