by Susan Wiggs
“Facts about…us?” she asked, her voice wavering.
He set aside the soda bottle. “Neither one of us is doing anything wrong. We’re not bad people.”
“Did anyone say we were?”
“No, just listen, okay? We made a mistake. I made a mistake.”
“About us, you mean.” She felt light-headed, slightly nauseous.
He nodded. “All along, for years, I’ve thought you were the love of my life, but it was your life I loved.”
Understanding glimmered in Daisy, giving way to a deep sense of defeat. “My life,” she said, “was not exactly a huge party.”
“I know, but I wanted to be part of it because you had this great kid who happened to be mine, and a great family that totally accepted me, and all of that was incredibly attractive to me. So much so that I carried a torch for you, and when you were practically destroyed by the report of Julian’s death, I was there for you. When we first got married, I felt like I’d won something—the girl, the kid, the life. It didn’t quite cover up the fact that you and I…hell. We made a great kid together, but we don’t make a great couple.”
She stood frozen on the spot, almost forgetting to breathe. She’d wanted honesty; now he was bludgeoning her with it. He was saying things she herself had thought, yet she’d buried them so deep, she never voiced them. But now she felt the painful truth of it. She and Logan shared a deep regard for one another, they both adored their son, but the marriage wasn’t right, and every day it got harder to pretend. Julian’s return had not caused this situation, but it was forcing them to face it.
Logan gestured around the kitchen, the café curtains perfectly aligned, the furniture painstakingly arranged. “We’ve been completely focused on making a family for Charlie, not making a life with each other.”
She dropped her head, stared at the warm oak floor. “I hate the idea that we failed.”
“Then let’s not fail. You’re the mother of my child and I’ll always love that about you. What I’ve figured out, what we both know, is that being his parents will always be a bond between us, but it’s not a strong enough foundation to build a life on.”
“Oh, Logan.” She couldn’t say any more past the lump in her throat.
“Charlie knows it, too. Maybe not specifically but he knows something’s not right, and it’s not good for him. We’re seeing that in his behavior at school. It’s not good for any of us.”
“Do you think there’s a chance we could fix this?”
“There’s always a chance. But what if we spend the next twenty or forty or fifty years trying, and it never works for us?” he asked.
She squirmed inwardly, not wanting to think about the answer. When it came to marriage, how long was long enough? “I hate that this is happening,” she said, hugging her midsection against a pain she couldn’t escape. “How did we get here?”
“One thing I can finally admit—it’s not because of Julian’s resurrection and the way it shook everything up. We were already in trouble.”
“Yes,” she shakily admitted.
“I thought you needed me.”
“I did. I do—”
“You need—I don’t know. I didn’t see this coming, back when we got together. I saw somebody I made Charlie with, and it seemed like the right thing to do. Maybe it was, back then. But it didn’t last. We went into this for the wrong reasons, and it’s not working. You know that, Daisy. You know.”
Tears tracked down her cheeks. “So now what?” she asked in a heavy whisper.
“Now we both get real. It’d be good to come up with some kind a plan before Charlie gets home.” A plan. “You’re breaking up with me?”
He poured out the bottle of cream soda into the sink, then turned back to her. “Daisy-Bell. We’re breaking up with each other.”
The divorce was horrible, as divorces always had to be, even when both parties agreed to part ways. They told Charlie together, and he cried, and Daisy and Logan cried and said all the right things—they both loved him, they would always be a family, they would make their new life work, somehow. Eventually, Charlie came to a quiet acceptance. Daisy took him and Blake to live at the Inn at Willow Lake in the boathouse on the property. In the shadow of her father’s quiet worry, she dedicated herself to helping Charlie heal.
When she went to tell Julian, it was with a sense of defeat, not joy. “I need time,” she said. “I have to focus on Charlie. And…I’m not ready to talk about this.”
“I understand,” he told her, but she wasn’t sure he did. How did a man who had been imprisoned and tortured empathize with someone like her? He took her hands in his. It was the first time they’d touched since his return, and she almost cried from the sweetness of it.
“I have to go away for a while,” he said.
She took her hands from his. “Away…where?” No, she thought. The air force couldn’t take him from her again. Then she reminded herself that she didn’t have him.
“It’s got a fancy name—the Haven Behavioral War Heroes Hospital. They treat military personnel with combat stress injuries and PTSD.”
Her throat tightened with fear. His recovery had been so swift, and he looked like the picture of health. But inside, he was still bleeding somewhere from secret wounds. She’d been an idiot to assume he’d simply pick up his life where he’d left off. There were some things, she thought, that even love couldn’t fix.
“Oh, Julian. Of course you have to go.” She slipped her hands into his again.
“Doctor’s orders.”
“Yes.”
“But, Daisy—do me a favor.”
“Anything.”
He flashed her the special smile that used to melt her heart. It still did. “Wait for me.”
“As long as it takes,” she said softly. She didn’t know what else to say. They were both so damaged by all that had happened. She prayed that once they both healed, they could find their way back to one another.
The days melted into weeks and then months. Daisy found a place of her own, needing to break away from her father and stepmother, because it was too tempting to ease back into dependence on them. She felt in her bones that splitting up with Logan was the right thing to do, yet guilt and sadness still haunted her. Daily phone calls from Julian offered a splash of hope. Still, she knew she had to find a away to be on her own before she could even think of being with someone else—even Julian.
“There’s something so…defeating about this,” Daisy told Sonnet, who came up one weekend to help her move. “It’s like, I made this giant mistake and—”
“Whoa, hold it right there.” Sonnet set down a basket of clothes she’d brought into the new house. Daisy had found a rental cottage on the lake, with a dog run and a small dock. It was sweet, but didn’t feel like home. She didn’t know what home was anymore.
Sonnet turned to her. “You made the best choice you could under the circumstances and it was not a mistake.”
“But Charlie—”
“Is going to be all right. He still has a mom and dad who love him. He feels secure and he knows life is good. That’s all a kid needs. Believe me, I know.”
Daisy paused, regarding Sonnet—her stepsister, her best friend—with a wave of gratitude. She was a veritable poster girl for growing up with a single parent. “You do know. I’m sorry, here I am fretting about my situation, and you’ve actually lived it, and you’re spectacular.” It was true. Sonnet’s parents—her mother, Nina, and her father, an ambitious, African-American West Point cadet, had never been together. Yet Sonnet had managed to grow up happy and healthy. As an adult, she’d made a successful, remarkable life for herself.
“Just know you and Charlie are going to be fine,” Sonnet told her.
“Sometimes I can totally believe it. Other times, I wonder what the hell I’m doing with my life.”
“The good news is, you don’t have to think about any of that right now. Just settle into your new house, take a deep breath, and take your time.”
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“Listen to you, going all wise woman on us,” said Zach, backing into the house with a hand truck stacked with boxes.
“You got any better advice?” Sonnet asked. “Because if you do, we might forgive you for eavesdropping.”
“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” he said. “I was listening to the conversation openly.”
“How is that different from eavesdropping?”
Their bickering made Daisy smile. She knew—she’d always known—what was beneath it.
“Where’s Charlie?” asked Zach.
“With his dad. I’ll go pick him up tomorrow.”
“How’s that going?” asked Sonnet.
“I was a single mom until he was five. This is not so different, except that Charlie’s older and he asks more questions.”
She didn’t let herself speculate on the impact of this transition on her son. It was too easy to focus on the process, and the kid had an uncanny radar for tension.
The family therapist they were now seeing cautioned her to relax, be honest and forgive both Logan and herself.
Alongside Sonnet and Zach, she worked steadily, organizing the house. Blake seemed happy enough to sniff and explore every corner of the place. Every so often, Daisy would pause to look out at the lake, its surface ruffled by a stiff breeze, a bank of brooding clouds pushing in from the west. There was something calming about this view, even in turbulent weather. Willow Lake had always been a special place to her. Its vastness, the arc of trees along the shore, the quality of the light glancing off the surface, took her away somewhere, to a place of clarity and simplicity.
For whole moments at a time, if she was lucky.
A brief whir and the sputter of an engine signaled the arrival of the mail. Blake gave a woof, but obeyed when Daisy commanded the dog to stay on the porch while she hiked up the driveway to the mailbox and brought in the stack of letters and catalogs. It was the usual detritus—catalogs filled with things she didn’t need, solicitations from credit cards to spend money she didn’t have, a thank you note from a grateful bride: “Thank you for capturing the happiness Matt and I will enjoy for the rest of our lives.”
Hope so, Daisy thought.
“I guess I officially live here,” she said, returning to the house. “I got my first electric bill. And—” She broke off, and bit her lip. There, sandwiched between a deck of coupons and the power bill was a crisp white envelope from the county court. Her stomach rolled over. Her hand was steady as she unfolded the document.
Her divorce was final.
She stared at it for a while. The damn thing was so…stark, the blunt words in black and white. Couldn’t they have included a cover letter, maybe? Of course, that would be weird. What would such a letter say?
“We are pleased to inform you…”
“Congratulations! You’re a free woman!”
Maybe, to defray mailing costs, there could be a little ad insert like the ones in a credit card bill: “Never reach for a cobweb again with the Bilko telescoping duster!”
Or a newsy tip sheet like those the power company included. “Ten ways to save your sanity.” Or, “What to do when people ask awkward questions.”
At least they could have made it prettier, she thought, folding the thing up and putting it in an empty Chock Full o’ Nuts coffee can on the counter.
“And?” Sonnet prompted her.
“And as of yesterday, I am officially divorced.” There it was. She tried to figure out if she felt different. The weirdness mingled with a giddy sense of freedom. What had changed, and what was the same? Her surname hadn’t changed. While married to Logan, she’d kept her maiden name. She wasn’t a big name, professionally. She wasn’t any kind of name. But “Daisy O’Donnell” sounded weirdly fake, or as if she might be related to an outspoken talk show host.
“Well,” said Sonnet. “I’m not quite sure what to say to that. In the Tongan delegation they might say something like—” She mouthed a string of words that sounded wholly unfamiliar.
“May the blessings of the moment outshine the abscesses of the past,” said a deep voice from the doorway.
“Julian!” Daisy’s heart flipped over as she turned to the door. Blake went nuts, leaping up and barking in greeting. He had returned to Avalon at summer’s end, a new person after his time at the hospital in Colorado. Now he was staying with his brother again, awaiting the official end of his medical leave.
“Not abscesses, smarty-pants,” said Sonnet.
“We can’t all be polyglots,” he said with a grin.
“Who’re you calling a polyglot?”
“What are you doing here?” Daisy asked him.
“A little bird told me you might need some help with the moving.” He nodded in Sonnet’s direction.
Thank you, Sonnet, thought Daisy. No way would she have asked him herself. “Well…thanks.” She wondered if he had any clue what she and her stepsister had just been talking about.
“How about I organize the kitchen?” Sonnet suggested. “You know I’m way better at that than you.”
“Sure,” said Daisy. “Thanks.”
“Zach can help me,” Sonnet added.
She was being way too obvious, but Daisy didn’t care.
“Where do you want these?” asked Julian, indicating a stack of photo archive boxes. Each was marked with the year and subject.
Each box represented that year’s unfinished projects. Her fine art photography always took a backseat to the paying gigs and the general busyness of life.
She and Julian found themselves together in the postage stamp–size study, setting up her workstation.
“You’re in luck,” Julian declared. “One of the main components of my training has been to turn me into an übergeek. I’ll get you up and running.”
“Thanks. There is no life without internet.”
“So I found out,” he said.
“How are you?” she asked, conveying with her tone that she meant more than a simple inquiry.
“Doing all right. I’m waiting for a decision on a pilot training program.”
“Oh. Well, I hope it works out for you.” She did. If he made pilot training, it would mean he was truly better, that he’d survived his ordeal. What it meant for her…she refused to contemplate right now.
“Yeah, me, too.”
By happenstance or more probably by design, Sonnet and Zach had gone outside to sit on the dock. She could see them out there, huddled against the wind. Zach slipped a protective arm around Sonnet. The simple touch reminded Daisy of what she’d lost when she and Logan had parted ways—the comfort of ease with someone else.
This was the first time she’d been alone with Julian since his return. Contrary to people’s expectations, she had not rushed into his arms in the wake of the divorce. He wasn’t the cause of her breakup with Logan; he wasn’t even the catalyst. But he was here now.
“How about yourself?” he asked. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about what you’re going through.”
“Thank you. I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t. It didn’t seem right to dump my troubles with Logan on you.”
“Damn, girl. There are some things about you I will never get.”
“Think about it, Julian. Confessing my marriage woes to my formerly dead ex-fiancé? How would that help anyone?”
He didn’t answer, but finished getting her computer hooked up. “There you go. Home office operational.”
“Thanks.” She still felt bashful around him, which was weird. At one point he had been the keeper of all her dreams, the one person she could say anything to. Now, the paths they had taken had turned them into strangers in some ways.
The screen saver kicked in, displaying a slide show of her best shots.
“Those are really something,” he said quietly.
“Thanks.” A haunting image of the lake in a storm drifted by. “I keep having this idea that I’ll get my work into a juried show, but there’s never time to get my portfolio ready.”
“It’s not a lack of time,” he said bluntly, arranging the boxes on a shelf. “What’s really keeping you from working on them?”
She hesitated. “No one’s ever asked me that.”
“I’m asking.”
“I’m not sure I have an answer. It’s so easy, so comfortable, to stick with what I know.” She stopped, listening to her own words. Wasn’t that what had driven so many of her decisions? Sticking with safety? She knew a huge part of her choice to marry Logan had been that he was familiar to her, a safe choice. And look how that turned out, she thought, exasperated. After becoming an unwed mother, she had stopped taking chances.
“Promise me something,” Julian said.
His command made her melt a little. “Depends on what you’re asking.”
“Promise me you’ll get back to it. You’re a genius with the pictures. I know what it means to you.”
Could she make such a promise? And if she did, could she keep it?
“All right,” she said. “It’s a deal.”
“And not whenever. Start now. Tomorrow. Or at least, this week.”
“Yes, sir.” She offered a mock salute.
“Cool.” He opened a large box. “Sheets and towels,” he said. “Where do they go?”
“Bedroom.” She led the way across the hall. The bed was set up, the mattress bare. When she turned around, she saw that he was pulling sheets from the box. “You don’t have to—”
“Are you kidding? You’re not seriously going to pass up the chance to learn from a master of military bed making.”
“Silly me.”
He demonstrated how to fit the sheets, forming a square corner so crisp it resembled a cardboard box. He explained the placement of the blanket and the symmetry of pillows. When they were nearly done, Daisy gazed at the bed in wonder. “It’s a thing of beauty.”
“And for this I incurred years of service.”
“There’s one thing missing.” She extracted a yellow-and-white striped duvet from the box. “How would the military deal with this?”
“What the hell is it?”
“A duvet.”
“A do-what?”
“A comforter.” She got him to help her fit the duvet into the cover.