I no longer believed in the idea of soul mates, or love at first sight. But I was beginning to believe that a very few times in your life, if you were lucky, you might meet someone who was exactly right for you. Not because he was perfect, or because you were, but because your combined flaws were arranged in a way that allowed two separate beings to hinge together.
One of the blessings human beings take for granted is the ability to remember pain without re-feeling it.
The pain of the physical wounds is long gone and the other kind of hurt, the damage done to our spirits, has been healed. We are careful with those scarred places in each other.
He liked cheap women, fast cars, late nights, and hard liquor, especially all together. In Jack's view, you are obliged to sin on Saturday night so you'd have something to atone for Sunday morning. Otherwise, you'd be putting the preacher out of business.
I feel the curve of his smile against my skin. But as he lifts his head and looks into my eyes, his grin fades. "Haven . . . I don't know if I'm going to be a good father. What if I don't do it right?"
I am touched by Hardy's concern, his constant desire to be the man he thinks I deserve. Even when we disagree, I have no doubt that I am cherished. And respected. And I know that neither of us takes the other one for granted.
I have come to realize you can never be truly happy unless you've known some sorrow. All the terrible things Hardy and I have gone through in our lives have created the spaces inside where happiness can live. Not to mention love. So much love that there doesn't seem to be room for bitterness in either of us.
"I think the fact that you're worrying about it at all," I say, "means you'll probably be great at it."
You can keep a bunch of crabs in a shallow container, and none of them will escape. Because as soon as one of 'em tries to climb out, the others pull him back in."
I lacked some essential skill for attracting people, for giving and receiving love easily. It meant too much to me. I seemed to be driving away the people I most wanted. Finally I had realized that getting someone to love you was like trying to coax a bird to perch on your finger . . . it wouldn't happen unless you stopped trying so hard.
He was my confidant, the person who was always on my side even when he wasn't taking my side.
The Travises who had survived were the most purely stubborn people on earth, the kind who relied on their backbones when their wishbones were broken.
"Sometimes I'm not nice for a reason. It's a way to find out what someone's made of."
"Make your choice and accept the consequences."
"Of all the things he wants," Liberty said, "money's the easiest to get."
He had found my worst weakness: I was one of those people who was desperate to be needed, to matter to someone.
Sometimes a simple question could have a complicated answer.
"This is a process," she said gently. "I know we want Haven to skip over the middle part and get right to the end . . . but I think the only way for her to get out of it is to go through it. Step by step."
Sometimes an imitation of love can be pretty damn convincing.
I figured if I told it to myself often enough, I would start believing it.
His quiet certainty made the ground beneath my feet feel solid. Like someday everything might actually be okay.
I was a new person in the same world, which was a lot more difficult than being the same person in a new world.
"Rebound guys are the best."
"They are?"
"They never even think of getting serious, because everyone knows you don't jump into a relationship right after a divorce. They just want to be your welcome wagon when you start having sex again. It's your time to experiment, girl!"
"The world is my petri dish," I said, raising my drink.
I felt the kind of loneliness that can happen in a roomful of people when everyone but you seems to be in on the good time.
"Bad divorce?" Hardy asked, his gaze falling to my hands. I realized I was clutching my purse in a death grip.
"No, the divorce was great," I said. "It was the marriage that sucked."
God, it was good. Comforting and stimulating at the same time. Absolute world-class pheromones. I wished I could take his jacket home with me.
Not him, just the jacket.
But it was too late now. A lifetime too late. A million wishes too late.
But sometimes normal just isn't happening. Sometimes crazy feels too good to resist.
And it occurred to me that friendship was a lot more dependable, not to mention long-lasting, than love.
"Yeah, I knew," he finally said, his voice soft. "I always knew I'd do whatever it took. Living in a trailer park, running in a pack of barefoot kids . . . my whole life was already set out for me, and I sure as hell didn't like the looks of it. So I always knew I'd take my chance when I got it. And if it didn't come, I'd make something happen."
Maybe he's not college-smart, but he's smart in a way they can't teach.
"It's just . . . I'd like you to find some nice guy with no weird fuckin' baggage."
I had to laugh. My irritation vanished, and I reached over to pat his hand. "If you ever meet one," I said, "let me know."
"Do you think I should stay away from him?" I asked in a scratchy voice.
Todd took a long time to answer. "My advice is, if you're inclined in that direction, go with your eyes open. It's okay to let someone play you, Haven, as long as you know what's going on."
I scowled defensively. "My conversations don't usually include the subject of erections."
"Too bad," he said. "All the best conversations do."
I think at this point, safety isn't a feeling, it's a process. Starting with trust.
But I hadn't known what love was. And I wondered how you could ever be sure, when you thought you loved someone, if you really did.
Because letting someone in close meant they could hurt you. I knew all about that kind of fear. I lived with it.
"If you don't want to have sex, I don't want to talk about our feelings."
He scrubbed his hand through his hair, looking confused. "Well, that's for damn sure the first time a woman's ever said that to me."
"Dad," I said hesitantly, "I wish you could be there for me even when I'm doing the wrong thing. I wish you could love me even when I'm screwing up."
But when you started dating someone, you could never be sure what you were getting into. You had to give someone a chance to show you who he really was . . . and believe him when he did.
It was a train wreck happening right in front of me and I couldn't do anything about it, except that not only was I watching, I was also the train.
"I could apologize for all the women I knew before you. But I'm not going to."
"Didn't ask you to," I said sullenly.
His hand slipped under the sheet, gently sweeping over me. "I learned something from every woman I've been with. And I needed to learn a lot before I was ready for you."
I scowled. "Why? Because I'm complicated? Difficult?" I fought to keep my breathing steady as he cupped my breast and shaped it.
He shook his head. "Because there's so much I want to do for you. So many ways I want to please you." He bent to kiss me, and brushed the tip of his nose against mine in a playful nudge. "Those women were just practice for you."
"Good line," I said grudgingly.
Falling hard and fast. And there didn't seem to be a thing I could do about it.
Roy received my comments with a forced smile. "Hardy, didn't I warn you not to date a woman who reads?"
Hardy seemed amused by my outspokenness. "Keeps the arguing to a minimum," he replied. "No point in trying when I know she's going to win."
Sometimes the closest-held secrets in the world can be pried out by the right question at the right time.
"Want to try it?" Dad offered, patting the arm of the chair. "Fifteen different kinds of massage. It analyzes your back muscles and makes recommendations. It also grabs and stretches the thigh and calf muscles."
"No, thanks. I prefer my furniture to keep its hands to itself."
"You're going to shoot the messenger?"
"Yeah, Dad, if the messenger can't learn to keep his interfering ass out of my business."
"No," I said automatically, "don't do anything about Dad. You can't fix my relationship with him."
"I can block or run interference."
"Thanks, Jack, but I don't need blocking, and I really don't need any more interference."
He looked annoyed. "Well, why did you waste all that time complaining to me if you didn't want me to do something about it?"
"I don't want you to fix my problems. I just wanted you to listen."
"Hang it all, Haven, talk to a girlfriend if all you want is a pair of ears. Guys hate it when you give us a problem and then don't let us do something about it. It makes us feel bad. And then the only way to make ourselves feel better is to rip a phone book in two or blow something up. So let's get this straight - I'm not a good listener. I'm a guy."
"Yes you are." I stood and smiled. "Want to buy me a drink at an after work bar?"
"Now you're talking," my brother said, and we left the office.
"Hardy's either done the wrong thing for the wrong reason . . . " Another big swallow. "Or the wrong thing for the right reason."
"What? What did he tell you?"
My father shook his head. "He asked me to keep it private. And I'm done interfering. Except . . . "
I gave an unsteady laugh. "Except what? Damn it, Daddy, why do you have to quit interfering when you finally have something I want to hear?"
"Hardy Cates," I said, coming into the room, "you behave, or I'll step on your tube."
The nurse seemed taken aback by my unsympathetic bedside manner. But Hardy's gaze met mine in a moment of bright, hot voltage, and he relaxed, reassured in a way that cooing sympathy could never have done.
"That only works if it's a breathing tube," he told me.
I was going to have to leave you anyway. Because I loved you too much to drag you down with me."
My hand crept up to caress the rigid line of his jaw. "Why'd you change your mind?" I whispered.
"After I calmed down a little and had a chance to think, I figured . . . I love you enough to try and deserve you. I would do anything, be anything, for you."
"I need you for a lot of things, Hardy. A lifetime's worth of things. You know," I told him on our wedding night, "I'm just as much me when I'm with you, as I am without you." And because Hardy understood what I meant, he pulled me into his arms, against his heart.
One of the blessings human beings take for granted is the ability to remember pain without re-feeling it.
The pain of the physical wounds is long gone and the other kind of hurt, the damage done to our spirits, has been healed. We are careful with those scarred places in each other.
He liked cheap women, fast cars, late nights, and hard liquor, especially all together. In Jack's view, you are obliged to sin on Saturday night so you'd have something to atone for Sunday morning. Otherwise, you'd be putting the preacher out of business.
I feel the curve of his smile against my skin. But as he lifts his head and looks into my eyes, his grin fades. "Haven . . . I don't know if I'm going to be a good father. What if I don't do it right?"
I am touched by Hardy's concern, his constant desire to be the man he thinks I deserve. Even when we disagree, I have no doubt that I am cherished. And respected. And I know that neither of us takes the other one for granted.
I have come to realize you can never be truly happy unless you've known some sorrow. All the terrible things Hardy and I have gone through in our lives have created the spaces inside where happiness can live. Not to mention love. So much love that there doesn't seem to be room for bitterness in either of us.
"I think the fact that you're worrying about it at all," I say, "means you'll probably be great at it."
You can keep a bunch of crabs in a shallow container, and none of them will escape. Because as soon as one of 'em tries to climb out, the others pull him back in."
I lacked some essential skill for attracting people, for giving and receiving love easily. It meant too much to me. I seemed to be driving away the people I most wanted. Finally I had realized that getting someone to love you was like trying to coax a bird to perch on your finger . . . it wouldn't happen unless you stopped trying so hard.
He was my confidant, the person who was always on my side even when he wasn't taking my side.
The Travises who had survived were the most purely stubborn people on earth, the kind who relied on their backbones when their wishbones were broken.
"Sometimes I'm not nice for a reason. It's a way to find out what someone's made of."
"Make your choice and accept the consequences."
"Of all the things he wants," Liberty said, "money's the easiest to get."
He had found my worst weakness: I was one of those people who was desperate to be needed, to matter to someone.
Sometimes a simple question could have a complicated answer.
"This is a process," she said gently. "I know we want Haven to skip over the middle part and get right to the end . . . but I think the only way for her to get out of it is to go through it. Step by step."
Sometimes an imitation of love can be pretty damn convincing.
I figured if I told it to myself often enough, I would start believing it.
His quiet certainty made the ground beneath my feet feel solid. Like someday everything might actually be okay.
I was a new person in the same world, which was a lot more difficult than being the same person in a new world.
"Rebound guys are the best."
"They are?"
"They never even think of getting serious, because everyone knows you don't jump into a relationship right after a divorce. They just want to be your welcome wagon when you start having sex again. It's your time to experiment, girl!"
"The world is my petri dish," I said, raising my drink.
I felt the kind of loneliness that can happen in a roomful of people when everyone but you seems to be in on the good time.
"Bad divorce?" Hardy asked, his gaze falling to my hands. I realized I was clutching my purse in a death grip.
"No, the divorce was great," I said. "It was the marriage that sucked."
God, it was good. Comforting and stimulating at the same time. Absolute world-class pheromones. I wished I could take his jacket home with me.
Not him, just the jacket.
But it was too late now. A lifetime too late. A million wishes too late.
But sometimes normal just isn't happening. Sometimes crazy feels too good to resist.
And it occurred to me that friendship was a lot more dependable, not to mention long-lasting, than love.
"Yeah, I knew," he finally said, his voice soft. "I always knew I'd do whatever it took. Living in a trailer park, running in a pack of barefoot kids . . . my whole life was already set out for me, and I sure as hell didn't like the looks of it. So I always knew I'd take my chance when I got it. And if it didn't come, I'd make something happen."
Maybe he's not college-smart, but he's smart in a way they can't teach.
"It's just . . . I'd like you to find some nice guy with no weird fuckin' baggage."
I had to laugh. My irritation vanished, and I reached over to pat his hand. "If you ever meet one," I said, "let me know."
"Do you think I should stay away from him?" I asked in a scratchy voice.
Todd took a long time to answer. "My advice is, if you're inclined in that direction, go with your eyes open. It's okay to let someone play you, Haven, as long as you know what's going on."
I scowled defensively. "My conversations don't usually include the subject of erections."
"Too bad," he said. "All the best conversations do."
I think at this point, safety isn't a feeling, it's a process. Starting with trust.
But I hadn't known what love was. And I wondered how you could ever be sure, when you thought you loved someone, if you really did.
Because letting someone in close meant they could hurt you. I knew all about that kind of fear. I lived with it.
"If you don't want to have sex, I don't want to talk about our feelings."
He scrubbed his hand through his hair, looking confused. "Well, that's for damn sure the first time a woman's ever said that to me."
"Dad," I said hesitantly, "I wish you could be there for me even when I'm doing the wrong thing. I wish you could love me even when I'm screwing up."
But when you started dating someone, you could never be sure what you were getting into. You had to give someone a chance to show you who he really was . . . and believe him when he did.
It was a train wreck happening right in front of me and I couldn't do anything about it, except that not only was I watching, I was also the train.
"I could apologize for all the women I knew before you. But I'm not going to."
"Didn't ask you to," I said sullenly.
His hand slipped under the sheet, gently sweeping over me. "I learned something from every woman I've been with. And I needed to learn a lot before I was ready for you."
I scowled. "Why? Because I'm complicated? Difficult?" I fought to keep my breathing steady as he cupped my breast and shaped it.
He shook his head. "Because there's so much I want to do for you. So many ways I want to please you." He bent to kiss me, and brushed the tip of his nose against mine in a playful nudge. "Those women were just practice for you."
"Good line," I said grudgingly.
Falling hard and fast. And there didn't seem to be a thing I could do about it.
Roy received my comments with a forced smile. "Hardy, didn't I warn you not to date a woman who reads?"
Hardy seemed amused by my outspokenness. "Keeps the arguing to a minimum," he replied. "No point in trying when I know she's going to win."
Sometimes the closest-held secrets in the world can be pried out by the right question at the right time.
"Want to try it?" Dad offered, patting the arm of the chair. "Fifteen different kinds of massage. It analyzes your back muscles and makes recommendations. It also grabs and stretches the thigh and calf muscles."
"No, thanks. I prefer my furniture to keep its hands to itself."
"You're going to shoot the messenger?"
"Yeah, Dad, if the messenger can't learn to keep his interfering ass out of my business."
"No," I said automatically, "don't do anything about Dad. You can't fix my relationship with him."
"I can block or run interference."
"Thanks, Jack, but I don't need blocking, and I really don't need any more interference."
He looked annoyed. "Well, why did you waste all that time complaining to me if you didn't want me to do something about it?"
"I don't want you to fix my problems. I just wanted you to listen."
"Hang it all, Haven, talk to a girlfriend if all you want is a pair of ears. Guys hate it when you give us a problem and then don't let us do something about it. It makes us feel bad. And then the only way to make ourselves feel better is to rip a phone book in two or blow something up. So let's get this straight - I'm not a good listener. I'm a guy."
"Yes you are." I stood and smiled. "Want to buy me a drink at an after work bar?"
"Now you're talking," my brother said, and we left the office.
"Hardy's either done the wrong thing for the wrong reason . . . " Another big swallow. "Or the wrong thing for the right reason."
"What? What did he tell you?"
My father shook his head. "He asked me to keep it private. And I'm done interfering. Except . . . "
I gave an unsteady laugh. "Except what? Damn it, Daddy, why do you have to quit interfering when you finally have something I want to hear?"
"Hardy Cates," I said, coming into the room, "you behave, or I'll step on your tube."
The nurse seemed taken aback by my unsympathetic bedside manner. But Hardy's gaze met mine in a moment of bright, hot voltage, and he relaxed, reassured in a way that cooing sympathy could never have done.
"That only works if it's a breathing tube," he told me.
I was going to have to leave you anyway. Because I loved you too much to drag you down with me."
My hand crept up to caress the rigid line of his jaw. "Why'd you change your mind?" I whispered.
"After I calmed down a little and had a chance to think, I figured . . . I love you enough to try and deserve you. I would do anything, be anything, for you."
"I need you for a lot of things, Hardy. A lifetime's worth of things. You know," I told him on our wedding night, "I'm just as much me when I'm with you, as I am without you." And because Hardy understood what I meant, he pulled me into his arms, against his heart.
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