Shelley Galloway - The Mommy Bride

Now, after five years of marriage, they were expecting their first child, who was destined to live in a well-kept home and be driven around in some designer station wagon.

He, on the other hand, was trying to finish up his residency and find a job. He also worked when he could for Lane’s End public schools. He helped coach and condition athletes so he could afford a meal out once in a while.

In the distance, Ty saw Chris pull out of the parking lot, still on his cell phone. Most likely, the guy was talking to Beth. Probably talking about that baby again. Ty tried to shrug off his melancholy.

Tiny, icy bits of snow started falling as he drove along the narrow, hilly streets of Lane’s End. The flakes stuck to his windshield like glue. Ty turned the wipers to a higher speed and pressed the button for wiper spray.

In the distance, bells rang from the hundred-year-old steeple at the First Baptist Church. The bright chimes echoed through the streets, lending as much character and personality to Lane’s End as the flowers hanging in baskets around the scenic historic district in the summer.

After catching a green light at the top of Mission Street, Ty finally pulled into his own house, a restored three bedroom home in the heart of downtown Lane’s End that he rented from another doctor. The ancient oak door stuck as he worked the key into the lock, turning it first to the left, then firmly to the right. When he entered, the first real sense of peace washed over him as he carried his grocery sacks into the remodeled kitchen.

Home, at least for now. The ceilings were a little too low, and the wooden floor was scratched and scraped from Maisy’s toenails. A faint chill crawled out of the window frames and the kitchen faucet had a constant, slow drip. But even counting all those flaws, Ty loved the old place. He loved how it made him feel, living in a house that had been home to so many before him.

Ty wasn’t sure why Dr. Michaels had offered him the place to rent for the past two years, but Ty was extremely grateful. Every two years, the elderly doctor offered one of the residents the home to live in for next to nothing. Dr. Michaels jokingly said it was his way of knowing that at least one of the residents was getting enough rest at night.

Ty knew it was a stroke of good luck. If he wasn’t living on Mission Street, some days he thought he’d be living in a mission.

Now, he had a rundown place with lots of personality and a really nice kitchen, thanks to the previous resident who’d accidentally flooded the dishwasher and ruined the floor and cabinetry.

Quickly, Ty emptied his grocery bags, pulling out the boxes of Hungry-Man dinners that had been on sale, along with two boxes of cereal, a case of Ramen noodles, and a gallon of milk. After picking out the Salisbury steak dinner, Ty leaned back against the counter as the microwave did its magic.

Maisy hopped off the couch and finally came over to say hello.

“How are you doing, girl?” he asked his old retriever.

“You keep everything running smooth today?”

Maisy lifted her muzzle so he could scratch her behind her ears. He let her outside and as Ty watched his old dog carefully make her way down the snow-covered back steps, he sipped a beer and thought about the woman he’d been trying so hard to ignore: Claire Grant.

From the moment he saw her hovering over her son at the wrestling meet, he’d been charmed. There was something so delicate about her…though he was quickly finding out that she was hardly fragile at all.

No, behind those wide-set golden eyes and dark blond hair was a woman who relied on herself. All practicality and patience.

He’d seen something in her son at the meets that reminded him of himself. He saw something in her manner that reminded him of the not-so-good places he’d been. He’d heard phrases he knew well. Words that didn’t say much but effectively covered up not-so-good circumstances. He saw pretty smiles that never quite reached the eyes.

And one day, weeks ago, he’d heard her tell her coworker Lynette she was “fine.” And that “fine” told him so much.

He should know—he’d had plenty of experience telling everyone he was fine when inside he was feeling like a lit match.

Those similarities had intrigued him. They made him want to get to know her better. And for a split second, he’d thought she felt the same way. But she’d rebuffed his clumsy offer of coffee.

He had enough of an ego to first be taken aback. He thought he looked pretty good, he had a good job. He was stable. All those things counted, right?

He’d thought they did.

So why had she said no? Was it really because of Wes?

Was it because she didn’t date? Or, was it that she didn’t want to date him?

Maisy’s scratching at the door brought him back to the present. “Let’s have some dinner, girl,” he said, pouring a cupful of Mighty Munchies into her bowl.

As Maisy attacked her food with gusto, Ty made a mental note to visit Wes’s next wrestling match. It wouldn’t do any harm to check on the boy’s shoulder. At the very least, Claire looked like she could use another friend. He supposed he could, too.

As the latest basketball results filled the TV screen, he almost felt happy. Maybe for once everything was going to work out.

HE FELT DIFFERENTLY at three in the morning. With a weary hand, Ty rubbed his eyes and moved to the edge of his bed, too-tense muscles once again warring with an active mind. Four hours tonight.

All in all, that was pretty good.

He didn’t sleep. He hadn’t since college, when he’d worked and studied at odd hours. Now, in his residency, sleep was a catch-can thing, too.

He just wished night demons wouldn’t plague him all the while and make things worse. Because the night was when he remembered the heartbreak of Sharon.

And he could still remember exactly what she’d said. There was no way she wanted to be saddled with a guy who was going to owe more money than she could imagine making during the next couple of years. And, well, she’d met someone else. An older guy who’d just been hired on at a big investment firm. It was time to call it quits.

Ty didn’t need a counselor to tell him that his mother’s leaving, his father’s lack of warm fuzzies and his girlfriend’s betrayal was enough to deliver a whopper of a punch. For a lifetime.

And it had.

Oh, he’d gotten through it, it was what he did best—what he’d learned to do back when he was a kid and nobody was around to get him up in the morning.

You didn’t complain. You did the best you could and tried to feel satisfied. You learned not to trust other people because sometimes things didn’t work out the way you wanted them to.

But maybe it was time to do things a little differently. Maybe it was time to start living again.

“Claire, I really appreciate you helping us out,” Gene Davidson said from the doorway leading into the concession stand the following Saturday. “We were really shorthanded for volunteers at today’s meet.”

“It’s not a problem, coach,” she replied, muscling the giant amount of pancake batter in the industrial-size bowl. Feeding almost a hundred wrestlers after weigh-ins required an amazing amount of pancakes! “I’m a team parent. We all have to help out sooner or later.”

“Wes told me you’ve been putting in a lot of hours at the hospital. I bet you’d rather be sleeping at six-thirty on a Saturday morning.”

Claire wondered why Gene even brought that up. She was pretty sure all the parents on the team worked hard and would rather be sleeping in.

“Wes has to be here anyway,” she said with a smile.

“Don’t worry about me.”

Gene held up a hand. “I’m not worried, I just wanted you to know I appreciate your time.”