Love Redefined

by Delancey Stewart

  I put my head in my hands for a brief second and took a deep breath. I wasn’t going to let them see it. I wouldn’t give them anything to discuss. I was fine.

  “Dude.” Sam appeared in my doorway, arms crossed and a vague smile on his face like he was enjoying something about my misery.

  “What?” I said, pushing myself to sound light, normal. It was impossible. Sam drove me crazy on the best of days.

  “You look like shit.”

  “That’s really helpful, thanks.”

  “You gonna tell me what happened?”

  “Not really planning to, no.” I stood again. I couldn’t sit here in the office.

  “Status on the Inn?”

  “We’ll find out Monday.” I couldn’t imagine how that might turn out now—would Mike decide that nothing about Kings Grove fit into her “real life”? Was the Inn part of that? I’d allowed everyone here to get excited about the possibilities. Beyond my own selfish desire to win the business, and my more selfish desire to give Michaela and Finn Grayson a reason to spend time in Kings Grove, the Inn would be good for the village. It would be good for Palmer Construction, and it would be good for the Pipers, who were desperate to sell. Anger mixed with hurt in my chest and threatened to fog my brain completely. None of this was fair—not to me, not to Kings Grove. “I have to go,” I said, pushing past Sam and back into the lobby.

  Sam looked down at his watch. “You’ve been here five whole minutes,” he snapped. “I’m a little worried about you working these long hours.”

  “Sam,” Miranda’s soft voice carried a warning and her eyes were wide as I stepped to where she sat. “You okay, Chance?” She rose, and there was such a sympathetic look on her face, I nearly lost it, nearly sank into the chair by her desk and let her comfort me. But I didn’t.

  “I need the keys to the white Palmer truck.”

  Miranda dug in a desk drawer and then held the keys out for me. “Where are you heading?”

  I wasn’t entirely sure, but I had a good idea. “Just taking a couple days. I’ll be back Monday.”

  “Call me if you need me,” Sam said, his voice sincere for once—none of the constant sarcasm lining the words.

  I gave him a sharp nod, thanked Miranda and went outside, climbing into the Palmer truck and turning it down toward the valley.

  I let myself focus on pulling the wheel, riding the curves of the highway as it hugged the mountain on the way down. I pushed myself to surrender, to stop fighting every thought that went through my mind. It was part of the therapist’s recommendation after everything that happened with Rebecca—to learn to accept, to consider, instead of to fight. I couldn’t change anything, so any churn I allowed my mind was just wasted effort.

  Three hours later I was parked along a narrow road, surrounded by manicured lawns dotted with trees and flowers. And headstones. I took a deep breath and got out of the truck, picking up the pot of Gerbera Daisies I’d stopped to buy, and grabbing a few tools from behind the seat.

  Rebecca’s grave was well tended. I wasn’t the only one who came here to check on her—Rebecca had a sister nearby, and her family was a few hours’ drive away. They’d never been fond of me, and when Rebecca died, they hugged me goodbye in a way that told me that was it. I was a painful reminder of the end of her life—they wanted to focus on the other parts.

  As I stepped close to the polished headstone on her grave, I was glad to be the only one here now, and I stopped to one side, feeling strangely like I might be intruding.

  “Hey,” I whispered, sinking to my knees and putting down the things I carried next to the headstone.

  Rebecca Chapman. Beloved daughter. 1991 - 2015. Always loving. Always loved.

  The flowers I’d planted last time I’d been here were wilting and sad, and I spent a few minutes replacing them, digging out the old ones with the spade and pressing the soil up around the new ones. It was probably pointless—maintaining flowers in the hot central valley took daily work, not just monthly maintenance. But Gerberas were her favorite, and I felt better for seeing them bright and upright at least for a little while.

  I’d never been good at talking to this stone, had never felt like Rebecca was really here, listening. My belief system didn’t work that way, didn’t allow for a person’s spirit or consciousness to linger once their body was gone. I’d held her hand as she died, saw the life leave her body. I knew that what was here was just a reminder for the living—Rebecca had been gone two full years now. But this was a memorial to her, a place where I was allowed to remember, where it was acceptable to focus on the gaping sadness inside me.

  So I sat, letting memories of my fiancée roll through me, wrapping myself in the knowledge that there’d once been a time I’d loved so fully it had felt like my body would come apart with it.

  After a while, I couldn’t help but think about our final conversation. About the promise I’d made to the woman I loved.

  “Don’t be a cynic. Don’t let yourself believe there is only one opportunity for each of us because you know that’s not true. Let yourself love again, Chance. Do it for me. Let me go knowing I made your life better. Don’t let me leave thinking you’ll spend the rest of your life alone just because our love was so perfect you’ll never find anything like it again.” Her eyes had been bright with pain, her voice a shredded whisper.

  “How could I even think about loving anyone else?” I’d managed, my entire heart deflating and blackening as her life ebbed away.

  “Because that’s what life is about.” She’d closed her eyes for a long time then, and my pulse had accelerated with fear, I’d turned to call a nurse when she began talking again. “Let me go knowing that what we had added something wonderful to your life—don’t let me go believing I’ve taken with me any hope you have for ever finding happiness again. I don’t want that. I can’t take that from you.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t think about this now, I can’t even imagine—”

  Her grip on my hand tightened with a strength I hadn’t known she still had, and she resolutely commanded my full attention.

  “Promise me. Let our time together be one chapter in your life, let it be the thing that showed you what’s possible—how much you’re capable of loving someone.” She sank back into the bed, appearing to shrink, something leaving her deflated with the effort of those words. “Promise,” she whispered, her eyes blazed and I couldn’t look away.

  “I promise,” I said, leaning in to kiss her cheek, to feel the warmth of her next to me for as long as I could.

  Her mother and father had come in then, her sister pushing close on the other side of the bed, and Rebecca smiled once more at us, her eyes sweeping our faces before they closed the last time. And I left that room having made a promise I’d been sure I couldn’t keep—I would never love anyone like Rebecca. There would never be anyone else. Until I met Mike.

  Mike had changed everything I believed about myself. She’d shown me what it felt like to be part of something, part of a family. She reminded me how alone I’ve been for so long.

  And I knew she felt it too. I knew I wasn’t the only one feeling like what was happening between us was so good it had to be a fantasy, it had to be wrong. We were both taught for so long that unhappiness and solitude was our place in the world that neither of us could trust it when something wonderful came along and changed it. If I let Mike go without trying to show her that, without trying to show her that she deserved to be happy, then I’d be breaking my promise to Rebecca. And for the first time since the words had escaped my lips, I really meant them. I understood what she’d been trying to tell me, trying to ask of me.

  Loving Michaela Grayson wasn’t a betrayal of my love for Rebecca, it was a tribute to that love.

  I left Rebecca’s grave, dropping a kiss on my hand to leave on the gravestone and whispered to my first love, “Thank you.”

  I knew what I needed to do—I knew how to show Mike and Finn that our time together wasn’t a fantasy, it w
asn’t an escape from the real world that we both had to give up. The warmth and happiness we’d found together could become our real world—we just had to want it.

  Sam and Miranda’s house was quiet when I let myself in at six o’clock the next morning. I puttered around the kitchen, making eggs and pancakes, sausages and bacon, as my favorite show blared at a higher-than-necessary volume from the television in the corner.

  Sam stumbled down a half hour later, fire blazing from his eyes. “No,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Whatever this is, Chance, it’s way too fucking early for it. Go home. Take the baking people with you.”

  I grinned at him. “Nope. It’s time for work.”

  Sam glared at me. “It’s. Saturday. Asshole.”

  “Special project.” I put a steaming mug of coffee in front of him, feeling the maniacal smile on my face—a smile that covered the desperation screaming inside me. Please, it was shouting. Please help me.

  My brother sipped at his coffee quietly for a long minute. I knew he was thinking about things, about Mike and Finn, about what he knew of my feelings for them, which was probably more than I’d told him. He had Miranda now, and she was like an emotion-sniffing Bloodhound. I had no doubt she knew everything I felt—especially because she was also a bit of a gossip and I knew she chatted with Maddie, who definitely talked to Cam. The whole village probably knew I was in love with Michaela Grayson and her son Finn. Sam was a little slower when it came to figuring stuff out.

  “Tell me,” he said, anger still lacing his words, but his posture relaxing.

  I did. I told him my idea, and when Miranda came downstairs, she was immediately enthusiastic.

  Now we just had to pull it together. It might have been the weekend, but we got right to work, and I’d never been so hopeful about a project in my life.

  Chapter 18

  Michaela

  The night I spent in a cheap motel in San Jose was something I would remember for the rest of my life. I’d been through heartbreak and disappointment before, but I’d never felt such a deep sense of despair. That night, sitting up in a bed made up with scratchy sheets and a too-thin comforter, it was as if my soul and my heart simply didn’t fit correctly inside my body. I hurt. I hurt from the inside out, and the pain was nothing I’d ever felt before.

  I felt the terrible void of Finn’s absence, the pulsating twisting worry over the things I couldn’t know, the things I couldn’t change. Was he okay? Was he scared? Was Jeff taking care of him? Did he truly understand how delicate and beautiful his son was, and could he possibly treat him with the love and care he deserved?

  I knew Finn could be tough. He’d found a way to handle trauma at a very early age, and he’d managed the ridicule of his peers long after that. He had a well of strength inside him, and I trusted him to protect himself as much as he could.

  But there was a limit. Finn was only eight, and while the world he knew hadn’t always been gentle with him, he had both a limited capacity to deal with it and a limited understanding of just how cruel it could be.

  I sat in that cold stark hotel room and stared into a television screen I barely saw, wishing away the weekend so I could go take back my boy, wrap him in my arms and hold him there until the next time I might have to take him to Jeff’s.

  When I was pregnant, none of the books I read prepared me for having a child. They told me about the aches and pains I might experience, about how to prepare for a baby in a physical way. They warned me about sleeplessness, fussiness, and exhaustion. But not a single one of the books told me that having a child was like removing your heart and setting it down on the ground outside yourself. None of the books warned me that having a baby and allowing him room to grow was like sending your heart out into the world and trusting that world to care for it, to nurture and protect it. I felt that way every day when I dropped Finn off at school, but so much more so now. And the fear and pain meshed inside me, leaving me immobilized.

  And then there was Chance.

  Even in my fear about what Finn might be enduring with Jeff, thoughts of stormy grey-blue eyes and a laugh that rumbled inside my soul plagued me. I ached for the strong certainty Chance possessed in every fiber of his being, I longed to be next to him, in the aura of his assurance. When Chance was nearby, I felt like everything would certainly be all right—and that even if it wasn’t, he would carry half the load figuring out how to fix it. After carrying everything alone for most of my life, that was a reassurance I’d never experienced.

  But saying goodbye to the dream of Chance Palmer and the fairytale landscape of Kings Grove had been necessary. This was my reality—sitting alone in a cheap cold motel room and cringing in fear over the things I couldn’t control in my life. This had always been my reality. Ignoring it and pretending my life was something else wouldn’t help me, and it wouldn’t help my son.

  That night was long—every second interminable and swollen with the frustration of being powerless in my own life.

  And the morning dawned grey and cloudy, a storm looming on the horizon.

  I forced myself to take a shower at five-thirty in an effort to rinse away some of the hopelessness and fatigue. As soon as I turned off the torrent of hot water and wrapped myself in a towel, my phone began to ring. The edge of the tub tried to trip me as I leapt for the phone, which was perched on the dresser beneath the television.

  It was Jeff. My heart flung itself into my throat. “Hello?”

  “Come get him.” His voice was flat and angry.

  I dropped the towel and began dressing immediately, holding the phone between my ear and shoulder as I tugged my underwear over my still-wet legs and reached for my jeans. “What? What’s wrong? Is Finn okay?” Jeff was supposed to have two more nights.

  “No, he’s not okay. He won’t eat, he won’t talk. I don’t think he slept all night. He just fucking stares at me like he expects something.”

  Oh God, my poor Finn. “Is he there? Can I talk to him?”

  “I don’t see what the point would be. He won’t talk back.”

  My already ragged heart was pounding. I woke every day wondering if Finn might just stop talking again, if the warm curious voice I loved might go away again someday. I hoped against hope this wasn’t that day. “Please give him the phone.”

  I waited, hearing only a shuffle on the other end, and then a soft breath. Not Jeff. Finn.

  “Finn? Buddy?” I made my voice happy though everything inside me felt broken. He didn’t respond, but the breath hitched. “I’m gonna come get you, okay? I’m just around the corner and will be there in just a minute, but I need you to do something for me, okay?”

  He didn’t respond, but I could still hear him there, and squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to think about his little face scrunched up in concentration, tears rolling down his soft cheeks.

  “When I get there, I’m going to need you to find your voice again, okay?”

  Finn didn’t say anything, but I heard the shuffle of the phone being taken from him.

  “I can’t take another minute, Mike. I don’t know how to do this.” Jeff sounded angry and exhausted.

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Good.” He hung up and two seconds later I was in the Palmer truck again, on my way to Jeff’s house.

  They weren’t waiting on the porch, and I rushed to the front door and knocked. The door swung in to reveal a coffee table covered with Coke cans, coloring books and a full ashtray, and my heart thundered. “Where is he?”

  Jeff looked horrible, his hair sticking straight up, heavy bags under his eyes. “Maybe he’s sleeping, God knows all he did last night was wail.”

  “And what did you do to help?” I asked him, part of me still aware this could become a permanent situation. “Did you read to him? Tell him a story? Offer him some warm milk?”

  “I told him to pull it together. We were supposed to be watching a movie, but he sniffled and whined all the way through it, so we both went to bed. He didn’t eat anyt
hing at dinner, and he just stared at me all night. I don’t know what else I was supposed to do.” He rubbed his hands through his hair, his face morphing in confusion. “Is that normal? Is he… is he normal?”

  “Have you spent much time with kids, Jeff? Anything is normal. He’s scared and he barely knows you. You can’t expect him to just adapt immediately. It’s going to take time.” I turned and went down the hall. I’d never been inside Jeff’s house before, but it was small enough there could really only be one place where a guest room might be. Finn was there, huddled in a ball on the bed, his little shoulders shaking. “Hey buddy,” I said, softening my voice.

  He sat up immediately and flung himself at me when I sat on the edge of the bed. His small body melted into mine and he leaned his head on my shoulder. “Can we go home?” he whispered, and my heart fluttered, light shining into the darkness that had suffocated me for the past twenty-four hours. His voice was like a clarion bell.

  “Yes,” I said, sounding more certain than I felt. “Get your stuff together, and we’ll go right now.” I helped Finn scoop up his Batman cape, his stuffed dog and his clothes from the day before. “Do you have your toothbrush? In the bathroom?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t brush.”

  Jeff appeared in the hall. “Oh, I get it. You talk to her, huh? Did you plan this? Some part of a bigger plan to make me crazy?” His face was reddening and I stepped out into the hallway again, backing him up.

  “We didn’t plan this, Jeff.” I kept my voice calm, quiet. “Finn is stressed and confused—like any kid would be in this situation. You can’t expect him to be thrilled about this sudden change. You have to roll with him, let him have the time he needs.” I shook my head, frustration beginning to win out. “This is what it is, Jeff. This is parenting. You don’t control your child. You don’t get to choose what they do or how they do it. That’s the best and worst part of the whole thing—every day there’s something new to handle, to figure out.” I didn’t know how to explain it to someone who thought parenting would be the same as having a few beers with a buddy on the couch. “You do your best, but a lot of times, things don’t go like you plan. That’s what this is.”