Flying
Jeff looked pained. “Stella.”
“You kept track of how much you spent on gifts. For your son.” Her lip curled.
They’d hammered out a lot of details in the divorce settlement. Argued over who got to keep the china and how long Stella would remain on his account with Pegasus Airlines so she could get free travel. She’d fought hard for that one. But they hadn’t set up anything specific regarding child support for Tristan, mostly because the original plan had been that each of them would be responsible for whatever expenses arose while he was with each of them, and they’d share major expenses. Stella simply tried to take care of whatever Tristan needed, only going to Jeff for stuff like the braces that had come off last year. Like the ski club trip Tristan had wanted to take last Christmas break that had turned out to be twice as expensive as she’d planned for.
Jeff gave her a look. “Of course. I just wanted to show you...”
Stella crumpled the paper in her hands, then thought better of it. She smoothed it. Folded it. Handed it back to him. “What’s your point, Jeff?”
“I just dropped a couple hundred bucks on him for gear. New shoes. He needed clothes too.” Jeff paused. “Cynthia made sure he had everything he needed.”
Cynthia, who matched her shoes to her belts to her purses. Who got her nails done every week. Hair too.
“Please tell Cynthia I said thanks.”
Jeff blinked. “I estimated your expenses too.”
Stella set her jaw at that, willing herself not to totally lose her shit all over him, but already knowing she was about to blow. “And?”
“Just wanted to share with you, that’s all.”
“Because you want to show me up.”
Jeff frowned. “That’s not what I want.”
“No?” Stella waved a dismissive hand. “Really? Then what’s this spreadsheet about, Jeff?”
But she knew what it was about, without him even having to respond. Jeff was trying to prove to her in his underhanded way that he was as much a parent to Tristan as she was. That just because she did the majority of the day-to-day stuff didn’t mean he didn’t do his share too—the money he’d spent evidence of his parenting. Typical Jeff.
Before he could answer, and she could see his desire to reply in every line of his face, Tristan, wrapped in a towel, hair wet, expression stormy, came into the kitchen. Stella’s eyebrows rose.
“There’s no hot water.”
“Shit,” she said with a sigh. “I’d hoped it was just temporary.”
“Something wrong with your hot water heater?” Jeff asked.
“Maybe.” To Tristan, she said, “Just do a pits and privates until I can take a look at it, okay?”
Jeff was already getting up. Never mind that he hadn’t lived here in eight years, and that when he had, he’d been gone so often on business that Stella had been the one to take care of everything around the house anyway. “I’ll take a look at it.”
“You don’t have to—”
But he was already heading into the basement while Tristan stomped back upstairs. Stella gritted her teeth and followed her ex-husband down the stairs to the small utility room that enclosed the furnace and hot water heater. As soon as he opened the door, Jeff recoiled, lifting his feet as though he’d stepped in dog shit. But it was water. Stella heard the squish of it from where she stood, and she almost laughed at the look on Jeff’s face when he turned to look at her.
“You have a leak,” he said as though it were a personal affront.
“That would explain why we didn’t have any hot water.”
Jeff squished his way to the hot water heater and bent to study it. “Grab me a flashlight, would you?”
“I said I could take care of it.”
He looked over his shoulder at her. “Obviously you can’t.”
There was a time when he’d been able to read her. When he’d known her. Stella couldn’t recall exactly when that had changed, but it was never more obvious than in this moment when she was almost ready to punch him in the junk, and all he could do was give her a condescending sneer.
“Get out,” she said. “I’ll call a plumber. I have a wet vac. I will handle this.”
“I’m trying to help you.”
“I don’t need your help.” Stella crossed her arms and stepped back to let him pass. “I can handle it, whether you think so or not.”
“Don’t get all bent out of shape. I’m just trying to help you—”
“We’re not married anymore, Jeff.” Stella could no longer keep her voice steady and even, and she knew it was only going to give him more ammunition to accuse her of being overemotional—something he’d done a whole hell of a lot of during their last days. “This isn’t your responsibility, and I wouldn’t want you to throw it in my face later. Really, I can handle it.”
“Fine.” Jeff dusted off his hands and pushed past her, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “stubborn bitch” under his breath.
She’d been called worse.
Stella followed him up the stairs and into the kitchen, leaving him in there and not bothering to look back when he called after her. Halfway up the stairs she heard the front door open and close. She knocked lightly on Tristan’s door, waiting until he answered before she opened it. She had to shove the door against a pile of dirty laundry, but ignored it for now.
“Hey.”
Tristan’s desk overflowed with miscellaneous junk, but he sat at it anyway. Bent over a sketch pad he closed when she came in, he shoved it under a pile of other things and twisted to look at her. He resembled Jeff more than ever when he scowled.
“I can take all the stuff back,” he said. “Cynthia’s the one who wanted to buy it all.”
“I figured.” Stella looked around the room, then leaned against the bedpost. “You don’t have to. Your dad can afford it.”
Tristan nodded, his mouth still turned down. “Okay.”
She wasn’t making it much better. “I’m sorry you heard us fighting about it. It’s not about you, Tristan. You know that, right?”
“Yeah. Whatever.” He turned back to his desk, but didn’t pull out the sketchbook or anything else. He just sat. Dismissing her.
“Tristan.”
He didn’t turn. Stella sighed. She moved closer to put her hand on his unyielding shoulder. She squeezed gently but said nothing else. Tristan sighed heavily.
A few years ago, their dog, Mr. Chips, had died of old age, at home with his head on Tristan’s lap. That had been the last time she could remember her son crying or allowing her to hug him close—he’d grown taller than her in the interim years. And distant. He was becoming more of a stranger to her every day, and she didn’t quite know how to stop it.
“No matter what happens between me and your dad, you know both of us still love you.”
“Yeah.”
Stella let go of him. “I could use your help in the basement, buddy. Can you come down, please?”
He nodded, still not looking at her. Stella didn’t push it. Instead, she put in a call to her neighbors to get the name of the plumber they’d used when renovating their bathroom. She called Home Depot to get the prices of hot water heaters, as well as information on their delivery and installation services. And then she went downstairs, hooked up the shop vac and started cleaning up all the mess.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The only real, true time travel occurs in the mind. Scents and music and flavors make memories so vivid it’s like being there all over again. This time, it was the sound of her name in a voice that had once been familiar but which she hadn’t heard in a really long time.
“Stella?”
It’s almost impossible not to turn around when someone says your name, kind of like the way most people will automatically take something if it’s thrust toward their hands. Stella wasn’t used to hearing her name shouted in a crowd, so she’d have turned even if it had been meant for someone else. Her heart was already pounding.
“Craig. Hi.” Her mouth stretched into a smile she knew was too wide. “Wow.”
He was smiling too. “Yeah. Wow. It’s been a really long time.”
Stella could’ve counted the length of it in months, weeks, days. Hours and minutes, actually, though admitting it would probably freak him out. It had been too long. Or maybe not long enough. The way her pulse leaped and her stomach twisted, she couldn’t be sure if she was happy to see him or ready to run away.
“Too long,” Craig said after a few seconds passed, Stella unable to speak.
“Yes,” she managed, relieved her voice didn’t shake. “Way too long. How’ve you been?”
“Good. I’ve been good. How are you? You look...great.”
Her breath tried to catch in her throat, and she forced a swallow instead. Once upon a time, he’d said other things to her that had made it hard for her to breathe. Time had passed. They would pretend it hadn’t happened; they’d been good at that. But she remembered.
“You too.”
They stared for too long. Stood a little too close for long-lost strangers bumping into each other in front of the coffee shop. He wore the same cologne, and it still twisted her up tight and complicated inside.
“Let’s go in,” Craig said. “Let me buy you a coffee.”
Coffee. Lunch. That’s all it had ever been with them. And once, just once, a conversation in the rain.
The day was bright and clear today with a perfect fall sky, blue and cloudless. Stella wore a short skirt with patterned tights and knee-high boots, a light jacket. She’d dressed this morning in anticipation of cooler weather, but all of a sudden she was far too warm. She had errands to run, places to be, things to do.
“Let’s go,” she said.
* * *
It starts in the coffee shop in the next town, the one she started going to specifically so she could avoid her friends and get out of the house at the same time, away from anything that reminded her of her failing marriage. It’s where she goes with her laptop and notebook to sit for hours and make lists and submit her résumé to dozens of places she hopes won’t hire her. She sits and drinks cup after cup of coffee and makes herself look busy so she can convince herself she is.
There’s a regular crowd in the coffee shop. There’s the woman who sits by the window, typing away and listening to her iPod—she writes books and is, if it’s possible, even more antisocial than Stella. There’s a man who stares at that woman when she’s not looking; Stella wonders how long it will take for him to work up the courage to talk to her. There’s a young mother who comes in every morning with her toddler son to drink a cup of coffee while he has some hot chocolate. Stella will never talk to her. The Bible club, its members in matching home-sewn dresses and prayer caps, would probably love to have her join them, but Stella’s so completely not religious she’s also certain she’d offend them all without even trying. There’s the salesguy who fills the orders for potato salad. He smiles and nods, but doesn’t linger. He, like the staff behind the counter, is friendly but too busy to make much conversation.
Finally there’s Craig, who at first comes in for lunch once a week. Then twice. Then three times, until finally he is there every day and somehow, they are sharing a table and laughing about... Well, whatever he says to make her laugh. And it becomes this thing Stella refuses to name. This...friendship. Because that’s all it is, she tells herself every day when she wakes up thinking about him, and every night when his face is what she thinks of when she closes her eyes and pretends to sleep. It’s a friendship. If Craig didn’t have a penis, this wouldn’t even be an issue.
It’s been so long since Stella laughed, really laughed. Before she knows it, she’s looking up every time the bell over the door jingles. When the hands on her watch creep toward noon, her palms start to sweat and her heart to pound. Every day she assumes it’s the last time he’ll come in. Sometimes he’s late and everything inside her goes dark. A weight lifts off her every time Craig comes through the door.
He only has an hour for lunch, and soon that’s not enough. Stella believes Connex is the devil, but Craig loves it and “friends” her anyway. She doesn’t have much on her profile and hasn’t updated in close to a year, though she tries to check in once a week or so to make sure Tristan’s not getting into trouble there. Craig has a lot of pictures, an active wall. Stella stalks his profile, checking out the photos of him at the beach, skiing, dressed for a holiday party. She looks at the pictures of him and his family. Two daughters. A wife, now ex, and a dog. Craig was part of a family, and this somehow comforts her. He can understand the challenges of a spouse and kids.
She tells Jeff nothing, and why should she? She doesn’t tell him anything about her girlfriends, or the other people at the coffee shop. Actually, she doesn’t tell Jeff much of anything anymore. He doesn’t ask.
Stella finds work, finally, which means no more coffee shop. She’d taken a basic college course on photo-editing programs on a whim, and the job at the Memory Factory is perfect. Retouching pictures taken for church bulletins isn’t what she’d ever imagined herself doing, but with a school-age child and a husband who works sixty hours a week and travels too, she can’t go back to being a flight attendant. The hours and money make up for the slightly condescending way Jeff talks about it as a throwaway job.
She also has unlimited access to the internet, all day long, and an instant-message program. So does Craig. This is even better than their single, daily hour. They talk all day long, and even when they’re not actively chatting, looking at her contact window and seeing his screen name there is like a touchstone. He’s there if she needs him.
And, oh, Stella needs him.
She needs the jolt he gives her with every flirty comment and the small, secret jokes they’ve created that would mean nothing to anyone else. She needs his perspective on the world because it’s different than hers, and even though they disagree on politics and religion, they never argue. He makes her think. He makes her feel, and it’s been so long since she’s had anything but agony or numbness that at first she doesn’t recognize what it is that Craig gives her.
Joy.
He doesn’t know her, so there are no reminders of the past she needs to forget. No stilted conversations steeped in pity. All Craig gives her is joy, and that’s what she needs the most.
Stella knows this...thing...is wrong. But Craig makes her feel as if everything will be all right. As if she hasn’t been through what she has. He makes her feel smart and funny. And sexy, yes. There’s that. The giddy, floaty, heated rush of knowing someone finds her attractive. She needs that too.
Everything about them together is dishonest, but it’s the only thing in her life that feels like the truth.
“Can I call you?” he asks. “I miss talking to you in person. Hearing your voice.”
Craig lives alone. Shared custody means he has daddy duty only a few days of the week. The rest of his time is his own. Stella doesn’t have that luxury. She has to think about when she can sneak in a late-night phone call. When she can fit him in around the rest of her life.
There’s something special about the phone that makes it different than typing instant messages or even texts. Somehow talking on the phone is both more anonymous and intimate than even meeting in person in the coffee shop, in public, where they watch their words and are always so very, very careful not to touch.
“Why do you keep talking to me?” Stella asks him late one night when, feigning an upset stomach, she’s sought the dark and quiet of the couch in the basement rec room. She stretches on the chilly leather, reaching for a blanket to warm her.
“I don’t know. Sometimes I tell myself I shouldn’t.”
But he does. Over and over again, he comes back to her, and there is never any reason why they shouldn’t continue this friendship other than that both of them know it’s becoming more than that. It was already more than that before they ever spoke on the phone. They very specifically do not meet in person. They very carefully do not talk about why.
He complains about his ex-wife, but Stella is carefully, neutrally quiet about her husband. There are things she could complain about, if she wanted, but if she did that, other truths would come out. Things she doesn’t want to talk about, not even to Craig. Perhaps especially not to him, because once he knows the truth, there will be no unknowing it. Sometimes things slip out, though. You can’t talk to someone almost every day for hours at a time without them learning the most important bits and pieces of you, especially in the darkest parts of the night when it’s so easy to feel alone.
“I miss you,” Craig says abruptly when the silence has stretched on too long. “I miss seeing you.”
“I miss seeing you too.” She closes her eyes against the sudden relief of a fear she hadn’t wanted to admit she had.
“Maybe we could have lunch sometime.”
She should say no, but what comes out is “Yes. I’d like that.”
* * *
“It was great seeing you. Catching up.” Craig’s gaze lingered on hers, and Stella let it.
They’d spent the hour she would’ve spent shopping lingering over their coffees and a couple very good blueberry scones he’d bought without asking her if she wanted one. He’d just remembered how much she liked them. His knee had nudged hers occasionally under the table, and once when handing her a napkin his fingers had brushed hers.
There was a time she’d wanted him so much it had been like fire inside her, consuming every thought. And now... Now, Stella thought as they stood sort of awkwardly by her car, each of them hesitating about a final hug...now, she didn’t want him anymore. That made her sadder than anything else. Once she’d been put to her knees because of the man in front of her, and it had been a place she’d willingly gone, but in the end it had broken her, just the same. She had wanted him, and now she did not.
When he pulled her close, she let him, startled but not resisting. When his mouth found her cheek, Stella closed her eyes and breathed in his scent. The warmth of his skin on hers was familiar. The weight of his hands on her. When he let her go, she swayed, unsteady for a few seconds before she could open her eyes.
“It was so good seeing you,” Craig said in a low voice. “I’ve really missed you.”
Stella had not missed him. Not for a long time. But she smiled and reached to squeeze his arm. “Me too.”
“Maybe I could call you?”
“Sure. Absolutely.” She nodded, smiling, a little taken aback by how this all had gone. He could call her. She would answer. It might get awkward, depending on what he said or asked of her, but she didn’t have the heart to tell him no.
On impulse, she leaned in to hug him again, this time holding tighter. Craig had been there when she’d needed someone.
Maybe he needed someone.
“Call me,” she said and scribbled her cell number on a scrap of paper from her pocket. “That would be great.”
The awkward brush of his mouth on hers would once have made her shake; now it only made her smile. She touched his face and took a few steps back. Craig nodded, lips parted as though he meant to say more but didn’t. He looked back at her as he walked away, though. Waved. Stella waved back.
In her car she sat for a few minutes, thinking of how easily things could change even if it didn’t feel easy at all while you were in them.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Knock, knock.”
Stella looked up to see Jen rapping on the soft edge of the cubicle. “Hey.”
“What’re you doing tonight?”
“Nothing.” Stella swiveled in her chair. “Tristan’s with his dad tonight through the weekend.”
“Want to go check out the new Justin Ross movie? Jared told me he’d rather poke out both eyes with a chopstick than go.” Jen grinned.
Stella hesitated, thinking about the empty house, the laundry she’d planned to do. Cleaning out the fridge. Paying bills. She was flying over the weekend, but tonight she had no plans. “Yes. That sounds great.”
“Dinner first?”
“Sure.” Stella returned Jen’s grin.
They went to dinner at a new Italian place that Stella had heard about but never tried. As she settled into her seat and put the napkin on her lap, Stella realized how long it had been since she’d even gone out with a girlfriend. How long it had been since she’d even really talked with one of her girlfriends.
“Wow,” she said aloud without meaning to.
“What?” Jen looked up from the menu. “You don’t like what they serve here? We can go someplace else—”
“No. Not that. Just that it’s been a while since I went out.” Stella held up a hand at the look on her friend’s face. “I told you, I’m fine without a boyfriend. I meant with a friend. It’s like I haven’t even heard from any of them in forever.”
She fell silent for a moment, remembering. “I guess I haven’t really missed any of them.”
The women she’d bonded with in the neighborhood playgroup, the wives of Jeff’s friends. Those were the women she’d spent most of her time with. They’d had coffee and dinner at each other’s houses. Watched each other’s kids. Bitched about their husbands and kids.
But had she ever really been friends with any of those women? Real, strong friendships last through good times and bad, and there’d been some very, very bad times.
Stella looked at Jen. “I guess I lost more than I thought in the divorce.”
Jen frowned. “That sucks.”
“It’s okay.” Stella shrugged. “Honestly, I really did just notice now how long it’s been since I had, like, a ladies’ night out, which says a lot more about me than anything else. So, thanks for inviting me.”
“Thanks for coming along. I’m such an enormous Justin Ross fangirl, and Jared will occasionally suffer through watching Runner with me, but he’s like, ‘no way am I going to see that movie.’” Jen laughed, shaking her head. “He’ll be waiting up for me when I get home, though. Hoping he’ll get secondhand lucky.”
Stella snorted laughter. “And all I have at home is a pile of dirty laundry.” Before Jen could say anything, she held up a hand. “Hush.”
“He has a few cute friends,” Jen said, then held up her hands at Stella’s expression. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop.”
Dinner was good. The movie, even better. Stella had never watched Runner, the show that had made Justin Ross famous, but she knew who he was. It was impossible not to—he’d suddenly become America’s sweetheart. She couldn’t say she’d ever be the sort of fangirl Jen was, but she could definitely appreciate his appeal.
“Have fun tonight,” she teased as they both got in their cars in the parking lot.
Jen gave her a starry-eyed grin. “Oh...I will. Girl, I definitely will.”
Stella’s phone pinged just as she pulled into traffic, but she didn’t reach to pull it from her purse and check the message. She never checked her phone while driving. Ever. Tristan knew it, and was unlikely to ping again if she didn’t answer right away, so when the phone chimed again, Stella glanced at her bag on the front seat, then at the clock. It was just past ten-thirty on a Thursday night. Jeff would’ve gone to bed. Cynthia would only text if there was a problem, and even then would be more likely to call than send a message.
At the third chime, Stella’s hands started to sweat. She gripped the wheel harder, staring down the dark highway. No traffic lights to give her time to pause so she could fumble in her bag and find her phone. She had another twenty minutes’ drive to go, and when the phone chimed a fourth, then fifth time, she pulled over to the side of the road to answer it.
The messages, a string of casual conversation ending with “give me a ring when you have a chance,” had come from Craig.
First she was relieved that it wasn’t an emergency. Then a little annoyed that she’d had to pull over. And finally, as she pulled back out into traffic and finished the drive, Stella realized she was...anxious.
Confused. Anxious. A little excited. But mostly wary, she thought as she dropped her keys in the bowl on the kitchen counter and hung her coat and purse in the closet.