Ripple Effect

by Jerald, Tracey

  Josh opened his mouth to speak and then shut it without saying a word. He simply opened his arms. I walked into them, letting the warmth of his hug seep into my body. He pressed a kiss on top of my head and rocked me back and forth for a long time before whispering, “I’m going to love your baby, Libby.”

  “I already do.”

  And it’s true. Shifting the pillow to the side, I rub my hand up and down. “You’ll always be the piece of your father that I’ll cherish, little one. You have no idea how much you’ll be loved. Just knowing you’re a part of me is already giving me the strength I need. I know so many people would be questioning Fate right now, but I’m giving thanks for you in ways you can’t understand.” I’m about to say more when I hear my cell phone ring.

  Sliding from where I’m sitting, I walk over to the entranceway and grab it. Cal Calling. For the first time since our anniversary, I debate picking it up. There’s an urge to share this news with him, but a wry curve twists my lips. Somehow, he’d yank me off that plane, and I wouldn’t get the time I need on the open ocean to get my head together.

  Biting my lip, I don’t decline the call. I let it go to voicemail. Maybe later, I’ll actually listen to it instead of deleting it. But even though my attorney would tell me I’m about to weaken my position, he doesn’t know what I do. And the life of our child supersedes my bitterness. I don’t care if it kills me, I won’t let this precious child know an ounce of hatred between its father and me.

  I pull up my text app and quickly type out, I’m sorry I missed your call. I’m on my way out of town.

  Cal’s response is instantaneous. That’s okay. If I’d known, I would have waited on your gift.

  It’s fine. I left him with Josh for him to begin house training. I add a swirling emoji at the end and press Send.

  Cal types, LOL. I’m sure he appreciates that.

  My thumbs hesitate. It was sweet, Cal. Thank you. I always wanted a dog.

  I know. We should have got one before now. There’s a pause before, I miss you, Libs. Every moment of every day. My eyes close in pain when I read the words.

  I miss everything, I admit. I continue to type, But I also can’t forget.

  Libby, there’s so much you need to know.

  Josh indicated as much.

  Can we talk. Please?

  I’ll be gone a few weeks. I need to go. There’s too much here clogging my head. Wetness stings my eyes as I press Send.

  Just promise me you’ll hear me out. Please. That’s all I’m asking.

  I hear the toot of the horn outside. The car’s here to drive me to the airport. Realizing my time’s up, that I need to leave this here for now, I type, When I come back. I have to go. Because I know Cal and I have a great deal to discuss.

  And not just about what happened to end our life together, but about the life we managed to start without intending to.

  I slip my phone in my pocket just as the doorbell rings. I open it. “Yes?”

  “Mrs. Sullivan?”

  “Yes?” I repeat.

  “I’m Andrew with McNeal’s Transportation. I’m here to take you to the airport.” He does a courtly little nod of his head. “I’ll be happy to talk your bags.”

  I open the door wider. “Just the two large ones, please. I’ll get my carry-on.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The tip of his head again. I ignore the buzzing in my pocket while Andrew carries my bags outside. I ignore it while I get settled into the back of the black town car. I finally can’t ignore it when he puts the car in gear as we pull out of the drive.

  Please be careful.

  Tell me you left your itinerary with someone?

  You’re precious to me, baby.

  I will always be yours, Libby. Just yours.

  I send a quick text to my brother to remind him of my email with my trip information. Then I close down my phone and let the tears I swore I wouldn’t allow to come. With a hand pressed to my stomach, I attribute it to hormones which I’m sure will be flaring up quite a bit over the next few weeks.

  “Why did this happen this way?” I whisper aloud.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Sullivan? Did you say something?” Andrew asks.

  “Sorry, nothing.” At least nothing that I haven’t asked myself in the last few days a million times.

  61

  Elizabeth

  Year Six - Five Years Ago from Present Day – October 19 1400 Hours GMT

  After a seventeen-hour flight, multiple layovers, and where I briefly debated driving from Madrid to Malaga, I’m finally being escorted on board the Sea Force. My legs are trembling. I attribute it to the combination of getting my sea legs as well as the overwhelming beauty of my home away from home for the next two weeks.

  An older, dashing man with an Italian accent captures my hand. “Welcome aboard, Signora Sullivan. It is our pleasure to have you aboard the Sea Force. I am Alessio, your cabin steward. Please allow me to escort you to your suite.” He holds out a courtly elbow, which I slip my fingers into.

  “Thank you so much,” I say. “The ship is magnificent.” My head keeps swiveling from side to side. I gasp aloud as Alessio walks us through the gallery. Sparkling gems glint under carefully lit glass cases. Well-recognized paintings are arranged beautifully on the walls. “Oh, my goodness. What do you look at first?” I wonder aloud as I turn to take it all in.

  Alessio gives a rough laugh. “The most priceless object in the room, of course.” When I spin to see which of the many items he’s referring to, I end up blushing hotly.

  His dark eyes are fascinated on me hungrily.

  I’m uncomfortable beneath his direct perusal. Not only am I finally at a point where I might be willing to listen to my husband’s explanations, our child rests under my heart. Even if I were interested, which I’m not, my own honor would demand I firmly put Cal in the past before I bring anyone or anything into my present.

  And Cal is too firmly locked in my present.

  Making my way toward the exit, I offer a vague smile while wondering if it’s possible to get a different cabin steward. “I’m still adjusting to the time zone changes.” Not a lie since my pregnancy decided to drain my energy this morning when we landed. “Is there time for me to lie down before we depart?”

  Alessio nods slowly, understanding my unspoken rebuff. Holding out his arm, an arm I really have the urge to ignore but courtesy demands I take, he says, “Of course, signora. I’m terribly sorry. Let us not delay further in getting you to your suite.”

  Unspoken between us, the word alone hovers, but no mention of it is made. Instead, Alessio continues to give me a preliminary tour of the ship on the way to my suite.

  All I need are a few moments of blissful peace to just forget in the ripples of the sea. I’m not sure which it will be.

  * * *

  Many hours later, after we’ve set sail and participated in the mandatory evacuation drill, I’ve showered and changed into a sleeveless plum-colored wrap dress. My long hair is pulled back from my face to keep it out of my eyes as I walk along the deck admiring the setting sun.

  I texted Josh earlier to let him know I got on board. He told me that Darcy had already peed twice on his floor and Syd had trampled through it while “helping me clean it up. You owe me more than you know.”

  My response back was a bunch of laughing emojis. But just before I turned off my phone, I flipped to my text messages with Cal from the day before. The last two lines make me want to howl in pain while at the same time wish he was standing next to me.

  You’re precious to me, baby.

  I will always be yours, Libby. Just yours.

  Now that I have our little one to think of, am I thinking more clearly? Or is it that time and distance is starting to cause the immediate anguish to fade. I start to send him a picture from the boat when I realize I can’t bring Cal here. I need this time to make sense of what remains of my heart. And I refuse to apologize for taking the steps I needed to for protecting myself. No one said heartbreak
was fair. I found that out as my heart lay in pieces and I had to walk on them out the door.

  What Cal hasn’t realized is that it wasn’t just his world that was upended when I asked for the divorce; mine was affected more. Because in the little that remains in the aftermath of all the betrayals, some of which I suspect I haven’t even learned of yet, I have to find the courage to love myself again.

  And I fear that will never happen.

  * * *

  Dinner is traditional Spanish fare. While I long to taste the bounty of seafood, I wisely stay away and stick with the firewood chicken that is reminiscent of that cooked at Casa Botín according to our waiter. Its smoky, rich succulence falls off the bone and practically melts on my tongue. “Delicious,” I pronounce at first bite.

  I do indulge in a few bites of the traditional family-style paella served. Avoiding the seafood itself, I concentrate on the rice that is, quite simply, like taking a bite of the sea. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve never had better,” I say to the McCallisters sitting to my left—an older couple from Texas celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.

  Camille, the wife, agrees. “I normally don’t get the chance to dine out like this. It’s divine.”

  I take another bite and swallow, before responding. “Are there not many restaurants like this near where you live?”

  Her husband, Linc, guffaws. “Honey, if it doesn’t involve steak, I normally don’t eat it. But Cam wanted to do a trip like this her whole life.” He lifts her hand to her lips. “Who was I to refuse?”

  Ignoring the pang around my heart, I tell Camille, “You have a keeper.”

  Conversation flows back and forth around the table easily. Much of the talk is about Funchal, our first port that we’ll reach in two days.

  “Do you have any plans in port, Elizabeth?” Camille asks.

  Swallowing a bite of crème caramel, I reply, “I plan on exploring the Worker’s Market and the Sacred Art Museum. I own a design firm at home, so I’m fascinated by art. I’d love to be able to find local pieces to bring back to incorporate for my clients.”

  A gentleman, David, who’s traveling with his husband sitting across the table, asks, “Where’s home for you?” His British accent is absolutely droolworthy.

  I smile. “Charleston, South Carolina.”

  The two men look at each other and smile. “My sister used a firm there when she and her husband were redecorating their home in Atlanta. His company transferred them there, what was it, Matthew? Two years ago?” I shake my head. It would be too much of a coincidence if the lovely couple I took the job for ended up being related to the people across from me. “Diana said the firm did a fabulous job. Perhaps you’ve heard of them—Deja Vu?” He turns to his husband while I blush to the roots of my hair. “I always thought the name was clever. It’s memorable.”

  I finally find my voice. “Thank you. My grandmother used to say she’d always have these moments of déjà vu, whether it was running into someone she felt like she knew or living an experience she’d already had. She said listening to those moments was how she knew to be successful in business. So, I chose the name in her honor.”

  The two men gape at me. “It’s your firm,” David reiterates.

  I nod.

  He laughs. “Then if you weren’t taken through the antiquities room when you came on board, you must check it out. There’s plenty of items to tempt a designer of your caliber. But hands off the art nouveau vanity mirror. I have my eye on it.”

  “I can’t promise anything. I haven’t seen it yet since I was taken through the jewels room.” My lip curls slightly.

  Everyone laughs, especially Camille, who asks, “Baubles aren’t your thing, Elizabeth?”

  My left hand, which has been resting in my lap, clenches. “Not really, no. Just a few cherished pieces that were given to me over the years.” Like the wedding rings I haven’t worn in two months, I think to myself.

  “Well, if you don’t find anything to tempt you in that room, it’s highly unlikely you’ll ever be the kind of woman who will,” she proclaims.

  Linc mutters, “Can you teach that? If you can, maybe you’ll be a good influence for Camille on this trip and we can manage to put our children through college.”

  To change the focus off me, I ask, “How much is college these days?”

  Well, that sends Linc and the rest of our tablemates on a rant. Even I gasp when I hear that $30,000 is not unusual for a private college tuition. Per year. “That’s outrageous.”

  Linc gives me a look of sheer torment. “And we have four.”

  Camille hits him. “You enjoyed making them well enough.”

  I begin to choke on my dessert. But in the back of my mind are a million questions like, how did you make it this far? Did you ever want to give up?

  Did you ever doubt your love was strong enough to make it?

  I, of course, don’t ask them. Instead, when dinner is finished, I wander up on deck for a bit. I stare at the stars for a few. I wander around the deck chairs that I’m certain will be filled with bodies trying to bask in the rays of the sun. And finally, I stand at the rail near the front of the ship and watch as the boat breaks through the waves of the water, uncaring of the ripples it leaves in its wake.

  It’s forging a new path, just like I need to.

  With that, I head down to my suite as exhaustion overtakes me.

  62

  Elizabeth

  Year Six - Five Years Ago from Present Day – October 22 1549 Hours GMT

  I’ve taken so many pictures at the Sacred Art Museum, I think my finger might be permanently crooked. But there’s a wide smile on my face as I board the Sea Force. I’m so inspired by the Flemish art section, the size and composition of which I’ve never seen before, as well as the vast collection of sculptures, mainly from Mechelen and Antwerp.

  In my mind, my sketchbook is already in my hand as I show my sea pass and identification to gain access to the ship. I think the tile work would look astounding in the bathroom display, I muse to myself as I slide my bag onto the conveyor belt to be x-rayed. Then if I… I slam into someone in front of me. “Oh, excuse me. I’m so sorry!” My eyes widen when I meet Alessio’s amused eyes.

  “Ah, Signora Sullivan. You have daydreams in your eyes. It’s quite lovely,” he muses. Stepping aside, he allows me to precede him through the security scanner.

  I’m so flustered, I don’t realize he must be right behind me because as soon as I pick up my first bag, he’s already handing me my second. “Here you are.”

  “Thank you.” Why on earth does this man disconcert me so greatly?

  He shrugs before giving me a smile that displays his dimples but doesn’t seem to reach those bottomless eyes. I turn away. “I’m sorry, I don’t know much about life at sea. Was today your day off? Did you have time to enjoy the city?” I drag out Nonna’s reminders to be polite no matter what the circumstance—you never know when it will come back to benefit you.

  He rubs his thumb against his lower lip. “You are unique, signora. Are you aware of that?”

  I step back. “Excuse me?”

  “There are not many in your elevated position as a guest on a vessel such as this who would ask a question about a crew member. Even as we stand here, you see how many I serve who don’t acknowledge me.”

  I shrug, growing more uncomfortable by the minute but feeling trapped into saying something. “I can’t speak for them, only myself.”

  He nods, as if making a decision before answering. “I did have a few hours of shore leave. I had just enough time to run a few errands.”

  “Well, I hope your day worked out as planned, then.”

  I start to make my way to the elevator bank when I hear him say behind me, “It was. It may just need a few small adjustments.”

  Why I feel like I need a sweater or a warm drink as a result of the chill that races through me after that comment, I don’t know. I just offer Alessio a polite smile as I s
tep into the elevator, anxious to get back to the sanctity of my room.

  When I do, I toss my bags onto my bed. I grab my sketchbook and head out onto my balcony. Slowly, I sit in the lounge chair to relax. I flip to the last page and lay the tip of my pencil to the paper. As I take in the terra-cotta roofs of Funchal, my hand begins to capture vignettes of the details and scale of the artwork I saw today. I make notes in the margins of the colors and textures that grabbed my focus.

  After an hour of doing this, I flip the page. Deliberately, I open the door to all of the pain. I draw a man with his head lowered to a beautiful woman with curly hair. His face has just lifted from hers, and there’s a smile on his face.

  My heart aches when I study the image I drew. There’s a closeness between them, something indescribable I never picked up on before that moment. As the familiar pang begins battering my heart again, I drop my hand to my stomach. We’re forever linked now. I have to deal with what I saw and process it. Forcing myself to look down, I study the image of Cal and Iris I drew. What else was hiding right before my eyes all these years we were married?

  The pain of realizing I was lied to prevents me from listening with an open heart to Cal now. But if I’m honest, it’s not just because of this; Cal and I never had the level of open communications we should have. If there was something that needed to be said, we said it. We never held back when it came to all of the important things, but maybe, and this makes my chest want to explode, Iris could get him to say the little nothings, the things he needed to say but didn’t know how.