Page 65 of Pity Parade

Paige grunts into the phone before saying, “Jamie had a really hard time letting Missy in. You know his wife left him when Sammy was just a baby, right?”

“You’d mentioned that. That had to be tough.”

“Sometimes, the thing we need most is the thing that scares us the most,” she says.

“I’m not sure Heath needs another relationship,” I tell her. “I think he might be a one and done kind of guy.”

“He needs love,” she tells me. “Everyone needs that.”

“Not everyone needs the same kind of love though. He might just want to get himself a nice goldendoodle and live out his days the way he already is.”

“I want a goldendoodle,” Paige says. “But I’d feel bad leaving it at home all day while I was at school.”

“Take him with you. He could be your emotional support doodle.”

Paige laughs. “Don’t think I wouldn’t do it.” Then she asks, “What’s my next step? Do you want me to try the third guy on your list?”

“Not yet,” I tell her. “Maybe I should give Daniel another chance. I mean, he’s not dreaming about martyrdom, he’s single, and a doctor. I’m not sure I can do much better.”

“So you want me to wait?”

“Give me a couple of days,” I tell her. “I’ll make a decision about Daniel by then.”

“You know,” Paige says, “it might not be so bad having a dating show trying to find you love. At least you’d know there would be some kind of background check done on them.”

“Who needs a background check when the men your producer wants to set you up with are such public messes,” I tell her. “Hopefully I can do better than a guy who has a show where people try to kick him in the junk, another one who breaks bones if you miss a payment on a loan, and yet another who throws soup on you. There must be more than that out there.”

“Here’s hoping,” Paige says. “But in the meantime, let’s get you over to the club to meet the other guys on Tim’s list. There aren’t many, but at least they’re upstanding citizens.”

I think about the three men Tim has already introduced me to and shudder. The landscape designer beat it out of our first meeting like his pants were on fire, and I’m introducing him to Prim. Jeffrey was nice, but for so many reasons, no. My best bet would be to see if the tennis pro might still be interested in going out.

In the back of my mind I hear a tiny voice say, “Heath is the one.” I shake my head firmly like I’m physically trying to shake the life out of such a suggestion. Heath is not a possibility. He’s still married to his dead wife, and I don’t think there’s anything or anyone that’s going to change that.

More’s the pity.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

HEATH

After leaving Trina in the park, I drive around Elk Lake until I nearly run out of gas. I feel like I’m in that movie Speed—even though I’m only going twenty-five miles per hour—and if I stop moving, I’ll explode. I ponder how much that analogy has become a metaphor for my life.

In Chicago, the whole city is on the go. There’s an innate energy that hums through the atmosphere like an electrical current. Elk Lake doesn’t have that. If anything, the predominate vibe here is one of relaxation and fun—which is clearly why it’s such a great family destination.

Not for the first time, I wonder what I’m doing here. I like to think I’m reliving a childhood memory, but the truth is I’m not reminiscing about my life as much as I’m thinking about childhood in general. That little boy beaning me on the side of the head with his football made that abundantly clear. I can’t believe I actually cried when he told me that my son must be a great football player.

Jess and I were still considering names for our baby when the two of them died. But in my heart, I think of him as Oliver. Oliver Fox, my mini me. I never got to see his face or even touch his hand, so the mystique around his brief life is great. In some ways this might have made things easier for me. But the truth is, I feel cheated.

I have a stern internal talk that includes reminding myself it’s been ten years. Ten. Years. Surely, I should be able to move on by now. I just don’t know what moving on looks like. I’ve dated a fair share since Jess died, and even though I’ve had a good time, I have not allowed myself to fall in love again. Could that be construed as moving on? If not, then I’m stuck in a perpetual purgatory of my own making.

Then I think about Trina. Trina Rockwell is an exceptional woman. I knew that the night of our date. She’s warm and funny and very easy to talk to. Which is probably why I made such a big deal about telling her that I wasn’t looking for a serious relationship.

My previous M.O. had simply been to not ask women out past two dates. My reasoning being that I fell in love with my wife on our second date, so if another woman couldn’t manage to make me do the same, then she couldn’t possibly be the woman for me. Stupid, I know, but such was the state of my mind.

Trina was halfway to making me think I could love her on our first date, which is why there could never be another. So I set out to make sure she never wanted to see me again. The last thing I expected was for her to be here in Elk Lake this summer.

As I stop for gas, I have an overwhelming desire to do something I haven’t done since my life was turned upside down. I feel the need to go back to the house I shared with Jess. While it might sound like I’m a glutton for punishment, I have a sense there’s something there for me, or something I need to see or remember. I have no idea which.

I turned the coffee pot off when I left this morning and I have my wallet on me, so there’s nothing holding me back from just going. All I have to do is turn the car in the direction of the freeway and drive.

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