Page 21 of Capacity
“My son.” Her slender throat dipped and she focused on the red swirls melting into her frozen yogurt. My stomach tipped over and the yogurt didn’t taste as sweet anymore.
“Oh…” I pushed out a breath and met her gaze. “I know how hard that is. Nothing will ever stop you from thinking about him so you have to find things to fill your day so your mind won’t run away from you.”
“That’s exactly it. I’m finding things to fill my day so I won’t lose my mind. It’s tough.” The sadness in her eyes was at the forefront burning as brightly as passion. As strange as it was, I understood it. I knew how the two could mesh and become indistinguishable.
“Do you have family here in Lakeview?”
“I do, my mom is here and so is Coco. She’s like my sister. She’s the reason I’m in Connecticut now.” I saw unspoken secrets mulling around in her head and as much as I wanted to know what she was hiding, I kept my mouth shut and listened instead of prying. “I needed a change of scenery.” It was more than her needing a change of scenery but what pushed her to Connecticut?
“I probably need a change of scenery too,” I said, scraping the bottom of my yogurt cup. “I’m still living in the house my wife died in.” My brows bunched together. It still hurt to speak out loud about losing Hazel.
“I’m sorry about your wife, Mr. Cunningham. I can’t imagine losing a spouse.”
“It’s bad. It’s why I couldn’t stop drinking and spiraling.”
“You’re celebrating one month sober now. You’re not spiraling anymore.”
“You’re right. It’s hard realizing I’m not as much of a fuck up as I used to be. Excuse my language,” I smiled.
“I like your language. Makes you real. There aren’t enough real people around.” She finished her yogurt and I stood promptly, trashing the napkins we left behind.
“That means a lot coming from you.” My hand went to the small of her back and I led her toward the glass door. “Thank you again for celebrating with me, Ms. Foster.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Cunningham.” My eyes lingered on hers before we walked to my car.
“I really enjoyed this. I haven’t had frozen yogurt since…” Her voice trailed off and in its absence, grief swelled.
“Your son was alive?” I said, knowingly. She clicked her seatbelt in place and gave me a quick nod. It was so hard for her to speak about him. I knew that pain. “Ms. Foster, can I ask you a personal question without offending you?”
“That depends.” I caught hints of her attitude. It should have sobered me but instead, it made me curious. I liked her fire.
“I’ll tread lightly,” I said. “I just wanted to know what your son’s name was. You only talk about him sporadically but you never mention him by name.” For a few seconds, I thought maybe I’d said the wrong thing. Maybe asking what her son’s name touched on a raw nerve.
After silence trailed on for a few seconds she said, “His name was Kaiden.” Her voice was clothed in soft reverence. I knew what a holy act it could be to mention your loved one’s name once they were no longer here. It was like a chant to call them forth from the afterlife but it never yielded results. Instead, the only things it conjured up were memories and bittersweet nostalgia.
“Thank you for sharing that with me. I know it’s tough to say his name out loud. Hell, it’s hard to say my wife’s name too. Sometimes it’s too much to talk about her but other times I feel like if I don’t, she’ll die twice. Once on earth and a second time in my mind.” I pulled into Lakeview High’s parking lot right beside Ms. Foster’s car.
The silence between us was immense. It drove me crazy not to know what she was thinking. “What was her name?” Ms. Foster asked, looking down at her fingers. Her nails were bare but neatly trimmed and filed.
“Hazel.” I felt my wife’s presence when I spoke her name. “She was the love of my life.” I scrubbed at the stubble filling in my jawline then said, “Or at least she was the love of my life while she was here.”
“You were the love of her life and she was yours. Nothing wrong with that.” She was right but as I sat beside her, alone in the close space of my car, I wondered if hearts could grow enough to house two great loves.
“Thank you for talking with me. I didn’t realize how much I needed this.” I touched the back of her hand and her lips lifted in a half-smile.
“I needed it too, Mr. Cunningham.” She kept her eyes trained on the point where our hands connected and I wondered if she felt the heat and energy humming between us. I wondered if I was experiencing a one-sided connection.
“Call me Knight, please,” I told her, skimming my thumb along her knuckles. My heart raced furiously from that small point of contact. “I think after all the things we’ve shared tonight we’re beyond being Mr. Cunningham and Ms. Foster…at least outside of work.”
She took time crafting her response but she took time with everything she said. She never said anything without thinking it through thoroughly. It was why I enjoyed our lunchtime conversations so much.
“You’re right. I guess we were both so busy trying to be professional we didn’t realize we were becoming friends.”
Friends.
We were friends.
Hearing her say that brought on a mixture of feelings. Don’t get me wrong, I was happy as hell to have a friend like her but something in my mind…some untapped, un-consulted part of me wanted something deeper. Something that went beyond friendship. I wasn’t ready for whatever that was though.
