Caught Up In Raine

by L. G. O'Connor

  I feel Karen’s hand on my shoulder and look up. She hunches down next to my desk, so that we’re at eye level. “Did something happen with your girlfriend yesterday?” she asks. I’m touched by her concern. My emotions are so raw right now that any kindness shoots straight to my soul.

  I nod, and say the words. “We broke up.”

  Her eyes are warm. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Can you get me a new life?” I ask, and let out a sarcastic laugh. I feel bad for being an ass and shake my head. “Just kidding.”

  In truth, I’m only half joking. My words hit me hard. I can’t go back to my life before Jillian, and I can’t live with the constant reminder of what I lost. I’m sick of loss, I’ve had enough. I need a new life. I need to cut myself off from Jillian and the massive vortex of pain that threatens to pull me under and drown me.

  Karen stands, and gives me a sad smile. “Maybe not, but I know what it’s like to want to disappear after a bad breakup. Let me know if you think of anything.”

  I size her up and blow out a breath. “I’m looking for a place to live. You wouldn’t happen to know of any place, would you?”

  Her lips turn up in a smile. “Ironic, but I think I can help you there. How do you feel about Brooklyn?”

  My eyebrows rise, and I give her a pained smile. “Sounds like as good of a place as any.”

  “My brother is a doctor, and he’s looking for a roommate. Want me to set up a meeting?”

  “Can I see it today? I’m kind of in desperate need of someplace to live,” I say, feeling my spirits lift.

  Her face brightens. “I have a key. I’ll give him a call and see if he minds my showing it.”

  My face darkens. “One favor?”

  “Sure, what is it?”

  “No one can know,” I say. “If I move in with him, you can’t tell anyone. Agreed?”

  Her smile transforms into understanding. “Agreed.”

  “Shake on it?” I say, holding out my hand.

  Hers is soft and warm in mine, but it’s not Jillian’s. It will be a while before I’m able to touch another woman without it feeling foreign and unnatural. I ache with loneliness at the thought.

  I release a breath and start my laptop.

  “Raine, how badly do want to start over?” Karen asks from her desk.

  Badly enough that I want to hide and lick my wounds in peace. “Real bad.”

  “If you’re serious, I can show you a few things right now,” she says.

  “Like what?”

  “Do you have a Facebook account?” she asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “Delete it,” she says.

  My eyes widen. “Seriously?”

  She arches her brow and gives me a pointed look. “Seriously, and don’t stop there. Delete everything.”

  “Wow. I’ll think about it. Thanks.”

  The rest of the day carries me along in a painful blur.

  When I get back to Morristown to pick up my packed truck, my intention is to leave and to not come back until the ache in my chest dies, which could be never. Before I go, I walk up to the Green in the center of town. Decorated and lit for Christmas, it taunts me now with loneliness rather than filling me with joy. I give the town one last look. My gaze falls on the church across the street. There’s one more thing I have to do.

  Silently, I enter the chapel and head for the candles flickering along the side wall. I light one and kneel in front of the dancing flames. I offer my prayer in Swedish over the hard lump in my throat.

  “Mamma, please take care of my child until I can join you both. I love you.”

  By midnight, I have a new place to live and I’ve virtually dropped off the grid. For better or for worse, I have a chance to reinvent myself without Jillian. And I’ll do that . . . right after I learn how to breathe again.

  Chapter 42

  Jillian

  I PULL INTO THE empty garage in Chatham. Almost twenty-four hours has passed since Raine stormed out of the beach house. He hasn’t returned any of my phone calls or my texts, and I don’t blame him. I launched a live grenade into our relationship and blew it up.

  When I walk into the kitchen and see the garage door opener and the credit card used for our groceries lying on the island, I know I won’t find any evidence of him left in the house. Robotically, I walk toward Robert’s office. The portrait is gone. I continue on to the front door. His keys are lying on the floor where they fell when he shoved them through the mail slot before he left, knowing he wasn’t coming back.

  I hug myself and sink down onto the floor, unable to stop the emptiness from engulfing me. Sobs rise from my lungs and break free, echoing off the walls. The house is hollow without Raine.

  I’m not sure how long I stay on the floor in the foyer, only that daylight has fled and I’m enveloped in darkness when I finally decide to move.

  After a trip to the kitchen for some crackers and seltzer, I settle into my office and return to the world of Becca and Drew. There’s no comfort there. Once I became a protagonist in my own life, my creative energy gravitated to Raine, leaving my imaginary world lifeless. I sense Becca and Drew’s resentment. They’ve barely spoken to me in two months. I’ve been left to force their movements on the page—one painful word at a time. Even my diaries no longer give me comfort.

  I stare at the laptop screen with my fingers hovering motionless over the keyboard, unsure where to start. My final-pass revisions need to be done for Brigitte by Friday, if I don’t self-combust before then. I can clearly distinguish the chapters written pre-Raine, and those written after. More accurately, I can distinguish when I stopped seeing Drew inside of Raine. The day he became his own person in my eyes and I fell in love with him.

  My cell phone trills next to me and I flinch.

  “Hi, B,” I say, suppressing a sniffle.

  “I have great news!” she says.

  “Really?” I say flatly. She could tell me I’ve won the Pulitzer Prize for Literature right now and I wouldn’t care.

  “It’s a done deal! The publisher approved one of Raine’s covers for Twisted Up in Drew. As a matter of fact, they all tested well, and they’d like to add him to their list of freelancers.”

  “That’s great,” I squeak out, and burst into tears.

  “Oh, my God, what’s the matter?”

  I can’t speak, instead I sob into the phone.

  “I’m coming over,” she says with alarm.

  “No! Really, that’s not necessary,” I say through my tears, still wanting to be alone with this. The last thing I need is to rehash the last day and a half. I’m not ready. I might never be.

  “Then start talking or I’m grabbing my car keys,” she says.

  “Raine left. We broke up.” That should be enough to start. “I just need some more time to process it all before I’m ready to talk about it without melting into hysteria. Can you give me a few days?”

  “Oh, Jillian. I’m so sorry, honey. Please tell me if there’s anything I can do.”

  I hear the sympathy in her voice. I’ve been her shoulder to cry on for almost twenty-five years, and she’s been mine. But I can’t go there yet without spilling the rest of the story. That’s the part I can’t share with her right now.

  “I can still come on Saturday . . . without Richard,” she says. We had plans for the four of us to finally get together after all the craziness of the last few months—my first time meeting Richard, and hers meeting Raine.

  “Maybe. Let’s play it by ear,” I say after regaining some control. “Thanks for everything, B. I mean it.”

  “Call me tomorrow?”

  “I’ll try.” That’s all I can promise.

  A day of non-stop revisions interwoven with non-stop grief has left me ragged. I crawl into bed. After a moment, I slide over onto Raine’s side. When I reach under his pillow to hug it closer, my fingers touch a swath of cotton and my heart skips a beat. I pull it out. It’s the T-shirt he kept there in ca
se he got cold during the night. He’s a thrasher when he sleeps, routinely waking up without any covers on his side of the bed. I close my eyes, press it to my nose, and inhale. The heady scent from the base of his neck fills my senses, and for a moment I imagine him next to me.

  I lay the shirt next to my face and drift off into an exhausted and fitful sleep.

  “Wan-ted . . .” Drew sings Bon Jovi in perfect tenor. I join in with my less than perfect alto. My hand taps on the steering wheel in time with the music as we sit at the red light. The light turns green. My foot presses the accelerator. The sun glare makes me squint, and for a moment I drive blinded by the sun.

  My body is thrown sideways before the seat belt locks and sinks painfully into my side. My world spins with the speed of the Tilt-a-Whirl ride on the boardwalk. A deafening crash. The sound of twisted metal and squealing tires tears through the air. My scream is lost somewhere inside my burning lungs. The airbag deploys in my face and pins me to the seat.

  I think I black out. Then there’s nothing but silence. My eyes flutter open, and I cover them to protect them from the bright whiteness.

  “Uncover your eyes, Jillian,” whispers a familiar voice.

  I take my hand away and let my eyes adjust. I’m sitting in the wreck with my seat belt on and the deflated air bag in front of me. The hood of the car is hissing with steam, but the seat next to me is empty. I stare at it in confusion. The other car is wrapped around mine. I take in the scene. There’s silence and a lack of movement.

  The driver’s door cracks open next to me. Drew stands on the other side, backlit by a radiant light with his tawny hair loose at his shoulders. It’s so bright that I have to narrow my eyes to slits. He reaches in. “Give me your hand, Jillian.”

  “What happened?” I’m relieved that he got out unharmed. I unbuckle my seatbelt, and take his hand.

  He shrugs and smiles. “Exactly what was supposed to.”

  I let him pull me to my feet. Pain shoots through my ribs as he leads me to the curb and my eyes adjust. “I’m sorry, Drew. I didn’t see the other car. I never meant to . . .” Then I remember he’s dead, and I gasp. Tears spring to my eyes.

  “Shh.” He tips my chin up so that I can stare into his bright blue eyes. “Can you do something for me?”

  I choke back a sob and nod. He brushes a lock of my hair behind my ear. “Forgive yourself,” he whispers, and pulls me into his arms—strong, sure, and familiar—yet different from Raine’s. My shoulders shake against him as I weep into the soft cotton of his shirt.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” I say.

  “I know, baby,” he says softly, and his voice sounds like Raine’s. “But this wasn’t your fault. Stop punishing yourself.”

  “Wha—what?” I sputter.

  “Don’t be afraid to let go,” he whispers into my hair.

  I clutch him tighter. “Am I keeping you here?”

  “No, baby. You’re keeping yourself here.”

  I think about what he says, and wonder if he’s right. “But I was driving,” I say.

  Pulling away, he takes my hand, places it on his heart, and shakes his head. “It would’ve happened anyway.”

  I stare at him, stunned, and absorb the weight of his words.

  “Can you do something else for me?” he asks.

  “Anything.”

  He takes my hand from his heart and place it on my stomach, covering it with his. “Don’t be afraid to accept the gift you’ve been given.”

  As if to prove the point, there’s a premature kick inside of me . . . my baby . . . Raine’s baby.

  My eyes connect with his, and I nod, fighting back another sob.

  He smiles and kisses me on the nose. “Live your best life, Jillian. The one I couldn’t give you . . . promise me.”

  “I promise,” I whisper, and he takes me into his arms one last time.

  I wake up with Raine’s T-shirt underneath my cheek, soaked with tears, and my hand clutching my abdomen. I’m not sure what to make of the dream, but I believe in God and Heaven so I accept the possibility of divine intervention. If nothing else, I have a sense of closure I never expected, and with it, a sense of peace.

  “Thank you, Drew,” I whisper as the memory of his touch fades.

  All I know is that I have a lot to think about, and I may finally understand what I’ve been struggling with all of these years.

  I never left the car.

  Denying myself true happiness, and the things I could’ve had with Drew, was the payment I exacted from myself to ease the guilt.

  I think about Raine's baby inside me, and the sense of panic is gone. A smile works its way onto my lips. Maybe I can do this after all. But there’s only one way to find out.

  I need to call Raine and try to work this out. I dial his cell phone with shaky fingers. It picks up on the second ring.

  “The number you have dialed is no longer in service.”

  Chapter 43

  Jillian

  “HI, DECLAN,” I say, and take a seat at the bar. I hope my makeup effectively hides my puffy eyes.

  “Ah, Jillian. How’re ya keeping, darlin’?” he asks warmly with sympathy in his green eyes. I take it as a sign that he has a hint of what’s happened. “What can I get fer ya today?”

  “A club soda.”

  He takes a glass, presses a button on the tap to fill it, and then perches a lime on the rim before handing it to me.

  “Have you seen Raine?” I ask, trying to keep the desperation from my voice.

  Declan releases a breath, and leans across the bar. “I’m guessing yer question has to do with yer tiff on Monday evening?”

  Nodding, I fight to control my rising panic and blurt, “He disconnected his phone, shut down his email address, quit his internship. He even deleted his Facebook account. He’s disappeared, and I really need to find him.” I squeeze my hands around the cool, wet glass to center myself.

  “I wish I had some better news, Jillian. But I don’t. All I can tell you is he walked in Tuesday night to pick up the keys to his truck, and then he quit. Said he was going away. That he needed to start over. He refused to tell me anything else because he knew I’d tell ya. If it matters, I encouraged him to go home and fix whatever it is that’s broken. Yer the best thing that’s ever happened to Mac. I mean that sincerely.”

  My lips turn up into a pained smile. “Thanks, Declan. I guess I’m too late.” My voice comes out breathless and shallow.

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know what happened between the pair of ye, but I know he loves you more than himself. He’s off licking his wounds. Give him some time, and he’ll see the error of his ways.”

  Tears well in my eyes for the hundredth time in forty-eight hours. “I’m not sure, Declan. He thinks I did something unforgivable, and I let him think he was right.”

  He gives me a quizzical look. “But I’m takin’ it that you didn’t really do it?”

  A hot drop rolls down my cheek. “No, I didn’t. I was afraid, so I let him believe something that wasn’t true.”

  He shakes his head and takes my hand. “I’m terribly sorry, darlin’. If I see him again, I’ll gladly deliver yer message.”

  “Thanks.” I pull out a five dollar bill and lay it on the bar.

  Declan pushes it away. “Yer money’s no good here, Jillian. Yer family. It’s on the house.”

  I blink away more tears as he walks away.

  I head home after I pick up my prenatal vitamins and some take-out from Taco Truck. I’m craving Mexican today. Probably a lousy idea I’ll pay for later. My stomach is still empty from this morning’s daily purge. Over the past few days, I’ve noticed I’m better by lunchtime.

  I turn on my phone and it chimes with Kitty’s fifth voicemail. I can no longer avoid her, so I send her a text.

  K, Raine and I had a small disagreement. Please don’t worry. Frantically working toward my deadline. Call you this weekend when I’m done?

  I breathe a sigh of relief when
she replies.

  Okay, I understand. Love you. K

  By three o’clock, I’m frantic. I don’t know what else I can do to find Raine, short of asking John to use his contacts to hunt him down. Raine’s words haunt me: “You’re dead to me, Jillian.” Still, I didn’t expect him to do something this extreme to hide from me.

  I pace in my office with my hand glued to my belly, going over the last few days in a continuous loop. Drew’s words come back to me, and I wonder if my best life actually includes Raine. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it only includes our baby. The only piece of him that I’ll ever be allowed to keep. But the fact that he’s out in the world thinking that I betrayed him and killed our child is unfair to him. Needless hurt he doesn’t deserve. Even if he no longer loves me or wants to be with me, he needs to know our child lives.

  I drop down onto the couch, rest my head in my hands, and pray for inspiration. I wait, and nothing comes. Empty of ideas, I move to my desk. I still have a job to do. Commitments to uphold. I power up my laptop and resume the edits on my manuscript, jumping to the section where I left off. It’s the love scene that Raine thought set “unrealistic expectations for women.” Our first night at the beach house comes rushing back: the residual traces of bruising on Raine’s face as he studies my pages with focused concentration, and my horrified reaction when he bursts out laughing, followed by his copious note taking.

  So much has happened since that night. Little did I know then that Raine’s “skills” would surpass Drew’s in my imagined love scenes.

  Rummaging through my files, I find the pages with his handwriting. I smile in spite of myself as I pull them out and reread his comments. My eyes home in on one line:

  This would be soooooooo much hotter with an older woman and a younger guy. Don't you think?

  I freeze. Oh, my God . . . could it be that simple?

  Excitement wells up inside me. “Thank you, sweetheart,” I mumble. I hit SAVE on Twisted Up in Drew, and open a new file.

  I write. My heart and soul pours through my fingers and onto the page.

  I cry, and I keep writing.

  Darkness fell hours ago.