Page 70 of Letting Go at 40

He already knows this about my feelings.

“Why?” Mason steps forward. “Because we’re friends?” He speaks the word like it’s bitter on his tongue.

“Because I care about you,” I admit, voice incredulous. Does he not see how I do care? “I’ve missed Ben so much, but I’ve missed you more.” I swallow around the truth. I can’t get Ben back but Mason . . . Mason is out there, doing God knows what, with whom, and now he has all this pressure to get his little girl.

There isn’t space for me—the complicated friend—in his life.

“We’ve done things we shouldn’t have done,” I tell him, clutching a soft fist against my chest, caught between the guilty pleasure of the things we’ve done and a tiny hint of shame.

His head tips, questioning me, and I continue. “Talking to me like you have. Kissing me on my birthday. The night Archer left.”

“Anna.” Mason sighs, frustration filling his tone as he digs his fingers into his hair. “We’re friends. That’s what friends do. We’re there for each other.”

I flinch, eyes rapidly blinking. “Friends?” I choke on the word like my mouth is full of sand.

Friends? I don’t have other friends who talk dirty to me, kiss me like he does, or even lead me through orgasms. What kind of friends does he have?

Then again, what other word did I expect him to say? What describes who we are to one another? Are we special friends? I don’t even know what I’m thinking.

“You’ve just been so distant with all that’s going on with Lynlee.” Frustration fills my own voice, along with more guilt for wanting him when he has other priorities in his life.

Mason’s shoulders fall. “I promise to do better.”

“Stop making promises.” I exhale. The threat of more obligation from him makes me feel sick.

Mason cups his forehead, digging his fingertips into his skin. Exasperation takes over his posture. “I’m doing the best I can.”

“I know.” I blow out a breath and glance away. He’s done more than I ever expected from him. For Ben. For the kids.

For me, as his friend.

“It won’t ever be enough, though, will it?” The quiet tone holds an eerie edge. “I’ll never be enough.”

“Mason, that’s not true.” I step toward him, reaching for him as Lynlee calls out to him.

“Dad.” Her small voice booms on the vacant beach. She runs toward us, eager faced and grinning. It’s the first time I’ve seen her openly smile. With her hand outstretched, she reaches us. “I found one.”

Mason and I both look down at her open palm, held high and proud.

“Look,” she says, but we’re already staring and my breath catches.

“You’re always looking for them, but I found one.” Pride fills her voice at her treasure; however, I’m confused.

“It’s a heart-shaped rock.” My words come out strangled. My hand curls around my neck as if that will help me better understand.

“Daddy is always looking for them on our beach, but we never find them there. But I found one here, just lying in the sand.” Her small voice still rings loud, excited by her find.

“I don’t understand,” I whisper, glancing up at Mason whose head remains lowered. His finger reaches out and strokes over the flat surface. The curved edges forming two humps while narrowing to a sharp point.

River is into nature and the symbolism of finding things within it. She once told me the heart-shaped rocks that appeared during Ben’s dying could represent a sign from a loved one. An understanding that I was going through a tough time and a reminder to be strong. She also said they could mean to open my heart to new possibilities. The interpretation was really up to the receiver. Whatever I needed those hearts to be, they were.

When the rocks continued to appear even after Ben’s death, I couldn’t wrap my head around their meaning. Was Ben sending me messages from the grave? I didn’t believe in such things.

Now I had an explanation.

Open my heart. New possibilities.

Mason? Had it been him all along?