Page 115 of When There Was You
Whoa.“That’s actually kind of deep, Lumberjack. And beautifully expressed.”
“But don’t get me wrong, the pussy’s a major draw.”
I smack him playfully and he laughs, then gets up to run us a bath.
Bathing with Butch is fast becoming one of my favorite activities. The lumberjack has an oversized tub that fits both of us perfectly. It’s not only romantic, but seeing this tall drink of water with his arm hanging over the side, eyes fastened on me as I climb in, is sexy as hell. The way he looks at me as if I’m the only person on earth who matters. Like he wants to devour or spoil me with every second of his day. Come to think of it, he looks at me this way all the time.
I nestle against him, immersed under the bubbles floating on the surface like fluffy clouds.
Mr. Slippery and All Mine kisses the crown of my head. “I’ve been wondering…what if we’re like old cars that just needed the right person to come along and restore us? You know, fix the engine, replace the upholstery, fabricate damaged sections, give us a fresh spin in life. An opportunity to shine, press the gas, and go for a hell of a ride.”
“I’m thinkingyoushould be the writer.”
His gently pinches my waist under the water. “Nah, that’s your area of expertise.”
“It’s a poignant analogy, Butch,” I say softly. “Perfect, really.”
“Maybe we just needed someone to show us a little love after we sat rusting and neglected.”
Now I’m getting teary. “Don’t you make me get all weepy, Butch Hamilton.”
The arm he’s casually slung across my chest tightens. “I’m your mechanic, baby, and you’re mine. And I’m damn glad we’re putting in the effort. It would be easier to ignore the rot, shy away from the work required, and let the paint peel. But what a waste, you know?”
He’s so damn poetic. I manage a nod. “We’ve still got miles to go, and plenty of gas. I’m thankful for you, for us.”
He squeezes me and plants another reassuring kiss to my temple. “You sure you have to leave today?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Now that we’re letting all the truths fly, I’m going to float something else out there. We’ve been doing the distance waltz for months. At some point, we need to talk about getting in the same zip code.”
He’s right. The miles separating us make everything difficult. “I don’t disagree. But I also have no idea what to do about that.”
“Me neither. Let’s stay open to talking more when we’re ready.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
As I drive backto my empty apartment, the ache deepens with every mile logged between Butch and me. Once inside my studio, surrounded by dead silence, I’m struck by the difference in what I left vs. what I have. And the quiet is louder than it was prior to Christmas…because I just experienced an earthquake-leveling dose of home, family, and love.
Fifty-Six
The day of the custody hearing arrives, and I drive to the Richmond courthouse. Adrenaline spikes as I walk toward the imposing structure that looks a century old. Pushing myself through the doors is akin to steering your ship into a hurricane, knowing you can’t avoid it, so you put your head down and blindly hope everyone comes out unscathed.
I go where directed and spot Butch first, huddled with his parents and sister in the corridor outside one of the smaller rooms designated for family court. Tension radiates from the group, even from a distance. As I hug each of them tightly, I try infusing positive energy from my body to theirs.
There’s scant conversation as we wait, and really, what is there to say? By the way Butch yanks at the knot in his tie, I can tell he’d like to rip it off—and probably the whole suit. He’s too antsy to even hold my hand.
His attorney arrives, briefcase in hand, and pulls Butch aside for a private discussion.
It’s obvious when Darlene shows up because Liz mutters “bitch” under her breath. Never seeing her before, I’mriveted, sizing her up while she speaks to the man at her side. Her face is plain but pretty with round features, her mousy brown hair badly permed into too-tight coils. She’s average height and wears a navy V-neck dress with shoulder pads and two rows of white buttons down the front. Scuffed vinyl pumps complete the ensemble.
She’s accompanied by a short man whose belly threatens to pop through his starched shirt underneath a brown suit that screams polyester. An oily sheen coats his face, obvious even from twelve feet away. There is nothing attractive about him.
He waddles over to Butch’s attorney, and I’m dismayed when the pair shake hands even though they’re about to do battle. The man extends his hand to Butch next and is met with a stony stare. Yeah, buddy…that’s not happening.
Butch strides back to our group, not even sparing Darlene a glance, but I don’t miss how she glares at him. He takes my hand, and I return a firm, reassuring squeeze.
Sweat trickles from my armpits as we wait. It’s incredibly awkward hanging out in the hallway with his ex-wife. There is zero acknowledgement of Darlene by any of the Hamiltons, and it’s no surprise. Her abandoning both Butch and Emmy is unfathomable. I wonder if Darlene truly understands what she lost, how deeply she hurt them, and how much strife her current actions are causing.
