by White, J. L.
“I couldn’t stop.” She cries harder, pushing her hands over her eyes. “I tried, I tried. But I couldn’t.” I sit there in silence as she wears out the rest of her tears and grows still. There’s nothing to say anyway, as I well know.
She takes a deep breath. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.” When she says this, she sounds more like herself than she has in years. It startles me a bit, it’s been so long since I’ve heard it.
Maybe that’s why I do the one thing I swore to myself I would never do again. “Please,” I say. “Get some help.”
There’s the horrible pause that always follows that question. The pause that was always filled with hope and fear and desperation. It all feels so familiar. I’m shocked to realize how important this still is to me, how much I still want her to finally, for the love of God, get herself some help. In spite of my better wisdom, I find myself having the tiniest glimmer of hope for her, even though she crushed that hope again and again and again in me.
Then she does the one thing I wanted her to do when we were still married. The thing I begged her to do. The thing I prayed over and over again that she would do. She nods her head. “Okay.”
It is a moment that is so unprecedented, so momentous, so fragile, that I don’t respond for a full minute.
I don’t believe it. Finally I say, “You’ll go to rehab?”
This, surely, is the moment when she will go back to doing what she’s always done. Digging in her heels, refusing to do the sensible thing. Refusing to do the thing we all needed her to do so much. But she doesn’t.
She nods again. “Yes.”
I’m confronted with a confusing mix of relief and anger. Why is she doing this now? Why is she doing this now, when it’s too late to make a difference for so many of the things that once mattered to me? Her tears have settled, and she’s sniffling and wiping her wet cheeks. She tucks her arms in between her chest and her knees, clasping her hands together. Keeping her face turned downward, she looks up at me tentatively. “Will you take me?”
I blink and pull back a little, as if in self-defense.
“Please,” she says, tears pooling in her eyes again. “I can’t take myself. I can’t do it. Will you please?”
The injured part of me wants to refuse. But, of course, I cannot.
Chapter 27
Lizzy
Brett sends me a text briefly explaining that he’s checking his ex into rehab, and his sister arrives at 6:10 in the morning to relieve me of watch-duty. I would’ve been nervous to meet her, but I’m too worried about the entire situation for that. She thanks me for staying, and offers me a friendly smile. I tell her I hope everything works out okay.
“Me too,” she says.
Then she thanks me again and I leave Brett’s house and that’s that.
I have a 9:30 meeting with a couple of my managers. I consider postponing so I can get some sleep, but decide to get dressed and head down to the resort. I can always come home and take a nap afterward if I’m really desperate. But just as I put on my heels and grab my keys, my phone rings, and it’s Brett.
“Hi,” I breathe when I answer. “What’s going on?”
“She’s in.”
“How did you get her to go?”
“I didn’t. She wanted to. She asked me to take her.”
“God. I’m glad you were there for her.” That’s not a lie, so you know.
“Are you at work?”
“No.” I would say I’m on my way, but I don’t want to in case he needs me.
“Are you at your house? Can I come over?”
“Yes.” God, yes. Please. “Of course.”
When we get off the phone I call our administrative assistant and have her reschedule the meeting. I send my brothers a text, letting them know I’ll be late at the very least, and telling them that there was an issue with Brett’s ex-wife but not giving more details than that. It’s not really my story to share.
When Brett shows up at my house thirty-five minutes later, I open the door for him and he comes straight in. He cups my face in his hands and kisses me without saying a word. It is a lingering, almost desperate kiss that makes me think of the kiss he gave me when he left. When he pulls back, the look on his face reminds me of the words I thought he was going to say earlier this morning, but never did. Yet again I think he’s going to tell me that he loves me. And yet again he doesn’t.
Now he’s kissing me again, holding me to him as if there’s more he wants to say to me but can’t. I want to hear those words from him. I want to say them myself, but I don’t know what’s holding him back. I’m afraid to tell him just how I feel, because I have a sudden fear that I’m losing him. Like he’s slipping through my fingers and I don’t know how to hang on.
He pauses briefly, looks at me almost as if he’s in pain, then claims my mouth again. I don’t know what else to do except kiss him back and hold him in my arms, and let him take what he needs from me.
His hands slide down my back, fingers pressed wide, holding me to him as if I’m the only thing on earth he has to hold on to. I put my hand on his face, and kiss him in a way that I hope he needs. I want to tell him everything will be okay. I want to tell him that I love him. I want to tell him that I’m here for him and that I can’t imagine ever not being here for him.
He tugs at my shirt and I step back so he can remove it. He removes his as well, then comes back to me, wrapping his arms tight around me and clutching me to him. I hang on tight as well, and feel his hard length pressing firmly against me. He releases me long enough to undo his pants, the zipper sliding down hurriedly. He pushes the heavy material to the floor, stepping out of them. I quickly remove my skirt, my panties next, and wrap myself around him desperately as he lifts me into his arms.
He backs me toward the wall, but before we even make it there, he’s lowered me onto his raging hard cock. There is no condom. He doesn’t offer, and I don’t ask. It is only him and me, just as I’ve wanted, but it doesn’t seem like just the two of us. The ghost of another woman is lingering in the air around us and I don’t know what any of it means.
He takes me with a kind of tender desperation, and I give myself to him. Our bodies join together, climbing frantically, as I try to claim something that may not be mine to have.
Unable to hold back the words anymore, I let them slip from my lips. “I love you.”
He sighs. His entire body sighs, and he pulls back, his hand gripping my cheek. I don’t question the love for me I see burning in his eyes. It’s so strong and undeniable, to doubt would be impossible.
“I love you, too. I love you, Lizzy.”
And with that, the ghost is vanquished. Our love making changes from pained desperation to loving passion. Minutes later, I’m clutching his shoulder and shuttering in climax, and allowing myself to believe that the ghost won’t be back.
Chapter 28
Brett
I haven’t had time to recover from the first emergency call when, that night, I get another. This time, it comes as I’m getting Max ready for bed, and this time it isn’t his mom. It’s Isaac’s wife, informing me he’s had another diabetic attack, this one bad enough to warrant admitting him to the hospital.
I can’t leave Max alone (Lizzy and I both reluctantly agreed we really needed our sleep tonight, so she’s at her place), so I stay posted with his wife via text and go to bed once I know he’s stable. They’re keeping him for observation for a while, though, so I decide to squeeze in a visit between dropping Max off for preschool and going to court.
Isaac’s propped up in his hospital bed, attached to an IV. He smiles upon my arrival, which I take as a sign things are continuing to improve. I settle into the chair next to his bedside and he updates me on the latest, rattling off blood sugar numbers and telling me he’s well enough that he’ll be going home later today.
It’s a welcome diversion from my own troubles. I don’t know why, but I’m still reeling from the whole thing with Jessica.
&
nbsp; “I’ve promised my wife I’ll take better care of myself,” Isaac says now with a guilty grin. “No more secret trips to Dairy Queen.”
I smile.
“She says she’ll never forgive me if I’m not around to celebrate our fiftieth wedding anniversary. Two more years to go.”
“Wow. Congratulations. How old were you guys when you got married?”
“I was nineteen and she was twenty. We met at a party with her college friends. It was kind of a snoozer and I was about to go when we met and got to talking about food. I asked her how she liked her steak and she said rare. That got my attention, I can tell you. Not too many ladies like their steaks rare. So I invited her over to my house the next night to cook dinner for me.”
I raise my brows. “You invited her over to cook for you?”
He nods. “She did a good job too.”
“Boy, that would never fly these days.”
He laughs good naturedly. “Eight days later I asked her to marry me.”
“Eight days? That’s pretty amazing.”
“Forty-eight years now and she’s still putting up with me. Not too shabby, huh?”
I smile. I’ve seen Isaac and his wife together. They’re one of those adorable old couples that make you believe in love.
Which gets me thinking.
“How did you know she was the right one?” How could did he know, after just eight days, that she’s the one who would last? When I married Jessica, I never imagined it’d be over so soon. Or that I’d be mere hours away from finding out if I’ve successfully taken custody of our child away from her.
Which is one of the things causing my thoughts to be all over the place. I don’t even know how I feel about the custody thing now. If she’s turning herself around, is this really what I want to do? But it’s too early to know if rehab will stick, and it’s taken me way too long to get to this point. I’d hate to have to fight this battle again.
“When she agreed that Pogo was a better comic strip than B.C., I knew she was the girl for me.”
“That’s how you knew?” He’s no help at all.
“Eh,” he shrugs. “You had to be there.”
We sit there quietly for a moment. I’ve known Isaac going on five years now, and I’ve always been fond of him. Sometimes our relationship seems less like employer and employee, and more like father and son. This is one of those moments when the power dynamic feels like it’s flipped. Maybe it’s because I’m still raw from the roller-coaster ride of the last couple days, but even though I’m here to offer support to Isaac, I can’t seem to stop thinking about all that’s weighing on me.
He takes a sip of his water and gives me a shrewd look out of the corner of his eye.
“How’s your boy?”
I nod my head. “Fine.”
“And your woman?”
I smile. “She’s good.”
“Then why do you look like your cat just died?”
I straighten, clearing my throat. “Sorry. I’m okay.”
He’s just watching me, knowing I didn’t give the real answer.
“Jessica is, um…” He knew her. Knows the divorce was difficult, but doesn’t know the details. “She’s actually just gone into rehab.”
He raises his brow. “Ah. Sorry to hear she needs it, but… good for her.”
I nod.
He cocks his head at me. “Is that what’s weighing you down?”
I give a half smile and wave my hand, not wanting to say more than I’ve said, ready to shrug it off. “Oh, you know. This isn’t how life was supposed to turn out.”
Isaac chuckles. “Yeah. I don’t think things go as planned for anyone. I wasn’t supposed to get diabetes and turn into an old man, but life goes on, doesn’t it?”
I laugh, trying to let go of the weight I feel, really just wishing it would go away. “Yeah.”
He takes another sip of his water, then leans his head back on the pillow, shimmies his shoulders down a bit, and closes his eyes. In that moment, he does look sick, and older than he usually does.
“You can’t look back, Brett,” he says seriously. “That’s when you trip up. You can only take things as they are right now, and go from there.”
Is that what it is? I honestly can’t tell. Is it the looking back that’s tripping me up? Or the looking forward?
My mother and I are at the deli across the street from the courthouse, eating sandwiches and chips. The judge granted me full custody temporarily, giving consideration to Jessica’s recent admission to rehab. Of course Max is with me full-time right now anyway—I’ve already explained to him he won’t see his mom for a time while she gets better—but even when she gets out in another month (if all goes well), Max will be with me. The judge won’t revisit the issue for another six months.
It’s a temporary reprieve in our custody battle, and one I have to admit is fair. I never liked the idea of taking Max from his mom, and only did it to protect him. If she can truly turn herself around, sharing custody would probably be better for him, and everyone.
Mom thinks so, too. Until then, she’s as happy as I am that we don’t have to worry about it for a while. “And now we know Max will get to come when your brother’s here.” My brother and his wife and their three kids will be passing through on their way from L.A. to Portland to visit her family, so we’re having a big gathering at my mother’s house while he’s here. It’s on an evening Jessica would’ve normally had Max.
“Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about that.” I’m a little nervous that the celebratory mood of our meal is about to go south, but I’ve decided Isaac is right. I can’t let the past trip me up. And I don’t want to put this off any longer.
She smiles to indicate she’s listening and takes a bite of her sandwich.
“I’d like to invite Lizzy.”
She raises her brows, pausing in her chewing. “Really.” She says this as a statement, not a question.
I nod and take a drink of my Sprite. The dinner’s not until next Thursday, which I hope is enough time for the dust to settle for Max. In any case, I’ve decided.
She finishes her chewing, keeping a neutral expression on her face. That’s better than a negative reaction, I suppose. “I didn’t realize things were getting that serious.” she says carefully.
I’m careful with my tone too. I don’t want to fight about this. “I… haven’t really wanted to talk to you about it.”
Her face softens.
Encouraged, I lean forward slightly. “I need you to start fresh with Lizzy. Please. This is important to me.”
She exhales quietly, sitting back in her chair and watching me with that warm, motherly expression she sometimes gets.
“When I met her family, they really made me feel welcome.”
She acknowledges this with a nod. “I understand.”
“I want Lizzy to have that same experience with us. Will you just… try to forget what you think you know about her?”
She purses her lips and looks out the window. “Ahhh,” she sighs softly. “Why Elizabeth Rivers?”
“Come on, Mom. She’s great. She really is.” And I need her fully integrated into my life. I can’t keep going with these two sides of me. Things are getting serious with Lizzy, and I need to see what happens when I really bring her in. “Please. I need your support in this.”
Her eyes swing back to mine. That caught her attention. “All right,” she concedes. She reaches over and pats my arm. “All right.”
“Thank you.” That’s one hurdle down. Now we just have to get through the actual meeting. God, I really hope Mom comes through for me. It’s enough to worry about how Max is going to react to all this.
She wipes her mouth with her napkin and glances at me. “Don’t look so worried. I know how to play nice.”
I smile, but I want more than that. I want my mom to like Lizzy. To approve. But “playing nice” might be the best I can get for now. I’ll just have to take it.
Chapter 29
Lizzy
Brett called this afternoon to tell me the good news about the judge’s decision in court, and also to ask if I’d like to attend a big family gathering at Marcia Carmichael’s house next week. With him and Max. God, I practically jumped out of my seat. However, I managed to contain myself to a “Hell, yes.”
Meeting Max and seeing Marcia again on the same day feels a bit like a baptism by fire, but Brett thinks this will be a good way for Max to meet me, without the whole thing being about meeting me. A little less pressure for everyone, except perhaps me, but I’m willing to do whatever he thinks is best for little Max. I need to be part of this side of Brett’s life. I’m nervous as hell, but I need it.
As for the thing with my dad and the mysterious Mason Reeves, the crisis with Brett’s ex shoved it clear out my mind for a time, and I’m trying to just let it stay there. Brett’s right. No need to assume the worst when we don’t really know. But it’s been hard, and I find myself thinking back on moments with my parents, moments when they seemed so in love, and wondering if I got things wrong.
Then Katherine Camillo comes along, and changes everything.
She invites my siblings and me to have dinner with her on Sunday. In her suite. That’s a little strange, even for her. We’ve had dinner with her plenty of times, but never in her room. But you learn to go with the flow with Katherine.
She tells us to dress comfortably, so we show up in jeans and casual shirts. She’s in one of her trademark dresses with all the layers and the flowing sleeves, looking and sounding like a gypsy with her head scarf and layers of long necklaces and clinking silver bracelets. Dinner arrives shortly after we do (she’d already arranged for our meal to be delivered from one of our restaurants) and we eat right there in her sitting room. Katherine and Connor even end up sitting on the floor with their plates on the coffee table.
It’s trademark Katherine strange.
When we’re through with our meal, she tells us she’ll be checking out the next day (another surprise, since she’s still in Chatty Mode) and that she actually hasn’t been here working on one of her books at all (even more surprising). She says she has something for us, which she made in honor of our parents, since the one-year anniversary of their passing is just nine days away. That’s when she presents each of us with a copy of what she has been working on. It’s a hand-stitched leather-bound book with the title Beautiful Rivers embossed on the front. It’s all about our parents, and their love story.