Page 96 of Any Second Now
Me
Hmm. Maybe. Either way, at some point I was in a lake filled with probably electric eels and crocodiles
Atticus
so many things wrong with that sentence, coach
A knock at the Pink Palace door startles me. Is it Atticus? Texting me as he walks up to the door, probably with the kayaks already set up? I snort. Because even though the water still scares the shit out of me, I’ll get back on it with Atticus. He’d save me from drowning (along with the life vest) and scary Colorado wildlife.
I drop my phone onto the counter and stride over to the door. Fred leans against the wall in the corner, but I haven’t even thought about touching him for weeks.
I don’t need Fred when I have Atticus.
I pull the door open, a huge smile on my face.
But it’s not Atticus.
It’s Jacob.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Raleigh,” he says with a sigh. “It’s so good to see your face.”
My jaw drops as I take in my ex-husband standing in front of me. Crisp white polo shirt and khaki pants, blond wavy hair in a perfect swoop across his forehead. He looks young and fresh, and his big blue eyes drink me in: Blizzard jersey, shorts and bare feet, hair tucked behind my ears.
But his eyes linger on the jersey.
“What are you doing here?” I cross my arms tightly across my chest.
“Do you have a minute?”
“My god, Jacob, couldn’t this have been an email? A text? Even a video call?”
He has the courtesy to dip his chin to his chest and cringe.
“But you don’t want me to call you anymore.”
“Showing up is not better!” The nerve of this guy. My shoulders tense as I block the door to the Pink Palace.
“Yeah, maybe not.” Jacob blushes and runs his hand over his face. “Sorry.”
Instead of meeting my gaze, he looks around the campsite, his eyes landing on the two new captain’s chairs.
“Jacob. What are you doing here?”
“Can we talk?” Jacob nods his head toward the lake and the chairs. The same chairs that Atticus and I sit in and have coffee the mornings we are here.
“We can stand.” I step outside of the RV, keeping my arms crossed to protect myself. There’s no way I’m inviting him in. The Pink Palace is sacred, especially now that Atticus’s mark is in so many little corners. A Blizzard sweatshirt he left the other night on top of my dresser. Two coffee mugs drying on the small counter next to the sink. His bookmark in the spicy memoir he bought for me and decided to read after I finished. He’s inserted purple tabs marking the sections he said he wants to discuss with me.
“I got that job,” Jacob says, a shy smile settling on his face. “The one I’ve been talking about.”
“Good for you.” I breathe out. It’s a relief, really. He’s been unemployed for so long. And it’ll help me to stop supplementing his life out of guilt. This will be the final cord to sever between us, and I can do it without guilt now that he’ll be making money of his own.
Although him showing up here points in another direction.
He starts to ramble about the company, but I block him out. He’s told me all of this in texts and emails over the past week. I know he had his third and final interview three days ago. That things went really well and he liked the interviewers. That this job would give him health insurance, a 401K, and a salary that can pay rent and buy food.
“It’s a lower level than my last job, but I can work my way up,” he says as I zone back in.
