How Many Times Do I Have to Say I'm Sorry? (Maudlin Falls) Read online

  I punch the radio’s power button to silence Terry Hackworth mid-sentence. I was doing okay listening to it until that. I changed from satellite radio over to the local station when I stopped for gas in Colley after getting off the Interstate around dawn.

  That was a mistake.

  The change in radio station, I mean. Not getting gas.

  Last night, I stopped about an hour north of Colley and stayed at a large hotel where I felt reasonably sure no one would know me. I wanted to remain incognito today for as long as possible.

  Mostly because I’m a chicken. I still don’t know how to approach Tomas.

  I drive along in silence for a few minutes with nothing more than the sound of my Range Rover’s tires smoothly gliding along the apparently fresh asphalt of New Falls Road. The road’s name is a little misleading because it’s at least twice as old as I am, and I’m thirty-six.

  Looks like the county finally got around to repaving the old two-lane road sometime recently. Which is one of the reasons why I decided to drive my SUV down here in the first place instead of flying and renting a car. I thought I’d need it while dodging potholes the size of fricking VW Beetles.

  I wonder what other changes I’ll discover that have taken place over the past three years?

  That’s not a question I seriously want my soul to ponder because I’m here first and foremost to do my job. Get in, get out, preferably as quickly and quietly as possible before I can even think about dealing with anything else. I reserved a hotel room down in Sarcan for tonight because it’s closer to Webley, the county seat, where most of my business will take place.

  Plus it means fewer chances of me being clocked by anyone in town before I’m ready to deal with those ramifications.

  I can’t help looking for other changes as I drive. I spot a freshly painted barn, another farmer built a new pole barn. Yet another has a new-looking section of fence stretching along the road to keep his placid cows safely contained in his picturesque pasture.

  Mostly, though, it looks remarkably unchanged from when I last drove this road three years ago, only then I was heading the other direction.

  And everything looked blurry, because I was crying.

  I’m still twenty minutes outside of town when I slow and take a left turn, down a well-used dirt road running beneath a thick canopy of old oak trees arching above it. Old Falls Road.

  This all appears achingly unchanged, miles of woods with glimpses of pastures and fields through the rare break in the trees.

  I’m glad to see no one sold the surrounding land and turned it into a housing development and closed it off to the public.

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m parking in the rustic clearing the locals all use for this purpose. At this time of morning on a weekday, there’s no one else here. I’d counted on that when I let my body click into autopilot and head down here.

  I get out and quietly close the door, hesitant to disturb the still air with the sound. Nearby, I hear the falls softly rumbling, where the Maudlin River burbles and slides around craggy rocks before dropping twenty-five feet to continue its journey through Maudlin Falls and points beyond.

  It sounds like a home I can no longer claim. Perhaps the last true home I ever knew.

  Or, if I’m really honest with myself, maybe it was the only true home I ever knew.

  The hand-painted sign still sits slightly askance on an old 4x4 post at the foot of the trail. As I walk past it, I reach out and touch the sign’s rough, faded surface, the way I have hundreds of times before.

  The way he always used to.

  I guess this is the real reason I chose to don jeans and sneakers this morning instead of defaulting to a suit. Because I could lie to myself and say I wanted to be comfortable driving. Deep inside, I knew I’d be stopping here.

  The way I stopped and cried that last day, wondering if I’d ever see the falls again.

  If I’d ever see him.

  Thinking that if he really loved me, he’d understand. That he’d follow me, eventually. That when he’d come visit me, he’d let me show him how good things could be for us in my world after having lived in his for several years.

  That I could win him over. That my world could become our world.

  That I could take care of us and he could literally do anything else he wanted with his accounting degree besides being tied to a small local hardware store that would likely barely provide for his future retirement.

  Three years away proved me so, so wrong.

  I’m wiser now. I know he never would’ve been happy living in my world, and it was selfish of me to think I could force him to.

  Even more ironic, I realized how wrong I’d been to think I could ever find happiness in that world without him at my side. How blind I was to reality.

  How unhappy I currently am in my life, and have been for years.

  How the last time I honestly felt happy was when I was living in his world.

  Now I’m stuck with my feet firmly planted in New York City and Miami, while my heart and soul firmly refuse to budge from Maudlin Falls.

  Not that I dare think he’ll give me another chance.

  Not that I even think I’ve earned another chance.

  I wouldn’t blame him if he doesn’t want to look at me, much less speak to me. Or worse, I’d deserve it if he’s moved on and found someone who’s truly deserving of him, who can be everything he really needs in a partner.

  Something I should have been better at for him.

  I’ve already decided that, should I be met with the last possibility, I’ll grit my teeth, smile, genuinely wish him well, and the ring currently stashed in my pocket will stay there. I’d love to see him smiling and happy.

  That’s all I’ve ever wanted for him—happiness.

  Even if I’m not the one giving it to him.

  And even if the thought of that rips my heart out anew and completely stomps it into dust.

  * * * *

  I spend thirty minutes sitting next to the falls on my favorite rock—which is still here, thankfully.

  While I sit there, I take the ring out and study it. I bought the matching wedding band set yesterday in Miami. I walk past a jewelry store on my way to the office from the parking garage. They caught my eye in the window, and I found myself walking in and buying them before I even realized what I was doing. It wasn’t even a conscious series of decisions, it was blind instinct that immediately calmed my soul and made me realize that I don’t belong in Miami if there’s still a home for me here.

  That’s when I knew for certain that, when I came here, I wouldn’t be leaving. Not if he doesn’t send me away.

  This ring’s his and the other’s in my wallet. If he turns me down, I’ll totally deserve it.

  But if he gives me another chance, I’ll prove from the start I’m serious. That I mean it about choosing him over everything else. I should have married him years ago when he first brought it up instead of thinking I needed to meet some arbitrary income level for success first.

  After taking videos and pictures to remember this precious place by, in case it’s the last time I ever see it again, I slowly make my way down the trail toward the parking area.

  That’s when my infamous luck takes another turn and I trip, falling flat on my face. Fortunately, on a level section of trail.

  Dang it. It figures I’d take a tumble. I wouldn’t be me if something didn’t go sideways.

  After I pick myself up and dust myself off, I briefly panic when I can’t immediately locate the ring in my pocket. Then, with a rush of relief, I find where it had impaled itself on my tube of lip balm, avoiding my searching fingers for a moment.

  There’s still no one else around in the parking area when I reach my SUV. I dig out a suit from my garment bag and change right there, using my reflection in the window to tie my tie.

  Now I look like an attorney.

  When I think about how cheap it’d be to lease an office in Maudlin Falls, the voice scolding me not to
be ridiculous sounds mostly like my mother’s, with a little bit of Dad thrown in for extra guilt.

  We didn’t pay all that money to send you to college and law school for you to waste your life in that little nowhere town.

  Well, he must not love you very much if he won’t move to be with you.

  Why would he want to stay there in that little hick town when he could make so much more money with his degree working for someone else in Miami or New York?

  Who in their right mind wouldn’t want to be with you, son? You’ll find a nice guy who recognizes what a catch you are. It’s his loss.

  What will our friends say if you do nothing with your life?

  Hating all those irritating snippets, I angrily shove them aside. In the beginning, I tried to cling to those words as a lifeline of sorts, to lie to myself that I’d made the right decision.

  It took me less than a year to realize how wrong I was. Every time he left me after a visit made me want to chase him and beg him to let me come home.

  Still, I resisted, thinking I could wear him down.

  Over the past three years since I’ve left Maudlin Falls, I’ve nuked five potential relationships, two of which never made it past the one-week mark. The latest lasted two months and ended three weeks ago, even though he insists it’s not over and keeps trying to get me to change my mind.

  That’ll teach me to never date someone I work with.

  Once I’m back in my SUV and have the engine running, I leave the radio off and slowly make my way across the parking area and toward the dirt road. Except…

  Something’s wrong.

  I pull over, leave it idling and get out to walk around my SUV.

  The right rear tire is low, nearly flat.

  You have got to be kidding me!

  This is bad by bad-luck standards, even for me.

  I turn my Range Rover around, return to a shaded, level section of grass in the parking area, change back into my jeans, and set to work changing my tire. If I call AAA, I know who will respond—Kurt Peyton, from the Maudlin Falls Garage. It’s the only garage close by, and it’s all the way in town.

  Problem is, he knows me. He’s changed enough of my tires, unlocked my car doors, and jump-started enough vehicles for me over the years that there’s no way he wouldn’t remember me. Plus, he’d have to see my AAA card and ID even if he didn’t remember me. And Desiderio Keiser isn’t exactly a name that rolls off the tongue, or is easily forgotten.

  Meaning word of my return would spread like wildfire before he even returned to town.

  Besides, I can change it myself just as quickly as I can waiting for Kurt, by the time he drives all the way out here. At least it’s not too hot today, and I don’t have anyone to witness one more incident in my bad-luck string of them.

  It takes me about thirty minutes to change the tire. Then I go wash my hands in the falls and change back into my suit to resume my journey.

  I’ve missed this little town. Maudlin Falls is a caricature, an anachronism, but a pleasant one.

  A soul-level palette cleanser.

  A place where I felt at peace for the first time in my life. I felt loved and wanted and welcomed and embraced not just by my guy, but by the community at large. Before I lived here, I thought it was too good to be true, or full of sappy small-town hicks I would soon convince my guy didn’t have his best interests at heart. Probably closet bigots, all of them.

  I was wrong on all counts.

  It’s no surprise that the love of my life grew up here. Which makes it even more confoundedly stupid that I walked away in the first place. I had a decent job working with a law firm in Webley, as well as taking on my own cases in Maudlin Falls and surrounding areas.

  I reach the main road and continue my drive into town. The place time forgot, in many ways. Where the drive-in still shows double features every Friday and Saturday nights and hosts a weekly flea market on Saturday and Sunday mornings. Yes, maybe I have been stalking the local Maudlin Falls Gazette via their website.

  Here, the whole town turns out for kids’ sporting events, even if they don’t have children playing in the game. They attend church functions like ice cream socials and fall festivals and Christmas concerts even if they don’t attend that particular church—or any church. It’s about community.

  You also don’t have to wonder what the other person wants when they’re being nice to you, because they’re honestly just being nice.

  Even the grouchy people are still good people, and their fellow townsfolks accept them for who they are, grouchiness and all.

  Where even a guy like me who thought he was too good for this place soon found himself loving it here.

  Leaving this sweet little oasis to return to Miami, and wasting three years between us, will forever be the biggest regret of my life. Not even all the trappings of a “successful” law career can make up for any of that, no matter what my mother thinks.

  I’m still about ten minutes outside town when my cell rings. Groaning, I pull over to take the call. I’m already behind schedule today, thanks to the flat tire, but she’ll just keep calling until I talk to her. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Desiderio, are you coming by this weekend, or are you up in the city?”

  I’m glad she didn’t Facetime me to see I’m in the car and definitely not in Miami. “Next weekend, Mom. I’m working this weekend.”

  “I couldn’t remember what you said. Don’t forget to bring Freddy with you. I want to introduce him to Uncle Roger. He’s looking for someone to take over his HR department, and—”

  “Mom, I broke up with Freddy. I told you that.” I know I told her that even if she didn’t want to hear it. She’d been ready to start sending out wedding invites and planning the seating chart.

  But she’s also friends with Freddy’s mother, so she’s known him since long before I did.

  That declaration makes her pause. “I thought you said you were going to try to work things out with him?”

  I remove my sunglasses and drop them in my lap so I can rub my eyes with my free hand. “No, you told me you thought I should work things out with him. I told you that wasn’t going to happen.”

  “But he’s a very nice boy and he makes good money. His parents are nice, too. He could be making even better money working for your Uncle Roger.”

  That is a very bad excuse. Usually she tries harder than this. Obviously, since she’s friends with Freddy’s parents, she can just talk to them. “Then pass Uncle Roger’s contact info to him and—”

  “It’d be so much easier if you’d just bring him with you next weekend. And I wanted to talk to you about that vacation ranch trip we’re booking for next month. I need to find out your schedule, and Freddy’s, so I can finalize those plans.”

  “Mom. Listen to me. I’m not bringing Freddy with me. I’m not taking any trips with him.”

  Besides, the last thing I want to do is end up stuck rooming with Freddy on some freaking dude ranch where I have to pay for the privilege of doing a hard day’s work on horseback. My mom’s on this kick now, though, because one of her friends did it and started raving about it.

  “Freddy and I are too different in too many ways,” I add, and it’s not the first time I’ve told her any of this, either. “The only reason I didn’t break up with him sooner is because you wouldn’t stop bugging me about going out with him because he’s your friend’s son. I more than gave him a fair shot. I’m done. Now please get off my back about it.”

  That shocks her into silence. I almost feel guilty for the brutal honesty when she speaks. “Well. Excuse me Desiderio Armand Keiser for giving a darn about your emotional health.”

  Crap, she used my full name. And of freaking course she defaults to guilt. “Mom, I can’t do this right now. I’m in the car and need to get back on the road.”

  “Where are you?”

  Oh, no way am I telling her. She’ll immediately know I’m going to see Tomas and I wouldn’t put it past her to tell Freddy. “I’m wor
king. I have to meet with a client. I’ll text you Freddy’s number as soon as I hang up. Love you and Dad. Bye.”

  I hit the end button, cutting off what is no doubt a very familiar objection mid-word. I immediately pull up Freddy’s contact info and then send that to her, just like I said I would. Even though she doesn’t need it, because she can always get it from Freddy’s mom.

  Let the two or three of them plan something together. I don’t honestly care anymore. I’ll likely cancel my visit next weekend anyway, but I’m not dumb enough to do it this soon.

  Mom will no doubt rope me into some sort of promise to reschedule my visit if I do.

  I put my sunglasses back on and startle when I glance in my side mirror and spot a man standing there. He smiles, holding up a hand in a friendly wave.

  I recognize him immediately, dang it. Herb Sanctum, whose farm is right around here. I only saw him a few times when I lived in town, and spoke to him maybe once or twice.

  Hoping he doesn’t remember me, I roll down my window and drop into a decent imitation of my uncle’s Cuban accent. “Can I help you?”

  “Saw you sitting here and just checking on you. You all right, son?”

  I force a smile. “Yes, thank you. Had to take a phone call. Safety, you know.”

  From his reaction, I’m reasonably certain he doesn’t remember me. “Ah! No worries, then. Sorry I startled you.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate the consideration, though.”

  With that, he smiles and walks back across the road, to where a tractor with a mower deck attached to the back sits idling just inside his fence.

  I roll my window up and check for traffic before pulling out onto the road. Nearly anywhere else, I would’ve been worried about someone drawing a gun on me, and I dang sure wouldn’t have rolled the window all the way down.

  But not here, of all places.

  Welcome back to Maudlin Falls, pendejo.