and fine posterior as he walked away. Liz would be so proud of me.
But what did his parting comment mean? Did he think Dr. Slater could be at risk going out with me? Was that a warning? As I watched his burly form disappear down the side of the field, I felt the nudge of an umbrella. Swamp eyes.
"How's the game going?” Hank asked, wisps of dark blond hair escaping from beneath his ball cap and brushing the collar of his beige windbreaker. For a second, it looked like he was going to kiss me, but I checked his advance with my own umbrella.
"Ben made a goal."
"He did? You're kidding?"
I drilled him with a look. How about supporting your son instead of knocking him? Ben would never be the athlete his father was. Thank goodness. The last thing the world needed was another high school quarterback who couldn't stop reliving his victories from two decades ago.
A few seconds passed before Hank broke the silence. “Do you have any more dates coming up?"
I lifted my head from under the umbrella, a major strategic error that resulted in a deluge of rain down my face and chest. Fortunately I didn't need to make a good impression on Hank. This man had seen me at my worst, during my twenty plus hour labors with each child.
"Why?"
"I'm worried about you, honey. What if something happens when you're out with one of these bozos? Are you checking these guys out? Googling them. I don't want anyone to hurt you. You need to think about our kids.” The gaze he fixed on me surprised me with its intensity. “And us."
Wow. Hank was displaying more passion this afternoon than in our twenty years together. What brought this on? Maybe he finally realized what he'd given up when he broke up our marriage and our family. The impact his leaving had on his young children, not to mention his wife. I was about to question Hank further when I noticed our son slipping and sliding towards us with the apparent intent of giving me a hug.
"Did you see my goal, Mom? Wasn't it awesome?” His grin reached literally from one side of his mud speckled face to the other. Then he noticed his other water-soaked parent.
"Dad. You made it. Did you see my goal?” he squealed.
"I'm real proud of you, big guy. You're a chip off the old block."
I snorted. Chip off the old blockhead was more like it. Hank performed some kind of complicated male bonding fist thing with Ben then attempted another kiss on my cheek. I outmaneuvered him but he grabbed my hand and held it tight.
"Be careful, Laurel. Don't take any chances.” He hugged Ben then walked away leaving me in an unusual state. Stunned silence.
The rest of Sunday passed uneventfully. Ben called all of his buddies to swap stories about their soccer games and make sure they heard about his goal as well. I did four loads of laundry and pondered my future.
My eagerness for my pending dinner with the health conscious Jeremy Slater had waned. Since the kids would be with their dad the following weekend maybe I should use Liz's shotgun approach to getting a guy. My friend used to schedule four to five dates a week. But then Liz's goal was to find a husband and the father of her future children before her estrogen clock stopped ticking.
My goal was...what exactly was my goal? Did I want a friend, an escort, a lover or a husband? Was my decision to join the Love Club just a response to my loneliness and the desire for intimacy with someone? Or was I trying to replicate the happy home Hank and I had for most of our marriage? Was I truly ready to spend the rest of my life with that special someone, the man who would keep not only my feet warm but also my heart?
Very heavy thoughts, which should be contemplated when I wasn't so tired. After soccer and a full day of laundry all I really wanted was to hit my four hundred thread count sheets. The phone rang as I brushed and flossed. One of the kids picked it up and a few minutes later, Jenna called out, “Hey, Mom, Grandmother Bingham for you."
My mother refused to
But what did his parting comment mean? Did he think Dr. Slater could be at risk going out with me? Was that a warning? As I watched his burly form disappear down the side of the field, I felt the nudge of an umbrella. Swamp eyes.
"How's the game going?” Hank asked, wisps of dark blond hair escaping from beneath his ball cap and brushing the collar of his beige windbreaker. For a second, it looked like he was going to kiss me, but I checked his advance with my own umbrella.
"Ben made a goal."
"He did? You're kidding?"
I drilled him with a look. How about supporting your son instead of knocking him? Ben would never be the athlete his father was. Thank goodness. The last thing the world needed was another high school quarterback who couldn't stop reliving his victories from two decades ago.
A few seconds passed before Hank broke the silence. “Do you have any more dates coming up?"
I lifted my head from under the umbrella, a major strategic error that resulted in a deluge of rain down my face and chest. Fortunately I didn't need to make a good impression on Hank. This man had seen me at my worst, during my twenty plus hour labors with each child.
"Why?"
"I'm worried about you, honey. What if something happens when you're out with one of these bozos? Are you checking these guys out? Googling them. I don't want anyone to hurt you. You need to think about our kids.” The gaze he fixed on me surprised me with its intensity. “And us."
Wow. Hank was displaying more passion this afternoon than in our twenty years together. What brought this on? Maybe he finally realized what he'd given up when he broke up our marriage and our family. The impact his leaving had on his young children, not to mention his wife. I was about to question Hank further when I noticed our son slipping and sliding towards us with the apparent intent of giving me a hug.
"Did you see my goal, Mom? Wasn't it awesome?” His grin reached literally from one side of his mud speckled face to the other. Then he noticed his other water-soaked parent.
"Dad. You made it. Did you see my goal?” he squealed.
"I'm real proud of you, big guy. You're a chip off the old block."
I snorted. Chip off the old blockhead was more like it. Hank performed some kind of complicated male bonding fist thing with Ben then attempted another kiss on my cheek. I outmaneuvered him but he grabbed my hand and held it tight.
"Be careful, Laurel. Don't take any chances.” He hugged Ben then walked away leaving me in an unusual state. Stunned silence.
The rest of Sunday passed uneventfully. Ben called all of his buddies to swap stories about their soccer games and make sure they heard about his goal as well. I did four loads of laundry and pondered my future.
My eagerness for my pending dinner with the health conscious Jeremy Slater had waned. Since the kids would be with their dad the following weekend maybe I should use Liz's shotgun approach to getting a guy. My friend used to schedule four to five dates a week. But then Liz's goal was to find a husband and the father of her future children before her estrogen clock stopped ticking.
My goal was...what exactly was my goal? Did I want a friend, an escort, a lover or a husband? Was my decision to join the Love Club just a response to my loneliness and the desire for intimacy with someone? Or was I trying to replicate the happy home Hank and I had for most of our marriage? Was I truly ready to spend the rest of my life with that special someone, the man who would keep not only my feet warm but also my heart?
Very heavy thoughts, which should be contemplated when I wasn't so tired. After soccer and a full day of laundry all I really wanted was to hit my four hundred thread count sheets. The phone rang as I brushed and flossed. One of the kids picked it up and a few minutes later, Jenna called out, “Hey, Mom, Grandmother Bingham for you."
My mother refused to
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