A Heart of Time Read online

  Charlotte hands me one of the mugs as I sit down across from her. This is suddenly weird. I don’t know her at all and she’s sitting at my kitchen table. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve been through,” she says.

  I hate sympathy. I really do. When there is too much of one thing, it becomes the least desired part of life, my life anyway. “It’s been a rough road,” I say, running my fingers through my hair.

  “One of my closest friends lost her husband,” she says, placing her mug down. “I saw how it took her years to pick up the pieces of her life. Nothing anyone did made the process easier for her, so all any of us could do was just be there for when she needed us.”

  I know I haven’t made it easy on AJ or my parents. Actually, I know I’ve been a complete pain in the ass. They’ve all tried to pick up the pieces for me and put them back together in a way they thought I should now be, but Charlotte’s right, there is nothing anyone can do for a person who lost half of their heart. “It’s a horrible thing to go through,” is all I can respond with.

  Her focus shifts from me to the empty space beside me, to the picture frame I keep at the third place setting on the table. Ellie’s seat. With a smile, Charlotte traces her finger down the side of the frame. “She’s beautiful. Olive looks just like her.” She pulls her hand away from the frame and rests it over mine. The sensation of her touch causes everything within me to stiffen—everything. With a thick breath lodged in my throat, my eyes lock on our hands—the connection and the disconnection. “Did she pass recently?”

  I nod my head, feeling some anger stir within me. Why is she making me answer all of these questions? Most people I don’t know will tiptoe around the subject and just offer the sympathetic stare, but not Charlotte. She’s prying open this closed door that I have tried hard to keep shut. “She died five years, eight months, and twenty-seven days ago while giving birth to Olive.”

  I was wondering when Charlotte would crack, but I’m guessing that’s right about now. Her eyes are still wide, staring at me, but now they’re filling with tears. I don’t want someone crying for me or over me. I don’t want anyone talking to me, looking at me, or being near me. I want to feel like I’ve died, too, because it just makes this all so much easier. With no more tolerance, I stand up, pulling my hand away from her grip. Debating on fleeing this scene altogether, I remind myself I can’t exactly run out of my own house, so I put the cream and sugar away, doing my best to stall and hint that I’m ready for this coffee date to end before I say something regretful.

  Delaying and all, there is still silence and there are still tears in her eyes, so I walk out of the room. I leave her there crying because—because I don’t think I know how to avoid being an asshole to anyone who dares to step foot into my life.

  I circle the living room a few times, trying to even out my breaths, waiting for my heart to give up on the boxing match with my ribcage. But it never relents. The heart always wins over everything else. Whatever it needs to feel, it feels, and it will bring everything down with it.

  I fall onto the couch and release all of the air from my lungs. The pain is as prominent today as it was five years ago. It’s like shrapnel in a wound. If the wound closes around what is causing the pain, the pain will forever be embedded. I’ve come to accept this. “I don’t even know your name,” Charlotte says, stepping out of the kitchen, wringing her hands around her wrists.

  “Hunter,” I mutter softly.

  “I’m sorry for being pushy or nosy but you look like—it seems like you might need a friend. We’re neighbors, so I figured...” I could be a great charity case or pity project to make her feel better about herself.

  “Thank you,” I say gruffly. “I’m usually fine. It’s just days like today—firsts in Olive’s life—when everything comes to a head, it feels as fresh as it once did. I’m not usually this much of a mess.”

  “I went to therapy with my friend after her husband died—it was the only way I could get her to go. The doctor always told her the pain would never go away but that eventually the good days would outweigh the bad. They also told her that the hard days would be harder than they ever had been before, no matter how much time has passed. Grief is like a scar—you can cover it up all you want, but it will always be there.” She’s saying what I have always thought. Everyone who is someone in my life has told me the pain will lessen, things will eventually get easier, and I’ll move on and forget about her. But in truth, the pain reminds me of her, and I don’t want to forget her so I endure the pain, and I carry it around like a heavy bag on my back. Sometimes I carry it with pride and other times I let it weigh me down until I’m at the point I’m at right now.

  Charlotte exhales loudly and looks around the room, focusing on the mess my couch cushions are in. “What do you do for work, Hunter?” she asks hesitantly, sitting down in the recliner across from me.

  And I’m done. Time is up. Did she just become my therapist? Because, yeah, I’m all set with that.

  “I’m a carpenter. I run a company with my brother.” How the hell do I get this chick to leave? I need time to deal with Olive going off to school before I head to the job site, and instead, I have Charlotte, dredging up every detail of my life. More than I care to share in one day.

  “You aren’t with Harold and Sons, are you?” she asks, straightening the pillow behind her, becoming more comfortable. I don’t want you to get comfortable on the chair that Ellie and I spent two whole wasteful weeks fighting over. I hated it, and I won. Then I bought it after she died. Now it’s my favorite chair.

  “I am with Harold and Sons.” There are only three carpentry companies here in Sage. And only one of them is family run.

  “Shut up!” she squeals. “My parents used you guys a few months ago to refinish their hardwoods.”

  I think for a minute, recalling the few hardwood jobs we had. Only one of those couples were on the older side. “The Olsans?” I ask.

  “Yup,” she grins. “That’s them. Such a small world.”

  “Great folks you have. They were very kind.” Does my voice sound as monotone as I hear it? Why would anyone want to sit here and continue a conversation with me? I did technically invite her in, but that was before I knew she was a female praying mantis, or in this case, “preying” mantis. “What do you do?” Why did I ask that? I don’t care what you do. But I should. So I ask. I should make an effort to talk to a beautiful woman, especially a forward one who almost but not quite, invited herself into my house. I should be thinking inappropriate thoughts right now, and hoping she’s sharing in those inappropriate thoughts. Instead, I’m staring at Ellie’s photo hanging on the wall behind Charlotte.

  “I’m a software engineer,” she says. Her response draws my attention back to her face, but I’m guessing it would be incredibly rude to look shocked, so I do my best to restrain my reaction. She doesn’t have the look of a software engineer, but that’s sexist. I’m just not sure I’ve seen a woman of her type, involved in such an intense profession. Wow, I am a total sexist.

  “Very cool. Do you work from home?” She’s dressed well for eight in the morning, but not exactly in corporate attire. Jeans, chucks, and a long sleeve white t-shirt wouldn’t be acceptable in any white-collar company I’ve ever seen. But times have changed, I suppose. That dress code was one of the very reasons I made the decision to take up carpentry instead of finance like I had gone to school for. Stuck in a suit, working ten hours a day, and coming home with a headache has never appealed to me. Although, now that I’m about to hit thirty, some days the body aches from carpentry make a job requiring a suit seem more appealing.

  “I do. I run my own company,” she says with a bit of pride. “Ever heard of the ‘TheLWord.com’?” The dating site. Oh boy. Internally, I sneer at the mention. Those things are the epitome of love. Matching up strangers based on a couple of common interests doesn’t seem like the most natural form of a connection, but hey, it works for some people. Just, definitely not my thing. Of co
urse, AJ would completely disagree since “TheLWord.com” is where he met Alexa, the female dictator of his dreams.

  “I definitely have. It’s your company?”

  “I have a passion for helping people fall in love. What can I say?” She looks shy or reserved while saying this, which is a bit shocking considering her previous assertiveness. “Kind of ironic that I ended up divorced, huh?” Right. That’s like being a doctor with an incurable disease, I would assume.

  “We live and learn. I bet your divorce will help you grow your company in a way that helps others avoid the path you went down.” That may not have come out right. Actually, I’m hoping it didn’t so we can end this—whatever this is. It’s not unreasonable to want to be left alone right now. I mean, I just let Olive out of my sight for the first time in five years, and I’m here with a woman I met an hour ago. I don’t do this. I’ve actually avoided people and the thought of making new friends for this exact reason. Charlotte looks down at her watch and her eyes widen in suit.

  “Oh wow, that hour went by quickly.” She looks back up at me. “You going to be okay until three?” Am I that pathetic? Yes. Yes I am.

  “I’ll be fine. I have to be at a job site in an hour, and Olive was kind enough to leave me a bowl of cereal for breakfast that I must tend to.” Air is beginning to percolate in my lungs again as I feel this meet and greet coming to an end.

  “I was wondering about the overfilled bowl of lucky charms, but I went on the assumption that you were either starving or still looking for that pot of gold.” With a cunning grin, she flashes a quick wink at me and stands up. “Well, Hunter, it was a pleasure finally meeting my new neighbor. If you need someone to talk to today, my doorbell is only a hundred feet away.”

  “Same for you. Single parents unite, right?” Did I just say that? I did. And she’s looking at me with the same look I would be looking at me with if someone said that to me.

  “We do. We’ll get through this,” she says quietly. “Thanks for the coffee.” We. There is no such thing as a “we” outside of Olive and me. I stand up and meet Charlotte at the front door, opening it and standing to the side as she passes by. “I’m glad we met,” she says.

  I don’t respond. Nothing good would come out of my mouth if I did. It was never my intention to shut the world out after Ellie died, but it was sort of an unofficial commitment I made to myself. If Ellie couldn’t move on with her life, then why should I? I know it’s irrational, as are most of the common decisions I make, but it makes sense in my head. I think.

  I watch Charlotte walk down my driveway and cross the street, but now I’m closing my eyes so I don’t stare at her ass because...why do I want to stare at her ass? It is a nice ass, that’s probably why. I’m trying so hard to keep my eyes closed, but with as much restraint as I thought I had, I come to the conclusion that I obviously have none. So I surrender to my weakness and take in the last couple of ass-watching seconds before she disappears inside of her house. I’m a prick—a prick whose day just got a little better, despite my effort of avoiding what could be a lucky charm in my life—one that isn’t overflowing from a cereal bowl.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Five minutes. Five. Five more long minutes, and then I’ll take off. This day is going on forever. I look back down at the nails I’m supposed to be hammering but I’m unable to concentrate as I look back up at the clock again. Four minutes and thirty seconds. What if the bus driver gets there early for some reason? Olive wouldn’t know what to do. She’d be standing there alone, crying, wondering if I forgot about her after she had been gone for so long. Oh God. I can’t take this. I have to go.

  “Dude, what are you doing? It’s only two!” AJ shouts in from the adjacent room.

  “The bus could get there early.”

  “An hour early? Doesn’t school get out at three? Because if that’s that case, I’m pretty sure it’s virtually impossible for the bus to get to the bus stop before Olive is actually dismissed from school. I have a point, don’t I? Yes, I have a point.”

  “There could be traffic,” I try to reason; although reasoning with AJ is like reasoning with a stubborn five-year-old. Olive and AJ go head-to-head quite often and there is never a winner. Ever.

  “We’re two blocks away, so...” AJ needs to add in. Then he looks up at me and stops mid-sentence. I’m pacing the uncarpeted living room, pressing my fingers through my hair, trying to make sense of my ridiculous apprehensions but there is no clarity coming along with my irrational worries. I’m just so uneasy being away from Olive. “I’m sorry, Hunt. You’re right,” AJ says, placing his hammer down and flipping the light off. “Let’s go get our little martini garnish.”

  “Really?” I punch him in the shoulder. “I told you to quit calling her that now that she’s old enough to repeat shit. She’s going to tell someone at school.”

  He snorts and rubs the spot on his arm that I punched. “I said it to you, not her.”

  “Just knock it off, will you?” I snap, causing him to roll his eyes at me. If I ever had to describe him to someone, I could pretty much sum him up as the kid that was always in the principal’s office for doing something stupid, like pantsing a teacher or shooting a spitball into someone’s hair. Years later, AJ hasn’t changed. His brain hasn’t matured along with his twenty-eight-year-old body.

  “Why were you so late this morning?” AJ asks. “Knocking boots with the old lady who brought you a pie last week? Oh, did she bring you her pie this week?”

  Drowning in a fit of laughter, he regains his composure when I say, “Actually, my neighbor dropped in. She came over for coffee.”

  AJ stops in front of me, preventing me from walking any further. “There was a chick in your house?”

  I push him to the side and continue forward. “My neighbor. Not a chick,” although that was what I mentally referred to her as just a few hours ago.

  “You said she, which makes her a chick. Is she married?” Why is that always his first question? Why did I bring this up to him at all?

  “No, she’s not.”

  “And she wanted to have coffee?”

  “Yes, and it was just coffee. She didn’t pin me up against a wall and have her way with me.” Those were the thoughts I was avoiding the entire time, though, but AJ doesn’t have to know that.

  “But I bet you’re thinking that would have been pretty fucking sweet, huh? What does she look like? Is she hot? Big tits? Nice ass? I need details, bro.” God, shut up. I close my eyes and pull in a struggling breath while ignoring each of his questions. “You would have said no, if she didn’t meet some, if not all, of those criteria,” he continues, despite my lack of encouragement. I can see his shit-eating grin in my peripheral vision, and I’m now absolutely sure that telling him about having coffee with Charlotte was a horrible mistake. Though, it was not as big of a mistake as bringing him to the bus stop where Charlotte is currently standing. “Bro.” AJ grips his hand around my shoulder and forces me to stop walking. “What’s gotten into you today? You’ve been doing well lately and it’s the first time I’ve seen you with that ‘rock-bottom’ look in on your face in a good while.”

  “Today’s just hard. It’s been hard,” I say, keeping my eyes set on Charlotte.

  “You know she didn’t just go off to college, right?” he asks.

  “Yes, I know, AJ.” But it’s all a downward slope from here. First kindergarten...then the next thing I know she’ll be driving. She’ll be dating. She’ll be sneaking into gardens at night with some dude who wants to carve her damn name into a tree.

  I try to continue walking, but his hand tightens around my shoulder. “Hunt, what is this chick’s name? Give me that at least.”

  “Hey!” Charlotte yells over. It is forty-five minutes before the bus is supposed to arrive, so I guess I’m not the only crazy parent here. I turn to tell AJ that, but he is too busy taking quicker steps ahead of me toward Charlotte.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” AJ says. “I’m AJ, Hunt’s
brother.” He points over to me and I place my head in my hand. How were the two of us cut from the same cloth? “Are you by any chance Hunter’s neighbor? The one who joined him for coffee this morning?” Peeking through my fingers, I watch as Charlotte slips a bookmark in between the pages of the book she was reading and stands up, facing AJ.

  “Nope,” she grins. “We definitely haven’t met. I am your brother’s neighbor, and yes, I did have coffee with him this morning. Is that a problem?” Charlotte lifts her hand to shake his, but AJ finds it necessary to first turn around and cup his hand around his mouth, shouting through a whisper, “You don’t have to answer my questions. I answered them myself.” I love how he’s pretending to whisper, like any type of volume matters right now. If I look at AJ for another second, I might go after him with a swinging fist, so instead I look up at Charlotte, noticing she is not the slightest bit embarrassed by this horrible encounter.

  “I’ve been around his type, plenty,” she says, leaning to the side so she can see me around AJ. “This isn’t new to me.” Her smile is sarcastic and adorable. Adorable? I didn’t know that word was even part of my vocabulary, aside from referring to Olive.

  “We’re here early because Hunter was hoping you would be here early, too.” You have to be fucking kidding me. I’m going to knock him out.

  “AJ, maybe you could sit down and stop talking. Or better yet, go back to the site and keep working,” I suggest.

  “But I’d like to get to know your new neighbor.”

  She gives me a quick wink and sits down beside AJ on the bench. “What would you like to know?” Charlotte complies.

  “Well, I already know you’re single. But now I know you’re a single mom—I never would have guessed that, honestly. You live across the street from Hunter, so now I’m wondering when the two of you will cut to the chase and go out for dinner now that you’ve had coffee? I can watch the kids.” Still wanting to crawl out of my skin, I keep my eyes locked on this scene, waiting to hear what comes out of Charlotte’s mouth.