I said that? Hearing about someone else’s ex-spouse was like watching slides from a sucky vacation that you didn’t even go on. And yet I found myself still talking. “Richard doesn’t want me to stay here. He’s afraid Fontaine will give Jordan an incurable case of gay fever.”
I looked over at my son, who was every inch the stereotypical boy. He’d abandoned the hole digging to punch and kick at the air, engaged in mortal combat with some imaginary foe.
“That’s pretty stupid. What are you going to do?” Des asked, leaning back and tilting his face to the sun, eyes closed.
I took the opportunity to let my own eyes travel over him, but at my silence, he looked at me once more.
“I don’t know,” I said. “It depends how much trouble Richard wants to cause. It just makes me so mad because Fontaine is great with the kids. He’s played with them more in a month than Richard did in five years.”
Des nodded slowly. “That’s too bad.”
I nodded too and pulled my wine cooler out from behind the chair. “Have you ever been married?” Dody’s take-no-prisoners bluntness was rubbing off.
He nodded and kicked at the sand with his foot. “Yeah. It didn’t go very well.”
“Sorry.” I passed him my drink, which he accepted.
“It seems like a long time ago now.”
“So what happened?”
He took another sip from the bottle. His words followed slowly. “Different priorities, I guess. We were pretty young. Pretty selfish.” He shook his head again and handed back the drink. His hand grazed mine. For the briefest second our eyes locked. My heart went hot and shimmery, like the last burst of brilliance from a sparkler before it goes out.
Des almost smiled, but then his face changed, as if he had just that second remembered he’d left a pot boiling on the stove or had forgotten to put on his pants. He turned his gaze back to the water. “You know. Shit happens. Marriages end.”
Part of me wanted to press. Part of me knew I wouldn’t like what I heard. And anyway, he obviously didn’t want to talk about it.
“No hospital today?” I asked instead.
He sighed, and it felt like the sun had faded somehow. “Nope, not today. But I still have tons of stuff I have to do. I suppose I should get to it.”
He stood up slowly, almost as if he was waiting to say something more. But he just said, “See you later.”
He turned and jogged down the beach.
Note to self: Don’t ask Des about his marriage because it makes him sad. And then it makes him leave.
I readjusted the new leather work bag on my shoulder and smiled my best professional-organizer smile. Kyle was right. His old lover Patrick, and Patrick’s new lover, Owen, had a lot of stuff!
Their new house was a historical behemoth, the oldest in Bell Harbor. That meant beautifully carved woodwork, an expansive veranda wrapping around the entire place, and old-fashioned pull-chain toilets. It also meant dozens of tiny rooms, the most illogically designed kitchen I’d ever seen, and no closets. Literally no closets! My worst nightmare! This job was going to be a bigger challenge than I expected, and since it was my first organizing assignment, I had to get it perfect.
My clients were crazy-happy in love and so excited to be moving in together. They didn’t care about the details of setting up their new home; they just wanted the boxes unpacked with some semblance of order.
But if I failed, and the clutter overtook this house, they’d start fighting over golf clubs tipping over in the hallway or important mail getting lost amid stacks of random paperwork. My failure to create order from this chaos could doom their relationship. They might not realize it was my fault, but I would. So I had to get this right.
“This is the master suite,” Patrick said, opening yet another door. “Aren’t the windows divine? We’re thinking sheer, sexy fabrics all over.”
“And there’s a maid’s room right next door,” Owen added. “We’re
I looked over at my son, who was every inch the stereotypical boy. He’d abandoned the hole digging to punch and kick at the air, engaged in mortal combat with some imaginary foe.
“That’s pretty stupid. What are you going to do?” Des asked, leaning back and tilting his face to the sun, eyes closed.
I took the opportunity to let my own eyes travel over him, but at my silence, he looked at me once more.
“I don’t know,” I said. “It depends how much trouble Richard wants to cause. It just makes me so mad because Fontaine is great with the kids. He’s played with them more in a month than Richard did in five years.”
Des nodded slowly. “That’s too bad.”
I nodded too and pulled my wine cooler out from behind the chair. “Have you ever been married?” Dody’s take-no-prisoners bluntness was rubbing off.
He nodded and kicked at the sand with his foot. “Yeah. It didn’t go very well.”
“Sorry.” I passed him my drink, which he accepted.
“It seems like a long time ago now.”
“So what happened?”
He took another sip from the bottle. His words followed slowly. “Different priorities, I guess. We were pretty young. Pretty selfish.” He shook his head again and handed back the drink. His hand grazed mine. For the briefest second our eyes locked. My heart went hot and shimmery, like the last burst of brilliance from a sparkler before it goes out.
Des almost smiled, but then his face changed, as if he had just that second remembered he’d left a pot boiling on the stove or had forgotten to put on his pants. He turned his gaze back to the water. “You know. Shit happens. Marriages end.”
Part of me wanted to press. Part of me knew I wouldn’t like what I heard. And anyway, he obviously didn’t want to talk about it.
“No hospital today?” I asked instead.
He sighed, and it felt like the sun had faded somehow. “Nope, not today. But I still have tons of stuff I have to do. I suppose I should get to it.”
He stood up slowly, almost as if he was waiting to say something more. But he just said, “See you later.”
He turned and jogged down the beach.
Note to self: Don’t ask Des about his marriage because it makes him sad. And then it makes him leave.
I readjusted the new leather work bag on my shoulder and smiled my best professional-organizer smile. Kyle was right. His old lover Patrick, and Patrick’s new lover, Owen, had a lot of stuff!
Their new house was a historical behemoth, the oldest in Bell Harbor. That meant beautifully carved woodwork, an expansive veranda wrapping around the entire place, and old-fashioned pull-chain toilets. It also meant dozens of tiny rooms, the most illogically designed kitchen I’d ever seen, and no closets. Literally no closets! My worst nightmare! This job was going to be a bigger challenge than I expected, and since it was my first organizing assignment, I had to get it perfect.
My clients were crazy-happy in love and so excited to be moving in together. They didn’t care about the details of setting up their new home; they just wanted the boxes unpacked with some semblance of order.
But if I failed, and the clutter overtook this house, they’d start fighting over golf clubs tipping over in the hallway or important mail getting lost amid stacks of random paperwork. My failure to create order from this chaos could doom their relationship. They might not realize it was my fault, but I would. So I had to get this right.
“This is the master suite,” Patrick said, opening yet another door. “Aren’t the windows divine? We’re thinking sheer, sexy fabrics all over.”
“And there’s a maid’s room right next door,” Owen added. “We’re
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