by R. S. Lively
Not knowing how long I’ve been trying to keep myself busy, I walk into the bathroom and decide to take a hot shower. I stand under the stream on the most powerful massage setting, and let the water beat down on me. I stand there until the water runs cold, and dry off as I slowly make my way back into the bedroom. I can hear movement in the front of the house and realize Emma must be back. Throwing on a pair of jeans as fast as I can, I walk out to the living room and find her stacking boxes. She glances over her shoulder at me as I come in, but busies herself with continuing to open boxes, peek inside, and then stack.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"Oh, hi," she says as if she didn't notice me. "I'm just trying to get a bit more organized. I feel like I'm losing my mind with everything so thrown around."
"You should just unpack," I tell her.
She shakes her head but doesn't make eye contact with me.
"No," she says. "I'm actually going to take most of my stuff over to my mom’s house to store in her attic."
"I have an attic," I say. "If you have something you don't need, you can just put it there."
"Grant, I need to do this my way, alright?"
She sounds suddenly angry, but the sharpness fades from her voice, melting into sadness. I take a step toward her.
"Emma, what's going on?"
She rests her hands on the box in front of her and lets out a long breath before looking up at me.
"I've been thinking a lot about what you said earlier."
My stomach sinks.
"I know," I say. "I shouldn't have said that."
"No," she says, shaking her head. "No, you should have."
"What?"
"You were absolutely right."
"What do you mean?"
Emma looks at me with eyes that seem almost pleading, like she doesn't want to believe the words on her tongue.
"You didn't say anything wrong, Grant. That's the thing. What you said is completely accurate. The problem is how I reacted to it. And that's exactly why we need to talk about it."
"Talk about what?" I ask. "The way you reacted was completely normal. I was a total ass to say that to you."
"No, you weren't," she says. "I'm not really your wife. Legally, I am. But that's it. Neither one of us intended for this to happen, and I shouldn't get upset when you joke about it. That just shows I'm not handling this the way I should. The way I want to handle it."
"I don't understand," I say.
"We need to stop whatever this is between us," she says. "I said from the very beginning that I didn't want to get wrapped up in you again. That's not why I came back to Magnolia Falls, and it still isn’t. I've been enjoying the time I spend with you too much. Until we figure out what's really going to happen, and how we're going to handle all this, I can't allow myself to think that way. We can't get so comfortable in this arrangement that we lose perspective and forget that it's fake. This isn’t real. We need to put a stop to this before one of us ends up getting hurt again. Probably me."
My heart squeezes painfully as I try to come up with the right words to say to her.
"Emma, I tried to apologize for what I did all those years ago. I know I didn't make the right decision. I didn't handle it the way I should have. I'm sorry for hurting you, because I know I did."
Emma's eyes close, and she shakes her head.
"Grant, stop. I don't want to hear it anymore. That doesn't change what I'm thinking, or how I feel about the situation we're in right now. I can't do this. It's too confusing and complicated. I came back here broken, Grant. I'm not afraid to admit that. But, if I forget that, I'm going to lose myself all over again. I think both of us have so much we are focused on and thinking about that we're not being honest with ourselves about our relationship. And honestly, right now I can't... I can't think about anything else. I've gone over this in my head all day, and I think what would be best for both of us is to focus on what is directly in front of us. I need to finish the school year, and you have clients to work with. Both of us need to focus on the prom, especially now that it's gotten much more complex than either of us thought it would be. There's just not room to be distracted by anything else. So, I'm going to move into the guest bedroom. There's no need to have any animosity between us or for anything to be awkward. I care a lot about you, Grant, and I wouldn't want to do anything to jeopardize what you've worked so hard to accomplish."
"What do you mean by that?"
"To the outside world, nothing will have changed between us. We'll carry on as we have been. At the end of the school year, we'll find a tasteful way to start the process of ending the marriage. If we don't make a big deal out of it, then no one around us will."
"What if it's a big deal to me?" I ask.
"I'm sorry, Grant," she says, "I don't know what else to say. I don't want to lose you from my life. You've become an important part of it, and I don't want that to go away, but I can’t do this anymore."
I step closer to her and run my fingers down the side of her face.
"I'm not giving up on you, Emma. I'm not giving up on us. I walked away from you once, and I regretted it every day. The only thing that makes me not hate myself for it is that we found our way back to each other. I told you once that I was going to have your body, and you were going to be the one to tell me to take it. Now, I’ll have all of you. I promise. And you're going to tell me you're mine."
Emma
Two weeks later…
I live in half a house, and I'm pretending to be happily married to a husband I’m patiently waiting to divorce and only see every two weeks. There's a country song in there somewhere. Maybe I'll fill up some of these unnervingly quiet nights at the house by myself by learning to play the guitar. Silent nights are cute when it's Christmas time and you're listening to a snow globe or bringing hot cocoa out to the carolers. Not so much when it's the beginning of February and your best friend has officially moved in with her boyfriend. The thought of snow globes immediately makes me think of Grant. I absently run my finger along the diamond-encrusted ice cream cone on my charm bracelet like I often find myself doing throughout the day.
I told Grant we would both be busy, but it's amazing how quickly you can take down a to-do list when scrambling to fill a void in your heart. The days he spends at the office end with long, cold evenings rambling around the house, or going to visit my mother. She hasn't asked about Grant. There's never a mention of my marriage, or any plans for the future. I wonder if she's just giving me space, or if she knows something happened. I don't push it. There's no reason to.
My phone buzzes beside me, and I know who it is before I even look at it. I pick it up and glance down at the screen. The text from Grant is cheerful as always. He is taking the concept of us being friends very seriously. He adapted quickly, and now at least a few times a day I receive a text from him. Sometimes it's a picture of where he is with his latest client. Sometimes it's small talk about my day, or a check-in about the prom planning. Sometimes it's an inane meme I don't understand. Today it's another invitation to play a mobile game with him. I've been ignoring them for the last several days. It seems pointless. This time, though, I click the link, if only to stop him from sending me another invitation. I poke around in the app for a few seconds, exploring the details and trying out a few of the functions.
Several minutes later I'm fully invested in crafting a building when the sound of the front door opening makes me jump. I look up to see Grant coming in, a large bag hanging over one shoulder, and a smile on his face. He's also holding his phone in his hand, and I know I've been caught.
"I knew you were going to give in," he says. "No one can resist the siren song."
I close the game and drop my phone beside me.
"How was your week?" I ask.
"Long," he says. "But I finished up two more clients and have three more going through intake."
I hate that my heart clenches and my stomach turns hearing that.
"Have you ever thought
about slowing down?" I ask. "I mean, it's not like you need the money."
"No, I don't. You're right about that. It’s not about the money. But when I've thought about passing my portion of the business to my brothers, or to someone else within the company, I can't bring myself to do it. Sometimes, it’s exhausting and stressful, and there are always obnoxious clients I can't stand to be with for more than ten minutes. Every now and then, I have a client that leaves me with a lasting impression. They impact me instead of the other way around."
"Like Mr. Kleinfelder."
Grant nods.
"When someone like that comes along, I can't just walk away. Not yet, anyway."
"Speaking of Mr. Kleinfelder," I say, "you said you hadn't been able to talk to him."
"Not yet," he says. "But I'm going to."
"Oh, good. When?"
A knock snaps my eyes to the front door. Grant grins at me.
"Five minutes from now. But you can't fault the man for being punctual."
"Are you kidding me?" I hiss at him. "I am not dressed to receive."
Grant gives me a look.
"He's not coming to present you with gifts from a foreign land, Emma. He's a friend coming to our home for a chat." There's another knock. "A friend who is standing outside in the cold waiting for us to open the door, so prepare yourself as much as you can in the three steps it takes for me to get across the room."
By the time the door is open, and I hear Grant greeting Mr. Kleinfelder, I’ve bailed and have slipped into my bedroom. I could have just taken the visit in stride and accepted my role as the comfortable married woman relaxing in her own home for the evening. But that isn’t me. Within a few minutes, I'm changed and back in the living room, feeling more confident and hoping I can convince Kleinie I was just off in another room when he got here. He smiles at me as I come into the room.
"Here she is," Grant says.
"Hi, Mr. Kleinfelder," I say.
"Oh, enough of that," he says. "Call me Neil."
"Hi, Neil," I say. "Can I get you anything? Some coffee?"
"Coffee would be great," he says.
I start toward the kitchen, and Grant leans in toward me as I pass.
"He didn't tell me I could call him Neil," he mutters.
"He likes me more," I whisper back.
I'm grateful for the elaborate coffee maker in Grant's kitchen as I pop a cup into the top and shove the shiny silver carafe into place, then start filling a tray with mugs, creamer, and sugar. I don't want to miss any of the conversation Grant is planning for the evening. Fortunately, he’s still in the midst of small talk when I get back into the living room with coffee. I hand each of them a mug, then settle on the couch beside Grant, first sitting on the far end, then remembering we're supposed to be newlyweds and sliding closer to him.
"So, I have to confess," Grant says, "we didn't just ask you to come here to visit."
"Oh?" Mr. Kleinfelder – Neil – says, stirring hazelnut creamer into his coffee until it becomes almost a caramel-colored swirl.
"There was something specific we wanted to talk to you about. First, I wanted to say thank you for agreeing to come back to Magnolia Falls. I know it's been a long time."
Neil's face falls slightly, and he gives a hint of a nod.
"I'll admit that having Tony ask me to come was persuasive."
Tony? Mr. Bernheimer is a Tony?
There's a slight hint of bitterness in his voice like he feels manipulated, or that something terrible was imminent and he needed to be here. But he’s here now, and that's what matters. Now we can move on to the truly uncomfortable part of the evening.
"I shared with you that we are planning a surprise for Mr. Bernheimer for his retirement later this spring. While preparing for that, Emma and I have been doing some research into Magnolia Falls, and talking to some of the elders."
Neil shifts slightly in his seat. It's obvious he's rethinking his decision to come back after so long.
"Yes," he says.
If I was the one talking to Kleinie, I would be nervous as hell. I'm not even participating in the conversation, and I’m still nervous as hell. Grant, though, doesn't even flinch. He eases closer to the edge of the couch.
"What can you tell us about Eleanor?" he asks.
Neil draws in a long breath. I expect him to shut down or get angry. Instead, a hint of a smile comes to his lips, and his eyes soften. For the first time, I notice they are a beautiful shade of icy blue.
"Eleanor," he murmurs, almost to himself. "That's a name I haven't heard in a long time."
"You remember her?" Grant asks.
"Of course, I do. Eleanor Bellamy. She was my high school sweetheart."
"What happened to Eleanor?"
Grant speaks with such tenderness, it brings tears to my eyes. I know this must be painful for Neil, even with the soft expression of happiness on his face, and Grant is walking him through it carefully. He wants to know everything he can, but at the same time, doesn't want to hurt Neil more than necessary.
"I don't know," Neil says. "But I think you probably already know that."
Oops.
"Yes," Grant says. "But we wanted to hear it from you. You obviously know what happened better than anyone, and we want to hear your side of it."
Neil takes a long sip of his coffee, then settles it on the table in front of him.
"From the very beginning, I knew she was it. The moment I saw her big, doe eyes and long blonde hair, I was in love. I was like a puppy for that girl. I followed her around in hopes that one day she would catch on and pay attention to me. I had to ask her out at least five times before she said yes."
Neil laughs, and I can't help but laugh along with him.
"Really?" I ask.
Neil nods.
"She later told me she wanted to say yes the first time, but didn't want to seem too eager. She wanted to know if I was serious about her. Eleanor was beautiful, and boys were always flocking to her. Too often, though, they were only after one thing, and that was not Eleanor. Even the ones who seemed sincere would quickly lose interest if she didn't immediately fall for them. She wanted to see if I would come back for her. And I did. Over and over again. Finally, she said yes, and the two of us were together after that. I was happier than I had ever been, but it wasn't as smooth as I had hoped. I'm sure you heard Eleanor's family didn't like the idea of her being with me."
"We did," Grant says.
"Unfortunately, that was the way things were then. People were afraid. Eleanor and I refused to listen. We weren't going to let them tell us we couldn't be together just because we were from different ways of life. We stayed together. We dreamed and planned. We told ourselves, and each other, that all we had to do was get through school, and we could be together for the rest of our lives. It was what carried us through."
"What changed?" I ask.
"In our senior year, we knew the time was coming. I knew how important it was to have her father give his blessing before she got married. I hoped he would see how much we loved each other, and that we were serious about building a future together. But he didn't. Nothing would change his mind, but nothing was going to stop us, either. We agreed if he wasn't going to give us his blessing, we were just going to elope without it. The prom was going to be our escape. We planned for months, preparing every detail, including pretending we had broken up to appease her father. I can't tell you how much it hurt not to be with her every day."
"I can imagine," Grant says softly.
I slide my eyes over to him, but he's not looking my way.
"As prom drew closer, we kept our distance, but counted down the minutes. Then the fire happened. I wasn't at the school that day, but Eleanor was. When I heard there was a fire…" he hesitates, the memories overwhelming him for a few seconds, "I have never been so scared. I got there as fast as I could, but they wouldn't let me near it. I tried to find her. Every day after that, even with everyone breathing down my neck, I looked for her. No one knew w
hat happened to her. I knew people thought I had done something to her, but I was more frantic than any of them. I heard the whispers that she had taken up with someone else and fled the island to avoid me."
"But you never believed that," I say.
Neil shakes his head.
"Never," he says, "I couldn't. I couldn't bear that thought, so I didn’t let myself believe it. Then everything changed. I was drafted and ended up in the war. I never stopped thinking about Eleanor. Never. I kept her picture with me while I was overseas. She stayed in my uniform, close to my heart. If I was going to be one of the boys who didn't make it home, I wanted her with me in my final moments. I wanted whoever found me to know I was hers. But I did make it home. Only, I could never bring myself to come back to Magnolia Falls. I stayed in touch with Tony, and he kept me up to date. Knowing Eleanor had never come back, and that people still blamed me, meant there was nothing here for me anymore. I had no family left. I had nothing. So, I started a new life."
"But you never forgot Eleanor," Grant says.
"Never. Not for a single day. I wrote to her. I didn't know where to send the letters, so I sent them to her father's house. I sent them to the school. I sent them to Tony. I sent letters everywhere I could think of, hoping one day one of them would find her. But I never received one in return."
Grant's hand slides from his lap and finds mine. I'm thankful for the strength and the warmth it gives me.
"And you have no idea what happened to her? Where she might have gone, or where she's been?" I ask.