“Then don’t give one.”
“But I apologized.”
“An apology isn’t enough.”
“Give me another chance. I’m willing to live in this dank little town, on this backwards little mountain, all because I love you.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I’m not willing to wait around to find out. Because from what I can see, I rushed into our engagement and then I found out that you’re selfish, you’re incapable of taking life seriously, you’ll never settle down, you don’t have any direction or career, you’ll be a rotten father because you’re still a child yourself, your work ethic is non-existent, you lean on your brother to fix your messes, and you don’t take responsibility for your own actions. I’m glad that I found all of this out before I made the mistake of marrying you.”
She shrugs and then nods at the parking lot, telling me to go. It’s funny. I’ve been on the end of enough break-ups to know how this goes, but it never hurt quite this much.
I once fell twenty feet down a cliff in South Africa when I was free-climbing. I hit a few of the ledges on the way down, banged my head against the jagged rocks and broke my wrist when I hit the ground. That moment feels a lot like right now.
Probably because I realize Lacey’s right.
And maybe, contrary to what my brother Will believes, our dad was right too.
Some essential thing that makes people capable of loving in the right way was left out when I was born. Will got it, but somehow it missed me.
Because if the people I care about most can’t see it in me, then I don’t imagine it’s there.
“I’ll come by the cabin at noon to give you back the engagement ring. I don’t have it on me right now.”
I shake my head. “I don’t…you should keep it.”
The edges of Lacey’s mouth turn down. “What for?”
I can’t think of an answer that she’ll like or one that she’ll believe.
A rusted pick-up truck pulls into the parking lot, throwing up a cloud of dust. Its tailpipe lets out a series of clangs and bangs. The engine cuts off with a cough, and a tall man with a large gut swathed in flannel and suspenders jumps out.
“Well, if it ain’t Doc Lacey. I’m come about old Arthur. He’s been troubling me of late, horny as the devil poking his wife on the night of the full moon.”
The man scuffs across the dirt lot. He’s red faced, the type that burns after five minutes in the sun and then peels to ghost white again. His beard is shaggy and his eyes are bright, stuck on Lacey’s warm smile.
“Oh no, your arthritis is acting up? Well let’s take a look.”
Lacey’s already forgotten me, and it hurts, even though this is what I love about her. She cares about her patients, she has passion for her work, she cares about everything and everyone.
As she leads the man toward the clinic door, she turns distractedly back to me and says, “I’ll see you at noon.”
“I’ll be there,” I answer, but she’s already led her first patient inside, and the door shuts with a loud, indifferent clang of finality.