by Tina Martin
He drops his head in my lap and I dab my eyes with the backside of my hand. Then I stroke his soft hair. “Wyatt.” I call out to him softly.
He looks up at me. He’s a mess. He looks like he’s about to simply lose it all together. His eyes are sad, his face remains flushed. His lips begin to quiver. He opens them just slightly as if he’s going to say something but nothing comes out. Then, after trying again, he says, “We lost ten years, angel.” His voice is sad. Broken. “We lost ten years. How do we get that back, Geneva? ”
I wrap my arms tight around his neck, hold him close to me and respond, “We can only move forward Wyatt. We have each other now, and I promise that I’ll never leave you again.”
He doesn’t respond. I want to make sure he hears me – make sure he knows that I mean what I say. So I loosen my arms from around his neck and take a good look at him, holding his face in my hands. He’s still sad. Broken.
“Wyatt?”
“Yes, baby?”
“I will never leave you again.”
Like the sun that suddenly peeps out on a cloudy day, he smiles. That offers me a little relief. Then he stands, tells me that he needs some time to think and that he’ll be back in a short while. I don’t want him to go. I need him to stay, but I know he needs this time to process everything.
* * *
While he’s away, I stand in the shower, replaying his mother’s apology over and over again. I never thought I’d get an apology from her, not after the way she came at me in the mall that day. And after talking with her, I realize that she never told Wyatt’s dad any of it. He was completely in the dark about everything.
When I’m out of the shower, I slip into a comfortable pair of sea green, silk pajamas with the matching top, then re-watch the DVD that my father recorded for me. The events of the day – breaking up with my fiancé, telling Wyatt what his mother did to me and then having her apologize to me – it all seems like it was a part of a plan. And then I begin to think that, if my father never died, none of this would’ve happened. I would still be in Atlanta, in a loveless relationship, struggling to make ends meet, while trying to run a failing business.
Everything happens for a reason...
Was my father’s death the reason my life was finally coming together for me? I hate to think about it that way, but it feels like his death has triggered subsequent events in my life to make me a happier person. Events that actually jump-started my life in a positive way.
Feeling reminiscent, I run upstairs, slide socks onto my feet, step into my bedroom slippers and grab a jacket. Once I zip it up, I take a blanket, my thick comforter and a pillow then I head outside, to the stables. Climbing the ladder, I finally reach the loft, then spread out the comforter, folding it over me while my head rests on a pillow.
It’s quiet. Cold.
I never thought I’d do this again. Even though I came up here with Wyatt a while ago, this is the first time I’ve made the trip up here alone. I lie here and think...wonder if I will feel all those same feelings I felt when I was using this spot as a hideaway from my father. But strangely, I don’t feel anything, well besides a draft of cold air against my face. Other than that, I feel okay. That does not mean that I forgot everything that has happened to me – everything that my father did to me. It just means that I’m okay – that I survived it. It was a storm in my life and I weathered it. I’m the lucky one.
CHAPTER 31
“Geneva!”
I wake up to the sound of Wyatt’s panicky voice knocking against my ear, his hands gently rocking me back and forth. I slowly open my eyes, look up at him and say, “Wyatt, what’s wrong?”
“What are you doing up here?”
“Hunh?”
“Geneva, look at me,” he says. “What are you doing up there? Gosh, I was so worried about you. Jeez, baby. Don’t scare me like that.”
“I...I just came up here...I didn’t plan on falling asleep, Wyatt. I just—”
Before I can finish offering up my explanation, he kisses me. I feel his calloused hands against my face. Then I feel him lower himself on top of me like the blanket I need right now, but I’d much prefer his body over a blanket any day. He kisses me briefly and then, we go back inside the house.
Now we’re lying under the covers, my face buried in his chest as he holds me in his strong arms. For the longest time, we don’t say anything to each other. We’re two souls lost in our own silence, thinking about the love we just made – love that neither one of us has never, and will never experience outside of each other. Only we can make this kind of spontaneous combustion.
“Geneva.”
“Yes?” I say, leaving the crest of his chest so that I can look into his eyes.
“I love you.”
I smile. “I love you too, Wyatt.”
“We lost ten years, and just so you know, I don’t intend on losing anymore.”
“Me either.”
He sends his slender lips to my forehead and says, “I wish you would’ve told me what my mother did to you. She’s always been one of those protective, overbearing mothers. She thought she was doing what was best for me, but what she actually did was rip my heart out of my chest. I won’t let anything like that happen to us again.”
I snuggle back into his chest, inhaling a deep intake of his scent. I find his hand and interlock our fingers. “Wyatt?”
“Yes, angel?”
“What did you do with my ring?”
“I have it.”
“And my locket?”
“Got that, too. And I’m sorry for snatching it the way I did.”
“It’s okay,” I say then kiss his chest. “I remember when I bought it...”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yep. I wanted something to keep that ring close to my heart, and it was perfect, because I could also fit a little picture of my mom in there, though it’s faded now. Anyway, I’ve worn it every single day. And now, I’m lying here with you, my wonderful husband, listening to the soft thumps of your heartbeat against my face. And it’s the best feeling in the world.”
“No, you in my arms is the best feeling in the world.”
I close my eyes and rest, losing consciousness in his arms.
CHAPTER 32
Wyatt is gone when I get up in the morning. I thought he was in the kitchen, but once I confirmed he wasn’t there, I peeped out of a window facing the front yard to see that his jeep isn’t in the driveway. I call his cell. When I don’t get an answer, I leave a message.
I proceed with taking a shower. I get dressed, slide into a red sweater, and a pair of black jeans then brush my hair into a ponytail. I hear my phone ringing from the nightstand. I run to get it, thinking it may be Wyatt. I feel a twinge of disappointment when I see that it’s not Wyatt at all. It’s Mr. Price calling.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Geneva...how are you this morning?”
“I’m okay. How are you?”
“I’m well.”
“What can I do for you, Mr. Price?”
“Well, I need you to come by my office this morning.”
“Okay. May I ask why?”
“I’ll explain everything when you arrive.”
“Uh...um, okay...will be there shortly, then.”
When I’m off the phone with him, I attempt to call Wyatt again, but still, I don’t get an answer. I leave him a message to let him know that I’m heading over to Mr. Price’s office. Then I tell him that we could meet for lunch later.
* * *
At Mr. Price’s office now, I watch him walk in with a stack of folders. He’s dressed sharp, as he’s always dressed, and sits at the head of the table – where he always sits.
“Good to see you, Geneva.”
“You as well, Mr. Price.”
“I wanted to bring something to your attention this morning. Well, actually, your father wanted me to do this.”
I sit up straight in my chair and say, “What is it?”
“Well, in hi
s last wishes for you, your father added in an additional option?”
“An additional option?”
“Yes. It says here, if you made it to the two-month mark of living in his home, then I am to present you with this option.”
I frown and look at the man. Is he the crazy one here, or could I blame this on my father? “So what is...this...option?”
“Well, Alfred wanted you to have the option to leave the home right now.”
“Right now?”
“Yes, Geneva. Right now.”
“But it hasn’t even been three months yet,” I say, sounding nervous. It occurs to me that I haven’t even had a chance to discuss with Wyatt if we would live here in Winston-Salem, or if he wanted to come back to Atlanta with me – we didn’t have a chance to get that far in our discussions with each other. We’d been too busy making love every time our gazes connected. Every time he touched me. “I was supposed to stay for three months.”
“Yes, but Alfred wanted you to have this option as well. I’m sorry, let me rephrase that...it’s not actually an option, per se. It’s more like a choice.”
“Okay. So what is this choice?”
He hands me a pen. “You can take the eight million right now, go back home to Atlanta and live happily ever after, but only if you sign this piece of paper.” He slides the paper in front of me.
I browse it over. “And what’s this?”
“The document to start your divorce proceedings from Mr. McDowell.”
My face contorts to a frown. “What?”
“The documents to—”
“Are you telling me that I have to divorce Wyatt in order to receive the inheritance?”
“Yes. That is what I’m telling you, Geneva. You can sign the paper and take the money, or you can choose to remain married. If you decide against the money, then it’ll all go to charity. Now, I’ll give you twenty-four hours to think it over—”
“That’s okay,” I say, interrupting him. I stand up and place the pen on the table. “There’s nothing for me to think over.”
“Are you sure about that, Geneva?”
“I am. I’m positive,” I say, heading for the door.
“And what if Wyatt isn’t so...positive?”
I stop in my tracks and turn around to look at him. “What do you mean?”
“Well, what if I offered Wyatt the same thing I’m offering you? Do you think he’d choose you over eight million dollars?”
I smile. “Yes, Mr. Price. He would choose me over eight million dollars. Enjoy the rest of your morning.” I say before exiting.
When I step out of his office, I call Wyatt again. No answer.
While I wait for a call from him, I call Stacey. I’m dying to fill her in with everything that has been going on and telling her about this ridiculousness I just had to go through with Mr. Price.
“Hey, girl,” she answers.
“Hi, Stacey.”
“So...what’s the latest?” she asks.
“Well, I finally took your advice and told Wyatt what his mother did.”
“Yes!” she shouts. “So how did it happen?”
“Well, you remember the other day when I told you that I broke it off with Darnell?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I didn’t go home immediately afterward. I stayed out for a while and didn’t get home until some time in the late afternoon. Wyatt was furious. He thought I’d slept with Darnell and we argued and...uh...it wasn’t pretty. That’s when I told him. He wanted to know why I left and I told him the truth. I couldn’t hold it in any longer, Stacey.”
“How did he react when you told him?”
“He was shocked. He looked like he didn’t believe me, at first, but once I told him the story of how his mother approached me, he knew it was the truth. So he left, went to get his parents and brought them back over to the house. His mother confessed everything...told me that she was sorry.”
“Oh my gosh. That must’ve been hard.”
“Girl...it was rough. I think Wyatt took it harder than me, though.”
“I bet.”
“And then Mr. Price called me in the office this morning, right...tells me that I don’t have to stay at my father’s house and could walk away with eight million dollars today, as long as I sign papers to initiate a divorce from Wyatt.”
“I know you laughed at him...”
“Sure did. Eight million dollars can’t compare to the love I feel for Wyatt. And I’m not stupid...I know with that kind of money, I could live comfortably and have enough to fulfill my dreams of being a successful business owner.”
“Right.”
“And then, get this...Mr. Price asked me if I thought Wyatt would take the money if he was given the same proposition. I said no, but—”
“But what?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been able to reach Wyatt at all this morning. He was already gone when I got out of bed.”
“So you think he took the money over you?”
“No. He wouldn’t do that to me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Well, you did hurt the man. But, for your sake, I hope this isn’t his way of getting back at you.”
“Gosh, Stacey. Now you’re scaring me,” I say, because I hadn’t thought about that as a possibility. What if this was payback for Wyatt? What if the time I spent with him was his way of making me fall in love with him again so that he could take off, leave me as hurt and heartbroken as he was. What if Stacey was right once again?
CHAPTER 33
In the morning, Wyatt is still not home and now, I’m worrying. Actually, I’m more nervous than I am worried. Last night, before I fell asleep, he sent me a text message, telling me that he was handling some things and that he would see me in the morning. Although I don’t want to think this way, I’m beginning to wonder if he does still resent me – if all of this was just punishment for me.
Even the way Mr. Price presented me with the offer seemed sneaky. He handed me a pen before he told me what it was that he wanted me to sign. Then he pushed the paper in front of me and told me about this choice I had to make. And how did my father know Wyatt and I were married? I didn’t tell him. I assumed he hadn’t known all those years. Maybe Wyatt told him. He did say that he used to have conversations with my father and help him out around the house. Maybe one day when they were talking about me, it came up.
A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. I quickly rush to it, open it and see two Caucasian men, about the same height as Wyatt, standing there in coats, jeans and boots, wearing cowboy hats.
The frown in my forehead is undeniable. “Hi. Can I help you?”
“Yes. We’re here to collect Mr. McDowell’s things?”
Like a glass bottle falling to its end on a paved road, I feel my heart shatter. For a moment, the room is spinning and I can’t stand up straight.
“Ma’am, ma’am,” one of the men say, gripping my arm.
I didn’t know I was falling until he caught me. He helps me over to the couch while the other man closes the door behind him.
“I don’t think I heard you correctly. Did you say you were here to collect Wyatt’s things?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why?”
“He’s moved back home, ma’am and sent us here to get the rest of his things.”
“Back home? So he’s not coming back here?”
“Uh...not that I’m aware of, ma’am.”
“Why?” I ask, although I know the reason why.
“He didn’t give me any details. He just wanted me to get his things.”
I hadn’t known I could get a migraine so quickly. In a way, I feel like I deserve this punishment. Like he should have taken the money and run, leaving me like I left him.
Still, I cry, sob and bury my face in my lap as I sit on the couch, listening to the men talking upstairs while they pack up Wyatt’s bedroom. I’m broken. Talk about being played...
&
nbsp; * * *
When they finally leave, I take my pity party upstairs to my bedroom where I really break down and wail. My heart heavier than a ton as I try to come to grips with what just happened. Then, after drying my tears, I begin to think about what I’ll do next.
First things first, I have to pack my suitcase and get out of this house so I can get back to Atlanta as quickly as possible. I’ve done all I needed to do here. Done all I can do.
My phone vibrates on the bed next to my opened suitcase and I’m so angry, I choose to ignore it. I don’t care who the caller is. I open a drawer, grab a handful of clothes and listen to it vibrate again. And again.
Exasperated, I pick it up to answer, but pause when I see who the caller is – Wyatt McDowell. I drop the phone back on the bed, deciding not to do this. I can’t stand the thought of listening to him taunt me, telling me how he’d planned this all along as a way to get back at me for hurting him.
I shake my head as more tears fall from my eyes. How could he do this to me? Even after we made love last night. Even after he told me that he loved me. That he didn’t want to lose any more time. That he wanted us to be together and now, he pulls something like this on me? I didn’t want to hear it. I refuse to hear it.
Now the doorbell is going insane, and by insane, I mean someone is at the front door, pressing the doorbell at regular intervals, nonstop, like a kid would. I know it’s not Wyatt, because if he decided to show his face here again, he has a key and can come and go as he pleases. So I descend the stairs, rush to the front door and open it. It’s his mother.
“Mrs. McDowell,” I say, wishing I’d looked in a mirror before answering the door. My eyes feel puffy, I’m not wearing any make up and she probably thinks I look hideous. “What are you doing here?”