With that, Jeremy comes out from behind the freezer.

  “Jules…” Juliette jumps like she’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

  “What? The girls can’t hear me, and you know it’s true.”

  Jeremy just shakes his head sadly, wiping his hands on the black bar apron around his waist.

  “Deb spent a decade married to an asshole. I know she’s got issues now, but that’s only because I gave them to her.”

  “Bullshit.” I’ve heard Juliette complain about Deb before, but never has she argued when Jeremy has shut her down.

  “That’s bullshit. I don’t know what went down, Jeremy, but there’s no reason for a woman to treat her kids like that. And I doubt,” she pokes her finger at his chest, and he looks down at her almost softly, despite her belligerent tone, “that you were even half as bad as you keep trying to convince me you were.”

  Jeremy levels her a look, and she lets her shoulders drop a little, picking up a plate as she turns on a giant high heel on her way back out.

  “She still has a pig nose,” she mutters as she leaves the kitchen, and I can’t help the little bark of a laugh that comes out. Even Jeremy has the hint of a smile.

  “Deb wasn’t a bad wife. At least, not as bad as I was a husband.”

  “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

  “I don’t. But one day, you’ll get one.” He puts his hand on my shoulder briefly, and his eyes glance down. I see them widen a moment, and I realize he’s seeing my outfit for the first time. It might not be a Hooters-style crop top and shorts, but it’s far more form fitting than anything I’ve ever worn in front of him. When I catch his eyes again, he schools his features, the surprise and what I can almost believe is lust in his eyes gone in a blink.

  It was there, though, I must believe it was there.

  He opens his mouth but closes it again, gives me a half smile, and then goes out to greet Lorne with a clap on the back before seating himself in the booth next to the girls. I stare for likely longer than I should. He’s lighter with them, his smile shows up freer when they’re there. He laughs, and all the pieces of him that steal my heart are on display when they’re around.

  Dammit, I’m so fucked.

  Jeremy takes the girls home and by the time he’s back, we’re winding down. He’s still in the office by the end of the night, which is unusual for him, but he doesn’t come up when I yell that I’m heading to bed. I go up on my own, and I’ve just jumped out of the shower, squishing my hair in a towel while I sit on the couch and turn on the TV. Both the US college football season and the CFL season has just started, and I’m flipping between the Eskimos and the Orangemen recaps, angrily going back to the CFL every time I don’t like what they’re saying on the NCAA game. I hear a cough behind me.

  “Holy shit, Jeremy, I didn’t even hear you come in.”

  “I can see why. Game not going your way?”

  “That’s putting it mildly. They suck.” I throw the remote onto the coffee table and turn to face him. “How did the dropoff go?” He flops down on the couch next to me. I love the way he smells when his body collapses in the pillow, like his deodorant and a bit like the beer from the bar.

  “The same. Deb wants me to take them both nights next weekend too. She has ‘plans.’”

  I open my mouth, then close it. How things are between them isn’t my business but him having his girls full time is a big deal.

  “It’s okay, Jordyn, you can ask.”

  “Why don’t you just ask for them full time? If it’s the space, I can move out.”

  “No,” he answers in a harsh bark and then a deep breath. “Sorry, I mean, no. That’s not what was stopping me. I pay Deb a small fortune, most of my pension, in child support. She wouldn’t give the kids to me because she’d lose that. I promised them and myself I’d never put them through a drawn-out custody battle, so I keep just… taking them when she offers them and paying every month anyways. Though tonight… tonight Karl, said she might be willing so she can start over, whatever that means… Anyways, it’s a lot for now, and I don’t know what will happen. Just, if I ever did have the chance for the girls full time, it wouldn’t mean you’d have to leave.”

  I don’t see how that could be the case in this little apartment, but his eyes are so tired, and he seems to sink further into the couch with his admission, so I don’t press.

  “I wasn’t a good husband, Pixie. Despite what Jules wants to believe, I was an asshole. I was so fucked up… no. No excuse, I was just not good. Not to her, not to our family. When she walked out on me, I deserved it.”

  “Jules may have said she left you… for someone else.”

  “Jules talks to much.” There’s no venom in his tone, but he sighs deeply. “Yes. When I was in Afghanistan in ‘02… well, before that. Things had already started to go downhill. I did a lot of deployments back to back. Cyprus was early on, before I met Deb. But I went to Bosnia right after I married her, and then Kosovo, Afghanistan… When I was home, I was a drunk asshole. The rest of the time, I was gone, and she was on her own with the kids and my mom and dad there to help her. I thought that was enough. At least I wasn’t leaving her with no support… but it didn’t make it okay. I was back for only a year from the last tour, already on my way out of the Army altogether, when she walked out. She’d started seeing Karl soon after I’d left for Kandahar. He could be what I couldn’t, I guess. I don’t blame her.”

  I don’t say anything for a long time. I can’t imagine justifying cheating on a man while he’s at war, but I don’t think it’s the right time for me to bad mouth Deb, so I keep my mouth shut.

  “I wasn’t… I’m not the guy I was then. When I got back from Kosovo, the shit we saw… I was all messed up. I was drinking, all the time. I was angry. Deb was at home with a two and four-year-old, and I couldn’t get my shit together when she needed me. Then I left for another six months and by the time I made it back from there, it was over. We just kept trying to pretend it wasn’t. At least I did. I thought I still had a chance to make it better; the Army was throwing me out for my bad knees anyways, I figured I’d be home, and we could fix things. I didn’t realize that in her head, she’d already left.”

  “I noticed you don’t drink at all.” It’s funny, everyone notices, but he never says anything about it, so no one else does either.

  “I don’t. I quit drinking the day after Deb left. It destroyed my marriage, and I was someone I hated for years because of it. I was out of control, and I lost my family. It’s been almost six years since I quit.”

  I do the math in my head. “You bought the bar after that.”

  “I was coming here a lot before, running from my responsibilities at home, scared that I’d say or do something terrible and hurt them. So instead of fixing myself, I drank at this bar. I think I picked it because of the name, the Broken Crown. It sounded like warriors and royalty… I don’t know. The old owner, Jim, he and I got to know each other. He was a Korea veteran, owned this place for like thirty years. After Kosovo, I was always around, drinking his shitty beer, avoiding home. Then Deb walked out, and I was… It was bad. I came in after… well, after it all went down and instead of taking my money, he showed me his AA coin and told me when the next meeting was. I don’t know what he saw that he thought was worth it, but he saved my life. I went to a meeting that night and every night for the next thirty days.

  I came back, once I felt like I could put my thirty-day coin on the table, and he gave me a Coke. Convinced me that week to see a therapist, to attend the PTSD group he went to. I even rode for a little while with his veteran biker club. It was a safe place, coming here, knowing he wouldn’t serve me. I’d have some wings, a Coke, and we’d talk. Sometimes later than even the drunks at the bar. He became one of my closest friends, between him and my dad. They pulled me up off my ass.

  “Anyways, he was diagnosed with end-stage COPD a year or so later. He knew it was coming, a by-product of a helicopter crash while he was in the service. I bought the bar from him right before he died. It’s a tradition now, I guess. Alcoholic owners who serve all the beer without drinking it.” He laughs, but there’s no humour in it now.

  “I think you’re pretty amazing, Jer. Everything you’ve experienced and overcome is inspiring. You’ve had to be so strong, not just for yourself but your girls, too. Overcoming an addiction isn’t easy, it doesn’t make…” Jeremy just looks at me. His face is… tired, hurt, and it makes me put my hand over his without even thinking about it. His body freezes.

  I might live here. He might put a quick hand on an arm or a shoulder when he’s passing by me in the hall or at work. But neither of us has ever purposely touched the other, not since the first night when he held me.

  Right at this moment, I realize that it’s all I want.

  His eyes dart to my fingers around his hand. My hand looks tiny on his. When he looks back up, even with as fucked up as I am, I can see the desire in his eyes. I do my best to mirror it, even though I want to just close my eyes and will him to touch me. I force myself to let him see my own want.

  I want him to kiss me.

  I so much want him to kiss me.

  When his other hand comes up and smooths a strand of still damp hair that’s stuck to my cheek, I think I might get what I want. I can feel his breath, sweet from the Coke I’m sure he was drinking at his desk, on my face. He squeezes my hand and too fast, it’s gone.

  “Good night, Pixie.”

  I hear his door shutting softly before I can even answer him.

  8

  Jeremy

  I know Juliette is taking her shopping today, but with Deb calling late morning for me to pick the girls up, I completely forget. Especially once I get to the house, when she starts in on me before I even manage to get all the way out of my truck.

  “Took you long enough, Jer. Karl and I have reservations at two, I told you that!” I take a deep breath before swinging myself to the driveway and turning to face Deb, who has on what I’m assuming passes for a dress on a twenty-one-year-old looking for attention under the dim lights at a bar, but it looks more like a desperate cry for help on a thirty-six-year-old mom in her driveway under the mid-afternoon sun.

  I’ve never been one to shame a woman for her choice in clothing, but Deb never used to try this hard. The boobs she bought after I got back from Cyprus, the hair that manages to get longer without the passage of time, the skin I worry will shrivel from cancer after all the time she spends under fake lights… it doesn’t manage to look good, instead just desperate.

  I take a deep breath and remind myself that I’m not who she’s trying to impress, and she’s allowed to look however she wants.

  “Deb, I had to run errands this morning. I do have things I plan on the weekends I don’t have the girls.”

  “Oh please, you only have them on weekends anyways.”

  “I also have a job, Deb. I own a business. Look, I don’t mind having the girls any time you want but if you don’t give me a warning, sometimes it will take me more than thirty minutes to drop everything and pick them up.”

  “They’re old enough on their own for a little while now anyways…”

  “No, Deb. I mean, they are, for a short time, but last time, Sharla had those boys over again, and I’m not okay with that. Just call me, Deb, when you need me, and I’ll be here. You and Karl can fuck off wherever you want.” I know the last bitter statement is going to cause trouble, but it’s out of my mouth before I have the chance to bite it back.

  “You know what, Jer? At least we go places together. At least he tries, all right? Reminds me that I’m not just some useless baby-making machine that waits at home. Makes me feel good.”

  Another deep breath. We’ve already had this conversation, too many times to count, and I don’t need a reminder this morning at the ways I failed as a husband.

  “I’m happy for you, Deb. Are the girls ready to go?”

  “They’ve been ready for an hour.” She stomps back in the house, and I decide it’s in my best interest that I wait out by the truck. She’s in a mood and the one good thing out of divorce is I no longer have to deal with that. A few moments later, the girls bound out.

  “Dad! You’re so late, I didn’t think you’d come!” I feel the rage build. Of course, that’s what she told the girls, making me look bad for something I couldn’t control. I want to defend myself but decide to take the high road for once. My therapist would be proud.

  “I’m sorry you had to wait, sweetie. C’mon, Lorne is making gourmet grilled cheese today.”

  They squeal, their anger gone with the promise of their favourite pub meal. I find myself wishing I could be that easily distracted with the promise of a cheesy treat. Instead, I think the whole way home about Deb and Karl, about the ways my own mistakes have created this broken family. About how I’ve hurt my girls, and what I could do to make it better.

  I come up with nothing but more anger at Deb.

  I know everything about her is my fault, but it doesn’t help me from fuming at the way she’s treating our kids because of it. I can’t even remember the last weekend I didn’t have them for at least one night when she went out. Worse than that, she’s always saying, right in front of them, how inconvenienced she is when they’re underfoot.

  Some days I wish I could just write her off like Juliette has for being a bitch. Lord knows I did it enough when I was married, but I’m reminded of my fist in the drywall, my angry words, the look on their faces in the car when they left, and I know it’s all on me.

  I’m so distracted when I get to the bar, it’s not until we’re in the kitchen that I look at Jordyn.

  She’s wearing her regular hot-pink sneakers. Above them is the bare skin of her calves until halfway up where the cuff of a pair of short, fitted jeans hug them. Her bar apron is loose on her hips, and above that a soft yellow V-neck t shirt with a rainbow across the chest is just skimming her slight curves.

  The cascade of colourful ink on her skin is everywhere. Angels and unicorns, flowers, butterflies, vines… they run up and down both arms and onto her hands. A lock and key with what look like bending iron bars decorate her chest and up her neck. She’s a colouring book of intricate art, and every new piece I see only intensifies my desire to see all of her. To memorize every design, to explore where they start and finish.

  By the time I meet her eyes, I’m ashamed of how long I’ve spent looking at her. I head out as fast as I can to the table where Lorne is regaling my daughters with stories of when his own were young. He’s only lived in Canada for a decade or so, and my girls ask far more questions than I feel an adult would get away with about the country he came from. The way he speaks of Ethiopia with reverence and acceptance as to why leaving was the best move for his family is part of what I respected most about him when I hired him, and he’s never disappointed. He’s overqualified to be here, and now with the work experience he’s gained, I’m sure he could work somewhere else, but he’s part of our family now.

  He didn’t leave when my curious but slightly naive six-year-old daughter met him the first time by saying, “You’re the blackest person I’ve ever seen.” He just laughed and told her that was only because her dad was the whitest person he had ever seen.

  I drop the girls back home just after nine, but Deb isn’t there when I arrive. Sharla uses her key to open the door, and I put them to bed. Being alone in this house is unnerving, and I awkwardly make my way to the kitchen and grab myself a glass of water before moving to watch Sportsnet on the couch. The one Deb and I bought as a fifth anniversary gift to ourselves. It’s more than an hour later, almost two since she told me she’d be home, that I hear the garage door open. Pulling my boots back on when the door opens, I already have the TV off and the glass in the sink. The two of them stumble inside.

  I almost yell since they seem too drunk to be behind the wheel, but quickly realize that Karl is the one propping Deb up. Her tangled extensions falling half in her face, she stumbles right to the bathroom where I hear her knees hit the floor and the sound of whatever was in her stomach hit the water in the toilet bowl.

  My eyes glance up to Karl who is just casting a resigned look at his wife.

  “She’s not always like this.”

  “Not my business, Karl.”

  “I keep thinking she’ll get it out of her system soon, but…”

  “Not my business, Karl.”

  This time though I look at him, and he looks… broken. I think he might start crying, and I don’t know how I would deal with that.

  We were friends, once. We met in our first days at battalion when we got there in our late teens, both of us cocky and naive as to what we were in for. We evn deployed together to Cyprus and Kosovo, but Karl put in his release right after that, chasing a better-paying job in sales. He tried to convince me to join him then, but I was too cocky. Too sure being a paratrooper would be the only career I’d ever have. We were in touch through it all, though. He’d been in my wedding party, been over to my house for holidays. He’d come to visit my girls when they were first born.

  Turns out, though, he had motives other than friendship. I found out right after Deb left, she and the girls were temporarily holed up in his apartment. I cleared out the house as soon as I was released so she could bring the girls home, not even thinking through the fact she’d come back with him in tow.

  He’s lived here since those early days, and they married as soon as the ink was dry on the divorce papers.

  I don’t blame her for walking out on me, but I still blame him for fucking my wife for a year before I even knew she didn’t want me.

  “You should know, I was offered a job in the States.”

  I freeze and feel the blood in my veins boiling.

  “She’s not allowed to take the kids out of the province, let alone out of the country, Karl.” If she thinks she has half a chance of taking them that far away from me, she has another thing coming.

  “The thing is… she doesn’t want to bring them.”

 

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