Page 25 of Waiting for Tuesday

Mom came to stand by my side and touched my arm. “You tell Jake I’m bringing him a lasagna tomorrow, okay?”

I nodded, smiling at how thoughtful she always was, then leaned over to give her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll tell him. I’m sure Katie will appreciate a home cooked meal.”

Mom smiled and turned back to the sink to finish washing dishes. “I’m praying for them all the time.”

Lisa parked herself against the counter between us and started talking to Mom about Katie’s condition. Lisa had gone through something similar a few years ago when she was pregnant with my niece Frances. We all knew how scary the whole thing could be, how until you were out of the woods it was completely thought-consuming, but when she started talking about Katie’s placenta, I turned around. Even though I’d grown up with three sisters, there was only so much I was willing to handle.

My dad lifted his chin from his spot under the grandchildren and waved for me to come join him in the living room.

I took my hot plate off the counter, filled a glass with water, and came to sit on the couch. “What’s the score?” I whispered, hoping not to wake any sleeping kids.

“Ten–ten, Dodgers,” he replied.

I chuckled then set my glass on the coffee table and leaned back in my seat. “Ten–ten Dodgers, huh?”

Even though it was a tie, my father was the eternal optimist. Every year he was sure that “this year” they’d go to the World Series. “This year” they had a chance.

He made some sort of grumbling noise, dismissing my amusement and turned back to the TV. “You’ll see.”

I leaned back in my seat even farther and took another fork full of food, but my thoughts filled instantly with Tuesday. She hadn’t spoken a word to me since the day we started work. This bothered me more than I cared to admit. I wasn’t used to people not liking me. I was a funny guy. Easy going, easy to get along with. It shouldn’t have bothered me so much that she didn’t see that, but it did. She was too damned stubborn. If she wasn’t so stubborn, I’d still be there right now instead of here, wondering what in God’s name was going on with her.

I took my phone out of my pocket to see if I’d missed any calls from Eddie, but there was nothing. I frowned and shoved another bite of meatloaf into my mouth. Aside from my sisters, no other woman had ever given me the cold shoulder for this long. Even Lisa, who was the worst of all three.

Lisa sat down on the couch beside me, leaned over my shoulder, and scooped a piece of mashed potato off my plate with her finger. “So what’s going on? Why are you acting so weird?” She popped it in her mouth and began chewing.

I turned toward her and lifted my brown. “Seriously? Didn’t you just eat?”

She laughed and took another finger full. “No, seriously. Are you okay? You look… I don’t know… upset about something?” She paused, as if suddenly remembering something that caused her voice to lower. “Did Mom tell you?” She stopped. “You know what, it’s none of my business.”

I set my plate on the coffee table and took a long drink of water. “Did Mom tell me what?”

Mom came into the living room just then, wiping her hands on a kitchen cloth, and looking from me to Lisa.

“Did Mom tell mewhat?” I said, loud enough for her to hear. They were obviously keeping something from me, and my stomach clenched at the fear I saw in my mother’s eyes.

She gave Lisa a hard look before turning back to me and shaking her head. “It’s nothing, I was going to tell you after dessert.” She paused for a long time, so long that adrenaline began to pump through my veins. “Another letter came,” she finally confessed.

I stood up and looked from Lisa to my mom, wondering how long they’d kept this secret from me. I couldn’t help the sense of betrayal that washed over my body. “Burn it,” I said in a low, distant voice.

“John,” my mother protested. “Maybe you should?”

“Burn it,” I said again, picking up my plate, not wanting to hear another word. It had been years since I thought about him,years. I thought it was all behind me, but it obviously wasn’t. I placed my plate in the sink, braced my arms on the counter, and tried to calm the surge of aggression that ached in my limbs.

Why after all these years? What could he possibly want from me that he didn’t already have?

Mom rested her hand on my shoulder and gently squeezed. I could barely feel it, but I knew she was there. I turned around, finding her eyes red-rimmed with emotion, almost overflowing with unshed tears. She looked into my eyes, searching for something I wished I could give her, then she turned around and pulled open the drawer under the spice cabinet. She took a folded envelope from a pile of bills, came toward me, and laid it down on the counter. Without a word, she turned around, leaving me in the kitchen alone.

I looked down at the letter, his elegant scrawl, and the name I’d tried so hard to forget for as long as I could remember. Gabriel.

I picked it up off the counter, shoved it in my pocket, and then ran my hand through my hair. Mom was only the innocent bystander in all this. I knew it was hard on her, and I wouldn’t make her do my dirty work. I’d burn the fucking letter myself.

* * *

Tuesday

It was justafter dawn when I arrived back at the shop. The store smelled like sawdust, which was a vast improvement from last week—though the smell still stirred in my nose, causing my already aching head to pound. I deposited my usual box of donuts onto the empty counter, then walked back to the parking lot and filled my lungs with the brisk morning air before I unlatched the tailgate of my truck. I needed to grab the new shelving unit I’d exchanged before work.

I was exhausted, caused by too little sleep and too much worry about the shop. But every time I drifted at night, thoughts of all I had to do the next day would spark new life into my body. I’d lie there—restless—for hours. Better to make some progress if I was going to be awake than lie there being miserable.

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