by Nesly Clerge
Chelsea patted the mattress. Theresa walked around the bed and sat next to her. Chelsea took Theresa’s hand and said, “I’m the one who’s grateful you want to forgive me, or want to include me in your life. Mom.”
They wrapped their arms around each other, tears streamed down their cheeks. Thomas fished his handkerchief from his back pocket and blew his nose so loudly they couldn’t help but laugh.
Theresa said, “When you feel well enough, I’d like to take you to where Garrett is, so you know where to find him. In case you want to visit his grave.”
“I’ve been there. I go several times a week, in fact.”
Theresa cringed. “Oh God. The headstone. I’m so sorry. I was furious, out of my mind, really, and wanted to … Thomas tried to talk me out of it, but I was bent on being stubborn. That’s not the whole truth. I was determined to hurt you.”
“Let’s not think about that. I find comfort in bringing fresh flowers and having long talks with him.”
“Those are your flowers. We weren’t sure. We thought maybe it was …” Her face flushed crimson.
Thomas winked at Chelsea and said, “I knew it was you.” He looked at Theresa. “Told you.”
“It was a good guess, Thomas, and you know it.”
“I never guess. I may not say what I know, but I know it.”
“Keep it up and you’ll be guessing what you cook for your dinner.”
“I’m taking you, Kimmie, and the Johnsons out. Kimmie wants a jumbo grilled burger and fries from Burger Bliss.” He looked back at Chelsea. “Now that you’re on the mend, I hear her appetite’s returned.”
“Speaking of Kimmie,” Chelsea said, “I wonder where she is.”
Thomas answered. “She’ll be here. I called your mother before we came over. Wanted to make sure it was okay to visit. Kimmie was still sleeping when I talked to Janice. They’ll bring her by once she wakes and eats. Said her appetite kicked on around nine thirty last night. That daughter of yours put away seven large pancakes and six thick slices of bacon. Your mother said Kimberlie was snoring fifteen minutes after the last bite.”
“My daughter doesn’t snore.”
Thomas chuckled. “Have it your way. She was purring like an electric saw in her sleep.”
Theresa stood and draped her purse over her arm. “We’re going to go so we don’t tire you. You’ll need your energy for when Kimberlie and your parents get here.”
“Thank you, Theresa. Thomas. I feel like I’m being given redemption I didn’t earn and don’t deserve. I’m truly grateful.”
Theresa kissed her cheek. “That goes both ways, dear.”
Thomas kissed Chelsea’s other cheek and followed Theresa out of the room, blowing his nose in his trumpet-like manner before the door was all the way closed.
Dr. Moore had once told her that the true measure of a life is evident in the love—the sustaining kind—shared with those we’re closest to.
Her loved ones were willing to give her a second chance.
If only she knew how to merit it.
CHAPTER 173
Near the end of February, Chelsea sold Garrett’s practice to the doctors, agreeing to accept two thousand dollars a month, until they rebuilt the practice and could pay more, as well as obtained their promise to make Garrett’s legacy a good one.
Yellow daffodils erupted at the end of April. Lawn mowers buzzed or roared into summer, sending the scent of freshly mowed grass into the air each Saturday morning up and down her parents’ street.
Chelsea and Kimberlie spent hours on the rooftop of the Johnson home, engaged in long talks interspersed with intervals of laughter, once Kimberlie moved there. Their sessions with Dr. Moore were taken together, punctuated at times with belly-laughs at how ridiculous humans can be. Especially Kimberlie’s pantomimed stories of how her occasional first dates went with various teenage boys.
It was mid-August when Chelsea finally decided to tackle the unopened forwarded mail that had accumulated in a cardboard box in her bedroom closet. There had been no rush to deal with it. No bills to worry about other than the sessions and her and Kimberlie’s cell phones, both which her parents insisted on paying. She’d tried to get her parents to at least accept some money for household expenses but they refused.
She was with the people she cared about most, so there was no one writing to her or sending postcards from exotic locations, especially not with the standard message, Wish you were here.
Chelsea separated each envelope into piles of what was important and what could be disposed of, who she needed to notify of a change of address and who could be ignored.
After an hour, all that remained was the thin stack of bank statements for her personal account in her maiden name. It seemed like both an eternity ago and only yesterday that Garrett revealed what he’d learned. She shook off the thought and organized the statements into chronological order, with the most recent statement at the top. She’d save the older months, but the most recent statement would tell her what she needed to know.
She opened the envelope, believing the statement would merely confirm what she had loosely calculated in her mind to be in there, which should have been around nine thousand or so. The ending balance was over ninety-six thousand dollars. The bank had obviously made a mistake.
She checked the deposits on the first sheet—two bank transfers were listed. The monthly one for two thousand from the practice and another for ten thousand from Special Fund. She ripped open the other envelopes. Ten thousand had been deposited each month on or around the twentieth. There was no way the bank would make such a consistent error. She found the local number for her branch.
“Mrs. Hall, these deposits are legitimate. So, I’m not sure what your question is.”
“Who is the larger one from?”
“The Chelsea Johnson Hall Special Fund. Are you saying you didn’t set this up?”
A sense of who it was that had, surfaced, but she had to be certain. “Sorry. I got confused. Everything seems to be in order. Thanks for your help.”
Chelsea sat on the floor with the statements spread out in front of her. Only several people currently knew about that account besides her: Her parents, Kimberlie, Penelope. And Luke. It had to be him. He’d told her once that his sales were improving, but she never imagined it to be by such a large amount.
Using her phone, she checked his Amazon page. There were thousands of reviews. All raves. Being incarcerated had boosted his success rather than demolished it.
She checked his author page, fought the urge to become overwhelmed when she saw him smiling back at her in his photo. He’d updated his bio. The last paragraph explained that a portion of his royalties went to a special fund, anonymously, to help a family in need. How he’d gotten her account information to set things up would have to remain a mystery. She wasn’t going to ask him or the bank. He was surrounded by criminals now. It was likely a few of them knew a few tricks.
Luke was paying his debt in a two-fold fashion. He sought her forgiveness without her knowing about it. And a way to forgive himself.
She had to do something about that.
CHAPTER 174
Chelsea’s task had to remain hidden from her family. A place was needed where she would be uninterrupted, with no questions asked. The thing to do was reserve a half hour of computer time at the library.
Two days later, seated at the desk, she was now obligated to either do what she intended or abandon the idea and leave. But how to begin what she wanted to say? And, how to say it? Her fingers hovered suspended over the keyboard for a few minutes, not that she hadn’t contemplated her words the prior night and on the drive over. She nodded once and began to type.
Luke,
I forgive you. I’ve forgiven Garrett, as well as asked for his forgiveness—and Richard’s. I’m still working on forgiving myself.
As for forgiving Penelope? I know it’s important to do that for my sake, and I will, but I’m not feeling rushed about that as yet, not th
at I have any intention of telling her, if and when that may happen. Not that she thinks there’s anything she needs forgiveness for. Maybe that’s changed, but I have no need to know it. However, I don’t allow thoughts about her, when they infrequently pop into mind, to ruin even one moment of my day. The Bible says we are to ask God to bless our enemies. I’m still working on that one, in her regard.
I also need to ask you to forgive me for involving you in my misery and marriage. Both were mine to attend to, and I placed them into your life to fix for me, rather than facing and fixing them myself. When you’re able to forgive me for that, please also forgive me for not wanting us to communicate in any way, ever again, after you read this letter. I ask this for the sake and well-being of my daughter. She’s doing well, but still healing. Like the rest of us.
Receive … that word is what forgiveness is about, isn’t it? We can ask for forgiveness from ourselves, others, and God, if that’s our belief system. Asking for it can feel and be difficult. Receiving it, when it’s been given, and allowing ourselves to feel forgiven, can be much harder. I’m struggling with that one myself, but that’s what I ask you to do. Go beyond my words and receive my forgiveness. Then do this for yourself.
It’s an odd thing to tell someone in your circumstance that you wish them well, but that is my wish for you. Don’t allow what’s behind you to dictate what’s ahead of you—who you can be from this moment forward. Advice I find challenging to follow, but it’s still good.
Sincerely,
Chelsea
She thought about thanking him for the deposits then quashed the idea. He wanted the fact that he was the provider of the funds to remain anonymous. She’d honor his wish, especially for Kimmie’s sake and future. She’d already taken so much from him, as it was. Leave him with a measure of dignity. What person who managed to survive the human condition didn’t deserve at least that?
CHAPTER 175
The next several years passed in some ways quickly and in other ways not, in Chelsea’s assessment. Sessions with Dr. Moore ended for Kimberlie, but not for her; though, became Wednesday-only time spent together. Because Dr. Moore was the one person who understood her, didn’t judge her, knew how to encourage her.
Chelsea uncurled her legs from under her on the sofa in Dr. Moore’s private office. “Today’s session marks the end of our seventh year of working together. Seven’s supposed to be a lucky number.”
Dr. Moore smiled. “Are you feeling lucky, or superstitious?”
A slight smile formed on Chelsea’s lips. “A little of both, I suppose.”
Dr. Moore cocked her head. “Something’s happened.”
“You remember my telling you, years back, about Detective Maddox’s interview at my house?” When Dr. Moore nodded, Chelsea said, “I bumped into him this weekend.”
“Awkward or okay?”
“Awkward, for me at least. He asked how I was doing. He was polite, chatty, in a friendly way, which was so different from how he was that night. It made me feel off-balance. Then he did something that … I’m not certain how I feel about it.” She looked directly at Dr. Moore. “He asked if he could take me to dinner this Friday night.”
“And?”
“I hesitated so long before answering, it made him uncomfortable.”
“And?”
“I said yes.”
“How do you feel about going out with him, particularly because of the role he played at such a difficult time in your life?”
“He did what he had to then, in order to reveal the truth. I don’t begrudge him that. I also don’t think it’ll be included as dinner conversation. Still, I’m not sure about going. I think I should cancel. What right do I have to do anything like that? So … normal?”
“Because Garrett died?”
Chelsea nodded. “I don’t deserve more happiness than I have now—and I am happy, or at least content most days. If this were Medieval times, with Kimberlie as old as she is now, I’d join a nunnery.”
“So you could escape what? Temptation? Life? Yourself?”
“Something like that. It would be a way to avoid making more mistakes. I think I proved without doubt that I’m no good at relationships.”
“Life doesn’t work that way, and you know it. We can’t avoid making mistakes, no matter what our best intentions are, especially in any type of relationship. Everyone deserves however many chances they can get, to do life and love better than they did before.”
“Garrett deserves more from me. It’s only right I live out my life single. For his sake.”
“He isn’t here. You are.” Dr. Moore leaned forward. “Listen carefully to me, Chelsea. When a loved one dies, some of us forgive them for any hurts they may have caused us. We wipe the slate clean. There’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, it’s healthy, if that’s how we really feel.
“What we shouldn’t do is convince ourselves the person was better than he or she was. Garrett was flawed, just like every other human. That fact doesn’t have to diminish how you choose to relate to his memory, but neither should you see yourself as so imperfect that you deny yourself the right to have and create the most fulfilling life you can. No one has the right to deny that for anyone.”
“I know what you’re saying, but I’m not there yet.”
“It may be disquieting for you to open yourself to the possibility of another relationship, but not to do so is just a matter of punishing yourself.”
“It’s my penance. I’m getting off easy.”
“How much punishment will be enough? It won’t change anything that’s happened. Something else you need to keep in mind: any relationship with another person is always, foremost, about the relationship you have with yourself.”
“That’s not a comforting thought.”
“It can be, when you allow yourself to understand how important it is. You have to eventually decide to accept this gift called life. You were saved that day for a reason. You’ve done well since then, but what else are you going to do as you move forward?”
“That’s a good question. One I don’t have an answer for, in some respects. Other aspects are easier to address.”
“It’s just dinner, Chelsea, not a commitment. You have to learn to trust yourself again, as well as others outside your immediate circle. Your life is in danger of becoming too circumscribed.”
“You’re right. But my courage about that is pretty much nil.”
“So do what you know you need to, and do it afraid. That’s all courage is. And for your information, it’s what you’ve been doing, without realizing it, every morning you wake up and get out of bed.”
Chelsea walked to the window and rested her forehead against the glass. “You sound like Kimmie.”
“Did you talk with her about your date?”
Chelsea turned and smiled. “Had to, didn’t I? She told me it was about time. Said to go with her blessing and have fun. My child is healthier mentally and emotionally than I am. Thank God.” Her smile faded. “I asked if who it was bothered her. She said no. Because he proved Garrett didn’t take his life.”
“But she knows the whole truth.”
“Kimmie said that sometimes the best thing to do is rewrite history, or at least our perspective about it, just enough to help us keep going.”
“Smart girl.”
“She also told me not to act like a dork on the date, because dorks don’t get asked out twice.”
Dr. Moore laughed and placed her tablet and pen on the cushion next to her. “She has your best interest at heart.
“Our time’s up. Are you going to the grave site when you leave?”
“I have one stop to make before going.” Chelsea picked up her purse from the floor. “It’s just dinner, right?”
“A baby step. With food and wine and, hopefully, pleasant conversation with someone interesting.”
Chelsea smiled and opened the door.
“Chelsea.” Dr. Moore grinned. “Do you even know his first name?”
“Wear something you feel comfortable in, but don’t dress like a nun. It’s okay and safe to feel like a woman again, one a man might find intriguing and appealing.”
“Kimmie already picked out my dress and accessories. She’s more excited about this date than I am.”
Chelsea shut the door behind her. That’s what she was being asked to do by Dr. Moore, Kimberlie, and Detective Maddox—Mike: Close one door and open another. Why did it feel so difficult to let go?
The answer was immediately obvious: guilt.
CHAPTER 176
Chelsea gathered the fragrant gardenia sprigs from the back seat. She carefully arranged the branches filled with buds in the small urn she’d bought and placed it next to Garrett’s new headstone. As she did each visit, she ran her fingers over the words: Beloved husband, father, son, and brother.
She hadn’t asked Theresa and Thomas to replace the headstone. A few months after Theresa had asked for forgiveness, she and Thomas had invited her, Kimberlie, and her parents to go with them, Chloe, and Anna to pray at the grave sites, barely containing their anticipation of how she’d respond to their surprise.
Chelsea got comfortable on the grass and rested her hand on the grave. “So much to tell you, Garrett. Chloe opened her third massage therapy salon this past weekend. She called it Hall’s Heaven. She asked if I thought the name was too shmaltzy. I told her it was perfect. And as she did with the other two salons, dedicated it to you and Richard. I cried when she got to the part in her speech where she said, “Through my brothers’ lives, and their deaths, I learned how important it is to help others heal and be whole.” Chelsea pulled a tissue from her pants pocket. “There I go again.”
After several moments, she cleared her throat. “Chloe said she told you she’d make you proud. She’s done that and more.
“Kimberlie keeps demonstrating that she inherited your drive. She’s moving through med school the same way she used to move through the water in the pool. Remember how we called her our little angel fish? Four years old, zooming around underwater as though she’d always lived there.