Page 17 of Just My Ex

She’s so beautiful.

She’s vibrant and alive. Flushed from the exercise and the wind. She’s my person. She’s my home. My gorgeous home with the wild, nutmeg-colored hair piled high and the mismatched, no-show socks that she thinks no one notices, and the sensual curves that came to her after she gave birth to our baby three years ago.

Except, she’s my former home.

I hold my breath.

I’m not used to talking to her like this.

After the divorce, we mostly communicated through text and email. When I traveled to see Navie, Quinn would be conveniently unavailable, letting her mother be the go-between.

But six months ago, when I first learned they might not be safe, I went to the house.

And I wasn’t prepared for the firestorm inside of me when I saw Quinn again.

It turned everything upside down for me. The fog of the divorce, the sting of it all, had clouded my vision, but not anymore.

Things changed in an instant. I wanted her back, yes, but in that tiny seed of hope, I knew I wanted to become more. Better. Not just for Quinn. For Navie. Forme.

I found a therapist I felt comfortable with. I lifted weights again. I took up wood carving, whittling specifically, of all things, and I’m not terrible at it.

But now? That firestorm was nothing compared to what it’s like to be near her, on this beach, the colors of the sunset melding into the night sky.

I want to say,It’s your favorite thing, Quinn. It’s a sunset.

AndIt’s your other favorite thing Quinn. The beach.

See that spot out on the water, over there? My brothers and I kayaked out there every summer I can remember. It’s where I got that scar on my lip. Barely noticeable, but you said you could sometimes feel it when we kissed.

Kissing Quinn?

Well. I can’t think about that. But a string of expletives form in my mind, frustration welling inside of me.

Because she’s not only beautiful, she’s a part of me. I know she doesn’t think so anymore. The divorce severed half of me away, but that phantom pain is there, a constant reminder.

I came here, not to reattach the severed pieces of myself or bridge the impossible divide. I’ve come because I promised myself six months ago that I would be a better man. And being a better man means showing up to help your child. And your former wife.

Every second of every day is a chance for a do-over. And I’m not going to ever take that for granted again.

I shake my head to clear it, to focus on the moment. “We do need to talk about this … we need some protocols in place before I leave,” I say.

“Protocols? Henry, I don’t think—”

“Quinn. Raymond can’t be trusted. I’m not willing to bet against that, anyway. He wants the money. He’s trying to intimidate you until you gift it to him.”

She grabs at a strand of hair that’s fallen out of her ponytail. “I know. He’ll try for that and when it doesn’t work—because it’s not going to—he’ll try to get the judge to deem me unfit so the money goes to Alcoholics Anonymous, and when that doesn’t work—let’s hope it doesn’t work—he’ll try to make me miserable with guilt.”

“That’s a good way of explaining it.”

She lifts her arms to try to tuck the piece of rogue hair back in her ponytail. “I know Raymond. I feel if Navie and I can lie low here for a while, we can hold out and be safe until the money goes to me. And then she and I can go home.”

“Before you go back, we need to make sure he hasn’t planted anything in the house. I could get Victor to do a sweep when it comes time for that.” I know I’m thinking ahead.

And it used to beourhome, but I’m not going to mention that part.

“What do you mean? Like, listening devices?” She screws up her face in disgust.

Her phone rings and she yanks it out of the pocket of her leggings. She walks several steps away from me, nearer to the shore. I watch the waves come closer and closer to her as she talks with someone on the phone. At one point, I hear her say, “Mom.”

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