As soon as she walks out of our house with a small bag packed, after begging me to change my mind, of course, I climb into my pickup and don’t turn back, but I had to make sure she was really gone before I left.

Not having a clue where to go, I just drive.

I walk into Dreamin’ Beans, the best coffee shop in town, with no doubt a look of pure fury on my face. It’s one of my favorite places to be. Christine’s pastries are out of this world, and her coffee is the best. I don’t know what she does different from others, but it’s like magic in a cup. And Heather hated it. Said she would never step foot in the place because she could make coffee at home for cheaper — which makes no sense because she loves to spend money — and she didn’t need to think about fattening herself up with all the bakery items. Her loss.

“Um, hey, Andy. You okay there?” Christine asks, looking at me warily. She and I have known each other for a few years now, teetering on that line between mere acquaintances and friends. We kind of run in the same circle, though her daughter, Bri, is several years older than my boys. But she’s friends with one of my bosses, Barrett. In fact, Barrett and his wife, Tess, helped her start up Dreamin’ Beans after her husband passed away. Christine’s daughter, Bri, and Barrett and Tess’s son, Grady, are even closer. They’re walking that fine line between friends and more than friends and from the sounds of it, not doing a very good job of it.

When I started working for Barrett and Josh, co-owners – and best friends since childhood – of the general contracting company I’ve been with for most of my adult life, it was simply as a summer job doing construction, but I found that I loved the work. Doing something with my hands every day, using my body, building someone’s home, it made me happy. They’ve put trust in me, and I run my own crew now.

Barrett and Josh’s families are just that to me… family.

“Andy?” Christine’s concerned voice snaps me out of my trance.

“Fine.”

She eyes me wearily. “What can I get ya?”

“The last fifteen years back. No. I take that back. I want the boys, so let’s go the last fourteen years.”

She looks at me for a bit, blinks slowly before nodding her head once. Without taking her eyes from me, she hollers, “Hey, Emma? Can you cover the front for a while?”

“You got it, boss!”

Christine fills two to-go cups with black coffee, grabs two plates and something out of the pastry case, then places the cups on top of a tray along with the plates, and winks at me. She nods her head in the direction of the back room then turns on her heel and starts walking.

I follow her, even though I have no idea why, and less than two minutes later I’m settled on the plush tan-colored couch in her office. She hands me a plate holding an enormous piece of lemon pound cake, my favorite. She removes the lids from the coffee cups, reaches into one of the drawers in her desk, and lifts a short square bottle out, pours a shot of brown liquid into each, smiles at me then places the lids back on the cups and hands one to me before sitting on the other side of the couch and taking a sip of her own.

I raise my eyebrows at her, and she simply shrugs.

“Emergency purposes only. I promise.”

Good enough.

Irish coffee it is. I think I’m probably going to either feel really good by the end of our chat, or really bad, depending on how many more of these she pours me.

She tucks her legs under her, places an elbow on the back of the couch and rests her cheek against her fist. “Where’re the boys?”

“Football practice. My mom is picking them up today. Thank fuck.”

She doesn’t even flinch at my use of the harsh word, or the anger in my voice. “So, Mr. Simpson. Wanna talk about it?”

“Would you wanna talk about it if you saw your wife — or husband in your case — having sex with another person on your bed?”

The second the words are out of my mouth, I wince because it’s such a dick thing to say, considering her husband passed away. But her response isn’t what I expect it to be. She looks at me for several long beats and then shakes her head.

“No. I didn’t want to talk about it either.”

Her words make me choke on the sip of coffee I’d just taken. Didn’t, not wouldn’t. Oh shit. I look up at her slowly, and she just nods her head, the jet-black locks with a strip of shiny red, the diamond stud in her nose twinkling. She shrugs her shoulders as if to say, ‘What are ya gonna do?’ but says no more.

I settle back on the couch, take a long slow drink of the Irish coffee, wishing it weren’t tainted with coffee in the moment, and lick my lips. I take a couple of bites of her unbelievable lemon pound cake, and she does the same.

For five minutes we sit in silence — me digesting more than just the food she’s given me. Her giving me the time I need to do so. I set the plate down on the table in front of me.

“So…”

“It was right before we found out he had cancer.” She answers my unasked question, which I’m grateful for. I don’t mean to be like Josh and Barrett and seem nosey, but holy shit. I didn’t have any plans when I walked in here today. But if I had, laying it all out there and getting it in return wouldn’t have been one of them.

I nod, still in shock. From what I understood of Christine’s late husband, Todd, he was a pretty stand-up guy. Hell, he’s the reason Dreamin’ Beans even exists. He had surprised Christine and set aside a large chunk of money for her to invest in starting her own coffee shop. Something that had always been her dream, hence the name. Unfortunately, Todd lost his battle with cancer and passed away.

“How did…” I clear my voice because I don’t know how much to ask, or if it’s something she even wants to talk about. “You found them?”

She wrinkles her nose like she just ate something gross. “I walked in on her stark naked body straddling him, his pants around his ankles. Though, luckily, it wasn’t our bed. It was the couch. I burned the couch.” She smirks.

“Damn. When was this? How did I not know about it?”

She shrugs her tiny shoulders. “I never saw the need to tell anyone. And we found out about the cancer so soon after. Well, he had just found out that day. It just seemed less important in light of the whole C word being thrown at us.”

“How did you stay with him? After that? And care for him when he needed it? My gosh, Christine. You must be the best person on this planet.”

“Nah, I’m just a mom. Y’know? Bri was only twelve years old at the time. I wasn’t going to have her last memories of her dad be of him cheating on her mom. And I didn’t want to be responsible for her having the wrong idea of what a husband is like. He was a great father and aside from that, he really was a great husband, too. Despite it all, I still loved him. He screwed up — literally — but that didn’t change the fact that he was my husband and I loved him. Might make me sound weak, but sometimes forgiveness is harder to give, and forgetting doesn’t happen, but it’s something that will eat you alive if you allow it to. I wasn’t willing to allow it to.”

“That’s the furthest thing from weak you could get, Christine. Seriously. Giving someone forgiveness for something they don’t deserve forgiveness for is the bravest, strongest thing you could do.”

“Thank you.” Her voice is soft, and a slight tinge of blush colors her cheeks.

“Do you… I guess, do you know who the woman was?”

She looks at me briefly and looks away again. “Yeah, I do. She wasn’t a friend of mine, if that’s what you were wondering.”

I take a deep breath and lean forward, my elbows on my knees, hands clasped together and head lowered. “So now what do I do?”

“What do you mean?”

I raise my head to look at her. “I’ve given her my life, Christine. I don’t know where to go from here. What my next move should be. What I’m gonna tell the boys.”

“What is your gut telling you?” She leans her side against the back of the couch, again her head resting on her hand, and I follow her lead but don’t turn to her. Instead, I rest my head on the back and look to the ceiling.

“My gut… my gut is telling me to stay the hell away from her.”

“And your heart?”

“My heart is telling me to stay farther than the hell away from her.”

She giggles, this light and tinkly sound that has me smiling, lolling my head to the side to look at her, despite the events that have transpired over the last few hours.

“Well, Andy, you’re what? Thirty-four? Thirty-five?”

“Thirty-five,” I tell her, though I don’t really know why I clarify when I could have just nodded.

“Dang, you’re young.”

“Oh, please. How old are you? You’re about my age, yeah?”

“Oh, you’re good.” She smiles shaking her head, her dark hair falling over her shoulder in the process.

“What?” I ask, not being able to hold back the smile that is overtaking my face.

“I’m forty-one!” she exclaims, pointing to herself.

“No way!” My eyes widen. There’s no way she’s that old. Though, I suppose, since her daughter is a senior in high school it would make sense. But still… she looks younger than me! I take a few moments to look closer at her. She resembles Mila Kunis. Long dark hair, beautiful round face, flawless skin, her only difference is the eyes. Hers are a much brighter green, huge and sparkling with happiness.

“Whatever. I’m old — just don’t go spreading that around. Anyway. Like I was saying, you’re young! You’re thirty-five. You have your entire life ahead of you, dude.”

“Dude?” I smirk, and she reaches over to punch me lightly in the shoulder.

“Stop interrupting me!”

“Sorry,” I tell her with my hands raised, smiling in her direction. I lean back farther into the couch and take another sip of coffee.

“I never imagined being here,” I scoff, scrubbing a hand down my face.

“You seriously didn’t know?” I can hear the disbelief in her voice.

“Oh, I knew. Trust me. She’s not very sneaky. This wasn’t her first time, I’m afraid. But I know what you mean when you say you were keeping it to yourself for Bri’s sake. I kept quiet, not wanting the boys to be affected. I knew it would come to a head at some point, but I just never imagined having to see it. Know what I mean?”

“Yup. Unfortunately, I do.”

“Man, this sucks.”

“It definitely ain’t no picnic,” she says, chortling.

“How did you not always think of it when you saw him? Dang, Christine. How did you forgive him? Still drop everything to care for him when he was at his lowest?”

She looks at me long, assessing. “You really want to know?”

“I do.”

She studies me for a few beats and looks away. “Why? Are you thinking of getting back together with her?”

“No.” My response is instant, without question, earning the return of her pretty eyes to me. “I have no desire for that. But, I need to know there’s a chance of…” I shrug my shoulders, “…moving on, I guess.”

“Fair enough.” She finishes her coffee. “I don’t know how I forgave him. Grace of God, I guess. He and I talked — a lot — about it, and he promised me that it was just the one time. I guess I believed him. I can’t tell you why, but deep in my gut I feel like it was a one-time thing. The girl he was with — she stopped by the house that day. He didn’t seek her out. They met, well it doesn’t matter where they met, but they met and for a few months, she would come around. His work, the gym where he was a member. She’d stop by when he was playing a pick-up game of basketball on the courts. She was basically pursuing him.” She pauses and picks a piece of lint off her pant leg, flicks it to the floor, clears her throat, and licks her lips before continuing.

“Not that it takes away from his involvement or his own fault in it, but I guess a part of him needed that. He had been feeling crappy, had just gone in for testing to see if he had cancer, and we were waiting on the results. It was like a mid-life crisis on crack. She showed up at the house one day and…” she shows me her hands, palm side up, “…that was all it took. He was upset, scared, vulnerable. He was supposed to wait for me to go to the doctor to find out the test results, but he didn’t want me there if it was bad news. He had just found out he had cancer. A cancer that, unless a miracle occurred, was going to kill him.” Her voice cracks, and I have to war with myself not to reach over and hug her.

“He came home, had a few drinks to calm down, and she was just there. It was like she knew the timing would be perfect for her. I blame him. I promise you, I do. I always will. Forgiving is different than forgetting. No one can go without fault for sleeping with someone other than their spouse, but the circumstances surrounding his affair, if I consider it that, are a little different than most, I would imagine.”

“Yeah. I agree with that. Still though, Christine. It doesn’t make it right.”

“I know. But… he’s gone.” Her voice is sad, eyes filled with tears. “I can’t dwell on it. The last years of our marriage were good, even though he was sick. Doesn’t make me forget what I saw, but it does give me something else to focus on.”

Strong doesn’t even cover what she is. Amazing. Incredible. One of a kind. How Todd stepped out on her is beyond my understanding. No matter the circumstances surrounding it.

I reach across the cushion and grasp her hand in mine, squeezing once. “I’m sorry you went through that.”

She squeezes my hand once in response. “I’m sorry you’re going through it now.”

“Thank you.”

“So, want some advice?”

“Eat more lemon pound cake?”

She releases my hand and sits back, giggling, and again I’m hit with how much I love hearing the sound of her laughter. “Well, that, too. I could even say it’s healthy because it’s made with Greek yogurt.”

“You trying to tell me something?” I tease her.

She smiles, a cross between sad and sort of resigned.

“My advice? Be happy.”

“What’s that?”

“Be happy. I promise you. First of all, it will drive Heather nuts knowing you are moving on without her. But second of all, and this is the most important part of it, you’ll be happy.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice. When Todd was at his sickest, we practiced a lot of happiness. Happiness because we had good days, or we had quiet moments to spend as a family when he could barely get out of bed. Happiness when we were able to celebrate holidays. After he cheated, one of the things we discovered was that we could either give in to the ugly that it brought on, or we could move on. We moved on. And he had to do the same. We both had guilt. Guilt for how we got there. I questioned if I wasn’t giving him what he needed. He questioned everything. I’m not going to lie… it’s hard, and most days you’ll have to dig deep, but you’ll get there. Trust me. The light is always better than the dark.”

I lay my head on the back of the couch and turn to look at her. She’s so gorgeous it almost hurts to look at her. I’ve always thought so, though I would have never done a thing about it. She has always been the mom who turned heads.

“What was he thinking?” I murmur.

“Pardon?”

“Todd. What was he thinking?”

“You mean…”

“When he stepped out.”

She doesn’t respond, just simply smiles before biting her lip and looking away, her long, dark, silky hair falling over her shoulder. She ducks her head and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, though I don’t know what I’m apologizing for. Almost admitting how gorgeous I think she is? Her husband cheating? Her husband dying? Me laying my shit out for her? All of it, probably.

“I’m sorry Heather’s such an asshole,” she replies with a shrug.

I bark out a laugh. “She is definitely an asshole.”

“She forgot rule number one.”

“What?”

“Never mind… it was in a book I read.”

“Ahh. Good book?”

“More than good.” She gives me a ghost of a smile and reaches over to grip my hand, squeezing once before letting go. “So, what are you going to do?”

“Honestly? I have no clue. I need to find a place for the boys and me to stay, talk with a lawyer… that part I know for sure. I can’t stay with her. As sad as it sounds, and maybe it’s kind of a little mean, but I think we fell out of love a long time ago. We’ve been hanging on by a thread for years. I’m sure part of it was my fault, but still…”

“It’s no excuse. This has nothing to do with you, Andy. This is all Heather. You’re a great guy. It’s Heather’s loss.”

“I appreciate you saying that.”

“It’s the truth.”