Page 22 of Frog Hog
He doesn’t reply, but there’s a read receipt at the bottom so I know he saw it. I think that has to be the most annoying thing about text messages. Groaning, I stow my phone in my bag and hit the button for the cross walk. Eating alone is a sport only those who travel for business are skilled in. Mostly, I avoid it completely. Because of moments like these. There’s no one to talk to, and my mouth feels like talking.
The white walk sign flashes at me, signaling it’s time to cross, looking both ways I make sure it’s clear and set out for the other side of the busy road. Coming out of nowhere a random car screeches to a halt, startling the wits right out of me. Throwing a hand over my chest, I yell at the woman behind the wheel with a cell phone pressed to her ear. Who doesn’t’ have Bluetooth these days? My heart in my throat, I make it to the other side and then to the restaurant.
There’s more people over here, and I find myself weaving in and out of bodies waiting for a table outside the restaurant. Luck be a lady, I won’t have a wait because I’m by myself—a lone wolf. I take a seat next to a man at the bar that overlooks the street.
I settle in with a non-alcoholic drink and people watch. There’s a family walking on the other side of the road, heading in the direction I just came from. I narrow my eyes because my heart starts pounding. It realizes what I haven’t.
I swallow down a lump in my throat. “Hutch?” Leaning closer to the glass I make sure my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me. It’s him. He’s holding a little girl’s hand and the woman next to him is clutching his arm in a vice grip as they share an umbrella. It has started raining again. They’re smiling. All of them. I want to barf Diet Cola everywhere. I want to commit a felony. I want to curl into a tiny ball and die a million deaths.
My feet carry me to the door even though I don’t remember standing from my chair. I’m outside, in the rain, watching Hutch walk with people who could only be described as his family.What in the fresh hell?
The lure is too strong, the dependency on truth, crippling. Slowly, I cross the street and approach them. My heart beat is hammering in my chest and rain has soaked through my shirt causing a chill to stick to my skin. When I’m close enough to hear the little girl’s laughter, I make a snap decision.
“Hutch,” I call out. My voice is louder than it should be and I regret announcing my presence almost immediately. He turns, his face a mask of shock and consternation.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. As the words slip out, so do the first tears. “Who are they?”
“Who is she, Daddy?” the little girl asks, tugging on Hutch’s sleeve. The sight is enough to break me, confirm my worst fears with four words.
He turns to his family and tells them to walk on. “No. Don’t tell them to leave. I want to meet them right now, Gabe Hutchinson.” My feet are glued to the spot and my legs feel heavy. This is the moment in movies when pansy women faint, when they’ve dealt with too much and need a reboot. As fate would have it, I don’t get a fucking reboot. “Tell them your dirty little secret!” I yell. “Tell them who I am!”
The little girl turns to look at me, but her mother wraps her arm around her shoulder and pulls her away from the mad, wet woman standing on the sidewalk. Hutch is just as wet as I am, except he’s also furious. Shaking his head he looks up to the sky.
“I don’t even know what to say to you right now,” he hisses. “I have to go.” He turns his head to look at back at his people. His loyalty lines are clearly drawn, and he’s vanquishing every sense of ownership I thought I had over him.
I’m supposed to be the furious one. How dare he turn this around on me. And why? “What right do you have to be mad at me? I see you on the other side of the country, with your family, when you told me you had a work trip, and you don’t know what to say to me? I’ll make it easy for you. Bye, Hutch.”
My phone buzzes in my bag. It’s a text from Greer, a welcome distraction from the travesty my life just became.
“Baz just texted me. He’s not on a work trip. He’s coming to see me tomorrow morning. Isn’t that exciting? Gotta go. Just wanted to tell you. Should I bag him?”
I close my eyes for several long seconds. When I open them, he’s gone.
This time I do vomit. All over my red, rubber boots in the same spot his daughter stood only minutes before.
