Lies We Tell Ourselves by Steena Holmes

Author:Steena Holmes
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-987877-32-8
Publisher: SH Press Inc.

26

PAIGE

* * *

The audit team has taken over the office. They sectioned off two conference rooms and my filing cabinet is empty. I feel like every eye is on me as I stand in my cubicle.

My phone buzzes with a text. It’s Jamie.

At the park with Flynn. Can you join us?

Can I join? Absolutely.

The ability to shrug off an emotionally difficult day and play with Flynn at the park holds way more appeal than staying here.

It’s a beautiful afternoon. The sun is high in the sky, the billowing clouds barely move and the air is full of the singsong cadence of birds flying from one branch to another.

The closer I walk to the park, the clearer the playful screams, shrills and shouting from children playing becomes. I can’t even hide my smile as I speed up my pace.

I don’t recognize Flynn’s voice through the chaos, nor can I see him, but I’m not too worried. There are a total of four different playgrounds, along with multiple walking paths, green spaces to throw balls, and even a dog park. Jamie and Flynn could be anywhere.

The smart thing to do would have been to text Jamie for his location. Eventually though, I’ll find them. If they aren’t throwing a ball, then they are probably at either the third or the fourth playground. We like to rotate through the play areas with Flynn and we’d just been at the second play area the other day.

Sure enough, that’s where I catch sight of Jamie, at the second last area, full of swings, slides and play structures.

He’s on a park bench, partially angled so I only see his back, but I know it’s him from the school bag at his side. It’s Flynn’s. Once again, this is just another way of how we parent so differently. If I’d been the one to pick up Flynn from school today, I’d be right at his side, enjoying the afternoon, rather than sitting life out, waiting on a bench.

No, that’s too harsh. After being surrounded by teenagers all day, Jamie is probably enjoying a few moments of quiet, of being alone, as alone as you can be in a play area surrounded by a dozen or more screaming kids.

I scan for Flynn, sure I’d find him on one of the swings or in a group waiting their turn to climb the rings of the slide … but he’s not there.

Nor can I find him standing on top of any of the play structures, or hanging like a monkey or crawling through the bottom holes like an Army cadet.

In fact, I don’t see him anywhere.

What I do see, imprinted on my mind the moment Jamie looks over at me, is the phone in his hand.

“Where’s Flynn?” I rush over, purse slung over my shoulder, one hand gripping the handle tight so it doesn’t fly off my arm.

My fiancé, the father of my child, stares at me with the blankest of expressions.

I want to slap that look straight off his face.

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