As we continued beating the humdrum, she caught me staring at her ring finger.
“Stephen and I got divorced two years ago, to answer your question,” she said.
Just the mention of his name brought out my inner J-News. “I never know whether to give condolences or congratulations when people get divorced.”
“It was a tough time for both of us. Everyone goes into marriage thinking it will last forever,” she replied, matter of fact.
It shouldn’t have been that tough. In fact, it should have been the easiest decision she ever made … since she was supposed to still be in love with me. I never let myself think that she actually loved the guy, or dreamt of spending her life with him. I’d convinced myself that she’d married him out of spite or youthful naivete, and she eventually realized where her heart stood on the issue. Maybe it would have been best to never see her again and maintain my delusions. But it was too late for that, and I could no longer hold back.
“I’m relieved it was just divorce. I thought he might have died of old age. What was he like, a hundred when you married him?”
Her face turned beet-red-I had hit a nerve.
“The guy I dated before Stephen was an immature child, so it was nice to be with a grownup, no matter how it ended,” she said, her eyes wandering to my cane. “By the looks of it, the more things change the more they stay the same.”
The small dash of anger provided me the hope I needed to continue on. I knew, or at least hoped, that there was no way our epic tale could end with handshakes and bland discussion of the weather. I needed there to be an emotional connection, even if it came in the form of hatred or regret.
I followed Gwen’s eyes-still a radiant green-to my cane. My stare appeared to make her uncomfortable. She looked away as she spoke, an edge in her voice, “It was good to see you again, JP. I assume you’re just on a stopover between exotic countries. So have a safe trip.”
I continued staring at her. I couldn’t stop.
“What?” she finally asked with irritation.
I said nothing. I couldn’t.
“Shouldn’t you be getting back to that news model who has set journalism back a couple of centuries? I think she’s still trolling around somewhere in her supermodel heels.”
My smile came to life. “How did you know Lauren was here today?”
Gwen was suddenly flustered, but recovered nicely. “I’m a journalist, remember? You know, like you used to be.”
“Used to be?”
“Yeah, back in college before you became a bad example of reality TV.”
Reality TV was a low blow. Our relationship had officially hit rock bottom.
“You mean that same ‘back in college’ time right before you kicked me to the curb, and ran off and married Grandpa Warbucks.”
She crossed her arms around her chest like the temperature had suddenly dropped fifty degrees. I remembered it as her trademark move when we fought. “Oh please, you were the one who needed to go off and see the world. You can try to write history all you want, JP, but it’ll never change the outcome.”
The cards were now on the table. I ran off to parts unknown and shut her out of my life. Gwen married someone else. But as much as I might want to rewrite a better ending, she was correct about one thing-it wouldn’t change anything.
“Just tell me something, Gwen.”
“And that is?”
“When those terrorists took me hostage, were you rooting for me or them?”
“Knowing you, JP, you probably staged the whole thing for a publicity stunt. Are you sure you even need that cane?”
She kicked the cane away with her boot, causing me to helplessly fall to the ground. The cane scattered to my right and my baseball cap flew off. A new rock bottom had been established.
She immediately knew she’d stepped over the line. She likely wanted to get things off her chest, not commit assault and battery. And she was sharp enough to realize that it wasn’t a smart move to beat up a handicapped American hero in a public place. Small town gossip could be relentless.
I remained on the ground, playing the empathy card to the hilt. Nothing else was working. Gwen gathered my cap and cane, and reached down to help me up, which I stubbornly refused.
I rolled onto my strong side and maneuvered to a kneeling position, before pushing myself to my feet. I begrudgingly accepted the cap and cane without as much as a thank you.
After dusting myself off, I said, “One of my best friends was paralyzed, and our guide was killed on that so-called publicity stunt.”
“I’m sorry, JP … I didn’t know … I was totally out of line.”
This time I accepted her apology, but wasn’t ready to talk about Byron. I had become an expert at holding stuff in to let it boil and fester. I called it intestinal fortitude, while Christina referred to it as the first warning sign of my inevitable stroke. So I did what I do so well-I changed the subject.
“It’s good to know I still bring out the best in you,” I said, testing the rough waters with a grin.
That’s when I noticed a slight smile escape from Gwen’s lips. It was the smile I had longed to see for all those years.
Chapter 28
The moment was fleeting. Seemingly appearing out of nowhere, a uniformed Rockfield police officer came up behind Gwen. I was still feeling the effect of the smile, and playfully said, “Thank you for you concern, officer, but I don’t plan to press charges.”
When I took a closer look, I realized it was Jones. The man was everywhere. A small, dark-haired boy rode piggyback on his shoulders. He set the child down and they slapped smiling high-fives. The boy ran to Gwen and hugged her, before rambling on about his ride on the roller coaster.
Jones put his arm around Gwen, marking his territory. “So who brings out the best in my girl?”
Gwen made the introduction. She referred to me as her “childhood friend” and simply called him Kyle. No mention of the BF word, even if it was implied. We awkwardly shook hands, before informing her that we’d already met.
“Congratulations on your award,” I said, trying to buy some time to wake up from my worst nightmare-maybe that was the reason for the bad vibes. I looked into Jones’ eyes as I said it. Once again they gave me an eerie feeling. I pulled away from the gaze and tried to look at Gwen, but she subtly turned away.
Jones looked back at me like he was sizing up his competition. “You are Noah Warner’s brother, correct? I’m sorry, when I was at the house the other day, I didn’t put two and two together.”
“Some would say he’s my brother.”
“It’s too bad,” Jones said, shaking his head while eying the ground.
I predicted his condolences about the accident, and mentally prepared my reply.
He stared at me so hard it actually gave me a chill, then said, “It sickens me that your brother murdered that innocent girl.”
The comment hit me like burning shrapnel. “That’s a family matter.”
“It’s the community’s business when someone chooses to drink and drive. It’s no different than if a sex offender moved into the community.”
I strained as hard as I could to convince myself to take the high road. I really did. But Gwen’s boyfriend calling my brother a murderer was just too much to take.
“Everybody makes mistakes. For example, your parents had you.”
Jones flushed, his beady eyes narrowing to angry slits. The subject seemed personal.
Gwen stepped in between us-the frightened child in her arms-trying to play peacemaker. “Doesn’t your shift start in a few minutes, Kyle?”
“Duty calls,” he said, forcing something resembling a smile. He gave Gwen a peck on the lips, which made me cringe. He then exchanged another high-five with the boy. “I’ll see you later, Tommy.”