The Art of Starting Over

The rain continued as Hayden’s statement lingered in the space of the cab. Would death be easier? Would it be better to live with knowing your spouse had died instead of knowing he’d consciously crawled into bed with your best friend?

Devorah wasn’t sure.

The feelings she had—the broken heart, the longing, and the anger—would likely be the same, no matter what.

She stared out the window at the gray. The rain, the cloud cover, and the fog matched her mood. In the distance, the foghorn sounded, warning any boat or ship trying to navigate through the mess. It was unsafe, yet people would try. Even on the water, people had places to go and things to do. Fish, lobster, crabs, and oysters needed to be caught and brought in. Days off were rare.

Devorah turned and looked at Hayden, sitting there with his seat belt still on despite them being parked. He’d changed since she last saw him, thickened out and become more manly. She remembered him as tall and scrawny, and someone who had flirted with her and at times made her feel special. There was a time in her life when she thought they would become official, but Hayden never asked her to be his girlfriend. He led people to think otherwise, though, and he never dated anyone else until he left for college.

Then Chad took an interest in her, and everything changed.

Was Hayden one year or two years older than her?

She couldn’t remember, other than Hayden being best friends with Colt.

Somewhere in her room, she still had her old yearbooks. Later, she’d look through them and see what year Hayden had graduated.

He ran his hand through his sandy-blond hair. While short on the sides, the top had a bit of a curl to it, and Devorah wondered if the curls appeared only when wet or if his hair had always been wavy. For as long as she’d known him, he’d kept his hair short and sometimes even shaved.

“I’m really sorry about your wife.”

Hayden sighed and rocked back and forth. “Thanks.” He glanced at Devorah. She studied him. His face was tan, with the fine lines you’d expect to see at his age, but when she looked into his ocean-blue eyes, she saw sadness and hope, a life well lived, and worry. How could someone have so many questions and unknowns in his eyes? Devy turned away, unwilling for him to analyze her the way she had him.

“I hear Colt is running the Lazy Lamb,” Hayden said, breaking the silence.

“Have you been?”

“No, not yet. I meant to over the weekend but decided to lay low. I guess I’m not ready for the questions to start.”

Devy knew all too well what he meant. “Crow’s phone rang off the hook once people saw my car in the driveway. A few people came over, brought casseroles. Like they did after my mom died. He’s pissed.”

“At you?”

Devorah shrugged. “Maybe he’s gloating. I don’t know.”

“There’s a lot of pride in a man like him.”

“And his daughter is the laughingstock of the social media world.” Devy wiped at her cheek. “He doesn’t understand the whole vlogging thing, and I don’t have the patience to explain how people post stupid shit for likes and views.”

“Something tells me she didn’t post a video like that for likes, but to come clean.”

Devorah scoffed. “How about telling me in private, so I’m not embarrassed and leaving town with my tail tucked between my legs?”

“What does Chad say?”

She looked at Hayden. He seemed genuinely concerned for her feelings. “You know how when you’re watching a movie, and the person gets caught with the wrong person and they say, ‘It’s not what it looks like’?”

Hayden nodded.noveldrama

“Yeah, that didn’t happen. My husband covered himself up and left his mistress lying there, naked as the day she was born. Those words never came out of his mouth. He didn’t apologize or beg me to listen to him. He got angry with me because I threw up on her front lawn and didn’t have any shoes on.”

“Because you’d just had a pedicure.”

Devy nodded. “Yep. Then he told me he loved her.”

Hayden leaned toward her and gently rubbed his thumb along her cheekbone, wiping away her tears. “I don’t mean to make you cry.”

“You’re not,” she told him. “My thoughts make me cry.”

“Still, we don’t have to talk about it.”

“Yeah, you asked about Colt. I haven’t been to the Lazy Lamb either. I’m sure I’ll go this week sometime and pretend everything’s great and smile my way through town while I wait for the other shoe to drop.”

“Being?”

“That someone here has seen the video. It’s humiliating enough to know my entire community in Chicago saw it, but if it reaches here . . .” Devy groaned. “Maren’s been through enough.”

“Maybe Chad should ask his friend to take it down.”

“We’d have to be on speaking terms.”

“Silent treatment, huh?”

Devorah shrugged and readjusted in the seat. “I don’t have anything to say. Besides, deep down, I don’t want to hear how this is my fault or how happy he is now that I’m not there.”

Hayden reached over and touched her hand lightly. “We’ll go to the Lazy Lamb together. This way, the town gossips won’t know which way to go with the tales.”

“Thanks, but I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” he told her, but that was how she saw it. She didn’t need to be seen with him so people wouldn’t judge her. Eventually she’d have to face the music, and it would be best to do it with her head held high. Ignorance was bliss, and Devy banked on no one in Oyster Bay having seen the video.

Devorah wrapped her fingers around the door handle and paused. She glanced at Hayden, who stared back at her. “Thanks for the talk.” She opened the door and slid out, not giving him a chance to talk her out of walking in the rain. The rain hid her tears, which she needed right now in case she ran into someone on the street. Not that many people would be out, but people were always willing to brave the wind and downpours to do their daily business.

On her walk toward her father’s home, she passed by the Lazy Lamb. She glanced at her watch, wiped water from the top, and saw she’d sat in Hayden’s truck for almost two hours. It was almost lunchtime, and her stomach was growling. Instantly, her hand covered her midsection to stifle the noise, although it was unlikely anyone else could have heard it anyway. The action was habit, and if Chad had been with her, he’d admonish her for not eating, and then, once she had, he’d mention how snug her pants were or ask how the gym was, knowing full well she hadn’t gone.

As hard as she tried not to think about Chad, he flooded her memories. She missed him and didn’t know how to turn off those feelings, even though the thought of him repulsed her. After spending the last two decades of her life with the man, the only image she could recall was the one embedded in her mind—her husband thrusting into another woman. It was seared there, playing on constant repeat, to remind Devy of her failure as a wife.

The door to the Lazy Lamb opened, and two men walked out. They didn’t see her standing there and speed walked toward a parked car along the curb. The door shut slowly, giving Devorah enough time to tell herself she didn’t want to go in and see her brother, especially looking like a drowned rat. Giving the fine people of Oyster Bay more fodder was not high on her priority list.

By the time she walked up the steps to her childhood home, water was sloshing in her shoes. Once she was under the cover of the porch, she kicked them off, along with her socks and jacket, and made her way inside. The house was warm and smelled of tobacco. Her father must’ve smoked his pipe before he left for work. She stood in the hallway and inhaled the familiar scent—one she hadn’t realized she longed for until she’d returned home.

Her relationship with her father was rocky at best. Simply put, Tremaine had no idea how to raise a daughter. He’d always had high and unreasonable expectations of her and Colt, but he seemed to go easier on her brother. The Crowley kids were expected to stay out of trouble, get good grades, and not do anything to embarrass the sheriff.

When Devy started dating Chad Campbell, Crow didn’t approve. It wasn’t because no one would ever be good enough for his daughter but because Crow had busted Chad for “parking” at the pier. Then, weeks later, he’d asked Devorah out. “Someone who does that with one girl and then moves on to another is not to be trusted,” Crow had said.

Devorah should’ve listened.

She opened the door to the basement and walked down the stairs, carrying her wet shoes and jacket. Downstairs, she stuffed her shoes with old newspaper, put them in a pillowcase, and knotted the opening. Then she stripped off her clothes and put everything into the dryer. Devy was thankful Crow was at work because the thunking sound her shoes made in the dryer would surely annoy him. She rummaged through a basket on top of the dryer, deduced that the clothes belonged to Colt, and found a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants to slip into. When she got to the top of the stairs, she screamed and placed her hand over her pounding heart.

“What are you doing here?”

“This is my house,” her father said gruffly.

Devy stepped into the hallway and closed the door to the basement. “No, I mean why aren’t you at work?”

“I come home for lunch.”

“Oh.” She followed her father into the kitchen and stood there, wringing her hands. In Chicago, this was her space, the place where she would make her family three meals a day and where Maren would come and sit at the island bar after school and tell Devy about her day.

“Would you like me to make you something?” she asked Crow.

“No,” he said pointedly. “I can do it.”

Devy felt a mixture of rage and hurt boiling. “I know you can do it, but I’m offering because . . . because . . .” She couldn’t finish her statement before she broke down. A sob rolled from her toes until it left her mouth in an ungodly sound. She bent at her waist, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, as if she was trying (and failing) to hold everything in.

“I can’t . . .” were the only words she could get out before her father pulled her to his chest.

“Breathe, Devorah,” he said as he rubbed his hands up and down her back. “You need to breathe before you pass out.”

“It h-hurts,” she stammered through a hiccup. “Everything hurts.”

“It gets better.”

Would it, though? Was he better, or was he still bitter and angry that his wife had passed away? Devorah didn’t see how any of this could get better. Her husband had done the unthinkable. If they’d had problems in their marriage, he should’ve come to her. Instead, he’d given himself to another woman, a woman Devy had trusted implicitly. This betrayal ran deep and was unforgivable.

Her father didn’t know this sort of pain. His wife didn’t cheat or leave him for another man. She was sick, and the doctors couldn’t cure her. Yet Crow still golfed with those doctors on occasion. Or at least he had the last Devy knew.

What Crow had done, though, was shut himself off from everyone, except for work and his friends, after her mother died. Crow hadn’t comforted his children, except briefly, when he’d told them she had succumbed to cancer. He was a man of few words and even fewer emotions.

She still had to comfort her daughter and explain to Maren why her father had done something like this, and why he had allowed his mistress to be so callous in airing their dirty laundry.

Devorah stepped out of her father’s grasp, doing so first before he could let go. If he pushed her away, she’d lose it again. The Crowleys were strong and always put on a brave face despite how they felt on the inside.

She left her dad in the kitchen, to fend for himself like he wanted, and climbed the stairs to the second floor. Without changing out of Colt’s clothes, she crawled into bed, set the alarm on her phone, and pulled the covers over her head. Sleep would evade her, but she’d try. It was the least she could do for herself.