The Color of a Christmas Miracle: A Standalone Contemporary Romance (The Color of Heaven Series)

by Julianne MacLean

  He had left me a phone message a few days after he broke the news to me about Wes and Angie. He had called to let me know that he’d accepted a consulting assignment in Munich, and he was leaving right away.

  “Not to sound like a cliché,” he said in the voicemail, “but I’m going to throw myself into my work.”

  I had recognized the pain in his voice, and I understood why he was leaving. He needed to escape this nightmare.

  Sometimes I wanted to escape it, too, and get out of this house where I was surrounded by all the things that Wes and I had bought together, and all the memories. It was impossible not to think of the betrayal, every single day.

  I never called Scott back, but I had sent him an email to let him know I understood.

  He emailed me back and asked if I would check on his house once a week to make sure no pipes had burst.

  I agreed and he dropped off a key. I wished him well at my front door, and hadn’t heard from him since.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Another month went by, and each new day was easier than the last. Eventually, I was able to let go of the fantasy that Wes would come crawling home to me and everything would go back to the way it was.

  The catalyst for that particular change in me was the arrival of papers from his lawyer, declaring us legally separated. According to family law in Nova Scotia, we had to be separated for a year before we could file for divorce, and Scott wanted to make it official.

  In an instant, I was wrenched out of my denial and thrust into a state of anger, where I decided there would never be any forgiveness for either of them. From that day forward, Wes and Angie were dead to me. I didn’t want to waste another second of my life agonizing over what they were doing together. I made a pact with myself that I would no longer care. I hoped they would stay in Toronto, so that I would never have to lay eyes on either of them again.

  I signed the papers.

  A few days later, I received a brief email from Scott one evening when Bev was working the night shift at the hospital. He wanted to let me know that he, too, had received separation papers from Angie’s lawyer. He just thought I should know.

  I sat down at my laptop and typed a reply:

  Dear Scott,

  Thanks so much for the message. It’s good to hear from you. I received separation papers as well, from Wes’s lawyer in Toronto. I wonder if it’s the same firm?

  I told him the name of it, and with that, I realized I was not quite as “over it” as I wanted to be, and I still had some grumbling to do. I also still craved information about their affair, because I knew so little about it.

  But at least I wasn’t daydreaming about a marital reconciliation. That ship—thank goodness—had sailed.

  I continued my message to Scott:

  Your house is fine. I’ve checked it every week, and I changed the lightbulb in the living room where you have the timer set up, after it didn’t come on one night. I’ll continue to keep an eye on things until you return.

  On that note, how is Germany? Are you drinking lots of German beer and doing the polka?

  I signed off and pressed send.

  Twenty minutes later, my email program chimed and I sat down with a hot cup of tea to read Scott’s reply.

  Dear Claire,

  Yes, indeed, the papers from Angie came from the same firm. Obviously that means they are still together, which I suppose is no surprise. I’ve not heard from Angie at all. She wouldn’t answer my calls at first, so I just stopped trying because it became degrading after a while.

  And Germany is good. The work keeps me occupied. I feel very far away from what happened, but I’m not sure if that’s a good thing. Sometimes it doesn’t seem real, and I imagine returning home, just like every other business trip, and Angie will pick me up at the airport and life will return to normal. It’s hard to believe that my house is empty right now. I imagine it will feel very cold when I come back.

  Also, I’ve been thinking about what happened, and I feel like I should apologize to you. First of all, I feel badly for not coming to you sooner with the information, and then for taking off and leaving you there to watch my house. All I wanted to do was escape the whole situation. But you’ve had to remain at your post, with the added chore of walking through my house once a week, to look at all of Angie’s things—the furniture she picked out and the clothes she left behind—and no doubt remember how we had all been such good friends in that house. Sometimes I think of us playing board games on our coffee table and I can’t believe what happened. But then I try not to think about it. I focus on work.

  Anyway, I’m sorry for rambling on and on. I’ll be back soon and I’ll bring you something cool from Germany. I don’t know what it will be yet. Is there anything you would like?

  That’s probably a strange question.

  All for now,

  Scott

  I chuckled when I came to the end of his email, took a sip of my tea, then began to type my reply.

  Hi again. You said you were coming home soon. Any idea when?

  And it’s really not necessary to bring me anything. I didn’t mind watching your house. (But I can’t lie. I did sometimes find it difficult to walk through there and revisit the good times we had, and to see Angie’s things. But it got easier after the first few times.)

  Now that I think about it, I wouldn’t say no to some European chocolates. Just sayin’.

  Claire

  PS. What time is it there? It’s supper time here.

  I surfed the web while I waited for his reply, although I stayed away from Facebook, because when Wes first left me, I had checked his page obsessively—again, craving information and answers. But neither he nor Angie had posted a single thing. No pictures, no status updates, nothing. It was as if they had both just dropped off the face of the earth.

  Eventually I stopped checking, and it felt better to remove that angst from my life.

  Scott replied five minutes later.

  Hi again. I should be home in a few weeks, by the end of April at the latest. And we are 5 hours ahead of you, so it’s 10 pm here.

  S.

  I had to admit I was disappointed that his reply was so brief and he didn’t ask any more questions that required me to write another note. It seemed appropriate to end the conversation, and I needed to take Leo outside for a quick walk, so I sent one last message:

  End of April. Cool. I will keep an eye on things here until then. Take care, and feel free to message me if you need a ride from the airport.

  C.

  I closed my laptop and walked away. It chimed as I was attaching Leo’s leash to his collar, so I hurried back to check it.

  Thanks Claire! I’ll be in touch. And please take care of yourself. I know it’s tough right now, but we’ll get through this. You’ll see.

  S.

  His words at the end were incredibly comforting, because they made me feel as if I weren’t completely alone in this. I was not the only casualty of Wes and Angie’s affair.

  Bev, of course, had been phenomenal, but she didn’t truly understand what I was going through, not like Scott did, because he was wounded, too. We were like two soldiers in the same trench who had been hit with shrapnel, and lived to tell about it. No one else in the world could ever truly understand what it was like. We were the only ones who knew.

  I typed another reply while Leo waited patiently by the door, tail wagging:

  Thank you, Scott. I really appreciate you saying that.

  Talk soon,

  C.

  There were no more messages after that, but I slept a little better that night. I kept thinking of those final words: We’ll get through this. You’ll see.

  For the first time, I believed that I would, and I began to accept that this was an end to one part of my life and the beginning of another. My future was unknown at this point, but at least there would be one, and surely it could only get better from here.

  I knocked on wood with that thought.

 
Chapter Twenty

  The following night around supper time, my laptop chimed again.

  I hurried to the desk in the living room and opened it to discover another email from Scott.

  Hi again. I just wanted to check in about that light bulb that went out in my living room. I couldn’t help but wonder if you were able to find a replacement in my house somewhere, or if you had to buy one or use one of your own. We keep them in the cupboard over the sink in the laundry room, so if it happens again, that’s where they are.

  Please reply. I feel like a cliché again. I’ve been playing solitaire every night. Help.

  Scott

  I chuckled and sat down at the desk.

  Hi. I’m here. I’m going to type you a longer message which might take a few minutes, but I wanted you to know it’s coming. Sit tight. Play a couple more hands…

  I pressed SEND, then I sat back and wondered what to write.

  He was playing solitaire. I had played it, too, in the early days after Wes left, and I knew exactly how Scott felt. Even the name of the game was depressing. So I began to type…

  Ah, Solitaire… My addiction and my savior for a while. I finally put a stop to it by going to the bookstore and browsing around one Sunday afternoon. I came home with an armful of books and I’ve been reading a lot since then. The good thing about reading a book is that you never feel guilty about the hours you spend on it, because when you finish, there’s a sense of accomplishment. I always feel like I’ve put another intellectual notch in my belt. I highly recommend it as an alternative to computer games.

  Claire

  I hit SEND.

  Scott’s reply came in five minutes later.

  Excellent advice. I used to be a huge reader, but I read less now because I’m always on my phone or laptop—which I do feel guilty about, because I end up reading news items or tweets, or watching cat videos, and there’s no sense of accomplishment in that! You’ve inspired me. I will go to the bookstore tomorrow and see what I can find in the English language. So what books have you been reading lately? Can you recommend anything good?

  Scott

  This was getting fun, because I loved talking about books, so I had no problem discharging the next message:

  Dear Scott,

  I’ve been reading all sorts of things—fiction and non-fiction. I started with some of the recent monster bestsellers, just to see what all the fuss was about. I read Gone Girl (very suspenseful and I recommend it if you haven’t seen the movie, because it’s better if you don’t know the ending). I found The Light Between Oceans a bit slow to get going, but the second half was terrific and I couldn’t put it down. I’d say the same thing about Room. I loved The Girl on the Train, but I had some friends who didn’t care for it because the main female character is so flawed. But it was a fascinating read if you can accept her with all of her issues, forgive her, and just go along for her crazy ride. Then I read the entire Harry Potter series because I am embarrassed to say I’d never read it before. Now I feel like a whole person.

  For non-fiction, I read a few self-help books…Eckhart Tolle and Wayne Dyer. I needed that. I also read a new edition of Stephen Hawking’s book A Brief History of Time which appealed to my science and math background. It contained a lot of physics, but I feel smarter now and proud of myself for getting through it. And Malcolm Gladwell is great. Try Outliers and The Tipping Point. You’ll really like those.

  Claire

  * * *

  Dear Claire,

  Thanks for these. I’ve read Gladwell’s articles in The New Yorker and I’ve heard great things about his books. I will give them a try. I might skip The Girl on the Train, however, because I’m not feeling terribly forgiving right now about women with flaws. I think I’m going through an angry phase. Doing too much thinking lately about Angie and all her issues, which kind of defeats the purpose of leaving the country and coming to Munich. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I think I should have stayed and faced it all.

  S.

  I read Scott’s message and felt a bit stunned by his candor. Up until this point, he hadn’t revealed much emotion to me, except for the initial apology for taking off and asking me to watch his house. Otherwise, he’d seemed to be handling it all pretty well—unlike me, who smashed cell phones and cried buckets of tears for weeks.

  Although…maybe he had smashed a few cell phones, too. In private.

  Dear Scott,

  I understand. I’m still pretty angry, too. What’s been the worst for me is not knowing any of the details of how this happened, and what started it, and when. It was such a shock when you told me they had run off together, and Wes was already gone so I couldn’t ask him any questions or demand to know the truth, or just shout at him. Then he refused to take my calls, which I’m assuming was for legal reasons, so that I would have as little ammunition as possible for the divorce. I just feel like I’m in the dark here, and sometimes I’m overcome with jealousy when I imagine them together. And jealousy and anger seem to go hand in hand. For my own sanity, like you, I try not to think about it, but it’s not easy when my imagination gets the better of me. Maybe if I knew the truth, I could stop inventing scenarios. What’s that saying? Curiosity killed the cat? Maybe I just need to let go of the desire to know all the gory details. Maybe that would be even more painful.

  * * *

  Dear Claire,

  The truth would definitely be painful, but I can’t help but think it would be better to just grit our teeth and bear it, otherwise we’ll remain in this limbo. I wish now that I hadn’t taken this job. That I had gotten in the car and chased after Angie, and had it out with her. I would tell her how foolish she was being, to assume that the grass would be greener elsewhere. And I’d ask her what she was searching for that she couldn’t find in our own marriage when I was the most forgiving and understanding husband on the face of the earth—although I have my suspicions. I’m like you. The suddenness of it all makes it hard to process.

  S.

  I sat back for a moment and chewed on my thumbnail. Adrenaline flared through my veins, and anger reared its head again—but not at Scott. His emails were like a cold drink of water after days of stumbling through the hot desert. I was devouring every word he wrote, and I wanted more.

  I sat forward and began typing…

  Did Angie ever tell you anything about their affair? You said you’ve been thinking about Angie’s “issues” lately. May I ask what those issues are? Because one of the things I wish I knew was which one of them started it, and considering how she lied to me… Had Angie ever cheated on you before? Or lied to you?

  I hit SEND, and waited. For a long moment, I sat there, staring at the computer screen, clicking the RECEIVE button repeatedly to check for a reply. Minutes passed by at a snail’s pace, and still, Scott did not answer, so I finally stood up and went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

  At last, my laptop chimed, and I rushed back to the desk with my mug.

  Hi again Claire,

  I don’t believe Angie ever cheated on me in the past, but after this, I’ll never really know. When we were first married, I used to travel a lot, which was a bone of contention between us, especially when she wanted to get pregnant and I was often away at the crucial time each month. It took us a long time to figure out that the problem wasn’t just my absence, but my sperm count. (I’m assuming she told you that we had fertility issues; she told me about yours). That’s what I meant when I said I had my suspicions. I can’t help but wonder if she was attracted to Wes because he could give her something I couldn’t.

  S.

  * * *

  Dear Scott,

  Please don’t blame yourself. She could have suggested a sperm donor instead of stealing another woman’s husband. Sorry, I’m still angry. But do you think she was the one who initiated it?

  (To be honest, I’ve had similar thoughts… That Wes was attracted to Angie for the same reason—because she could give him something I couldn’t. We ar
e two very different peas in a pod!)

  * * *

  Dear Claire,

  Yes, indeed, we are. And I wish I knew who initiated it, but I don’t. It could just as easily have been Wes, considering the issues you guys were having. Sorry, Claire, I don’t mean to be hurtful, but I think we need to be honest with ourselves. They were probably both frustrated with us, and that’s what started the intimacies and private conversations. They felt a need to commiserate.

  But that doesn’t excuse it. I’m just trying to put the puzzle pieces together. But truthfully…if I had to guess, I would bet it was Angie who started the conversations. She’s very good at getting people to open up to her, which is part of her appeal. The problem is that she uses that ability to get what she wants. She can be a brilliant manipulator. You’d think, after years of marriage, I would have been able to recognize it better. Sometimes I did, but not always, especially when I was on the receiving end of it.

  S.

  Reading those words made me feel sad for Scott, but at the same time, it was like a balm to my heart—to know that I was not alone in my anger toward Angie and her lack of integrity, and how she had manipulated me and charmed Wes.

  It felt good to hear these criticisms of her, yet I didn’t want to be the kind of woman who enjoys fueling her own hatred and negativity. Deep down, I wanted to forgive both of them so that I could let go of all the toxic jealousy and bitterness inside of me. I had come a long way, but it was impossible to completely forgive without a deeper understanding of Angie’s so-called issues. And Wes’s as well.

  I took a moment to gather my thoughts, then I began typing again.

  * * *

  You’re not being hurtful. I appreciate your honesty, and it’s not like I haven’t come to that conclusion myself—that Wes wanted a woman who could give him a child. It just pisses me off, because Wes and I had options. We were about to start IVF treatments, and I believe we could have been successful with that, if he hadn’t thrown in the towel so soon.