Why It's Called a Goodbye Read online

  “Mom.”

  Her voice changes back to regular, “Oh, hey, honey!”

  “You guys okay? Didn’t the store close an hour ago?”

  “It did, but we were waiting on Mac to come help your dad. A raccoon or something had gotten into the duct work. Was making a terrible racket and scaring the customers away. I don’t like Archie climbing on a ladder anymore since his back went out last spring.”

  “Mac who?” I don’t know of any guy who helps them.

  “Malcom. You know, Malcom Murray. Y’all went to school together. He helps your father every now and then down here.”

  “Oh.” Malcom Murray and I weren’t what you would have considered friends back in school. I’ve known him pretty much my entire life, but aside from him being the star soccer player back then, I know little to nothing about the guy.

  “We’ll be home soon. We can’t wait to see the boys.”

  I huff, “What about me?”

  “And you too, honey. We’ll bring home a pizza.”

  “Sure. See ya guys in a little while. Bye.”

  Malcom Murray. I had a crush on him back in high school, but he was out of my league. Tall, dark, and handsome. The all-star athlete at Roosevelt High. We didn’t run with the same crowd. I wasn’t an outcast or anything; I just preferred books to boys. That was until I fell hard for Stephen Ripley.

  I remember one time, our Junior year, Malcom and I somehow ended up in the science classroom after everyone else had left. I had been daydreaming about what it would feel like to touch the blue part of a flame, and when I looked up, class was over.

  I was fumbling around with my books when I heard the click of the lock. By the time my ears registered what had happened, he was already standing next to me. I looked up, and he glared down at my chest with piercing gray eyes and said, “You got a nice rack, Adaline.”

  I choked on the spit that had accumulated in my mouth while I was sucked into the vortex of the black curls on top of his head. I couldn’t believe someone would be so upfront about my breasts. They weren’t anything to write home about, and I never showed any cleavage, but it was cold in the science room. Stupid Mr. Kemper kept the room as cold as Alaska.

  I looked down, and my nipples were poking through my shirt. I moved my books in front of my chest as my cheeks reddened. I almost tripped on my way to the door. I was so flustered, and I couldn’t figure out how to get the damn door unlocked. It was a simple lock, but I couldn’t get it to turn.

  “Here, let me help,” Malcom said as he reached for the doorknob as his fingertips touched the back of my hand. They felt like fire, as hot as I imagined the blue part of the flame might feel. He leaned into me, and when I turned my head slightly, my cheek grazed his. He must have thought I was trying to kiss him because then he said, “I have a condom in my back pocket. We could skip last period.”

  I thought I might faint. He wasn’t actually proposing we have sex at school? I was still a virgin. We weren’t dating, and I wasn’t going to let my first time be on a classroom floor. He didn’t like me. He was making fun of me, and my feelings were hurt.

  I started laughing. The laugh that sounds like you're laughing at a joke, but you’re really just super uncomfortable. I was trying to not cry.

  He finally opened the door but stood in a way that prevented me from getting out and said, “Suit yourself, Adaline.” Then he moved slightly. I ducked under his arm. I darted out the door and down the hall to the nearest girls’ restroom.

  Boys like him thought they could get into any girl’s pants if they batted their eyelashes right. Well, not mine.

  I can’t believe he helps my pops at the store.

  Against my better judgement, I left the boys at the house this afternoon and ventured to the family store to see how it’s holding up. Mom had called earlier and sounded like she was sick. I told her I’d come in and help, so she could go home and get some rest. I asked why they didn’t have anyone helping. She said they had a girl who came in after school and helped.

  She’s supposed to be here in a little bit, but they really couldn’t afford to pay anyone full-time. I thought they were doing okay, but they never have talked about their finances to me.

  I sent Mom home as soon I arrived, and Pops has been in the back cursing under his breath and attempting to scare away the raccoon that showed back up.

  I hear the bell above the door ring, alerting that a customer has walked in. I’m in aisle three attempting to get this store back into some sort of order. Pops said some kids came through last evening and picked up things from the shelves and put them back in the wrong spot. He doesn’t even seem upset about it. Like it’s something that happens often.

  It’s been almost fifteen years since I laid eyes on him, but I’d never forget what Malcom Murray looks like, and the man who just walked through the door is him.

  I now feel really underdressed in my skinny jeans and tank top. I have a flannel shirt wrapped around my waist because I got hot restocking the shelves causing my armpits to sweat. I move my head to sniff my right armpit hoping I don’t stink.

  He can’t see me where I’m crouched down in the aisle, but I can see him. His long legs are wrapped up in a pair of khaki pants that cling tightly to his backside. He’s wearing a Bearcats sweater. His black curls are the same as I remember, but he has them cut shorter. He’s wearing glasses, and he never wore glasses when we were younger. Not that I remember anyway.

  Why is he here?

  “Archie?” he says, and his voice is different than I remember. More country and less stuck-up jock. I like it.

  “Back here, Mac,” Pops grunts.

  From my position, I step backward hoping he doesn’t see me. Why do I care if he sees me?

  He walks down aisle four toward the back of the store. I can see the top of his head as he towers over the shelves, and I place my hand over my mouth to muffle my breathing. Good lord, what is wrong with me? I’m muffling my breathing now over a man I haven’t talked to in over fifteen years.

  I hear Pops say, “I think that raccoon might have had babies.”

  “I’ll call the Monkey Man. He’ll come and get them,” Malcom says in his country accent. I could fall in love with that voice. If I were in the mood to be falling in love, which I’m not.

  I stand up and say, “Who is the Monkey Man?” Then realize I just gave him my location and an in to talk to me.

  Pops comes out of the back with a ratchet wrench in his hand and grease on his face. “He takes care of all kind of critters.”

  “Archie, you and Millie hire a new girl?” Malcom says as he emerges from the back, and his eyes meet mine.

  “Nah, that’s Adaline. My baby girl.”

  I clear my throat as Malcom makes his way to me and extends his left arm out for a handshake. I look down as I extend out my right hand and realize that’s not going to work. Before I’m totally embarrassed, he grabs my right hand. “Well, if it isn’t little Miss Adaline Jenkins.”

  “Actually, it’s Adaline Ripley now.”

  I let go of his hand first and wipe the sweat from my palm on my jeans.

  “Yeah, your folks told me you married Stephen Ripley.”

  “That I did.” I turn and walk toward my father. “Well, I’m going to head back to the boys. See ya at home, Pops.” I make my way to the door but turn before exiting. I say, “Malcom, make sure that Monkey Man of yours gets rid of the raccoons for my old Pops.”

  Pops, “I ain’t that old.”

  Malcom, “Yeah, he ain't that old, Adaline Ripley.”

  “Just Adaline,” I say as I open the door.

  “Well, just Mac. No one calls me Malcom. Not even my parents.”

  I close my eyes and will myself to not fall for that voice of his. I take a deep breath in, count to three, let it out, and say, “Okay then, Malcom,” before disappearing outside.

  As I reach for the handle on my car door, I hear his voice come from behind me, “Ya know, you might make me like it.” I
snort in disbelief before opening the car door and getting in. I start her up as fast as I can and drive the short three miles back to my childhood home.

  THREE

  I blocked Stephen from calling my cell, but that hasn’t stopped him from calling the boys every two seconds. They’re beginning to ask questions that I don’t have the answers to.

  We went to the Rankin House yesterday. The boys took pictures of everything so they could write up a paper for school. I felt horrible for not telling them there was no need. That they won’t be going back to their old school.

  I’m about to meet Inez for brunch when Sawyer walks in with his cell phone stretched out in my direction.

  “Dad says if you don’t talk to him, he’s coming up here. Shouldn’t we be getting ready to go home?”

  I snatch the phone from his hand and tell him, “Go get your brother and head to the kitchen. Mom made you two breakfast. I’ll talk to your father, and then I’ll give your phone back to you.”

  His face drops. “You guys are fighting, aren’t you?”

  I wrap my left arm around his shoulders and kiss his forehead. “You boys don’t need to worry about anything. Now go eat breakfast.” I’ve made it a point to never let the boys know when we are arguing.

  I put the phone to my ear and head out on the back porch. “Listen here, Stephen, quit pestering the boys. I haven’t told them I caught you cheating. I don’t really want that to be who they think you are. I’m going to tell them we just aren’t in love anymore. They’ll hate me more than you. You’ll win.”

  He clears his throat. “Can I talk now?”

  “Maybe.”

  His voice is quiet and much softer than normal. “I want to fix us. I messed up once. Once. Let me fix it.” It sounds like he’s fighting back tears, but I’m not falling for it.

  “Once a cheater, always a cheater. Bye.” I hang up and almost throw Sawyer’s phone across the lawn.

  I need a cigarette.

  Trying to act like he has only been with her once. I wonder how many there are, how many there have been. I could have an STD. I shake my head. Nope, I’m not gonna think about it. I don’t need that negativity, but I am going to schedule an appointment with an OBGYN.

  I’ve been waiting on Inez for twenty minutes. My leg won’t quit bouncing up and down. I left the boys with Mom. She said she was going to make them clean, but I know she isn’t going to make them do anything. When I was a kid, I couldn’t even leave the house to go out on a date.

  “Boys,” she’d say. “Boys only want one thing.”

  But the boys are boys, and they aren’t even interested in girls. Which I’m fine with because I don’t have time for teenage romance drama at the moment. I have enough of my own romance drama.

  I’m sitting out on the deck of a restaurant that floats on the river. The end of season is nearing, and I haven’t eaten here in what feels like forever. I think the last time I ate here was right before I left town with Stephen, after the boys were born.

  Inez’s chocolate skin glistens in the sun as she walks up the ramp to where I am. I’ve always felt she was prettier than me, but I have never been jealous of her beauty. I thought some guy would have swept her off her feet by now, but she is so driven and independent that she’s never let a guy in. Not one that I know of anyway.

  She looks like she’s dressed for court, but it’s Sunday. She has a white blouse tucked in a pencil skirt with heels as high as the sky. I look down at them and then back up at her. “How do you even walk in them?”

  “Nice to you see you too, Addy,” she chuckles. “I’m so used to them now, shoes without heels feel wrong.” She shrugs and sits down across from me.

  I showed her the video, and she agreed I had enough to prove he was the one in the wrong, but I honestly don’t want to make him look bad. I just want to be divorced and get it over with. I told her to go ahead, draw up the paperwork, and send it to him. Although, I don’t think he’ll sign it that easy. Not after the phone call from earlier today.

  I told her he wanted to work things out. She asked if I was sure I wanted to end it, that we’d been together for over fourteen years. I know we have, but I don’t think I’ll ever trust him again. I think we truly had been falling out of love. I’ll always love him because of the boys. He gave me them, but I’m ready to be my own person.

  I deleted all of my social media accounts because I had been pretending we were this perfect family, but we weren’t. We aren’t. I’m not sure we ever were. I don’t want anyone knowing my personal business. Deleting them all seemed like the best way to keep people out. Keep the drama to a minimum and maybe the boys can survive the rest of their freshman year of high school unscathed.

  I’m still trying to figure out what I’m going to do for money. I broke down and used one of our credit cards for gas. I can’t do that forever. He’ll cut me off, and I shouldn’t have ever let myself become so dependent on his money. I turned into a codependent woman when all I ever wanted to be was independent like Inez.

  I don’t have a degree or any qualifications for a job. I plan to help my parents get things together at the store, but I can’t take any money from them. They’re already letting me and the boys stay with them until I figure something else out.

  I wrote a few articles about Stephen’s dental office and a couple other small-town businesses in Eastern Kentucky. I didn’t make a whole lot, but I was mainly doing it for fun then. Maybe I could use that as experience on a resume and find some kind of freelance writing job.

  Last night Inez said Stephen should be served before the end of business hours tomorrow. I didn’t think she’d have the paperwork ready so fast. She said there are template divorce papers. She doesn’t think he’ll agree to what we’re asking for. At least not the first time which I agree. He’ll fight.

  I applied to the local newspaper, but the only job they have available right now is a part-time sports column. The pay isn’t that great, but I applied anyway. I have to start somewhere.

  I searched online this morning for some other kind of freelance writing job. There is a business that will pay you two grand per romance novel. All you need is to show your work, and if they like you, they will give you a topic to write about and a deadline. I’ve never written a romance novel before. Tonight, I plan to write a few things to submit. I wouldn’t say I’m any good at creative writing. I’m not one who can come up with a good storyline, but maybe if someone gave me an outline of one, I could write one.

  Me. A romance writer… Best not to tell the parents. I can only imagine the wrath my pops would give me for writing smut.

  I’m at my parents’ store, and I have all the shelves in pretty decent shape. Now I’m going through the paperwork from this past year because Mom said some money had come up missing a couple months back, but she wasn’t sure what had happened, and they swept it under the rug as a loss.

  Besides her and Pops, they only have one employee that I know of. When I asked Mom if anyone else had access to the register, she muttered under her breath.

  I scoop all the receipts I can find from under the cash register and place them all in a cardboard box to take to the backroom and work on.

  The office is in worse shape than the front of the store. It’s going to take all day just to clean up this room. I won’t even get to the paperwork. The amount of dust flying around in the sun’s glare from the window makes my lungs hurt. I follow the beam to the desk that looks like it hasn’t been touched in years. I’m beginning to wonder how they even order new inventory.

  The boys started school here today. They didn’t want to. They whined and asked to stay with their dad.

  I finally broke the news of our separation. I didn’t mention a divorce, just that we are taking a break for a while. They’re not dumb, though. Sawyer said he thinks it’s cool we are living back where I grew up. I think he just likes that he can play video games whenever he wants and there are no chores for him here, yet. Atticus hasn’t said a word since he
came home from school this evening, and he’s staring out the window while he picks at the couch cushion.

  I sit down next to him. “How was school today? Make any new friends?”

  He scoots away from me and flings his arms up in the air, “No, Mom. I didn’t make any new friends. This place sucks and I want to live with Dad.”

  As much as I hate to admit it, he is old enough to make the decision to live with Stephen and not me. My heart feels like it’s breaking all over again.

  “Please, just give it a chance. Today was the first day. It’ll get better.” I reach out to stroke his head, but he flinches away from my touch.

  He huffs, “I miss my friends, and I miss soccer. I miss my teammates.”

  “I’m sure they have soccer here, honey. Why don’t you ask around tomorrow?”

  He lays his head down in my lap. “Will you do it for me, Mom? I don’t know anyone.”

  I want him to be more self-sufficient, but if me seeing about soccer will cheer him up, I’ll do it. I stroke his hair wishing he was six again, and the only thing he got tore up about was if his milk was chocolate instead of white. “Yeah, I’ll call tomorrow.”

  I know they had soccer at the high school when I was younger, I’m sure they still have a team.

  FOUR

  I haven’t heard anything back from The Hive, the local newspaper. They might have gotten a lot of applicants. I wrote a few short stories that I felt were crap, but I sent them anyway to the freelance writing firm. Hopefully I hear something soon. Stephen hasn’t mentioned anything about the divorce papers yet, but I know he’ll eventually cancel the cards I have been using.

  Sawyer seems to be handling the news a little better than Atticus. I told Atticus he could play soccer here like he did back home. I was able to find out when they have soccer practice, and he was supposed to stay after school today for it, but he messaged me earlier tore up.

  Malcom Murray is the soccer coach and he said Atticus couldn’t join the team because they already had enough players. Atticus said Coach Murray’s answer was that the season had already started and maybe next year.