The Edge of Mercy

by Heidi Chiavaroli

  “I’m trying, Sarah. I’m willing now. Just tell me what you want our next step to be and I’ll do it. Anything. You want to see a counselor, I’m there. Please.” He reached toward me, his fingers playing with mine. If only he’d agreed to see a counselor at the beginning of the summer, we might have been able to avoid this whole mess. “Still wearing my Mom’s ring, huh?”

  I grabbed up my hand and fiddled with the metal. “You know, since we need to open up and all, I’ll go first.” I dragged in a breath. “I lost my wedding rings. Off a large boulder.”

  He grimaced. “How’d that happen?”

  “I was taking a hike after you first told me you wanted to move out. I ended up at the top of a big rock. I was thinking about what it would be like to not have the rings on if you, you know, wanted a divorce.”

  He breathed deep. “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. Well, I dropped them. Not on purpose. I’ve looked for them for hours, but they’re nowhere, Matt. I’m sorry.”

  A moment of silence. Then, “You didn’t mean to lose them.”

  Wow. An understanding husband. I could get used to this.

  I sipped my coffee while he picked at his toast. “Your turn.”

  He looked up from the red jelly smeared on the crust of his breakfast. “What?”

  “Tell me something.”

  He pushed his uneaten toast aside. “I’m an idiot.”

  “Something I don’t know.”

  He smiled, but it disappeared quickly beneath the weight of his thoughts. “Can we just chalk this whole thing up to a pre-midlife crisis or something? I’ve never been good at getting out my feelings and all that. I’m not even sure what they are myself.”

  I turned to the sink and opened the dishwasher to load the few stray pieces of silverware. I ran the water to drown out the need for conversation.

  He didn’t get it, and I didn’t want to be difficult. But I did want us to grow. We couldn’t just hop over the past couple months like a skipped stone skids over the surface of a lake. We needed to dive in, take the plunge, and figure out why it happened so we could move forward with a healthy marriage. But Matt needed to want this as much as I did. I couldn’t push him.

  He tapped the pile of papers titled Journal of Elizabeth Baker on the side of the island. “Did you finish?”

  “I didn’t think you knew what I was doing.”

  “Kyle mentioned it to me one night at rehab. He only caught pieces of it while you read I guess, but he said it sounded interesting.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It belongs to Barb’s ancestor. She asked me to get it down on paper for her daughter.”

  It grew quiet between us again, tense. He got off the stool, came closer. I felt my defenses rise. He’d hurt me. While I may not want our marriage to end, his actions had trained me to be on guard.

  “Sarah, I want you to tell me things. I want to know about you. I want to start over.”

  I clung to those words. He was inviting me in. Listening. Really listening.

  I wondered what he’d say to the truth. “I mowed up the divorce petition,” I whispered.

  “What?”

  “I mowed it up. Shredded it. Dumped it behind the stone wall.”

  He turned to me, put his hands on either side of my elbows. “You don’t want a divorce, then? After all this . . .”

  “What do you want?” I whispered.

  He slid his hand down my left arm and raised my fingers to his lips. “I want to spend every moment of the rest of my life making up for the past several months. I want to wake next to you every day, tell you over and over again how sorry I am.”

  His words lingered sweetly in my ears. He pulled me closer and kissed me gently, capturing my bottom lip within his own. I felt the urge to give in. He’d apologized. I could easily fool myself into thinking that’s all we needed. I would have let the kiss deepen if I could have forgotten about her.

  I stepped back. “We need distance if we’re going to work this out. We need to talk without the bedroom.”

  “Okay.”

  “Maybe you should keep the Newport rental for another month.”

  “I’m done there. I’ll get a place close by here. I want to be near you and Kyle.”

  “I—I have to know. What changed? Was it Kyle’s accident? Was it something she did? I need to know what we’re basing all this on.”

  He went and sat on a barstool. “It started before the accident. The minute I had my lawyer draw up the divorce petition, even.” I knew each word cost him something and I stood still, unwilling to tarnish the moment. “You were right, you know. About why I was drawn to Cassie. It was all the superficial things you accused me of and more. I was running, Sarah. I have been forever, in a sense. Running from my childhood, running from what my father did to us. Running away from poverty and my mother and her boyfriends. Running to everything that meant success and happiness to me. Newport . . . the Watermans . . . . Crazy, but I’ve wanted that life since I was in high school.”

  The words poked with the intensity of a hundred needles. I’d wanted honesty, but I’d forgotten how the truth could hurt.

  I hadn’t been enough for Matt.

  I was his wife, and I wasn’t enough.

  “More than anything, I wanted that kind of life for us.” He sighed long and slow. “Only you never seemed to want it. You’d be content in a six-hundred-foot fixer-upper if it’s all I could give you. You were content with me, and I—I fell short.”

  I opened my mouth, then closed it, unsure what to say.

  “I always pushed for more. More business, more employees, more clients. Bigger, bigger, bigger. Like my whole life I’ve been in a race I didn’t know I was part of, and in Newport, I felt like I’d won that race.” His eyes glistened, and he swallowed, hard. It didn’t stop his words from cracking. “Only I lost. Big time.”

  He didn’t look at me as he spoke, and I was glad of it. “Since we were teenagers you always encouraged me to go after what I wanted. I clung to that. The belief you had in me. But somewhere along the way I lost your belief.”

  I sat next to him on a stool. “I didn’t think you needed it anymore. Everything you did, you did well. Do you remember the night of our wedding . . . what you said to me?”

  He stared blankly at me.

  “You told me I saved you. What did I save you from, Matt?”

  A small smile crept to his mouth. “From myself. From living day after day without purpose, wondering if I had what it took to be better than my dad, wondering if I had what it took to support you. With you and Kyle, I knew I didn’t have a choice. I’d provide for you both if it killed me. There was no more wondering. There was only one way—work hard and don’t take no.”

  “Will you tell me about your father?”

  My words hung in the air.

  Finally, he said, “Yes. But not today.” He stood, kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you. I’m going to clean out the Newport house, find a place to stay around here, check on the guys.”

  I swallowed. I suppose it wasn’t reasonable to heal our marriage in a single morning.

  “Can I ask you one more thing?” I wanted to cling to this moment where he’d made himself vulnerable, scared that if he walked out the door it would be gone forever.

  “Sure.” He stood in front of me, patient.

  Listening.

  I wanted to ask him if he’d married me only because of my pregnancy with Kyle. I wanted to ask him if he’d married me because he was scared of my father, of not doing the right thing. I wanted to ask him if he’d married me only out of obligation—if he wanted to fix our marriage for the same reason.

  “Never mind; we’ll talk later.”

  “Okay. I’ll call you.”

  “He didn’t make a fuss over the rings?” Essie stood in Barb’s bedroom staring at the quilt I’d carefully folded. I planned to take it over to my house today.

  “No. He really seems sorry. He
’s changed. Walls are coming down. I’m almost scared to hope.”

  “Just be careful.”

  I tried not to be annoyed at Essie’s words. “Shouldn’t I give my husband a second chance?”

  “Of course. I just don’t want to see you get hurt all over.”

  I began to strip the sheets off Barb’s bed. One of the fitted sheets caught on the mattress, pulling beneath my fingers. “It is risky. I could get hurt again. I’m hoping my marriage is worth the risk.”

  Essie grabbed the other side of the sheet and tugged it from the mattress. “Do you think love changes? Like maybe we could fall in love with someone at one point in time, but if we met that same person twenty years down the road, we wouldn’t end up falling?”

  “You’re awful reflective lately, aren’t you?”

  She shrugged, gave me a sheepish grin.

  “I suppose that even if that were true of me and Matt—if we met now instead of nineteen years ago—well, I think it’s a moot point.”

  “How so?”

  “He’s my husband. What we’ve been through the last seventeen years has shaped us. Whether we’ve grown apart or not, I have to believe that our marriage is real. That it’s worth the work, and even the hurt. Marriage . . . it’s belief in another person’s love. And that’s what hurt—the moment Matt walked away, the moment Cassie turned his head, he began to stop believing. His faith in our marriage faltered.”

  But I couldn’t pretend mine had stayed strong. I’d let Pete get too close. I’d found comfort in his presence, in his touch, and even in his kisses.

  I’d stopped believing, too.

  My phone rang and I glanced at it, the name causing a small shriek to climb my throat. Mary Dawson.

  “What? Who is it?” Essie came around the bed.

  “It’s Barb’s daughter.”

  “You’ve been waiting. Answer it, silly.”

  I gulped in air from deep within my being, and slid the button on my phone to accept the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello. Sarah?”

  “Yes . . . Mary?”

  A moment of silence. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you.”

  “No . . . no, that’s okay. I’m glad you called.” I walked into the living room, sat in Barb’s old rocker. Words failed me and more awkward silence clogged the line. I had called her. I was supposed to spearhead this conversation.

  “She’s dead, isn’t she?” Mary asked, surprising me.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  A wobbly sigh. “She told you all about me, I suppose.” It didn’t sound like a good thing.

  “No—no, I mean, I knew she had a daughter, but I didn’t realize you weren’t close until after her heart attacks.”

  “I’m at Logan. I honestly don’t know why I came. Closure, maybe. Is it okay if I come to the house?”

  My mind whirled. Barb’s daughter, here. I hadn’t expected this. What would she want? Quite suddenly, I felt threatened. Barb’s home, her request that I transcribe the journal, Elizabeth’s story—so much of it had become a safe haven for me the last few months. Now, I would share it all, as Barb had asked.

  “Yes, of course. Do you need a ride? I could come and—”

  “No, I already rented a car. Will you be around in another couple of hours?”

  “Y—yes.”

  “See you soon.”

  I hung up, a million questions vying for precedence in my mind. “She’s here,” I said to Essie, who stood in the bedroom doorway with Barb’s sheets in her hand.

  “Where?”

  “At Logan. On her way here.” I looked at the house, packed away in boxes. “What will she think? This place is a mess. She doesn’t—”

  Essie knelt beside me, grasped my hands. “Sarah, you have nothing to be ashamed of, hear me? You are not responsible for Barb’s relationship with her daughter. Barb left you everything, and you’ve been taking care of things as best you can. You’ve been trying to reach her for days and she springs this on you? Don’t let her intimidate you, okay?”

  I pressed my lips together before answering. My sister had changed since Kyle’s accident. She was more contemplative, more fiercely protective of me. “Thank you. I do want to help, though.”

  Barb had entrusted me with this last thing, this important message. I felt that, with all that had happened lately, renewal was possible. In Kyle’s health, in Barb’s relationship with her daughter…maybe even in my broken marriage.

  Chapter 35

  I wished Essie could have stayed. I wished the rehab place would have called me saying Kyle needed me. But no one stayed or called and I found myself running a load of laundry to wash Barb’s sheets, convincing myself that this is what I’d been waiting for—to speak to Mary.

  I’d brought over Elizabeth’s journal, placed it on Barb’s dining room table. I’d print out another copy for myself, but this one belonged to Mary.

  When a car pulled up Barb’s drive, I opened the screen door for the middle-aged woman walking up the path. She had on tennis shoes and her hair was dyed a platinum blonde. I held my hand out to her and introduced myself, inviting her in, a flowery scent trailing behind her.

  Her gaze darted around, taking in the many boxes. “Maybe we could talk outside?” she asked.

  “Certainly.” We went on Barb’s small porch, sat in the two rockers with chipped white paint.

  “Place is almost the same.” Mary’s gaze landed on me and I saw that her skin was loose at her neck, and her eyes . . . they were the same shade as Barb’s.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you right away. I didn’t know how to reach you, and your mom . . . she asked me to prepare something for you that took most of the summer.”

  “Oh?”

  I went back in the house and grabbed up Elizabeth’s journal. When I returned, I held it out to her. “Her ancestor. Your ancestor. Barb wanted you to have it.”

  Mary stared at the folder for a long time. “Unbelievable.” She let out a small snort. “I finally decide to come home and this is what I get. A story. Figures.”

  I tried not to be taken aback by her suddenly hostile tone, by her casual attitude to the precious gift. “Your mom cared about you. Her final request was that you be found. That I give you the journal and tell you that she loved you. She loved you and she said she was sorry.”

  I thought her gaze softened for a moment, but then it was gone. “Well too bad sorry don’t bring the dead back to life or wash the blood off her hands, Ms. Rodrigues.”

  I’d known Barb’s sins had been great, but I hadn’t realized someone had died because of her actions. All I could think of was Abram’s body falling off the rock. Death. Done, permanent. But Abram had believed life would go on, that eternal life could be found in his God. And Elizabeth had believed that as well. She had found hope in the darkness. Would Mary see that hope from the journal, or would her pain blind her to it?

  “My mother tell you what she did?”

  “No.” A part of me didn’t want to know.

  “She made our lives miserable, that’s what. Always harping on Daddy to give up the bottle. When he finally did, she still didn’t think him good enough. Always demanding he go play his guitar at soup kitchens or dress up nice for church or some other agenda. And I wasn’t far behind. I could never do anything right for that woman. But I got old enough and I got to leave. Dad . . . he found another way to leave. We woke up one morning to find him missing, keys still on the nightstand, car in this very drive. The search team found him in the back woods, hanging from a tree. I left for good the day after his funeral and I vowed never to come back here until she was gone, too.”

  My bottom lip trembled as I listened to Mary’s story. My heart went out to her, and Barb. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

  Mary leaned back in her rocker, closed her eyes. “Yeah, well it wasn’t your fault. And I don’t mean to take issue with you. I just wonder if my mother wasn’t playing you like she tried to play
me and Daddy.”

  I sniffed, shook my head. “I have to admit, I’ve had my moments of anger toward your mother. I wondered how she could strap me with such a big request, one I didn’t even know the details behind. But, Mary, please believe me when I say your mother changed. I don’t think I ever saw a judgmental bone in her body. She served in any way she could, yes, but it never seemed to be out of guilt or obligation. I have to believe she changed.” I placed my hand on Elizabeth’s journal. “I’m not certain, but I think what she read here helped her as well. I think we all make horrible mistakes—mistakes we wish we could take back.” I thought of the marriage I’d taken for granted. I thought of Matt’s choice to abandon us, of me allowing Pete to get close. “But I also believe there’s always hope of reconciliation too. Even now, with your mother buried. I think that’s what she wanted to offer in this . . . though now, it’s up to you.”

  Mary snorted, but I counted it a small victory that no fighting words came forth.

  I swallowed, thinking something more was needed to open Mary’s heart. Maybe this time, it was up to me. “I think she knew how painful this place was for you, and that’s why she didn’t give it to you, but I think she’d be pleased if you’d accept it.”

  “The house?”

  “I was surprised when she left it to me, but I’m wondering if she just didn’t want me to hold it for you.”

  Mary shook her head. “I don’t want this place. You’re right—it is too painful.”

  “Then sell it. Do you have any kids?”

  Her face softened. “Two children, three grandkids.”

  “I think Barb would be happy if you blessed them with it all somehow.” In that moment I was certain I’d just been the caretaker, that Barb had known I would make this decision, and it felt . . . right. I didn’t mourn it for a minute.

  “She left you the house, but you’re giving it to me? You have some screws loose?”

  “I think she intended for me to be only the steward all along.”