Old Fashioned - Becker Brothers

She was a tough kid, and though I knew the divorce had affected her, she was the kind who wanted to handle it on her own. We almost never talked about it, or about her dad, or about how things used to be.

Paige was a survivor, and she looked forward, with her eyes on the brighter horizon, always.

My mind was still spinning when I sat next to Jordan on the couch, eyes blurring on the television screen with a football game on that I really couldn’t have cared less about. Instead, I sipped the wine I’d traded in my champagne for, thinking about Randy, about my own father, and eventually, about Jordan’s.

When I’d been at his house Monday night, not even a week ago, he’d revealed a secret to me that no one else in this town knew — one only he and his brothers shared. I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since then, because while I was digesting what he’d told me about what they’d found at the distillery, I was also digging through my foggy memory, straining to recall what I had heard that night.

It had been late by the time Randy had come home — to this home, our new home at the time, one we’d bought with the help of his parents and my own when I’d come home from college earlier that summer. I wasn’t even a full two months’ pregnant with Paige, but I remembered holding onto my belly when I tiptoed down the stairs, pausing when I heard his hushed voice on the phone with someone in the kitchen.

The fire had been all anyone could talk about, all the local news could show that evening, and there was little information getting out. To this day, I’d never known what made me stop and listen at the foot of those stairs for a while before I made my way down the hall and into the kitchen.

Randy had ended the call quickly, and though he’d tried to smile and be gentle with me at first, his anger showed the more questions I asked.

He assured me it was an accident, that I was crazy, that it was started by a cigarette and they’d be closing up the case easily. He growled at my questions, when I asked how a cigarette could have started such a fire without John Becker noticing and being able to get out. Was he sleeping? I’d asked. Was the door locked? How was he the only one to perish?

That hadn’t been the first night my husband had raised his hand to me.

But it had been the first time he’d let it fall.

He’d told me to mind my business, reminded me that I knew nothing about what was going on and that I was better suited to tend to our home life.

He’d said I was crazy, and I remembered that clearly because it was the first time he’d said it, but it wouldn’t be the last.

What I didn’t fully remember was why he’d said it in the first place, why he was struggling to explain himself, getting angry with the more questions I asked.

The memory was foggy, but every now and then, when the smoke cleared, I swore I remembered holding my daughter where she slept in my belly, my heart racing out of my chest.

And my husband’s hushed voice in our kitchen whispering something about homicide.JordanOn the Thursday before our final playoff game — the game that would determine if we went to fight for the championship — I rallied up the boys, got them ready for practice, and sent them out on the field to work drills with Coach Pascucci and Coach TK.

“Sydney,” I said, eyes on my clipboard as I made my way to my office. Everyone else was making their way outside. “A word in my office?”

I kept my face neutral, though my neck was hot, and no one suspected a thing as I continued on to my office without checking to see if she followed. The coaches were already on their way out, and the boys shuffled out behind them, their energy palpable with so much riding on tomorrow night’s game.

I sat in my chair, and when Sydney entered the office, I told her to close the door behind her without looking up.

When she did, and we were alone, I dropped my clipboard, stood, and rushed to her.

She was in my arms in the next breath, giggling and whispering for me to get off her as I kissed up and down her neck, over her chin and jaw, her cheeks, before I claimed her lips and silenced her protests.

“Are you mad?” she whispered, but she was still smiling.

“Crazy about you, that’s for sure.”

I continued my assault of kisses, but she pressed one hand into my chest and shoved, putting space between us.