“TWICE IN THE SAME WEEK?” Doc arches an eyebrow when I stomp into his shop. “That’s some sort of record.”
“I’m glad you’re in a good mood, Doc, but I’m starting to think that you wasted your time with me.”
“And why is that?”
“Because some broken things can’t be put back together.” I push my hand against a nearby car, suddenly exhausted. My hair falls into my eyes, hiding my face from Doc’s view.
His footsteps thud in my direction. “People come to me with broken things.” He tucks one finger into a rag and swipes. “Sometimes, those things can be repaired. Sometimes, they can’t. But the only hope for fixing what’s broken is bringing it into the shop.”
I wilt against the car. “Harriet saw someone from my past.” “An old girlfriend or…?”
I glance up. “The last woman I broke up with before I started putting my all into my marriage.”
Doc scrubs his goatee. “Wounds come in all shapes and sizes, but the one that walk on two legs and breathe the same air are the hardest to outrun.”
“I’ve tried and I’ve tried. If I’m giving my all and she still feels like I’m not doing enough…” My shoulders slump. “I’m failing my marriage. I’m failing my company.” My tired eyes meet Doc’s. “Is this what it’s like to hit rock bottom?”
“The most important lessons come when you’re being humbled.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to find the answers. “What bothers me more is that Harriet is pushing me away. I don’t want her to suffer alone. It kills me that I’m the reason she’s in pain. I want to take responsibility. I want to make it better, but she’s not even giving me a chance to help her.”
“Because you haven’t earned her trust yet.” “Doc, I’m doing everything,” I cry out.
“Remember, you’re not starting from the beginning. You’re starting from a negative.” He steps toward the car he was working on and taps the engine. “When the gas tank is at ‘E’, what does that mean?”
“It’s empty,” I answer in an impatient tone. “Everyone knows that.” “What does it mean when the tank is below ‘E’?”
I narrow my eyes at him.
Doc doesn’t wait around to hear my answer. “You’re in the hole and you’re building up from there. Up until this point, you’ve been filling in the negatives so the tank goes back to ‘E’, but it’s still at the ‘E’. You now need to build on top of that to get to the positive.”
“Can’t I just wait until she comes to me?”
“What you do in this crisis will show her exactly how much she means to you.”
I pace the garage, stepping past old and new cars that all have one thing in common-they’re broken or in need of servicing.
Doc’s dark eyes trace my path. “When an athlete gets hurt, he doesn’t get back up and run. It’s not good to force the wound to heal before it’s ready or it will cause further damage.”
“You’re jumping between analogies.” “I’m drilling in the principle.”
I stop and focus on Doc. “Alright. I’ll give the wound time. Build up from the empty gas tank. I’m going to work on all that. How long will it take until I’ve fixed this completely?”
“The most important thing is your heart.” He pushes a finger in the direction of my chest. “If your heart is always tuned to her, then the wound will heal. The level of your love toward her, your commitment and communication-that will determine the length of time it takes.”
“I want it to heal properly.” My fingers curl into fists. I owe her that.
Owe her everything. “What can I do to make sure that happens?”
“Continue along in this same direction. Don’t break her trust anymore. From the bottom of your heart, let her be the most important person on
earth to you. Let her see that in your actions, choices and behavior.” He dips his chin. “In that type of environment, where you’re showing love and commitment, whatever caused that hurt cannot survive.”
I take Doc’s words to heart and carry it with me into the new week. Rather than backing off, I chase Harriet with abandon. Flowers to start. Gorgeous roses that are fragile and yet so strong. Just like her. Notes tucked into the folds so she can know that I’m thinking about her. That I love her. That I miss her.
Six bouquets.
One for every day.
Except the seventh. On that day, I’m out of the state doing an interview at a boxing tournament.
The journalist is a leggy blonde wearing dark red lipstick. Her eyelashes have been bouncing in my direction since I sat in front of the cameras. Just before the interview, she slid me a note asking if I’d be interested in buying her a drink.
“You’re an inspiration, Mr. Bradley,” the journalist coos, planting her hands on her short skirt as if to draw attention there. “Tell me, what is the secret behind your success?”
My eyes slide to the camera.
Just beyond the lights, the boxing ring lies swathed in shadows.
I see red velvet ropes. A woman in a red jacket. Red nails. Dark brown skin.
“Honestly?” My attention returns to the camera. “My wife.” “Oh.” The reporter’s mouth droops in disappointment.
“Harriet stood by me when I had nothing. She encouraged me when I was hustling to get clients and doors kept slamming in my face.”
The reporter laughs in discomfort. “I see.”
“My wife is an amazing woman. I’m still in awe of her.”
“Well, you’re no slouch yourself.” The compliment is a tad too flirty to be professional. She clears her throat. “That’s it for today. Thank you for your time.”
I make no mention about the drinks and, thankfully, she doesn’t bring it up either.
After the interview, I drag myself home and scowl at the emptiness.
This house is too big for me.
I sigh heavily, missing Harriet like crazy. Maybe I should head to the bakery. Pretend I’m dying for some cookies. Would she see right through that?
My phone chirps in the silence. It’s a call from my wife.
I yank the phone to my ear and grin. “Hey.” “Hey.” Her voice is so sweet I get a sugar rush.
There’s a beat of silence. An ocean of words flow through my head, but it doesn’t make it to my mouth.
“I got your flowers. They’re beautiful.”
“They reminded me of you.” I pluck my glasses off my face and set them on the table.
She sighs in my ear. “The notes were sweet.” “I meant every word.”
“You went to a lot of trouble.”
“It was more trouble staying away from you.” I mean that with every beat of my heart. Harriet’s become a pattern in my life. A groove that, when I’m outside of it, throws me for a loop.
“Jerrison,” she stumbles over her words, “you’ve poured your all into loving me and I’m… it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”
I keep my mouth shut. This is important.
This is my wife putting her heart on a platter and offering it to me. I need my hands free so I can accept it. I need my attention on her in case she loses her grip while she’s closing the distance.
“But a part of me is scared that it won’t last.” She exhales loudly. “Seeing my past in real time probably didn’t make it better.”
She makes a humming sound. “Last week, I didn’t run from Ashley because I’m jealous or scared of her. I ran because… of what she represents. Lies. Frustration. Misery. That’s the pain I went through for most of our marriage.”
My heart clenches and emotions clog my throat. I’m sorry. But an apology isn’t good enough. I can only promise myself that I’ll love her harder to make up for it.
“Are you busy this weekend?” Harriet asks suddenly.
I am. Thanks to Fuentes sending the company into a tailspin, I’m scrambling to come up with a solution that will save the boat before it sinks.
Patrick’s no help now that he’s furious with me, and I’ve been working long nights to find a solution on my own.
I take too long to answer.
Harriet mumbles, “You are busy.” “No,” I blurt. “I’m not.”
“Then can you come somewhere with me this weekend?” “Where?”
“A couple’s retreat. I don’t want to be the only one there without her husband.”
I squeeze the phone tighter, glad that I didn’t give up on pursuing her over the past few days.
“Jerrison? Do you… want to come with me?” Smiling like a fool, I ask, “When do we leave?”