Both Sides Now

by Barbara Ferrer

  “She’s your wife and it’s your obligation.” The words came out clipped and harsh. Then, in a softer voice, “And obviously, Libby understands that.”

  A short choked sound that I think was supposed to be a laugh escaped my throat. “And you think I don’t? Believe me, Tico, I do.” The hand I had resting on the back of the pew tightened, the action pushing my wedding band into the skin of my finger. “For better, for worse, in sickness and in health. I meant those promises, and even though I didn’t say them in front of a priest, I did say them in front of my family and friends and above all, I said them to Kath and God knows, I meant them.”

  The words echoed around the sanctuary, then faded away into a long beat of silence.

  “I wondered if you’d ever acknowledge that.”

  “What?”

  “That you did make those promises in front of God.”

  My fingers tightened even more, knuckles turning white. “Do not go Jesuit on me right now, Tico—arguing semantics. I can’t handle it.”

  “It’s not about arguing semantics, Nick. It’s about being honest. Libby was…a moment. A special one and perhaps one that was necessary. The man in me understands that. But above all, I’m a priest, and I consider you not simply a friend but someone I counsel, and as such, I have to remind you that it’s Kath you committed your life to in front of your friends and your family—and God.”

  “Libby was more than a moment,” I countered. No way I’d allow her to be reduced to just a moment. “But—she’d be agreeing with you.” My hand cramped and aching, I finally released the pew. “And you can save the rest of your arguments, because I do too. In spite of everything that’s happened—in spite of what I’ve done—I love my wife. I always have. So I’ve got no choice but to see if there’s anything left worth salvaging.”

  “There’s always something worth salvaging when there’s love involved, m’ijo.”

  My head jerked up. “Is that the priest talking now or the man?”

  “Both.” He shrugged, his eyes narrowing as his gaze wandered around the sanctuary. “No matter how dark it seems, I have to continue to have faith, Nick, otherwise, I’ve got no business wearing this.” He brushed his fingers against the collar that I noticed for the first time. Realized, with a faint sense of surprise, it was the first time I’d ever seen him wearing it. “Lesson learned the hard way with my dad.”

  I nodded and we both fell silent for a few minutes, letting the oddly noisy quiet of an empty church surround us. Abuelita had always said that it was the sounds of a congregation of spirits providing company and support for those in need. Being a smartass, know-it-all little shit, I’d laughed, and being my grandmother, she hadn’t said a word, like she’d known I’d have to come to my own conclusions someday. Right now, I was hoping she was right. And that those comforting spirits weren’t restricted to just churches.

  “Libby’s husband—se murió.”

  “Yo se.” His gaze met mine again. “I saw the obituary, sent her an e-mail with my condolences, and she called me. Told me about the memorial and asked if I was free to come, but I told her I couldn’t.”

  “Why?” I asked, remembering another day, another memorial, another church—Libby’s face, so damn radiant in the moment I offered her the handkerchief I currently handled as gently as if it was a baby. As if it was her.

  “I had other obligations I had to attend to—I was needed here. She understood, told me I was welcome to visit at any time. That she’d welcome it.” His hand stroked the back of my head, like he was settling a skittish animal. “And now…well, I understand why else I was compelled to say no. Pero no te preocupe. I’m going to go see her in a few days.”

  Staring down, I nodded again, my thumb skimming the faded grayish streaks staining the white cotton. “Would you tell her—”

  What? Tell her how I felt? How scared I was? How much I missed her, not just her body and the intense physical pleasure we’d found in each other, but her. Talking to her in our fractured mix of Spanish and English, laughing with her, wiping away the tears that she let so few see.

  “Tell her—” Again I stopped, still searching for the right words as I folded the handkerchief once, then twice, then watched as Tico placed my rosary in the soft cotton and folded it over one more time.

  “Nick…no. It has to stay finished, mi niño. For her peace of mind.” I looked up, seeing all the sadness and sorrow I was feeling reflected in his eyes. “And yours. To make this work, it has to stay finished. Completely.”

  “I know.” Copying Tico’s earlier gesture, I lifted my gaze to the cross, trying so hard to draw the peace he so clearly did from the act, from this place, and feeling…empty.

  The Miami Herald

  Opinions:

  Saying Goodbye

  Ethan Walker

  Libby Santos Walker

  April 17

  This has been a hell of a column to write, knowing it’s my last one—and not much of one at that because, sorry, folks, I just don’t have a lot left in me. But I guess you know that by now. Thing is, though, I’m not leaving you completely in the lurch. I’m using this final opportunity to introduce my successor, and I can’t even begin to tell you how happy it makes me that it’s one of the most talented writers I’ve ever had the good fortune to work with. She’s also the most remarkable woman, and I’ve been a lucky bastard in that I’ve been able to share the last fifteen years with her as my wife. Now, before you start screaming nepotism, let me assure you—she’s earned this. She didn’t even know I was going to do this, and once she finds out, if she can figure out a way to bring me back from the grave in order to berate my sorry self, trust me, she will. And after you read this, if you don’t think she’s earned it, feel free to join her in bringing me back from the grave. Keep in mind, too—she was only twenty when she wrote this. Fifteen years later, she’s just that much better.

  So, I give you your new columnist, Libby Santos Walker, and as for myself, I’m going to borrow the immortal words of a far better journalist than I in bidding you all, good night, and good luck.

  • • •

  What happens when beauty and youth, status and wealth, don’t automatically preclude desperate acts? Is it perhaps because of those things—the threat of losing them—that desperation exacerbates into evil?

  Those were the questions I found myself asking as I observed my first ever crime scene…

  Nick

  I glanced over again at the paper lying on the passenger seat, even though I practically had the whole thing memorized. Still, those words, “beauty and youth, status and wealth,” jumped out from the page and twisted like a knife in my gut, again. Same as they had when I first read them yesterday over breakfast, my hand shaking so damn much, coffee had spilled over the edge of my mug and trickled down my hand. I'd barely noticed the heat and slight, stinging pain because in that moment, I was no longer in my kitchen, but leaning against a door at Las Palmas, cradling Libby and listening to her tell me about Ethan—how they’d met, how he’d scared her, how she’d run away and, most of all, how much she loved him, because I’d finally gotten my head far enough out of my ass to think to ask her about him. To ask her how she felt.

  I was listening to her tell me about writing the article he’d assigned and hiding it away, never intending to let it see the light of day. But somehow, Ethan had found it or maybe she’d finally shown him—a final gift that he’d turned around and made into a gift for her.

  Would be completely in keeping with how perfect they’d been for each other and how fucking unfair it was that their life together had been cut short. And now, here I was, sitting in her driveway, staring at the small white house with the bright blue door. The house where she and Ethan had built their life together and where she was going to have to keep going, alone.

  Hell, it wasn’t that I didn’t think Tico was right. He was. In order for her peace of mind and mine—in order for me to see if Kath and I had anything left—it had to stay finished with
Libby. Thing was, though, we hadn’t finished a damn thing. I’d walked away that morning because that’s what she wanted. What we’d both needed at that moment, because it was so raw and hurt so damn much and we couldn’t be around each other another minute without that pain blindsiding us both. But, I’d felt unsettled as hell ever since, a feeling that had only grown after Nan called me to tell me that Ethan had died. I understood then that somewhere in the back of my mind I’d intended for us to have a real goodbye. Not in the making love sense—we’d had that. But Libby and I needed to actually say goodbye—and a few other things.

  At least, I did.

  So explain to me why now, after a more than three hour drive, I’d been sitting in my car for the last twenty minutes too fucking terrified to travel the final twenty feet to her door?

  The decision was taken out of my hands as she rounded the corner at the back of her house, barefoot, in shorts and a T-shirt and, as always, her hair pulled back in a braid, attention focused on the two dogs who walked alongside. She’d spent hours telling me about them—Butch and Sundance—her best friends outside of Ethan.

  And me.

  My throat closed as I recalled the shy admission made late one night.

  Goddamn. I really didn’t want to have to say goodbye.

  “Hi, Libby.”

  She froze, hand on the wall-mounted spigot, and slowly turned her head. As I approached the fence, Butch moved in front of her, growling, while Sundance continued to sit beside her, looking from Libby to me and back to Libby again with a curious expression, although her tail wagged.

  “Butch, back off.”

  The growling died down, but the little shit held his ground until Libby spoke again, saying, “Butch, heel,” in a voice that backed him right off, but only just far enough to flank her other side, staring me down the whole time. Good for him.

  “He’s not going to rip my balls off if I come too close, is he?”

  One side of her mouth twitched as she glanced down at the fierce little bastard. “He’s not even all bark, no bite. More like all bluster, aren’t you, baby?” She bent down and picked him up, nuzzling his head with her cheek while with her free hand she reached down and scratched Sundance’s head, making sure the big dog got her fair share of attention.

  With Butch in her arms and looking downright blissful, I felt safe enough to close those last few feet, although I stopped with my hand on the gate latch. I locked gazes with her, unable to say a damn word. Then again, not as if we really needed them.

  After a long silence, she said, “Let me get their leashes. We’ll go for a walk on the beach.”

  Because that’s where she thought best.

  A minute later she reappeared through the front door.

  “You want to take Sundance? She’s good with new people.”

  “Sure.” I reached out and took the leash, dropping down to a knee to meet the big dog face-to-face. “Hey, girl, how are you doing?” I grinned as Sundance licked the hand I held out then rubbed against it, making happy noises. Much as I loved them, I hadn’t been around dogs since I was a kid—hadn’t had the time for one. Now I couldn't help but wonder if maybe that wasn’t another one of those things I needed to do—slow down and make time for simple things like owning a dog. Not stress so much about the big things.

  I'd had enough of big things for a while.

  Shifting slightly, I turned to Butch but looked up at Libby.

  She smiled. “You did fine with Sundance, just do the same with him. He really is a sweetheart.”

  I nodded and turned back to the little dog. “Are we cool?” I asked, holding my hand out, but not so close that he could take an easy chunk out of me. After glancing up at Libby, he approached and gave a tentative sniff, a lick, and a slight wag of the tail before backing up and lying down next to her, dropping his head between his paws.

  “He misses Ethan.”

  Clearly, not the only one. This close, I could see the dark circles beneath her eyes and the lines radiating out from the corners that hadn’t been quite so obvious before. Could see the gold chain around her neck with the two matching bands hanging from it, the smaller ring resting just inside the larger one. And maybe most telling, there was just this overall air of sadness around her. I knew her. I knew she was happy Ethan wasn’t in pain anymore. And I knew she’d take the loss a thousand times over to spare him that pain, but it didn’t diminish the fact that she missed him.

  Silently, we walked the few blocks from her house to the beach where she kicked off her flip-flops and left them under a bench. Following her lead, I toed off my sneakers and left them beside her shoes. Even though it was a Thursday, it was a sunny, bright day and there were plenty of people on the beach, so we kept the dogs on their leads, but walked close enough to the water that they could splash through the waves as they came ashore. The cool water felt good against my overheated skin—tempting me to dive straight in and go as far below as I could and not break the surface until I could figure out how the hell to initiate this conversation.

  I’d probably drown before I could figure it out. But as she had so many times before, Libby saved my ass.

  “Why are you here, Nick?”

  I pulled the paper from where I’d shoved it into the back pocket of my shorts, folded into thirds, the dual bylines visible.

  “How are you doing?”

  She stopped, staring out across the water. “I thought I was doing okay—until that.” She nodded at the paper I held. “Editor called me day before yesterday, told me it was going to run, and formally offered the column. Told me that, yeah, Ethan had strong-armed him into running the piece, but after he read it, he didn’t need to be strong-armed anymore and it was mine—on my own merits—if I wanted it.”

  “Nationally syndicated op-ed. Big move.”

  She nodded. “Not anything I really aspired to. I’ve been happy with my pet blog, but it’s…nice.” A small smile crossed her face, “Validation that my girly writing has potential appeal across a wide spectrum. I mean, hell, if I could win over Ethan—” Taking a deep breath, she stared out toward the horizon where a cruise ship slowly drifted by.

  “You won him over a long time ago, Libby.”

  “I know. But this…I never wanted this. Didn’t need this to know…” Her voice trailed off as her head dropped and her braid fell forward over her shoulder, leaving the curve of her neck exposed and vulnerable, and it was all I could do not to go to her. To rest my hand on the soft skin and stroke the muscles beneath that I knew would be tense and tell her it would all be okay, because I had even less right to do that than I ever had before.

  “Are you going to take it?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a way to hold on to a little piece of him—and probably a lot healthier than sleeping with one of his old shirts. But I have to be absolutely certain I can do justice to his readers. I wouldn’t expect any less—neither would he.” A short laugh escaped as she added, “Actually, he’d be pissed as hell if he thought I was shortchanging them, so I’d better be damn sure before I take this on.”

  Standing, she turned and started walking again, her voice drifting back on the wind. “Why are you really here, Nick?”

  I stood there, stunned, although not like I really should’ve been. Pure Libby, cutting through my bullshit in one short question.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She stopped, which gave me the chance to catch up to her and repeat what I’d driven over three hours to say. “I’m so fucking sorry, Libby.”

  Slowly, she turned, shoving her sunglasses to the top of her head, the expression in her eyes sad, even though the corners creased slightly. A smile, I think.

  “You’ve never needed to apologize, Nick.”

  “Yeah, I did—do—need to apologize.” The words came out in a rush, anxious to get out, to make sure she understood. “You were right when you said you didn’t deserve to be anyone’s substitute. Maybe it was only for a split second, but that’s exactly what I wanted. The easy way
out. Right at that second, knowing I was going to lose you and not sure if I was ever going to get Kath back, I wanted you to be everything I’d had with her and that’s unfair as hell to you, because you’re not her. And it’s insulting to both of you, and I’m a miserable son of a bitch for considering it for even a split second.”

  “Nick…Dios mío, ease up on yourself, please. It was just for a split second. I understood that then. It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not,” I insisted, shaking my head and blowing out an impatient breath. “Don’t you get it? I want what I had with you and what I had with Kath, too. I want both…I want—”

  Her hand on my chest stopped me cold. I stood there, throat closing, struggling to breathe, as if I’d physically been punched.

  “It’s okay to want, Nick.” Her hand slid up my chest to my cheek, her thumb brushing against my mouth, the light touch making me hurt in more ways than I could even begin to describe. “I want more than anything for Ethan to be back and to be whole and be with me, yet at the same time, I want what you and I had, too. It doesn’t make sense, because those two things couldn’t possibly coexist, but at its most basic, it’s what I want.” Her hand left my face to flip her sunglasses down over her eyes—not quite fast enough to hide the tears catching on her lashes.

  “We just have to know what we can’t have.”

  We walked for a while longer, not talking, not touching, except for the occasional brush of our hands until we finally retraced our steps to the bench where we’d left our shoes and the final few blocks to her house. After she let the dogs into the backyard and filled their water bowls, she returned to where I was waiting by my SUV.