Don't Ask Why

Photo by John Cardamone on Unsplash

We’re a party of four shivering on a crowded Seattle sidewalk, each of us clutching a phone.

Stuart is texting a client.

Donnie, Stuart’s son, holds a defunct flip-phone close to his ear, flipping it open and closed. Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

My son Tyler is scrolling Instagram.

I’m searching the Internet for an activity that will keep us busy until noon when we plan to head back to Oregon. It’s been a long weekend, and I’m ready for it to be over.

The attractive young couple ahead of us are taking up more than their share of the sidewalk. He looks sharp — designer jeans, fresh hair cut — and is teasing his date, a brunette in a yellow sundress. She gives him a playful push and he loses his balance, backing into Donnie.

That’s all it takes for Donnie to freak out and start making the God-awful keening sound.

“You’re all right Donnie.” Stuart looks up from his phone to soothe his son, who seems unaware that his father is a person, and not a telephone pole, or a stop sign. “You’re fine.”

Stuart’s infinite capacity for patience puts me to shame.

The truth slices through me, as sharp as the razor line on the back of the young man’s neck. I don’t have what it takes. There’s no point in putting any of us through another weekend like this or even a day of it. I can’t give Stuart what he needs. I’m not stepmother material, especially not to a high needs child.

Does this make me a terrible person? Maybe. But I can’t pretend to be something I’m not.

Tyler and I have been on our own since he was three. He’s thirteen now, a difficult enough age without me adding a stepdad and part-time stepbrother to his life. In five years Tyler will go to college, or learn a trade. He’ll grow up and move out freeing me to live my own life. Donnie will never live his own life. He’s a forever child. I can’t do forever.

The young couple is called next. The guy pats the girl’s behind as they enter the restaurant. She tosses a seductive look over her shoulder. I envy them their youth, their freedom.

I glance at Stuart at the same instant he turns to me and smiles. God, those eyes, those sexy green eyes. Lust, pure and simple, passes between us. If only it were just the two of us.

We wanted to really get to know each other before bringing our kids into it. Stuart and his ex have joint custody of Donnie. For the first five months, we only got together when Donnie was at his mother’s house. Five glorious months of seeing each other every other weekend for concerts, movies, romantic dinners, wine tasting, pleasant conversation and incredible sex.

Stuart ruined it by wanting to spend more time together, and get to know each other’s kids. Now he wants even more. He’s ready to either move on to the next stage of the relationship, or simply move on.

When we’re seated and served, Donnie refuses to eat, even when Stuart takes his phone away and places the spoon in his hand. Instead, he bangs his spoon against the table, not hard, but rhythmically. He’s rocking, making the keening sound, eliciting stares from the other diners.

“You’re not eating,” Stuart says.

At first, I think he’s talking to Donnie. I realize he means me and my cheeks burn. He’s caught me staring at his son, like so many others. “I’m a bit distracted.”

“I noticed.”

There’s a chill in his voice that I’ve heard only once before — the time I asked too many questions about Donnie. Or were they simply the wrong questions?

“There’s too much going on,” Stuart says, his voice softening as he glances at Donnie.

I nod understanding, dip my spoon into my yogurt and fruit. The yogurt is too sweet, the blueberries are too tart, and the white tipped strawberries flavorless.

Tyler is busy wolfing down his bacon and cheese omelet, oblivious to everything around him.

“One of my friends from high school plays in a blues band,” Stuart says. “They’ll be in Portland next weekend. Should I get us tickets?”

I start to say yes because it means an evening alone with Stuart, but I hesitate. “I’m not sure. Maybe. It does sound fun.”

Stuart nods. The chill I heard in his voice has moved to his eyes.

I’ve always been transparent — my emotions on full display. My ex-husband knew it was over before I knew it myself. He let me go without a fight. Will Stuart? Is that really what I want?

I lower my eyes, stick my spoon into the yogurt, stir it. “We could visit Ballard Locks while we’re here. There’s a museum on the waterfront…or does that sound too boring?”

“Boring,” Tyler says, his mouth full of egg.

“I’d like to see the locks,” Stuart says. “And the boats. I’ve been thinking about buying a motorboat, doing some water skiing.”

Tyler perks up at this. He spent a lot of time on the river last summer with a friend’s family and still talks about it. Stuart has Tyler’s full attention, no minor accomplishment. It comes out, that Stuart won medals in both swimming and diving back in high school.

When we’re done eating we head down to the locks and arrive just in time for a free tour. I don’t care about the history of the locks or the habits of migrating fish. It’s only a way to kill time.

There’s a pleasant but cool breeze coming off the sound. Stuart is holding a paper coffee cup in one hand, his phone in the other. He’s actually listening to the tour guide, and asking questions such as, How deep is the water?

Donnie is back to flipping his phone. Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

Tyler is pretending to look at his phone while staring at the shapely backside of the young girl in front of him.

The girl is with her mother and four siblings. The youngest is balanced on the woman’s hip, sucking on a pacifier. A toddler clings to her mother’s leg, whining. The two in the middle, twins boys, are both holding cheese sticks in one hand and toy airplanes in the other, making engine noises as they weave in and out of the group in a circular pattern, getting closer to the edge of the platform each time around.

A single bar, waist height to an adult, is the only thing preventing a child from falling into the water — straight down, no embankment, nothing to grab onto. Twin One is coming around, at full speed. Stuart moves backward so that he’s between the boy and the ledge.

Twin Two comes to a stop, staring up at Donnie, watching him flip the phone. “What’s wrong with him?”

Stuart kneels down to the boy’s level. “He ate too many cheese sticks and it turned him crazy.”

A shocked laugh escapes me. A quick look around assures me that no one else heard his inappropriate comment or my response.

The twin stares at the cheese stick clutched in his fist, eyes widening. In his hurry to get away, he bumps into Donnie’s knees. Donnie backs up, but there’s nowhere to go. He sits down on the ledge, holding the phone to his ear, using both hands to flip it open and closed, oblivious to the danger right behind him.

Stuart looks in Donnie’s direction, glances at me. He has to be careful. If he makes a grab for his son, Donnie will instinctively pull away from him and might fall backward. The water is a long way down.

Stuart sets down his coffee, moves his phone from his pants pocket to his jacket pocket, zipping it in.

Twin One is crashing the airplane into his sister’s arm on his way past, heading straight toward Stuart.

Stuart picks up his coffee and takes a step — right into the boy’s path. The cup and its contents explode over Stuart’s legs, knocking him backward into his son. Stuart is tall enough that the back of his head hits the rail preventing him from falling. Donnie isn’t so lucky.

The boy barely makes a splash when he hits the water.

Someone screams. Mayhem breaks out. The tour guide announces that he’s calling 911.

Stuart flies into action, swiftly removing his jacket and shoes before diving into the water. It’s as if he’s waited his entire life for this moment.

It’s a valiant rescue attempt. Hero-worthy in the eyes of my son, and equally impressive to the many witnesses who have tears in their eyes when they tell the police about the man who tried and failed to save his young son’s life.

A week later, one day after the funeral, we’re in Stuart’s bed, nude bodies still warm and glistening with sweat, limbs entwined, when Stuart asks me if I’m hungry.

“Getting there.”

“We have enough food to last a month,” he says. “The chicken, bacon, artichoke casserole looks tasty.”

“Mm. That does sound good. I don’t suppose you’d want to bring me up a plate? I could use an energy boost before round two.”

Stuart touches my cheek, looks deeply into my eyes. “Of course. I’d do anything for you, you know that right?”

A chill goes through me, as I remember the moments before Donnie’s fall. Stuart putting his phone into the pocket of his jacket, carefully zipping it in. Seconds later, setting the jacket aside before diving.

The question has gone through my mind dozens of times. What was Stuart thinking when he stepped in front of the twin with the airplane?

There can be only one acceptable answer: Stuart wasn’t thinking anything. It was an accident. A horrible, unfortunate accident.

I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and pull him to me, kissing him with passion, with love. How could I have thought about breaking it off with Stuart when we’re so good together?

I know what I must do with the question. I’ll place it into the locked box that resides in a dark corner of my mind, toss the key into a murky body of water, and watch it sink to the bottom.

End