“That’s the goal.”
She kept smiling at him.
He tried it out and it worked so he smiled back.
She took it in, looked like she was going to cry for a second then she looked at the door, drew breath in her nose, and again caught his eyes.
“It’s time for her dinner so you should probably go.”
“We should.”
“But . . . Coert . . .” she said these two words fast but didn’t say any more.
“Yeah?”
She took a few seconds, they were long ones, then she went for it.
“It was messed up.”
“Kim—” he started, bracing.
She lifted a hand and shook her head. “I know it was messed up. I didn’t know it then. You were . . .” She paused and when she began again her voice started to get thick.
Shit.
She pushed through it.
“You thought I was funny. It felt so good when I made you laugh. You . . . you just always seemed like you were sad. Not up front, but deep down, like you were trying to hide it. So it felt good to make you laugh. You always made me feel pretty. You made me feel safe. You fixed things in the house and never complained and it was nice to have someone take care of stuff like that. Take care of me. You were so sweet and so protective,” an awkward smile cracked her face, “and not hard to look at. I fell, got deep, knew from things that happened with you and Darcy that I wasn’t gonna . . . I wasn’t gonna—”
“Kim—”
“Make it,” she forced out. “I panicked and did something stupid and—”
“And we got Janie.”
“I know but—”
“Kim,” he cut her off, “that’s the focus. It wasn’t right but we got Janie. And that’s our only focus. It wasn’t right but if we both keep focused on that I’ll stay pissed and you’ll keep feelin’ guilty and where’s Janie in all that?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “Not in a good place. So it wasn’t right but in the end it was the rightest thing in the world and that’s all. Done. Over. Moving on. Yeah?”
“Yeah, Coert, but I still want you to know I’m sorry.”
Shit.
That felt good.
“That means a lot, Kim. Know that,” he told her.
She pressed trembling lips together and nodded.
“I gotta get our girl fed,” he reminded her.
She unpressed her lips to whisper, “Yeah.”
“Janie, baby!” he shouted. “Your mom and me are done talking!”
“Okay!” he heard shouted back.
“Don’t forget Shnookie!” he yelled.
“Shoot!” he heard his girl cry, then footfalls he heard coming their way changed direction.
At that, Coert smiled at Kim.
Kim smiled back.
“You okay, Daddy?”
“I’m totally okay, baby.”
They were in his truck heading to his house.
And he was lying to his kid.
“What do you want for dinner?” he asked.
“I love you, Daddy,” she answered.
Coert’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel and he turned his eyes to the rearview mirror to get a look at his daughter in the dark.
She was looking out the side window.
Yeah.
She absorbed everything.
“I love you too, Janie. You know that?” he replied.
“Yeah, Daddy.”
“A whole lot, you know that too?”
“I know. I love you a whole lot too,” she said and added, “A whole lotta lotta lot.”
He felt his face get soft.
“And I love you a whole lotta lotta lot and then a whole lot more. But you can’t eat love, cupcake,” he teased, glancing back to the mirror.
He saw her face forward and smile his way.
Coert looked back out the windshield.
“I bet if you could, it’d taste good,” she declared.
She’d be right.
Because Coert knew what love tasted like.
It tasted like sunshine and balloons and sloppy kisses with lollipop residue from his little girl.
And it tasted like cinnamon and moonlight and toffee from redheads with emerald eyes, that coming from lips and tongues and between her legs.
“I think I know what love tastes like, Daddy,” Janie stated.
He had to clear his throat before he asked, “What does love taste like, Janie?”
“Cupcakes!” she proclaimed.
Coert chuckled at the windshield.
Then he said, “You’re probably right.”
“So we can go to Wayfarer’s and get a bunch so we can eat a whole lotta love.”
“How about we do that? But you gotta have something else so what’s it gonna be?”
“Grilled cheese and chicken noodle soup,” she decided.
“That’s a deal,” he told her.
“Hurrah!” she cried.
Coert chuckled at the windshield again, and at the end of the street he made a right toward town and Wayfarer’s instead of a left, toward home.
It wasn’t until much later when Coert got out his phone, turned on the ringer and looked at the screen.
OK. Maybe we can set something up next week. Have fun with your girl.
This was from Cady.
It tore him up.
But Coert didn’t reply.
Clean It Up
Coert
Present day . . .
IT WAS RIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS when it happened.
And no matter the shitload of headspace he’d given it, Coert wasn’t ready for it to happen.
He should have made himself ready. He shouldn’t have delayed. He shouldn’t have put her off.
He shouldn’t have been weak.
If he hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have destroyed her.
But this happened when Cady caught him on the sidewalk.
He didn’t know if she was just done and maneuvered a time to face him or if it was a chance meeting.
It was just that he was about to learn she was done with waiting.
And he was inadvertently and very unfortunately about to make her done with a lot of other things.
“Coert!”
He heard her call, felt his gut clench and turned to see her rushing up to him.
She was a forty-one-year old woman and still cute.
And that sucked.
She looked like she’d been absorbed by Maine.
She had a wide wool headband pulling back her thick hair and keeping her ears warm. A turtleneck that looked light but was probably made of some expensive yarn that was warm as hell. One of those puffy vests. Jeans. And high-heeled boots that classed up the casual.
Even if she’d looked like shit, he wasn’t ready for this so this wasn’t going to be easy.
But Cady had proved back in the day and more recently she was immune to looking shit. Even in a Sip and Save smock or sitting on her front porch first thing in the morning with her mane of hair messy, wearing a pair of pajamas.
“Cady,” he greeted when she made it to him.
“I . . . you . . . uh . . . are you busy?” she asked.
“Kinda,” he answered, indicating his shirt. “On the job,” he explained.
This was an excuse. But at least the last part was true.
She looked down to his shirt then to his eyes. “Oh, right. Of course.”
“I know you’ve been texting and I’ve been putting you off,” he began.
“Yes,” she agreed.
“But I been concentrating on my kid.”
“Oh, right,” she repeated, her shoulders falling. “Of course.”
“So maybe we can get through Christmas and then we’ll sit down and . . .” Fuck. What were the right words to use? “Handle things.”
Her head jerked almost like he’d slapped her.
He didn’t find the right words.
Yeah.
Fuck.
“Handle things?” she asked.
It was lame but, unprepared for this, it was all he had.
“Yeah,” he confirmed.
“After Christmas?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Christmas,” she whispered, the way she was looking at him suddenly changing.
Coert felt his stomach turn sour and did his best to ignore it.