Page 91 of Promise

“Reminds me of you.” Summertime and fresh meadows. Her smile bright as the white petals and golden center.

“Third time in four days, Dart River. What will the Star Gang think?” she teased.

I was there to help Marshall with something for the distillery he would eventually build. I couldn’t remember why Trinity was present.

“They say the third time is the charm.”

She laughed. “You already know you’re damn charming.”

I stepped closer to her and stroked the flower down her cheek. “Show me again how charming I am.”

Then, I cupped the back of her neck, urging her toward me. She kissed me hard and fast, knowing we might be caught. Tate and Marshall were somewhere on the property. Still, I couldn’t keep my hands or my mouth from her.

I thought sending her flowers once a year would put a smile on her face, let her know I was thinking of her. That I missed her.

She missed me? How would I know? She hadn’t answered my texts. Hadn’t returned a call.

My wife had me in a tailspin. I should have tried harder. I should have come home sooner, but I meant what I said.

She seemed happier without me.

The first time I got a glimpse of her, she hadn’t filed for divorce yet. She looked better, healthier, less sad. And I’d been a coward.

My good intentions backfired, and I didn’t know how to proceed. I didn’t know how to undo what I’d done.

I’d hurt her again. A simple gesture like flowers, meant to brighten her day, only brought another layer of sorrow.

I’m such an ass.

My anger is further fueled when I whack my thumb for the second time while building the frame for the back deck. After tossing the hammer into the yard, I sit on the edge of the plank support and hang my head. Building a deck isn’t a one-man job, but that isn’t what’s been on my mind the past few hours.

Trinity and I never fought. Not about the big things. We didn’t have screaming matches or name-calling sessions, like I’d witnessed between my grandparents as the only married role models I had when I was a young boy. I was rather proud of the fact that we didn’t argue, but it also meant we didn’t communicate sometimes. We didn’t open up enough.

I never heard Mary and Russell Haven argue either, but occasionally, I overheard some lively, contentious discussions.

Maybe a healthy level of argumentation might have been good for Trin and me.

We have a lot to work out, but being in the same vicinity is making a difference. I’m not running off to the racetrack. She isn’t hiding out at work. We are here, almost forced to face each other. Even if we don’t speak, we are still in close proximity. In my head, it sounded like the perfect plan to win her back.

But somehow, I still feel like I am losing her.

When the back door opens, I don’t look up until Trinity stands beside me and hands me a glass of lemonade.

“Thanks.” I take it from her but don’t immediately drink. Instead, I stare up at her, take in her eyes, which had been too sad too often in our last year together. Her smile had been missing. Her spirit gone.

Standing in front of me now is a woman with a glow around her. Like that perfect moment in a daisy field. She has a new strength. An easiness I haven’t seen before. A calm that’s almost frightening.

She lowers to sit beside me on the narrow edge of the plank, and I take a sip of the lemonade.

“It’s hard, right?” she begins. “Finding your way back.”

I squint toward the yard. “I’m not making it easy.”

She bumps into my shoulder. “We just need to put in the work.”

I smile weakly at her.

“Speaking of work.” She sits up straighter. “There are only so many home improvement projects around here.” She pats the frame of the deck.