Page 13 of Ruined

I park my car nearby and find the location. This spot is quieter than the main park area, but even so, I don’t understand why Oliver wanted to meet here. The muffled roar of the highway looms above my head, ruining the otherwise peaceful little overlook. The water glistens in the last rays of warm summer sun as I lean over the railing, looking out over the river to the east side of the city.

Behind me, there’s the scrunch on pavement of a bike sliding to a stop. I know it’s him without looking, and I try to keep my heart from racing, try to be the calm and reassuring presence he needs. My heart thumps regardless, and my hands shake a little as I grip the railing harder.

Leaving his bike by the wayside, Oliver leans on the railing beside me. I turn my gaze to him slowly, as if trying not to spook a wild animal.

It’s surreal, seeing him like this. He’s not a boy anymore, but not yet a man. His mouth is set in a tight line, his jaw tense, and the wary, searching look in his eyes gives me pause.

I can’t screw this up; I doubt I’ll get any more chances. I have so many things I want to say to him, so much to explain, that I hardly know where to start.

He scrapes his shoe against the asphalt. “Hi.”

I turn fully toward him, but the frown between his brows as he looks up at me pains me more than anything. I lean back a bit, trying to make myself smaller, less threatening.

“Hi, Oliver. It’s nice to see you.”

“Is it?” He sounds bitter. The wind catches on the sandy locks of his hair, blowing them into his face and obscuring his expression. I want to reach my hand out and brush his hair away, but if I did that, I bet he’d jerk away. Too much. Too soon. And yet, I can’t help the inherent need to reassure him. It was always like that between us, and now that I see him, those feelings rear up even stronger than before.

I smile gently. “Of course it is.”

“Then… why?” He already sounds close to tears. Oh, how I would wrap my arms around him and let him cry into my shoulder if I could. If he wouldn’t push me away and run and hate me more than he already does.

The unspoken questions hang in the air. Why did you leave? Why didn’t you answer my texts? Why were you the stranger I arranged to meet?

I decide to start with the last one. It’s the easiest, even though it’s in some ways the hardest.

“Oliver, you have to understand… I didn’t know. If I’d have known, I…” I swallow against the lump in my throat. More than anything, I need to make this clear. “I never would have met up with you if I’d known.”

He still looks hesitant, as if he’s thinking about something else, so I get ready to continue, to explain further, but he beats me to it.

“How often?”

“What?” I raise a curious brow.

“How often do you meet up with guys like that?”

“Uh.” It’s the last question I expected him to ask, so I take a while to answer. “Not often.”

“How often?” His words are barely more than a whisper, and I have to lean forward to hear him at all over the roar of the highway.

He looks anywhere but into my eyes; the pavement below our feet, then out toward the river and the tall grass growing by the shoreline. The wind picks up, ruffling his hair and making him shiver. I consider taking off my denim jacket and giving it to him, but even that would be going too far, wouldn’t it?

I’m stalling at his question, and eventually, I decide it’s best to tell him the truth. When he was small, he wasn’t old enough to hear the truth sometimes. Parents tell lies all the time to their children. But he’s not my child. He was once something close to it, but he’s certainly not now.

“A few times a month.”

I can’t tell if he’s disappointed or relieved. He just looks distressed, sad, and angry as he pulls up the hood of his dark blue sweater and tucks his hands into his pockets.

“Are you cold?” I make a move to remove my jacket, even though I decided not to. It’s automatic, the need to take care of him.

“No,” Oliver says, though he shivers visibly. “Next question: why did you leave us?”

His tone is demanding, full of hurt and anger and frustration. I hear him, but I don’t know if I can give him the answer he craves.

“I promised your mother not to tell you.”

“What?” His lower lip trembles.

“You were too young, and what happened was between me and Kim. We didn’t want… we didn’t want to drag you and Mason into it.”