Other Side of the Wall (3 page)

“Ava”,
she said quietly. “Could I please talk to you?”

I
looked at the set of charts in my hand and then the clock. Why did she want to
talk to me? Peter and I had been separated for well over a year, and the
divorce was final this past February. It would have been finalized sooner, but
he kept dragging it out in hopes I would change my mind. Thankfully he ran out
of money, and my parents had hired the best lawyer money could buy for me.

I
asked her to follow me to a less public area. “Why do you want to talk to me?”
I whispered.

She
started to cry, which made me feel terrible. I knew I owed her nothing, but she
must have been desperate to search me out. I told her to follow me. I led her
out to the courtyard and we sat at an empty picnic table. Her daughter began to
stir, so she sat her on her lap. She was six months old now, and she was
darling. I could see Peter in her. She had his dark brown eyes and black hair.
I had to choke back the tears.

She
looked down at her daughter nervously. “Ava, I know you probably hate me.”

You
could say that.

“And
I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you, but I need your help.”

I
was sure I’d heard her wrong. How could I possibly help her, or better yet, why
would I agree to? “Um, come again?” I replied.

She
started crying harder. “Peter wants nothing to do with Gia or me. He blames me
for ruining his life and costing him his job and especially for the breakup of
your marriage.”

Sure
she was partly to blame, but it takes two to tango, and make a baby, and we had
other issues besides infidelity.

“So,
how can I help you?”

“Will
you please talk to Peter?”

I
had no intention of doing that. I avoided him at all costs. “What good would
that do?”

She
held her daughter tighter and kissed her on the head. She looked like a good
mother, and Gia looked healthy. She looked up at me. “I think you’re the only
one he would listen to. I want Gia to know her father and he refuses to even
see her. He sends me a check once a month and that’s it.”

“Stacy,
I’m sorry, but I just don’t see how my talking to him will help.”

“Please,”
she begged.

I
ran my fingers through my hair and closed my eyes. How did this end up being my
life?

“Please,
Ava. You don’t know how sorry I am for what I did. But my daughter doesn’t
deserve to be punished for my mistakes.”

I
looked at her sweet little girl. I admit, I had pangs of jealousy, but I also
felt sorry for the both of them, especially Gia. I was ashamed of my
ex-husband’s behavior. Monetary support was great, but every girl deserves
their dad to be present and available in her life. I would have thought Peter
of all people would understand that. His dad had died when he was a teenager,
and he had spoken often of missing him.

 “I’ll
think about it. That’s all I can promise you.”

Gia
reached out her tiny little hand and smiled. I took her little hand in mine and
tried desperately not to cry and think about what could have been. I told Stacy
I needed to get back to work. She profusely thanked me for talking to her and
talking to Peter. I reminded her I would think about it. She still seemed
grateful.

After
she left, I sat there for a moment and contemplated the request. I despised the
thought of talking to him. I hadn’t talked to him since March when he dropped
off some pictures he’d found of us at the beach. I don’t know why he thought I
would want them. I think he just wanted an excuse to come over. If only he
didn’t know where I lived. I tried to make it clear to him he wasn’t welcome
there. He had tried to call a few times since then, but I never answered. Then
he had the nerve to send me flowers on what would have been our second
anniversary. I promptly threw them in the trash.

Chapter 3

I
couldn’t get Stacy’s request or sweet little Gia’s face out of my head.
Sometimes life seemed really unfair. How did I find myself in the middle of my
ex-husband and his former mistress and mother of his child? Maybe I should
write Dear Abby or call my mom or a shrink. I knew what my mom would say. She
would say what she’d been saying. “Come home, Ava Mae. We all love and miss you,
Ava Mae.” I loved and missed them too, but I just had to stay. Maybe I was a
masochist, but there was something in me saying stay.

To
top off my day, I ran into Scott at the mailboxes. He actually glanced my way
this time. It had been three months since that night. I wanted to talk to him,
but what would I say? “Sorry I let you kiss me, and I’m sorry I really liked
it. I mean, really liked it. And from time to time I still think about it and
wish we could do it again.”

Somehow
I didn’t think that would go over too well. With his glance, he gave me a half
smile. At least it was something, and after the day I just had, I gladly
welcomed it. I smiled back, but the full kind, not the half kind, because the
old Ava was coming back, and she was somebody that gave full smiles, especially
to attractive men. He paused for a second at my response, but then he quickly
turned back to his box and locked it. I almost laughed, but instead I grabbed
my own mail and walked back home in the sweltering summer heat.

I
got home and quickly changed out of my scrubs and threw on a maxi-dress. I had
the need to feel feminine. I threw my hair up into a messy bun and turned up my
iTunes, well as much as was appropriate when you had such close neighbors. I
made my way to the kitchen and tossed together a huge salad and began to make
my way through it. For a moment I remembered that Peter hated salads for dinner.
I smiled to myself because it didn’t matter what he liked or didn’t like, it
only mattered what I liked now, and I liked salad and fruit for dinner,
especially on hot summer days.

I
sat on my cream colored couch, salad in hand, and reveled in my freedom and
tried to forget about Stacy and Gia, at least for a while. I looked around me
and thought life wasn’t all bad. I had a beautiful home that was decorated
stylishly, I had good job that paid well, and I had a family that loved me. In
my reverie, the doorbell rang. I reluctantly got up and answered it. To my
surprise it was Scott, and he had a sheepish grin on his face as he held up my
roasting pan.

“I’m
finally returning this.”

I
took the pan from his outstretched hands. “Thank you.”

He
acted like he didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t tell if he just wanted to
leave or if he wanted to talk. I don’t think he knew either.

I
didn’t like the awkward silence or the staring. “So…I saw you on T.V. talking
about the new baby beluga.”

“They’re
called calves.”

“Of
course.”

He
ran his fingers through his hair. “Sorry, that sounded rude.”

I
smiled. It didn’t sound rude. He was just a matter-of-fact kind of guy. “So is
the calf doing well?”

“Quite
well.” He grinned.

“I’m
happy to hear that.”

He
smiled nervously. “Ava, how have you been?”

I
smiled. “Better, how about you?”

“I
have my days.”

“I
hope more good ones than bad?”

He
looked at me thoughtfully. “I’m working on it.”

I
smiled in response. He smiled too, but he was acting awfully nervous. There was
another moment of awkward silence. I had a feeling he wanted to say something
again, at least I thought so.

 “I
was going to walk over and get some frozen yogurt, would you like some?” He
shook his head. “I mean would you like to come with me and get some?”

I
was surprised by the invitation. I was afraid we would be avoiding each other
for as long as we both lived here. “I would love to.”

He
visibly relaxed after my response. I invited him in while I ran upstairs to get
my shoes and purse. I met him back in my great room where I saw him looking
around.

“Did
you decorate this place?”

“Yep.”

“I’m
impressed, it looks professional.”

“Thanks,
I guess that’s what happens when you’re raised by real estate agents.”

“You
definitely have a knack for it. Jenna was never one to worry about such things.
She was a minimalist.”

I
could still hear the pain in his voice when he said her name. It wasn’t surprising;
it had only been four months.

I
grabbed my salad bowl off the ottoman and took it to the kitchen.

“Did
I interrupt your dinner?” he asked.

I
looked at him from the kitchen. “You know that’s the great part about being an
adult. You can eat dessert first if you want to.”

He
gave me an odd look.

“Do
you disagree?”

 “No…
it’s just I never have and Jenna was pretty particular about eating right.”

I
wanted to say,
so am I. I’m a nurse, for goodness sakes, but once in a while
it’s ok not to be
. “Oh. Would it make you feel better if I ate all my
vegetables first?”

He
laughed. “I’m sorry, Ava. I probably need an instruction manual on how to talk
to women. I think I may spend too much time talking to animals.”

At
least he was honest and not slick like my ex-husband, who had a penchant for
knowing exactly what to say. Maybe Scott’s comment was a little annoying, but
in a way, I found it refreshing.

“Unfortunately
for you, we don’t come with instructions and even if we did, they would be ever
changing.”

He
just stared at me like he was trying to figure me out. Maybe he was studying me
like his whales and dolphins.

“So,
am I cleared to eat dessert first, Dr. Langston?” That’s what they had called
him on the news.

He
cocked his head. “Why do I get the feeling you’re trouble.”

I
gave him my most innocent look. “Who me?” I said in my sweetest southern drawl.
But I couldn’t help, but wink and grin wickedly.

He
shook his head. “That’s what I thought.”

We
finally made our way out the door. It was still warm and humid, but mostly pleasant.
I hadn’t been on a walk in a quite a while, so it was a nice change of pace.
For exercise, it was usually just me and my treadmill. I noticed as we walked
he tried to keep his distance. That was fine with me. Don’t get me wrong, I
would surely admit I was attracted to him, I mean I’d be crazy not to be. He
was very handsome and well educated and from all my interactions with him, he
was kind–and boy could he kiss. But I recognized the fact that he was grieving
and so was I. In some ways, divorce was like death. Not that I would say that
to Scott.

So
there we were, two broken people walking toward the frozen yogurt shop. I guess
everyone is broken in some sense, just some more than others. Scott was
definitely on the “more” side of the spectrum. It varied for me, but I was
having more good days than bad days now, and I rarely missed Peter anymore. I
was happy in most ways he was gone, but once in a while something would trigger
a sweet memory of the two of us and my heart would ache. I really had loved him,
and maybe part of me always would, but I wasn’t in love with him anymore. Scott
on the other hand was still in love with his wife, as he should be. I suppose
he probably always will be. I guess that’s where divorce and death differ, at
least for some.

As
we walked, we talked about our days at work, and that carried us through to the
yogurt shop. He was very gentlemanly and opened the door for me. This
particular shop was a self-serve place, so we perused the selection. Scott chose
vanilla. It was a little plain, I thought, but then he added butterfingers to
it. I guess his wife’s healthy habits hadn’t totally rubbed off on him. I chose
strawberry, and I added fresh strawberries and bananas to mine. He teased me
that I was making him look bad as our yogurt cups were being weighed. He
insisted on paying for mine. I let him, because my mom had taught me to always
let a man be a gentleman.

We
found a table toward the back. As we began to eat, Scott remarked that Jenna
was allergic to strawberries. He had already mentioned her name like twenty
times in the course of our conversation. He must have really wanted to talk
about her.

“Tell
me about Jenna,” I offered.

I
think he was taken aback by the request.

“Like
what?” he responded.

“I
don’t know. Tell me how you met. When and how long you were married. Just
anything.”

He
set his spoon down. “Well … we had known each other since grade school, and during
high school we hung out in the same group.”

“Oh,
so you were high school sweethearts?”

He
smiled and shook his head. “No, we didn’t start dating until after our ten year
high school reunion and then it was just for a few months before we broke it
off.”

“Do
you mind me asking why?”

He
shrugged his shoulders. “I guess the timing was just off.”

I
felt like there was more to the story, but he seemed like he didn’t want to
say, so I didn’t push. “So when did you get back together?”

He
still looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know if I could say a particular time, we
just kind of fell into it a couple of years later. We still had a lot of the
same friends from high school and we would still all get together when we could
and Jenna and I just always seemed to end up together.”

How
unromantic
, I thought. Not that every love story had to start
with a bang. Maybe that was Peter’s and my problem, there was a definite bang.
Maybe we should have been friends first, but we had such undeniable chemistry,
it was hard not to just fall head over heels for him. Now was not the time to
think of that though.

 “We
got married almost three years ago in September.” He choked a little as he said
it.

“Fall
weddings are lovely,” I said.

“She
thought so too.”

“Was
she sick then?”

“She
had been diagnosed that spring.”

It
was rare for someone to have that disease for such a short period of time and
die from it. It wasn’t unheard of, but still it was rare. I wondered if she had
been misdiagnosed. Sometimes people are just told they have chronic fatigue
syndrome or fibromyalgia and they miss crucial treatment time. I didn’t ask. No
sense in bringing it up. I’m sure he had already had enough what-ifs to deal
with.

He
suddenly switched gears on me. “How old are you Ava?”

“I’ll
be thirty in October, why?”

He
looked at me thoughtfully. “You just look so young, but you seem wise beyond
your age.”

I
laughed. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

He
laughed too. “I told you I needed a manual.”

“How
old are
you
?” Turnabout was fair play.

“I
just turned thirty four last week.”

“Well,
happy belated birthday. I wished I would have known. I could have quit ignoring
you for the day.”

He
cringed. “Yeah about that, I’m sorry about…”

I
put up my hand and stopped him. “Please, don’t say you’re sorry for kissing me,
even if you are.” I don’t know why, but for some reason I just couldn’t stand the
thought of hearing him say he regretted kissing me. I had had enough of that
the past two years.

He
almost reached out and touched my hand that was on the table, but then he
pulled back and he rubbed the wedding ring he was still wearing. “Ava, I wasn’t
going to say that. I was going to say I was sorry for my behavior right
afterwards and the past few months. I’m not sorry for kissing you, but I
shouldn’t have. I’m just not ready, but I like you.”

I
bit my lip and looked into his pretty blue eyes. “I like you too.”

“Ava,
this may sound lame, but do you think we could be just friends right now? I’d
like to get to know you better.”

 “I’d
like that,” I said with no hesitation whatsoever.

He
smiled. I smiled too. I liked the thought of Scott and I being friends, and I was
happy we wouldn’t be avoiding each other anymore.