Page 47 of Pity Parade

“Why are you so sure of this?”

“People generally want to get married and have families,” I assure her. “Especially at our age.”

“You don’t.”

“I did,” I tell her. I feel compelled to explain, “I was married before. My wife died.”

Her expression briefly softens before she says, “So you know how nice it is to be married.”

My voice falters slightly as I tell her, “I do.”

“But you never want that again.”

So much for staying away from this conversation. “I don’t want to experience that kind of pain again.”

Much to my surprise, she replies, “I can understand that. I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. But enough about me. You think this Daniel guy could be someone you could build a future with?”

She moves her feet forward to keep the glider in motion. “There’s no way I can answer that yet. I’ve only just spent a few minutes with him.”

“Yet you went out with him before.”

“It’s been two years, Heath. The only way to find out if we’re still compatible is for us to spend more time together.”

“And you think a week will be enough time to do that?”

She closes her eyes like she’s trying to solve the equation for nuclear fusion on a chalk board in her brain. When her lids eventually blink open, she answers, “No, a week isn’t enough. But if after a week I feel like there might be something between us, I’d happily go back to Chicago to invest time in a possible future.”

“You’d leave Elk Lake?” I make this sound as absurd as her moving to the North Pole to farm Brussels sprouts.

“Of course I would. Finding a partner is the only reason I’m here.”

For some reason this shakes me up. I was looking forward to spending time with Trina this summer. To be honest, I was even hoping to stir some romantic interest. But I can’t tell her that, so I go with, “I’ll miss you if you leave.”

She looks shocked by my words. “No, you won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you barely know me. You can’t miss someone you barely know.”

“I know enough to know that I like you.” I don’t want her to misconstrue the intent of my words, so I clarify, “I think you’d make a nice friend.”

“Friend,” she repeats. “I’m not looking for friends at the moment.”

“You can never have too many,” I assure her.

“You’re probably right. But I have bigger fish to fry than finding someone to play darts with.” With that, Trina stands up. “I think I’ll go sit on my own deck. Give a shout if you need anything.”

She doesn’t leave in a huff, she simply seems resigned. For some reason, that makes me sad. I’m about to call out to her to come back when my phone rings. It’s Shelby, again.

Picking up, I announce, “It’s not a vacation if you keep calling me.”

I expect her to claim some business emergency, so I’m completely caught off guard when she starts to cry. “Oh, Heath …”—insert copious sobbing—“I just can’t … I don’t know … I didn’t expect …”

“Take a breath, Shelby.” When she stops talking, I hear her ragged inhalation. After a few beats, I ask, “What happened?”

“It’s Allan. He’s … he’s …”

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