by Lynne, Donya
“See you later.” She started up the sidewalk as Lisa backed out.
Before she could even ring the doorbell, her mom opened the door.
“Oh, honey. What’s happened? Are you okay?”
She had called her mom this morning, giving her a heads up that she was coming over for a few days, but she hadn’t gone into the details. Admitting she and Mark were briefly separated wasn’t something she relished explaining, especially to her father.
“I’m fine, Mom.” She lugged her bag inside.
Her dad stood at the far side of the front room, arms crossed, jaw set, eyebrows furrowed. “He hurt you, didn’t he?”
She set her duffel on the floor. “Dad, I don’t want to get into it right now.”
He uncrossed his arms, his frown deepening. “I knew this would happen. I knew he wasn’t the right man for you and you were moving too fast.” But his voice was tinged with regret and disappointment, as if he’d actually started to accept Mark but didn’t want to admit it.
She sighed, bringing her hand toward her face, and tipped her forehead against her fingers. She felt a headache coming on. “Dad, it’s not like that.”
“What did he do to you, Karma? I swear I’ll—”
“No, Dad!” She held up her hand and shook her head. “Mark didn’t do this. I did. Okay? I did this.”
The last thing she needed right now was her dad rubbing salt in her self-inflicted wounds. Yes, Mark had hurt her. Yes, Mark’s behavior had pushed her to this point. But she was the one who had walked away, not the other way around. No doubt, Mark would have stayed with her. Mark never would have walked away or threatened to leave. After all, he had walked through fire to come back to her. He had tattooed her name over his heart, for God’s sake, branding himself as hers. Thinking he would actually leave her had been utter nonsense.
But for all the progress he’d made, there was still one last vestige from his past that haunted him. A residue that needed to be washed off his soul.
If her walking away instigated the cleansing process—and she prayed it did—then the pain knifing her heart would be worth it.
“What do you mean, you did this?” her dad said.
“I walked away, Dad. I left him.” After the last twenty-four hours of suffering, her aggravation began to mount. All she wanted was to park on the couch in the family room, turn on a game, hold a plateful of her mom’s homemade cookies in her lap with a glass of cold milk for dunking nearby, and not think for a few hours.
But her dad had other ideas. “Good. Mark wasn’t good enough for you, any—”
“DAD, STOP! Just stop it!” Her hands curled into fists, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “I still love him! I still want to be with him! Don’t you understand?”
Confusion shrouded her dad’s face, and for a few seconds he stared at her as if he weren’t sure who she was. “Frankly, Karma, I don’t understand. If you love him, why did you leave?”
“Because he’s got to work through this on his own, Dad. Maybe if I leave him he’ll wake up and finally let go of the past so he and I can have a future.” She’d never told her dad about what had happened to Mark. About how he’d been left at the altar. Her dad had never given her a chance. In her dad’s eyes, Mark had become the bad guy the moment he saw him in her apartment that first time nearly two years ago. After that, there had been no convincing her dad that Mark was a decent, kindhearted man.
Maybe it was time to tell her parents about the man she’d fallen in love with. Maybe now her dad would listen. She needed him to listen. But more than anything, she needed his support.
“Dad, I need you,” she said, feeling her scratchy eyes well with tears again. She was like a rainstorm that simply wouldn’t go away. Just when she thought the tears were over, they started again. “I hate that we’ve become so estranged since Thanksgiving. I miss spending time with you, watching games with you, talking on the phone.”
He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet as he glanced at the floor. “Me, too.” His voice broke, and he pulled in a hard inhale through his nose.
“Can’t we just . . .” She sighed as the weight of her emotions pulled down her shoulders. “Dad, I just need to be here right now. Around you and Mom. Someplace familiar and comfortable where I’m not alone.” She implored him with her eyes. “And I want to tell you about him without you thinking the worst. I want you to understand why I love him so much.”
“Karma . . .”
“Please, Dad. Give him a chance.”
“I’ve been trying to, honey, but you just left him. How am I supposed to respond when all I want is to see you happy. And you’re not happy right now.”
She nodded stiffly. “I know, but it’s only because . . .” She took a deep breath. “He’s struggling with something that happened to him a long time ago, Dad. And he’s been struggling with it for a while. I needed a break, and he needed the kick in the ass. That’s why I left him. That’s why I’m here. Because he needs to handle this once and for all, and my being around wasn’t allowing him to do that.”
She, her mom, and her dad stood in a silent triangle for several long moments, and then her dad sighed and gestured toward the living room.
“Okay, honey. Let’s go have a seat and talk.”
Her mom started for the kitchen. “I’ll make us some hot cocoa.”
Cocoa made everything better, and if she was going to spill her guts about Mark to her dad, Mom had better keep a mainline of cocoa in production. This could be a long afternoon.
As soon as she had a mug in her hand, she started talking, and she didn’t stop until she’d explained everything. Carol. What she’d done to him. Its effect on Mark, and by extension, its effect on her. The rings, the necklace, the commitment phobia. All of it.
By the time Karma finished relaying the highly edited version of her and Mark’s story, two hours had passed, and she’d gone through three cups of hot chocolate and a short stack of Oreos.
“So sad about his past,” her mom said, squeezing Karma’s hand. “Just awful.” She retrieved the empty mugs from the coffee table then disappeared into the kitchen.
Karma turned toward her dad. “So, you see, everything goes back to Carol. She really did a number on him, Dad. It created this intense fear of weddings. He wants to get married, but it’s like he’s terrified I’ll do what Carol did and not show up.”
“I won’t let that happen,” her dad said, surprising her.
“Huh?”
His cheeks filled with color, and he briefly averted his gaze as he shifted in his chair. “I’m the father of the bride, right? Doesn’t that mean it’s my job to make sure you get to the church on time?”
“What are you saying?” She didn’t dare hope that she’d pulled her dad from the dark side to the Mark side.
Her dad leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Karma, have I ever told you about how your mom and I almost didn’t get married?”
She thought about it a second, surprised to realize he hadn’t. “No.” She thought Mom and Dad had been solid from the get-go.
He grinned, his forehead crinkling as if he’d even forgotten this story until now. “Well, it’s true.” He leaned back. “As you know, I met your mom while we were both in college. She was a freshman. I was a senior.” His expression smoothed out as if he were reliving fond memories. Then mirth twisted his mouth into a lopsided smile. “Her dad didn’t like me, either. He said I was too old for her.”
“Grandpa didn’t like you?” This came as a shock. Her grandpa got along great with her dad now.
“Surprising, isn’t it, given how close we’ve become? But yes, in the beginning, your grandpa and I didn’t get along. He forbade your mom from seeing me. Said I was too old for her. And when she transferred to Butler from Notre Dame so she could come with me to Indianapolis after I graduated, her dad was furious.” He grew quiet for a few seconds. “The pressure almost got to your mom. During her first semester at Butler, I thought I might lo
se her, especially when I was working long hours trying to make a name for myself.”
“What did you do?”
“I wooed her. I refused to lose her. She was my angel.” He smiled and gave her a meaningful glance. “A man can’t lose his angel, Karma. He’ll never recover from that.”
He held her gaze for a long time then reached for her hand. She slipped hers into his.
“Karma, I’ve not been Mark’s biggest fan. I’ll admit that. But now that you’ve shared a bit of his story, I’m sorry I haven’t given him more of a chance. I didn’t realize what he’s been through.” He sighed, shaking his head. “And I can see how much you love him and how he looks at you when you’re together. Like at dinner that night at the restaurant. It was the way I used to look at your mom.” He squeezed her hand. “You’re Mark’s angel, honey. He won’t let you go. I guarantee it.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
He made a pained face then smiled again. “He deserves a chance.”
This was more than she could have hoped for. Her dad finally getting on board with her relationship and, in effect, giving his blessing. She hopped off the couch and hugged him. “Thanks, Dad.”
“You’re my baby, Karma, and I just want what’s best for you. Sometimes I forget that you know what that is better than I do.”
Karma breathed a sigh of relief. She’d won her dad over. Now she just needed Mark to take care of his end. Hopefully, he was doing that this very minute.
Chapter 34
Forgiveness is the most powerful thing you can do for yourself on the spiritual path. If you can't learn to forgive, you can forget about getting to higher levels of awareness.
-Wayne Dyer
Mark pulled up to Carol’s brownstone.
He was the epitome of self-control. The physical embodiment of disciplined restraint. At one time, he’d thought those characteristics were a good thing. Traits that served him well in anything he chose to pursue.
He’d been wrong. Because the only thing he wanted to pursue right now was Karma, and self-control and disciplined restraint were anything but beneficial. They were a curse. Tragic, destructive tools that destroyed the intimacy and magic they shared. All because he couldn’t let go, couldn’t release the past.
At one time, he thought he could force Carol’s memory to remain buried in his mind. But guarding those memories took energy. A lot of it, especially over the last few months as his fears resurfaced. The expense of mental power detracted from the affection he should have been showing his fiancée . . . his future wife.
He gazed past the brick sidewalk and concrete flower beds, still dormant from the previous winter, which was finally abating in the Windy City, to the red brick building. The bricks were more a peachy-pink than red, with a variety of intricate detailing around the windows. A series of pale concrete steps led to the inset, light-brown double doors, framed by a concrete arch that mimicked columns on either side. Three red clay flower pots sat on the top steps, near the handrails. Freshly potted begonias soaked up the late afternoon sun.
The home was a substantial upgrade from the brownstone she’d lived in while they were dating. She and Antonio were obviously doing well for themselves.
Taking a deep breath, he forced down his anxiety. He had to do this. It was time. Hell, it was way past time. He and Carol should have had this conversation years ago.
He’d allowed Carol to contaminate his and Karma’s home, their bedroom—their bed—long enough.
No more hiding.
No more dragging his feet.
No more letting the past dictate his future.
There was only one way to make that happen. And it stood behind those brown doors at the top of the steps.
Patting his pocket to check that the rings and necklace were still there, he opened his door and made his way up the sidewalk. He hadn’t willingly put himself in Carol’s path since the day of their wedding. Every time he bumped into her, he lost control of his emotions and his upchuck reflex, so this meeting could go very badly if he wasn’t able to hold himself together.
Before he started up the steps, he scanned up and down the quiet Chicago street and rubbed his palms together then wiped them down the front of his jacket.
No more fear. He couldn’t live in fear, anymore.
Taking a deep breath, he strode up the concrete stairs and pressed the doorbell.
Within seconds, he heard footsteps. Through the thick glass panes, he saw Carol approach, and his heart did a quick nosedive before he could stop it. He quickly picked it up and slammed it back into his chest.
Calm the fuck down. She’s just another human. No one special. Not anymore.
He heard her unlock three separate locks, and then she pulled the door open.
Her wary eyes couldn’t meet his at first, and then she smiled nervously and met his gaze before looking over his shoulder to the street below. “Hi. You found the house okay?”
“Yes, thank you.”
An awkward silence stretched between them. Then she stepped aside and gestured for him to come in.
The mouthwatering scent of garlic and herbs greeted him, and a moment later Antonio appeared at the far end of the hall, wiping his hands on a towel as if he’d been cooking. A round white table and dark grey chairs sat behind him. That must be the kitchen.
Looked like Antonio was the chef in the family. Interesting. Seemed they had something in common. A love of cooking.
Antonio approached, tossing the towel over his shoulder, and held out his right hand.
Mark took it, and for the first time in eight years, he and Antonio shook hands.
“Mark,” Antonio said in greeting.
“Antonio.”
They studied each other for a moment.
“Smells good.” Mark nodded toward the kitchen.
“Thanks.”
“What are you making in there?” He nodded toward the kitchen. With his penchant for cooking, which he hadn’t had near enough time to indulge with the busy schedule he’d been keeping, he couldn’t resist engaging in a little culinary chitchat.
“Homemade tortellini.”
Impressive.
“Nice.” Mark nodded but didn’t say anything further. As much as the topic interested him, he hadn’t come here to talk about food.
Antonio seemed to pick up the vibe and cleared his throat as he glanced toward Carol. “You gonna be okay?”
She nodded. “I’ll be fine. Mark and I just need to talk.”
Antonio took a slow backward step toward the kitchen. “Okay, well, I’ll be in the kitchen finishing dinner if you need me.” Casting Mark a wary glance, he inched away then turned and disappeared.
Carol gestured into a narrow sitting room where two tall, skinny windows overlooked the street. Mark took a seat on the edge of a white couch with one black throw pillow and another that was light-grey. He propped his elbows on his knees and sat forward, too tense to relax.
She sat across from him in a matching easy chair.
“Are these real hardwood floors?” He glanced past the throw rug under his feet to the shiny, dark wood.
“Yes. We had them refinished before we moved in two years ago.”
“You’ve done really well for yourself.” He scanned the cream-colored walls, the intricate crown molding, and detailed plaster work on the ceiling. Fancy.
“I hear you’ve done well for yourself, too.” She smiled.
“You have?”
She tilted her head to one side as if she couldn’t believe he’d asked. “I work with your parents, Mark. I hear about you all the time.”
How hadn’t he considered that before? Of course she would know more about his life than he knew about hers. She was his parents’ prize pupil, as well as their top choreographer.
After what had happened between them, his parents hadn’t gotten involved in the fallout. There was a lot of behind-the-scenes relationship drama in professional dancing, and his parents had learned to work around
it. His relationship with Carol hadn’t been the first dance casualty they’d witnessed, nor the last. Besides, given Carol’s past, his mother had always held a soft spot for her. He hadn’t expected his mother to kick Carol to the curb after what had happened.
“Yeah. Sorry.” He rubbed his hands together between his knees.
Another awkward silence drew out between them.
He dipped his head in the direction of the kitchen. “He sounds like he’s a good cook. What kind of tortellini is he making?”
“Spinach with five cheeses. And he’s making bruschetta, too. It’s kind of his specialty. He cooks it at least twice a month.”
Mark bobbed his head in a passing effort to nod. “You always did like Italian food.”
And Italian men. First him, and then Antonio.
“Yes.” She folded her hands over her lap. Her legs were pressed tightly together, her shoulders pulled in.
She looked almost afraid. Guilty. Like she was preparing herself to hear the worst and shoulder the blame for everything that had happened between them.
Oddly enough, his heart went out to her. He wasn’t here to castigate her.
“Thank you for agreeing to see me.”
She relaxed a little. “Well, after that phone call, how could I say no?” She paused. “You’re right, Mark. We need to talk about what happened. We both need to let go, because, I’ll be honest, there’s a part of me that’s never been able to let go of what I did to you. I feel so guilty. I hurt you and ripped out your heart, and then had to listen to your parents talk about how you fell into this horrible depression, that you were drinking, and that you were behaving so recklessly.” She paused. “I guess that was my punishment for doing what I did. Maybe that’s why they kept me on at the studio, so they could remind me of what I’d done to you by letting me hear all the awful things you were going through.” She shook her head and waved her delicate hand in front of her face as if warding off tears. “About how you couldn’t settle down with anyone, because you’d lost your ability to trust.” She rolled her eyes to try and stop her tears and dabbed at the inside corners with her fingertips. “I mean, they never said these things directly to me, but I heard them talking enough times to fill in what was going on. They were so worried about you, and I knew it was all my fault.”