Taylor's expression was pained. "Maybe I could make it up to him. There's another game next weekend."
"I don't think so," she said quietly. She motioned to the chairs on the porch. Taylor hesitated before moving to take a seat. Denise sat as well but didn't face him. Instead she watched a pair of squirrels hopping across the yard, collecting acorns.
"I screwed up, didn't I?" Taylor said honestly.
Denise smiled wryly. "Yeah."
"You have every right to be angry with me."
Denise finally turned to face him. "I was. Last night, if you had come into the diner, I would have thrown a frying pan at you."
The corners of Taylor's mouth upturned slightly, then straightened again. He knew she wasn't finished.
"But I'm over that. Now I'm less angry than I am resigned."
Taylor looked at her curiously as Denise exhaled slowly. When she spoke again, her voice was low and soft.
"For the last four years, I had my life with Kyle," she began. "It's not always easy, but it's predictable, and there's something to be said for that. I know how I'm going to spend today and tomorrow and the day after that, and it helps me keep some semblance of control. Kyle needs me to do that, and I need to do it for him because he's all I've got in the world. But then, you showed up."
She smiled, but it couldn't mask the sadness in her eyes. Still, Taylor was silent.
"You were so good to him, right from the beginning. You treated Kyle differently than anyone else ever has, and that meant the world to me. But even more than that, you were good to me."
Denise paused, picking at a knot in the armrest of her old wooden rocker, her eyes focused inward. "When we first met, I didn't want to get involved with anyone. I didn't have the time or the energy, and even after the carnival, I wasn't sure that I was ready for it. But you were so good with Kyle. You did things with him that no one else had taken the time to do, and I got swept up in that. And little by little, I found myself falling in love with you."
Taylor put both hands in his lap as he stared at the floor. Denise shook her head wistfully.
"I don't know . . . I grew up reading fairy tales, and maybe that had something to do with it."
Denise leaned back in her rocker, gazing at him from below lowered lashes.
"Do you remember that night we met? When you rescued my son? After that, you delivered my groceries and then taught Kyle how to play catch. It was like you were the handsome prince of my girlhood fantasies, and the more I got to know you, the more I came to believe it. And part of me still does. You're everything I've ever wanted in a man. But as much as I care for you, I don't think you're ready for me or my son."
Taylor rubbed his face wearily before staring up at her with pain-darkened eyes.
"I'm not blind to what's been happening with us these last few weeks. You're pulling away from me--from both of us--no matter how much you try to deny it. It's obvious, Taylor. What I don't understand is why you're doing it."
"I've been busy at work," Taylor began halfheartedly.
"That may be true, but it's not the whole truth."
Denise took a deep breath, willing her voice not to break. "I know you're holding something back, and if you can't, or don't, want to talk about it, there's not much I can do. But whatever it is, it's driving you away."
She stopped, her eyes welling with tears. "Yesterday, you hurt me. But worse than that, you hurt Kyle. He waited for you, Taylor. For two hours. He jumped up every time a car went by, thinking it was you. But it wasn't, and finally even he knew that everything had changed. He didn't say a single thing the rest of the night. Not one word."
Taylor, pale and shaken, seemed incapable of speech. Denise looked toward the horizon, a single tear drifting down her cheek.
"I can put up with a lot of things. Lord knows, I already have. The way you've been drawing me in, pushing me away, drawing me in again. But I'm a grown-up, and I'm old enough to choose whether I want to keep letting that happen. But if the same thing should start happening with Kyle . . ." She trailed off, swiping at her cheek.
"You're a wonderful person, Taylor. You've got so much to offer someone, and I hope that one day you'll finally meet the person who can make sense of all that pain you're carrying around. You deserve that. In my heart, I know you didn't mean to hurt Kyle. But I can't take the chance of that happening again, especially when you're not serious about our future together."
"I'm sorry," he said thickly.
"I am, too."
He reached for her hand. "I don't want to lose you." His voice was almost a whisper.
Seeing his haggard expression, she took his hand and squeezed it, then reluctantly let it go. She could feel the tears again, and she fought them back.
"But you don't want to keep me, either, do you?"
To that, he had no response.
Once he was gone, Denise drifted like a zombie through the house, holding on to her self-control by a thread. She'd cried most of the night already, knowing what was to come. She'd been strong, she reminded herself as she sat on the living room couch; she'd done the right thing. She couldn't allow him to hurt Kyle again. She wasn't going to cry.
Damnit, not anymore.
But watching Kyle play with his Legos and knowing that Taylor would no longer be coming by the house made a sickening knot rise in her throat.
"I'm not going to cry," she said aloud, the words coming out like a mantra. "I'm not going to cry."
With that, she broke down and wept for the next two hours.
"So you went ahead and ended it, huh?" Mitch said, clearly disgusted.
They were in a bar, a dingy place that opened its doors for breakfast, usually to a waiting crowd of three or four regulars. Now, however, it was late in the evening. Taylor hadn't called until after eight; Mitch had shown up an hour later. Taylor had started drinking without him.
"It wasn't me, Mitch," he said defensively. "She's the one who called it off. You can't pin this one on me."
"And I suppose it just came out of the blue, right? You had nothing to do with it."
"It's over, Mitch. What do you want me to say?"
Mitch shook his head. "You know, Taylor, you're a piece of work. You sit here thinking you've got it all figured out, but you don't understand anything."
"Thanks for your support, Mitch."
Mitch glared at him. "Don't give me that crap. You don't need my support. What you need is someone to tell you to get your ass back over there and fix whatever it was you did wrong."
"You don't understand--"
"Like hell I don't!" Mitch said, slamming his beer glass onto the table. "Who do you think you are? You think I don't know? Hell, Taylor, I probably know you better than you know yourself. You think you're the only one with a shitty past? You think you're the only one who's always trying to change it? I have news for you. Everyone has crap in their background, everyone has things they wish they could undo. But most people don't go around doing their best to screw up their present lives because of it."
"I didn't screw up," Taylor said angrily. "Didn't you hear what I said? She's the one who ended it. Not me. Not this time."
"I tell you what, Taylor. You can go to the goddamn grave thinking that, but both you and I know, it ain't the whole truth. So get back o
ver there and try to salvage it. She's the best thing that ever happened to you."
"I didn't ask you to come here so you can give me some of your advice--"
"Well, you're getting the best advice I've ever given you. Do me a favor and listen to it, okay? Don't ignore it this time. Your father would have wanted you to."
Taylor squinted at Mitch, everything suddenly tensing. "Don't bring him into this. You don't want to go there."
"Why, Taylor? Are you afraid of something? Afraid that his ghost is gonna start hovering around us or knocking our beers off the table?"
"That's enough," Taylor growled.
"Don't forget, I knew your father, too. I knew what a great guy he was. He was a guy who loved his family, loved his wife, loved his son. He would have been disappointed by what you're doing now, I can guarantee it."
The blood drained from Taylor's face and he gripped his glass hard.
"Screw you, Mitch."
"No, Taylor. You've already done that to yourself. If I did it, too, it would just be piling on."
"I don't need this crap," Taylor snapped, rising from the table. He started for the door. "You don't even know who I am."
Mitch pushed the table away from his body, knocking over the beers and causing a few heads to turn. The bartender looked up from his conversation as Mitch stood and came up behind Taylor, grabbing him roughly by his shirt and spinning him around.
"I don't know you? Hell, I know you! You're a goddamn coward, is what you are! You're afraid of living because you think it means giving up this cross you've been carrying around your whole life. But this time, you've gone too far. You think you're the only one in the world with feelings? You think you'll just walk away from Denise and everything's going to go back to normal now? You think you'll be happier? You won't, Taylor. You won't let yourself do that. And this time, you aren't just hurting one person, did you ever think of that? It isn't just Denise--you're hurting a little boy! God almighty, doesn't that mean anything to you? What the hell would your father say to that, huh? 'Good job, son'? 'I'm proud of you, son'? Not a chance. Your father would be sickened, just like I am now."
Taylor, his face white, grabbed Mitch and lifted him, driving him backward into the jukebox. Two men scattered off their stools, away from the melee, as the bartender rushed to the far end of the bar. After pulling out a baseball bat, he started back toward them. Taylor raised his fist.
"What are you gonna do? Hit me?" Mitch taunted.
"Knock it off!" the bartender shouted. "Take that shit outside, now!"
"Go ahead," Mitch said. "I don't really give a damn."