Page 37 of Dream with Me

“What does that mean?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. You talk like those dreams have to be mutually exclusive. Think about it. We were just discussing the possibility of starting our own business, so it’s not like that dream is dead. You have children, and you had a husband who...”

When her voice trails off, I glance up at her, and her eyes tell me she has more she wants to say.

“What?” My voice is quiet, and I’m positive I already know what she’s about to say.

Her eyes swirl with a mixture of seriousness and sadness. She tilts her head and looks at me, silent, for an uncomfortable amount of time.

“Tell me now if you don’t want me to be frank because holding my opinions in isn’t one of my strengths.” She eyes me for a solid thirty seconds, giving me a chance to tell her to mind her own business. I don’t. “Okay. On the day of the fire alarm, while your husband was searching the crowd for you, it was evident he still has feelings for you.”

“He wasn’t looking for me.”

Tillie rolls her eyes. “He most definitely was looking for you. Did you not see the relief spread across his face when he saw you? I also saw that same relief on your face when he came out of the building. You don’t look at him like a woman looks at a man she dislikes or hates.”

“Because I don’t dislike him or hate him. That’s all.”

“That much is clear.” She chuckles.

“What’s so funny? It’s true.”

“Sweetie, the only thing that’s true is you look at him like a woman looks at a man she loves.”

CHAPTER22

TROY

Dinner with my girls at Giuseppe’s was fun, and I loved every minute of it. This last hour in the shop with Oliver, though, was something I didn’t understand how much I was missing. I also miss this wood shop in general and working with my hands to create something.

Oliver is our most reserved child. He’s quiet but not quite shy. He’s... introspective. Still, he’s even less talkative today than usual, not saying much at all.

I peek up at him every couple of seconds to check on his progress as he sands the wood like I showed him, intensely focused on his task. He wants to make a pen and business card holder for Shannon so she can keep them on her desk at work.

Me? I’ve started a project as well. A simple box to start. We’ll see where it goes.

“Dad?” Oliver asks, his voice tenuous. He doesn’t look up from his piece.

“Yeah, bud?” I continue to work on my project, and he continues to sand.

“How come you don’t have a dad? What happened to him?”

My chest tightens, knowing this is probably stemming from his insecurities about the divorce. I clear my throat and look up from my work.

“Well, I do have a dad. We don’t see each other anymore.”

“Why? D-did he move away? Did he leave?” Oliver’s voice is hushed now, and anxiety drips from his words.

I place the piece of wood I’m holding down on my bench and fully turn toward my son.

“C’mon, Owlie. Let’s put our projects away for this week and get some hot chocolate at the diner. We can have some guy talk. I’ll tell you about my father then. Does that sound good?”

Oliver nods, and I shoot off a quick text to Shannon to let her know where we’re going. Fifteen minutes later, we’re sitting in a booth at Pat’s Diner, two hot cocoas and some brownies to go with them on order.

“So, let’s talk about my father. I think you’re old enough now to hear about him, don’t you?”

Oliver nods, but his hands are clasped so tightly together on the table that his knuckles are white. His breathing is shallower compared to normal, and I hate that he’s worried about this conversation. Still, the best way to handle it is to deal with it head-on.

“I don’t see my father anymore because he did leave. He didn’t move away, but he didn’t come around either. My dad left because he didn’t want to have a wife, and he didn’t want to be a dad. But I love being a dad more than anything in the world. So, even though I’m not living at the house, I’m not going away.”

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