How He Broke My Heart

Chapter 9

At work on Monday, no girl comes in to see him or hang around, pretending to look at clothes to get his attention. Jess doesn't come in to flirt, but during his break, Brandon heads out to the beach to join a few others. I mindlessly watch him from my post. He talks, laughs, lays in the sun, plays volleyball, walks ankle-deep into the ocean, wets his hair, shimmers in the sun, his hair golden and his skin golden too. He tugs off his shirt and lays on his back against the bare sand. I cross my arms and try to look away. He has a constellation of freckles on his back and I find myself connecting them when he sits up. Sally is in today and she joins me, leaning against the chair, catching me.

"Busy?" She asks, knowing what she's doing.

"Uh, no, I'm not."

"You look pretty busy," she jokes with me or at me. "He's sure a pretty one, isn't he? I dated a guy like that when I was your age, ended up marrying him too."

She grabs my full attention. "How old were you when you got married?"

"Twenty-two. We waited until we both finished college." I look down to her bare finger. "He passed four years ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

She shrugs. "That's life, I suppose. But you two would make a cute couple, I think. You need someone to pick you up a bit." My eyes wander back to him. He's talking with the others now. "You like him, don't you?" Sally asks.

I swallow, keeping my eyes on him. "Don't tell him."

She shakes her head. "Maybe you should. What do ya got to lose? And if it makes you feel any better, the days I'm here, he's always looking at you." She raises her eyebrows and spins away, walking back into the shop.

She makes it sound so easy, not like a gamble at all. For some reason, maybe out of boredom, I picture it, our imaginary life together. It would start with a few years of school and dating, years of passion and recklessness and youth. We would fight and make up and make love on the beach or on a boat and lay together until our bodies ached to move. He would graduate before me, but I would come soon after, and we'd get a little place together in the city because Brandon would work for some company in some skyscraper. I'd spend my days doing whatever I love, whatever that is, and at a romantic dinner or vacation, he would ask me to marry him.

I would say yes, of course. The wedding would be on a golf course or at a fancy event place with a pond and view of mountains. It would be a medium-sized wedding and my parents and my Aunt would be there along with Brandon's and our friends and our coworkers that we like. We'd say our vows, I'd cry, his eyes would glow with love, and we'd kiss and be married. Then, we'd have a honeymoon on some Caribbean island and a few years of success in our careers before buying a house in the suburbs. It's a safe community for the upper middle class, and we'd have our first baby. A girl named something nature related.

She would be our world, but then another baby would come quick, a boy named after Brandon. Two babies. That's it. Work. Crying. Daycare. School. Homework. Cooking. Lovemaking late at night. Family vacations. Trips to grandmas and grandpas. Graduations. Sending them off to college. Peace. Peace and quiet except for holidays. We'd feel young again. We'd go on a cruise just us or go spontaneously to Vegas. Then our children's weddings. Then retirement. Then grandchildren. Then the old life. Then our children would come to visit us with theirs. Then Brandon would get sick real bad, or maybe I would.

"Emma?"

Looking up from the empty sidewalk, I find him in front of me. "Yes?" I say, unprepared, my bottom lip quivering just slightly until I press my lips together.

"You're on break," Brandon says.

When I arrive home after work I find myself flustered. Without thinking, I begin to pack up my things and zip up my suitcase because I have to go. I'm not going to let it happen again. I can't. Not with Brandon or with Kaden again, I'm not going to get pulled under by the tide. But, at some point, somewhere between packing up my toothbrush and checking the closet, I fall to my knees and stare at those three initials carved inside. HJ. MT. KL.