Page 22 of Faking Forever
It was a bit better out there. Her father was seated at the large wooden table where they would all soon be seated for lunch, having what seemed like an intense conversation with Cade. Knowing them, it would probably be work related. A few other people were slouching on the comfortable outdoor furniture, involved in a lively debate about what sounded like a reality television show.
Not sure where to sit, Kenny’s gaze fell on the shaded benchbeneath a newly renovated pergola. She bypassed the koi pond in the middle of the small paved courtyard that Gideon had lovingly restored for Beth and happily sank down onto the seat. It was a relief to be alone and she didn’t care if it made her seem antisocial.
She was close enough to the crowd on the patio to still participate in any of the conversations swirling about—albeit with a slightly raised voice—but far enough from everyone else to nothaveto speak if she didn’t want to.
She was staring glumly down into her dark red wine when a shadow made her aware of the fact that she was no longer alone.
She looked up into Fern’s shy, smiling face. God, it felt like she had sisters-in-law popping out of every nook and cranny these days.
“Mind if I join you?” Fern asked, waving at the spot beside Kenny.
Kenny couldn’t think of anything she wanted less. But considering that she’d just been sulking about how excluded she felt, she also felt a contradictory surge of gratitude that the other woman had approached her.
“Of course not,” she lied, offering Fern a tight smile in return.
The pregnant woman lowered herself onto the wooden bench with a soft, pleased sigh and they sat quietly for a few minutes. Fern occasionally sipped from her fruit juice, while Kenny merely swirled her wine in the glass.
“Are you okay?” Fern finally broke the oddly comfortable silence.
“I…”Don’t know. “Yes.”
Fern, turned to look at Kenny, her silvery-gray eyes intent.
“You looked upset when you were speaking with Beth earlier. Hurt.”
Had she? The observation surprised Kenny and her handwent to her face, as if she would somehow be able to feel the emotions to which Fern had referred etched into her skin.
“I was just—” Kenny hesitated, unable to organize her scattered thoughts into coherent structure.
She lapsed into a pained silence and hated that it would be perceived in the wrong way. That Fern would possibly be hurt or offended and walk away from the unproductive conversation.
A minute—then two—ticked by and Fern didn’t move. She remained quietly by Kenny’s side.
“My entire life,” the other woman suddenly said, the words sounding rushed and impulsive, “I’ve felt like I didn’t belong. It can be isolating. Painful. To always feel like you’re on the outside looking in. An observer to everyone else’s life. Even this…” She gestured toward the house with her free hand. “My marriage, it’s notmine.” She shook her head as if impatient with herself, and then lifted her eyes again, meeting Kenny’s stare directly. “I think becauseI’vealways felt like that, it’s a little easier for me to recognize that loneliness in someone else. And I know we don’t know each other and this is probablysoout of line—especially considering how much of a mess my own life is right now—but I’m here if you want to talk.”
The insight—so unexpected and soaccurate—touched Kenny and her breath left her in a single exhalation. Nobody had ever seen or recognized her loneliness before. Even Kenny hadn’t truly acknowledged it until right this moment.
And the other’s woman’s offer to talk so touched her that her eyes misted before she could suppress her emotions.
She swallowed past the painful lump in her throat and dipped her chin.
She opened her mouth to assure Fern that she was fine. That she was far from lonely. That she was merely preoccupied with work.
Instead of any of that, what came out in a wobbly voice was, “Smith left me.”
Kenny blinked, shocked to have verbalized the admission, and a single tear scalded a path down her cheek. She scraped her cheek against her shoulder, ruthlessly obliterating any trace of it.
“Oh no, Kenny,” Fern whispered in dismay. “I’m so sorry.”
“I know that when you met him last time, he didn’t make the best impression, but he’s actually a really great guy,” Kenny said, in a soft, pained voice that sounded nothing like her usual measured tones.
“I’m sure he is,” Fern soothed, although Kenny thought she could hear doubt in the other woman’s voice.
“Heis,” she insisted. “I know I sound like one of those women who make excuses for their partner’s awful behavior but Smith is…waswonderfuleven though he hates me now. I don’t blame him. It’sdifficultfor me t-to talk to him—anyonereally—sometimes. And that made it hard for us to…”
She shook her head and her voice tapered off as she faltered into embarrassed silence. The word salad still hovered in the space between them.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have said all that.”
