The Long Way Home

The Long Way Home Page 7

He laughed, “Oh uhhh, no?” He shook his head, “No, you look beautiful in that dress.” He smiled at me.

I smiled back, “Thank you.”

“My dog, Jack—sorry about that.”

I pointed after the hound still running away, “Jack’s going to get sick from that.”

He chuckled, running his hands through his dark hair, “No. No, he won’t. He’s a labradoodle.”

I shook my head, “I don’t know what that means.”

He sighed, “It means he has the guts of a lab, the craziness of a standard poodle, and he’s never been sick, no matter what he ate.”

He was an older man; I would bet he’d lived there for a while. I pressed my lips together, “Do you know which house is Mike France’s? He told me to meet him here and I wrote down the address wrong.”

He gave me a funny look and nodded, “Three up the beach.”

I smiled, “Thank you.” I bent forward, trying not to tip over and filled my bags back up with all my stuff. Everything was sandy and heavy.

"Good evening," I waved.

He nodded, "You also."

The sand in my toes felt amazing as I stumbled up the beach three houses and walked up to the huge glass doors.

There was a bunch of people inside the house, crowds of them. I spotted France immediately. He was at the bar, dumping bags of chips into bowls. The glass doors were open. Music was playing; it was the music I had faintly heard when I was down the beach. I had thought it was the Tiki Hut place. A couple of people slipped outside. A handsome but rugged man walked up to me with a smile. He had tanned skin, sexy whiskey-colored eyes, and plump lips. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I smiled back and dropped my bag behind the chair on the deck, trying desperately to stay upright.

“You a friend of France’s?”

I nodded, “I am.”

“I’m Willy.” He put a huge hand out.

I took it and let him shake us both, “Nice to meet you. I’m J.D.”

He nodded, “Sexy. I love girls with names like that. My first love was a girl named A.J., she was hot.”

I laughed. He pointed back at the house, “You want a drink?”

“Yes, please.”

He hurried inside and grabbed a drink from the counter. It looked like a slushy drink. He carried it outside. France's eyes followed him out of the house to the deck. They met mine. He frowned, tilted his head and then pointed at me, shouting, “You real?”

I laughed, “What?”

“You really here?”

Willy handed me my drink, “It’s frozen margs from the Tiki Hut. They made them for us.” He didn’t notice France coming out of the house. He stepped in front of Willy and lifted me up into his arms, “You came? How did you find it?”

I pointed down the beach, “An old man with a dog named Jack.”

“Brian. Yeah, he’s my neighbor.” He looked back at Willy, “Dude, this one is off limits.”

My jaw dropped, “Actually, this one can say for herself and since he bought me my first drink, I am obligated to drink it with him.” I winked at Willy.

He stepped back, “It was nice meeting you, J.D.”

I gave France a look, “What was that?”

He put me down, “You drunk?”

I nodded, “I am.” I sipped the margarita and smiled, “This is good.”

His dark eyes filled with worry, “Baby, you okay?”

I shook my head, “I can’t talk about it right now.”

I watched his jaw set. He took my hand and pulled me inside to the kitchen. He passed me a sandwich from a tray, “How did you end up here?”

I swallowed a huge bite, “My heart or my pride broke and I went into survival mode, and all I could think of was finding you.”

He looked hurt, “Go lay down upstairs. I’ll be up in a bit, okay?”

I nodded, “Okay.” I passed him my marg and pointed to the deck, “I need my clothes. There, in a bag behind a deck chair.”

He waved me off, “I’ll get them. Just go lay down.”

I walked up the stairs, but like a kid who wanted to be part of the party after bedtime, I stayed at the top of the stairs and watched them have fun.

Seeing Mike France in action was amazing. He was funny and loud, always laughing and having fun. He made a series of filthy, revenge-sex thoughts rattle their way through my addled brain. His shirt was open, revealing a tight body with a tiny smattering of dark chest hair. He was tall, hugely tall. I’d never considered myself short; I was average, 5’6, but he was tall and thick. I had always liked that about him. He made me feel safe, always. His dark hair was shaggy, like he was from Greenwich Village. The playoff beard was the part I hated the most, and yet, I imagined how it would feel on certain parts of my body.

I leaned against the railing and listened to the laughing and joking. The guys all looked the same, hockey players and managers. The girls didn’t look like spouses, more like puck fucks. Mini skirts and bathing suit tops, bleach blonde hair, and tanned skin. I was like a sore thumb, even in my freedom dress. It bummed me out that he was having a party like that, even though that’s just who he was.

He was a player.

Willy spotted me and came up the stairs. He smiled and passed me another marg, “Sent upstairs early?”

I shook my head, “No. This just isn’t my scene and he knows it.”

He smiled, “It’s not a wife party, that’s for sure.”

“You married?”

He shook his head, “We don’t work the kind of job that is conducive to having a wife and kids.”

“That’s pretty true.”

“I don’t want to get a divorce. My parents had one when I was eleven and it was hard. I never want to put my kids through that. So I want to wait a bit more before I settle down. I want my wife to be the sole focus in my life. I know hockey isn’t forever and when I fall in love I want it to be forever.” His whiskey eyes were killing me.

I sighed, “Wow, I wish I were marrying you instead.”

He laughed, “You married?” He glanced at my ring finger.

I nodded, “Not yet. I just threw my engagement ring in the Atlantic though, sooooo maybe I’m not getting married anymore.”

“Just phone him up and say I divorce you three times and it’s done spiritually. No more engagement.”

I put a hand out, “You have a cell phone?”

He laughed and passed me his iPhone. I dialed home and waited as it rang, plugging my other ear.

“Hello?”

“Phil?”

He sighed, “Oh, thank God. I was so worried. I called the police. Are you okay?”

“I divorce you, I divorce you, I divorce you.” I didn’t even hesitate. I wanted the wedding off.

“Jacqueline, are you okay? What are you talking about? We haven’t married yet, baby.”

I swallowed and felt the world moving slowly around me, like I was the sun. “Please, I just saw you with Ashley and I saw you with Eleanor. I know you don’t love me. Get my things ready. I’ll be home in a week or so and I'm moving out.” I hung up the phone and passed it back, “I would turn that off, if I were you. He’s going to call back.”

His eyes were wide, “Are you okay?”

I nodded, “I think so. I will be.” I watched as a blonde girl stuck her hand in France's back pocket and grabbed his ass cheek.

Willy followed my gaze and cleared his throat, “Wanna take a walk on the beach?”

I gave him a grin, “Not if you think I’m doing anything beyond walking and maybe throwing up.”

He nodded, “I think you’re safe. I’m sick right now for you.”

I linked my arm into his, “I like you, Willy. Not your name though. May I call you Will? I have a couple friends I would love to introduce you to and they would never stand for a Willy.”

He chuckled, “I get that weekly, the hook up and the name change. My last name is Burettes, not easy like France.” I walked behind him, holding his thick arm and followed him outside. We walked down the beach and away from the house.

The fresh air made me feel much better. “It’s so hot here.”

He chuckled, “It’s so much nicer than New York. So, what does J.D. stand for?”

“Jane Doe.”

He laughed, “Come on. What is it?”

I rolled my eyes and muttered, “Jacqueline Diana.”

He nodded, “Yeah, I’d go with J.D. too.”

I laughed, “My last name is Croix. My father has informed me that when I get married to Phillip, I will be keeping my name. My name will be Jacqueline Diana Croix-Bernard.”

He whistled, “Sounds fancy and French.” His southern drawl mocked me, but I didn’t mind. “So how long have you been together?”

I thought for a minute, “Well, I met him when I was a teenager and we dated for a few years. We broke up, and when I was twenty-five, well, he proposed and my father said yes. So we have been engaged for three years.”

He frowned, “Wow. You seem kind of young. Your dad said yes? Didn’t you want to marry Phil? Why would your dad agree for you? Were you planning on having kids?"

I shook my head laughing, “My father runs everything in my house—people, money and business transactions. That includes marriages. As far as kids go, Phil didn’t want them right away and then he wanted to make sure we had a stable relationship. None of it made sense though. He was the one who wanted the hugely-long engagement, even though I was the one who didn’t want to get married. I assumed we would have them just after we married since we’ve been together for so long now. But the other day, he actually told me that couples that have kids in the first few years of marriage have a better chance of divorce. Now I’m not sure I want them. I can't see myself getting married at all now."

“Wow, all that and he has affairs. What a dick. Some people don’t know what they have until it’s too late.”