Turning Thirty-Twelve by Sandy James Page A

Mom—you can say it to us. I’m not sure exactly what’s going on here, but one thing’s crystal clear. You hurt her. And I’m not stupid enough to let you hurt her again, asshole.”
    “Patrick David Ryan,” I scolded before Mark interrupted.
    “You’re right, Patrick.” Mark narrowed his eyes at my oldest son. “I hurt her. But that doesn’t give you the right to talk to me that way.” Patrick just snorted, and I started to see the cop side of Mark’s personality assert itself. “Son, you’re treading on dangerous ground.”
    I had to shake myself out of the stupor I had been in since running out of the restaurant. “Let it go, Pat. Please,” I begged. Then I pointed at the restaurant. “Why don’t you all go back inside? Get a table or something. We–we’ll join you in a minute.” I had no intention of staying. Pat opened his mouth, but I cut him off. “Go. Please, Pat. Just go.”
    Pat gave me a curt nod and took a couple of steps back to talk to his brother. After a short conversation, the kids retreated a safe distance to the restaurant’s entrance.
    “Thank you.” Mark reached for my hand.
    I crossed my arms over my chest to try and discourage him from touching me. I couldn’t possibly talk to him if he touched me.
    How had I let my feelings get so deep so quickly? Two dates shouldn’t have equaled the utter devastation I felt. “I didn’t do that for you , I did that for my son . I don’t need you waving that badge around and getting him in trouble just because he has the balls to stand up for me when I’m too chicken-shit to stand up for myself.”
    I hated to hear the shrew in my voice, but despite my best efforts, I couldn’t stop it. Mark would never realize how much he had hurt me—how much I had let him hurt me.
    “I really am sorry, Jackie. I had, I don’t know, an attack of guilt. I kept thinking about Elaine. The more I realized what I was feeling for you was so, so...strong, the more I felt like I was abandoning her. Like I was choosing you over her.” His voice had fallen away to a whisper
    I closed my eyes.
    No. No. No.
    My mind screamed at me, trying desperately to protect me.
    Raise the defenses, you idiot. Don’t you dare let him back in. Tell him to leave you alone.
    I held my tongue.
    “Yesterday, I did something I hadn’t done since the funeral,” he continued to explain. “I went to visit Elaine’s grave. And I–I had a long talk with her.”
    For the love of God, don’t tell me this. Please don’t tell me this. You’ll make me care again.
    But I realized I had never stopped caring. Even after six weeks of silence, of hurt, of rejection, I still wanted this man. My insides were tied in enormous knots I didn’t think I’d ever be able to work out.
    I finally opened my eyes—in more ways than one—and looked up at Mark. The man had tears in his eyes. Tears . I took a long, ragged breath to hold off all I was thinking, all I was feeling. It sounded perilously like a sob.
    “I–I finally let her go, Jackie. I let her go. I love Elaine. I always will.” The catch in his voice made my heart hurt and made my own eyes tear up even more. “But I’m still alive. She wouldn’t want...” He raked his fingers through his hair. “She wouldn’t want me to mourn her for the rest of my life.”
    Stop Mark. Oh, please stop.
    “I want to be with you, Jackie. Please, please forgive me.” He put his hand over his eyes in that wonderfully masculine way men wipe tears away by pinching the bridge of their nose with their index finger and thumb. After a couple of deep and what I assumed were calming sighs, Mark said, “I was going to call you tonight. I swear to God, I was going to call you tonight.”
    This time, when he reached for my hand as it lay against my chest, I let him have it.
    What in the hell are you thinking, Jackie?
    Why couldn’t I be cool, calm, and collected? He shouldn’t be touching me—my shredded ego shouldn’t allow it. But as he drew