It Happened on Maple Street

I was done with him.

Whether another man would ever have me or not didn’t matter to me anymore. Because I didn’t want another man.

Ever.

Ten months after he graduated, Tim met Denise Denton. He’d been in his office, going over a work schedule for a first shift line, when she’d appeared in the doorway with a stack of forms in her hand.

His heart skipped a beat when he first saw her, and he did a double take. No. She didn’t look anything like Tara. It was just the hair. Same color. Almost same style.

Turned out she worked in human resources.

He’d made it through his probationary period with flying colors. She was there with his insurance forms.

Probation was done already? He stared at the forms, knowing that they meant it was time for him to ante up.

Time to marry Emily.

“Why haven’t I seen you around here before?” She smiled, and again he thought of Tara.

“I was supervisor on second shift until yesterday.”

“Oh.”

“How long have you been here?” He was engaged. Sort of. He’d never bought the ring he’d promised Emily that night after his graduation. They’d been saving for a camper. And a bike for her.

Well, he was doing that. She w

as saving for their wedding. Her dad had lost his job, and her parents weren’t going to be able to help.

“A couple of years.” She smiled directly at him, looking him in the eye like she was talking to him, and then her bravado slipped a bit and he saw her insecurity. Tara, again.

He had to go get Emily a ring. His probation was up.

“What’s your name?” He smiled back at her.

“Denise. You want to have a drink or something? After work, maybe?”

Emily had junior-high cheerleading practice that evening. And every other night that week. Summers weren’t time off anymore like they used to be.

“Okay, Denise, one drink. After work.” Just to show himself that the girl was nothing at all like Tara Gumser.

One drink. That was all it was going to be.

Until one drink turned into drinks every night that week.

And that weekend, he told Emily he couldn’t marry her. He told her that there was someone else.

And he hated himself for all the hurt he’d caused her. For not being able to love her enough. God knew he’d tried.

Her parting words didn’t make him feel any better.

“You really did me a favor, you know.”

“How’s that?”

“You saved me from going through my whole life feeling like I’m second best.”

On July 4, 1982, Chum was killed. The car he was in was hit head-on by a kid coming up over the hill on the wrong side of the road. The kid was high on acid. I’d insisted he take my car instead of his motorcycle because I’d been afraid it might rain. My car was totaled. And I was the last person ever to see him alive.