Chapter 38

Frankie never stood still long enough to feel the pain of waiting or even long enough to realize waiting had a physical pain that accompanied it when it went on too long. She’d graduated high school, gone to college, and worked two jobs while she wrote on the side. She had an active social life and tried to involve herself in the community. She’d had Robert, who, at times, had seemed like a full-time job. Robert was classic type A and Frankie had always been an eclectic mix of the whole alphabet.

“I’m alphabet soup,” she said out loud as she scrubbed the kitchen floor on her hands and knees. Fergie was blasting from her iPhone and Frankie was trying to pretend she was a big girl too. “I think you have it wrong, Fergie. Big girls do cry.” She bit her lip to keep from doing just that, as she backed herself out of the kitchen.

In the last week, her life had been a balancing act of positive and negative. She’d seen the boys twice, but heard nothing from the social workers. Her parents had confirmed Christmas, but her brother was hedging. She’d saved a hundred dollars on a weather-proofing deal for her windows only to have her furnace need servicing. She could handle all of that. But what was really unbalancing her was Ryan’s distance. Hoisting herself up off of the floor, she looked out the window and saw his truck pull into his driveway. Yanking off the rubber gloves and tossing them onto the coffee table, she pulled on her winter coat, and stuffed her feet into her boots, not even tying them up. She was done waiting.

When she got to his door, she almost turned the knob. Her slight hesitation made her mad at herself. She’d had sex with this man in almost every room of this house. They’d whispered plans for their future together in the darkness or the glow of his fireplace. He loved her—even if he hadn’t said it. If there was a checklist for knowing whether you could just walk into someone’s house, she’d be able to check every yes box. Yet, she raised her hand and knocked on his front door, feeling like time had pushed her back several paces. When he opened the door, looking so perfectly Ryan, her heart hammered even as she formed a scowl.

“I’m tired of waiting,” she said, stepping into the house, pleased that he moved aside so she could.

“Uh, how long were you waiting? I just got home.” He shut the door and stared at her, made no effort to kiss her, pull her close, tell her how much he missed her this last week while he’d been doing God knows what. What happened to wanting to be with her when he wasn’t? Victoria’s gorgeous, perfect face came into her head, but she pushed it away.

“No, not now. In general. I feel like I’m waiting for everything or anything to happen. I’m going crazy. I’ve washed my kitchen floor three times this week and it’s only Tuesday.” She knew she was talking too loud and her arms were waving around but it was either that or throw herself at him. He ran a hand through his hair and her stomach tightened. She wanted her hands in his hair, on his jaw that hadn’t been shaved in a few days.

“Frankie, look.”

“No. You look,” she interrupted, stomping toward him and shoving a finger at his chest. He arched a brow but she was too busy channeling all of her uncertainty into being mad at him to be warmed by his amusement. “What the hell is going on, Ryan? Are you mad at me? We’ve barely seen each other. I’m not normally clingy, I mean, I love spending time together, but I’m okay with some space and you doing, you know, guy things or whatever. But something is off and I’ve been trying to ignore it and I just can’t anymore. What is wrong?”

She’d learned so many things coming to Minnesota. She’d learned how strong she really was, how much her family meant to her, and how much having her own family one day mattered. She’d learned that your car doors can actually freeze shut and that there were towns without one single McDonald’s. She’d learned that she wasn’t a fool for dumping Robert because “it just wasn’t there.” Because when she’d found Ryan, she’d realized what it was. It was him. And not finding him would have been like leaving out the most important part of a movie, the part that tied everything together. As she stood in front of him, the walls feeling too close, the air feeling too heavy, she learned that a heart could be broken without any words being exchanged. It could be broken with just a look. A look that clearly said Frankie’s part in his life had been left on the cutting room floor.

“Why?” The word was whispered but his eyes widened like she’d slapped him.

“I’m sorry.”

She shook her head and pulled her jacket tighter around herself. She backed up, still shaking her head. Or maybe it was all of her shaking.

“That is not an answer. Are you getting back together with your ex-wife?” She had to know. The look of disgust and shock on his face was a start.

“Fuck no. Never. No.” He ran his hands through his hair, frustration etched in every line on his face.

“Then why?”

“It’s too much. I care about you—”

Her look silenced him. What a petty thing to say after what they’d shared. “You care? So much you’re done? I guess we have different definitions of that word.” And so many others, she thought, grateful she hadn’t said what she’d been feeling for so long; at least she’d kept a piece of herself. Anger and hurt battled in her stomach, spreading to her chest. “You want this over, fine. But I deserve a goddamn explanation, Ryan. You ought to be man enough to give me that.”

Her words were low and hard and sounded foreign. His jaw tightened, at odds with the sadness in his eyes. If she could have focused just on his eyes instead of on the way his words and his body were wrecking her, she might have seen the depth of that sadness and dug deeper.

“I know it’s not what you want to hear, but I do care about you. And I know it’s not enough. I told you I couldn’t give you enough. You hate me all you want, I deserve that. I thought I could handle all of this, but it’s too much. I don’t want the ready-made family you’re working toward. Hell Frankie, I was just figuring us out and you want these three messed-up kids full time and I can’t…I just can’t. I’m hardly anyone’s role model. If you don’t believe me, read the fucking news.”

She stared at him but the Ryan she’d known was gone. The shell of him, the man he likely was in Los Angeles, stood in front of her, a vacant stranger. She tried to pull in a deep breath, to soothe herself, calm herself, but she couldn’t get it all the way in. The emotion coming back up her throat from the pit of her stomach was blocking her airway. Her eyes blurred but she kept them narrowed on him as she walked toward him. She tilted her head back and didn’t try to stop the tears when she spoke.

“You’re a coward.”

His eyes closed for one brief second and he rocked back on his heels. Opening the door, she didn’t let herself look back. Another thing she’d learned by coming to Minnesota: how to move forward.