by Marni MacRae
I think the idea of them and the loss of them had been processed out of me by Linda and Arthur. But Valerie reached out for my hand. No trace of pity in her eyes, only warmth and concern.
“They will be here soon. If you want to talk, know I am here to listen, and if you need space or it becomes too much for you, just give me a sign, and I will call a halt. You are my only concern.”
She was protecting me. Sitting at the kitchen table now, looking back on that morning I know that Dr. Leesing was doing her job, I was her patient. I still am. So I was her priority, and she was giving me an out, a safe button to push if I felt things were going toward another blackout.
I had nodded then, standing in the hallway. I hadn’t thought I would need her, or the out. I hadn’t known how much pain would come with the choice I would make.
When Lily hugged me and I saw me in my father’s eyes, the gold there glinting with tears, and the mirror image of me in my mother, things changed. Whatever numbness had kept me calm that morning wore off. But as I broke and began crying, tears running down my cheeks as I gripped my mother’s hand, my real mother, I didn’t think of Valerie even once.
I didn’t want an out. I didn’t even want to not feel the wave of emotions that hit me. Feeling was what made this moment real. The sorrow for the lost years, the overwhelming wonder that I had a place to belong, that I had family, blood family, and that they had suffered the same pain of loss that I had. There was an instant connection, and although they were strangers to me, they instantly shifted my world. They became my everything.
Nick stood beside me throughout the visit. Mother, Father, Lily and Joseph were staying at the one hotel in Brighton Valley. They wanted to take me, to leave and bring me home, begin the healing process and keep me close, but Valerie paced them. She set up visits to ease us all together without overwhelming us and turning things into a mess of questions or an emotional tug-of-war.
There was paperwork to file. Police reports and documents and media. Elizabeth thwarted the reporters. Another good reason to delay a move to Richmond, the place I had been stolen from, the city where my family lived, and where they wanted me to go.
One of the two biggest decisions I have made since waking up in the field was returning to Virginia with them. The other was my name.
“Vannessa!” It’s what my mother exclaimed when she first saw me, and I had cringed.
They kept saying it. Father, Lily, Joseph. It’s what they knew me by, who they had missed. Little Vannessa. In their memories and in their hearts, Vannessa was their lost daughter, and I had no way to explain to them how much it hurt me to hear it. It wasn’t me.
I felt Nameless again.
I wasn’t Alice, I wasn’t Vannessa, not anymore, and I wasn’t Eve.
Mother picked up on it first. She must have seen me cringe or shy away when she used it. She began calling me sweetie or dear. By the time the larger choice came, everyone had begun using pet names. Even Nick, who mostly avoided addressing me as anything at all. He just stood by me, always there if I needed him, never swaying and never attempting to sway me.
I was surprised by that. That he didn’t ask me to stay. At the time I was even a bit angry. I wanted an excuse to avoid the decision on my own, to escape the big choice with someone else’s needs put before mine. But Nick knew he was the only one who could sway me. He knew I loved him.
* * *
After two weeks of visits and counseling and paperwork, the time came. Every moment had been leading up to this. Valerie reminded me I was an adult, that I didn’t have to go. But what surprised me was Elizabeth’s response.
“If you were mine, I would fight for you.” We had been sipping tea late one night. I couldn’t sleep, and she was attempting to teach me gin.
“But you are not mine. You are Laura and Carl’s. They have mourned you.” She pointedly caught my eye and nodded sharply. “Your return to them is akin to a miracle. They deserve to have the time with you they lost. At least enough to heal and build the bond that was severed.”
“But Nick…”
“Is a big boy. Nick will wait.” Elizabeth laid her cards on the table facedown and reached for my hand. “You have a journey ahead of you in your heart that needs to be taken, dear. And your heart will not be whole or free to give to Nick or anyone until it is healed and strong. Do not do him the disservice of hiding behind him. Do not disrespect your own integrity by denying your mother the chance she deserves to know you.
“If you were mine, I would fight for you,” she repeated. “And if you were mine, I would tell you to get on that plane tomorrow and begin rebuilding. Find your name.”
She smiled gently then and picked up her cards only to lay them down again face up.
“Gin.”
* * *
Seven months of missing them. I think of Nick every day. I speak to Valerie once a week, and once a month she flies to Virginia and visits. We spend the day having lunch at a restaurant or playing miniature golf. Talking. Always talking. But the visits are fun, too. And she catches me up on the news. She knows it is too hard for me to call, to write, to make that choice tangible by hearing a voice on the other end of the phone. She knows I am still healing and finding my stride. But I need to know, to hear of Laurel and Ezra, Ms. Thornton and Anabel. And Nick.
Once we are through talking about my family, she always indulges me and gives me the latest gossip of Brighton Valley.
“He misses you,” Valerie had said when I spoke to her last. She hadn’t said that before. She is always careful not to overlay any guilt in her sharing of my friends. “I’ve left a few messages, but he hasn’t returned my calls. If you are ready, perhaps you could write.” She had hugged me goodbye that day and gave me a thumbs up. “Talk to you next week. Enjoy Halloween!”
For a week I had mulled over calling Nick. Was he mad? Would he forgive me for not contacting him? I had struggled with it every day. I wanted to honor my family and move forward, give them one hundred percent, not leftovers from a broken Eve. I had needed it. I had needed the time to find me, to become me. But I still missed him.
I reach forward and open the envelope, the paper as pale white as the snow outside the window. I pull out the folded paper inside and open the letter. Written in the neat scrolling script of Elizabeth Thornton’s hand are only four words.
When you are ready.
Stapled to the bottom of the page is a plane ticket.
Chapter 33
December is my least favorite month.
I step out of the truck into frigid air and zip my coat up to my chin. The ground will begin freezing soon; the snow won’t be as pristine and novel. It will turn dirty and chunk with ice. The roads will become treacherous, and construction will be next to miserable. December is a trickster. It gets everyone sparkly eyed about winter, gets us shopping for gifts we will forget a week after opening and then it traps us into the misery promised in January. Frigid temperatures, little daylight, and numb extremities.
“Morning, Scrooge.”
I look up to find Lee leaning against my job shack. He holds out a tall latte cup and jerks his head at the door. “Unlock the door before I lose toes to frostbite.”
“It's only gonna get worse you know.” I accept the coffee and slide my key into the lock, hoping the heater inside has warmed the interior to above crazy cold.
“Yeah, so you’ve mentioned.” Lee tromps into the small job shack behind me, stomping snow off his boots as he goes.
“What do you need?”
I cut straight to the point. Lee isn’t here on a workday to bring me coffee. Or to have a chat. There is always an ulterior motive.
“Wow. Lost your charm, bro.”
“I’m charming.” I grin at him, knowing it doesn’t reach my eyes and probably looks a tad like a grimace, but I’m in no mood to placate my brother.
“Dude, look.” Lee plops in a chair and spreads his hands wide. “We’re worried about you.”
I raise an eyebrow at t
he “we.”
“You mean Mom.”
“Well, yeah, Mom, but Anabel, me, Dad, we all are worried. You used to love the holidays, you used to go fishing with me, have Sunday supper at Mom and Dad’s. We haven’t even caught one game together, and the Bengals are killing it this year. I mean”—he pauses and hunches his shoulders as if he expects me to holler at him— “you’ve changed. Not cool, man.”
I sit down behind my desk and blow out a breath. He’s right. I am a scrooge. I haven’t kept up my end of family time. I stopped visiting and stopped returning concerned calls from Mom. I feel empty. Angry. Like I’ve lost a part of me. My heart was amputated when Eve left, and she took it with her. I’ve been moving through my days since in a fog of lonely anger.
“I know, man,” I growl it out. Feeling defensive.
“You're moping.”
My eyes shoot him a glare, and I scoff. “I’m not moping. I’m dealing.”
“Not very well.”
“Come on!” I say it louder than I meant to and struggle to lower my voice, my temper. “I’m dealing.” I repeat. “I’m fine.”
“Look.” Lee leans forward, and I see his demeanor change. “You’re not fine. When Eve left, we knew you would have a hard time. We wanted to give you your space, let you hash it out on your own. But you are not fine.”
I begin to protest, and he holds up a hand.
“You’re coming to Sunday dinner.” He says it like a cop. “If you aren’t there by six, we’re taking it to your place. All of us, Mom, Dad, Anabel, Gabe, and don’t make me cart my pregnant wife through the snow to cook for your moping ass. Be there. Six o’clock.”
He stands and turns to the door, “Mom says she misses you.” And with that he steps out into the cold, closing the door firmly behind him.
I let out a pent-up breath and close my eyes.
I’m not moping. But I know he’s right. I’m not myself, and it is no one’s fault. Not Eve’s, not Mom’s or Dad’s, not Lee’s or Anabel’s certainly. It’s time I get out of my funk.
I take care of the office business for the day, run a trip down the lane to check on Mike, see if he has the last order in for the final build. And head home.
I haven’t heard from Eve. She never promised to write or to call, but I had been sure she would. She has her new life now, with her real family. I can’t expect her to hang on to something that was born out of a couple weeks and high stress.
But I knew it hadn’t been the situation that had opened my heart to Eve. It was her. It was her spirit, and humor, and strength, and purity. I loved her. I still love her. And I had thought she had loved me.
I think that was the hardest thing for me—to accept that she hadn’t loved me. I couldn’t. I couldn’t swallow that pill. I have been trudging through my days justifying her, that she was wounded, that she needed time, that it wasn’t up to me to set out expectations. I had a list of justifications for her. And they were all true. But I missed her. Desperately.
I need to let her go. I watched her leave seven months ago, but I never truly let her go.
I pull up to my house and park as close to the porch as possible. I need to pick up some rock salt; the walk is getting slick with ice already. I tromp the stairs and unlock the door, heading for the shower, hoping to thaw my bones and maybe my heart a bit. Mom misses you.
Lee is right. I shouldn’t punish everyone else. Or myself. I miss them, too. I’ll go to dinner on Sunday, get a gift for Mom and Anabel. Something for the baby. They found out last month she is expecting a girl. A niece. Yeah, I’ll pick something up for Gabe, too, wrap it to add to his already huge stack of gifts under the Donovan tree.
After toweling off, I throw on a loose pair of pants and head to the living room. Bengals are killing it? Well, let’s just see. Tonight is their first Monday night game in a while. Let’s see if they can hold up against the Steelers.
I turn on the TV and head to the kitchen for a beer just as I hear tires crunching in the snowy drive. Shutting the fridge, I glance out the window in time to see Ezra open the driver door of Elizabeth’s dark sedan and step out into the snow.
“Ah, crap, another intervention.” I huff beneath my breath and head for the door. I’m hoping Elizabeth doesn’t slip on the ice on the path and reach for my boots and coat at the front door. Before I can pull on the heavy winter coat, there is a light knock on the door. The old woman is quick for her age. I hang the coat back on its hook and kick my boots back off before I pull open the door. The old lady is just going to have to deal with my bare chest. I hadn’t expected company, and the house is warm enough inside not to need a shirt.
I reach for the door and pull it open, my posture resigned to the assault I am sure is to come. Freezing air floods in, and I rethink the need for a shirt as I greet Ezra standing on the threshold.
“Hey, come on in, Ezra. I’m about to watch the game, you want to join?” I step aside for the older man, but he doesn’t budge. I look over his shoulder to the car and wonder if Elizabeth expects me to come to her.
“Oh, no, sir, thank you. Another time though.” He smiles wide, and I step back, surprised. I am not sure if Ezra has ever smiled at me. “I’m just here to deliver a package and to invite you to dine with Ms. Thornton tomorrow evening.”
I sigh and nod. “Yeah, ok, sure, tell her I’ll be there.”
I haven’t seen her in seven months, although she has left a few messages. I guess now is as good a time as any to start mending bridges. I glance around for the package he mentioned but see nothing in his hands, nothing on the porch.
“You have something for me?” I raise a brow, starting to shiver a bit in the cold.
“I do,” he says. Another smile and I begin to feel a little creeped out. Smiling Ezra steps to the side to reveal the package behind him. Not a box, but a person.
Her eyes lock on mine, and I feel the breath leave me. My heart stops beating for a second, and I feel myself grow dizzy. Then she smiles, the gold in her eyes warming with joy, and she leaps at me. She’s in my arms before I’ve caught my breath, and neither of us notices when Ezra closes the front door and leaves.
“You’re here!” I can barely speak, her scent is all around me, her hands clasping my bare shoulders.
“I’m here,” she whispers, then her mouth is on mine, and I am lost. The taste of her is like a lightning bolt into my gut. My hands reach for her, tearing at her coat, needing to feel her beneath the layers. She shrugs out of the heavy garment, and it falls at our feet. Her fingers tangle in my hair, her chest presses to mine, and I deepen the kiss, needing her, needing all of her to fill me up again, to thaw my heart and make me whole. She pulls back first, and I cling to her waist, not wanting her to escape, to slip away.
“Nick.” My name escapes her lips, and I feel my heart warm.
Finally, at last, this cold December offers up a gift full of sun and brightness. I can feel a smile stretching my cheeks, I can’t stop grinning, staring, touching. My fingers run through her hair, and I lean down again, taking her mouth, this time gently, sweetly, lingering in the taste and the heat of her. I pull back to look at her, to feast on the sight of her, and she laughs, the sound filled with joy and love.
“I came back to stay.” Her eyes latch on to mine. “Can I stay?”
I nod, not trusting my voice, knowing I am about to break, that this can’t be real, it feels like a dream. One I have thought up and run in my head over and over again these last seven months. She smiles widely and steps back, holding out her hand as if she wants to shake mine.
I’m confused but take her small hand in mine, knowing I will never let her go again.
“I thought I should introduce myself,” she says shyly.
“My name is Eve.”
The End .
Thank you for reading Nameless, I hope you enjoyed the story. If so I would love to hear your thoughts or opinions in the form of a review!
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