by J. C. Reed
“Why?”
His hands cupped my face and his thumbs brushed my cheeks. “You know the answer.”
“I want to hear it.”
He sighed. “I’m falling in love with you, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”
The falling in love part again. The first time he had said it I made myself believe it was just a lie. Now I wasn’t so sure about it.
“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing,” I whispered.
He remained silent as he turned his attention to the ocean. “It is if you keep insisting that you want a divorce. How are we supposed to grow as a couple when you want me to stay away from you.”
“We can’t ever be a couple, Chase,” I said with more fervor than I felt.
He shook his head, suddenly angry. “I can. It’s you who can’t so please speak for yourself. If things were different, if I didn’t have to do what I have to do about Clint—”
“Then I’d date you for real,” I whispered. “I’d want to be with you, but this…what we have now…what you have to do for yourself….it can’t work. You know it. It’s just not possible. I can’t forgive you.”
My eyes filled with tears, but they didn’t flow.
He frowned. “Are you implying that you’re ready to date others?”
“It means you’re free to do what you want to do. If you fuck others, you’re free to do so.” I threw him a sideways glance, my heart both burning and bleeding at the thought.
“I can’t do that.”
I smiled. “You can. You will.”
“The feelings I have for you won’t let me.”
“Give it a few months and you’ll change your mind,” I said bitterly.
“Can we stay in touch during the trial?” Chase asked. The change in topic didn’t escape my attention, but I let it pass. “It doesn’t even have to be face to face.”
“No.”
“Laurie,” he whispered. “Just because I’m helping my brother and just because I don’t want to be in love with you doesn’t mean we shouldn’t see each other.”
“I can’t do it.” I shook my head more firmly than I wanted. “It’s not healthy for us.” I met his fiery glance as I continued, “Work out what you have to do. If by the end of it you still feel strongly for me, let me know. But until then, there’s not a chance in hell for us. Trust me, it’s better this way. It’s better for us. I need the distance, and you need it, too.” I forced a weak smile to my lips. “If you love me like I love you, please let me go, but not before—” My words died on my lips, my voice quivering.
“What can I do?”
I smiled again. “Make love to me. Give me something before you go.”
“Fine.” His fingers curled around mine and he helped me up. “Let’s be clear. I won’t give up on you. Irrespective of what you think, my feelings for you are real. The sooner you accept it, the better.”
“Don’t make promises.” I lifted on my toes to place a kiss on his lips. “Make sure to remember me.”
He tasted of summer and wind, of the kind of sweet happiness I could never have.
I smiled even though inside I was breaking.
Whatever we had, it was about to come to an end.
Today would be the last time I’d see him. I’d kiss him one last time before he’d move on. Find someone else. Someone more beautiful. More like him. Someone who’d help him forget me.
“I will, Laurie,” he whispered. “I’ll always remember you.”
Chapter 22
I had always believed in first love. Chase had been my first love. What I didn’t believe was that first love ever lasted. Chase would move on, I was sure of that. I was also sure that fairy tales only existed in movies and books. That it was all in my mind—the emotions, albeit contradictory ones, the wavering decision not to go after him while forcing myself to stay.
When I had told Chase I wanted a divorce, I had been sure I was doing the right thing for us. That I’d be avoiding the awkward breakup that always comes no matter how great a relationship is at the beginning.
Had I made the wrong decision?
It was early afternoon when Chase left. I could still feel his kiss on my forehead; I could still hear the steps when he departed, and the sound of the door when it closed after him.
Pretending to be asleep was much easier than I anticipated. I wanted to avoid the awkward goodbye, the awful silence, and the embarrassing moment of having to stop my tears from falling, but not quite being able to. I thought saying goodbye before his actual departure and then seeing him leave would be easy, and yet I realized nothing about Chase was ever easy.
I had wanted to remember him the way I had come to know him: as Mystery Guy.
A guy with so many secrets he deserved his own mystery novel.
A man who had made me laugh, who had given me a special time to remember him by, who had made me trust him, open up to him. In spite of the lies he had told me, he’d always be in my heart.
As soon as the door closed, I willed myself to sleep, if only to stop the tears and the pain.
When I woke up again, evening was falling and the sun was setting on the horizon. Ignoring the pain in my skull, I forced myself to my feet when my gaze fell on the tiny note on Chase’s side of the bed.
It read:
I’ve left something for you at reception.
Consider it my parting gift.
Your husband
I pressed the note to my chest. Whatever Chase wanted me to have, it could wait. I wasn’t yet ready for more tears. It was hard enough that my room, the pillows, even my shirt, smelled of him. It was bad enough to know that the bed I was lying on was the one where we had made love. And it wasn’t just the room—it was everything about me, as if a part of him had remained behind, attaching itself to me in the form of memories, thoughts, feelings. I could almost see him standing to my left, sporting the most beautiful smile on his face while telling me what to wear. Peering to my right, I remembered the way he had kissed me on that spot before he pulled me into his arms with a fervor that had left me breathless.
It felt as though an entire week had passed, instead of hours. Already I missed our banter, his smile, everything about him. I peered at the time on my cell phone. By now his plane had taken off, returning him to a life that didn’t involve me.
Calling Jude was the right thing to do. Luckily, she sensed my inner turmoil instantly and stopped asking questions.
“When are you coming home?” she asked.
“Probably tomorrow.”
“And Chase?” She hesitated, as though she didn’t know whether he was a subject she could bring up. I could sense her discomfort in her delayed question.
“Don’t worry about him.” For the first time in my life, I didn’t try to hide the sadness in my voice. “He left. It’s better this way.”
The toxic tears from before began to build up in my eyes. It took all my willpower not to give in and break down. As if sensing it, Jude changed the subject, fake cheerfulness infused into her tone.
“Hey, I can’t wait to see you again,” she said. “I’ve heard of this yoga center that we need to check out. It’s supposed to be super cheap and great for you. I also bought the new Walking Dead season on DVD.”
“Great.” I smiled, missing her so much. “Did you have a sneak peek?”
“What kind of friend do you take me for?” she asked. “You know I’d never do something like that without you.”
I smiled, feeling grateful for the fact that when I returned to L.A. someone would be there for me.
Jude was right. She was my family. The only family I ever had. There was nothing I wouldn’t have given up for her.
“My flight’s tomorrow,” I said.
“You promise?”
I laughed through the curtain of tears blurring my vision. “You can bet on it.”
I ended the call quickly and began to plan the last day of my short vacation. The return flight ticket had to be booked so I called the
reception area to inquire about available tickets.
Packing my things kept me busy for an hour or two. It had been a short vacation, but I felt different. Wiser. I had grown as a person. I finished up, leaving my bikini on the bed, deciding to visit the beach one last time, even though without Chase it wasn’t going to feel the same.
Once everything was packed, I headed downstairs.
“I hope you had a pleasant stay at Casa Estevan,” the receptionist said. It was the same one who had greeted me upon my arrival. Her hair was still bleached, and her eyebrows looked still horrible, but her smile—it looked genuine and caring.
“Thank you. It was the best.”
“I’m so glad to hear.” She handed me the info leaflet. “Here’s your flight information. I made sure to print everything out.”
“Thank you. I’ll be checking out tomorrow morning.” I flicked through the leaflet, and then pulled out my credit card. “How much is this going to be?”
“Your husband settled the bill this morning.” She smiled. “He also said to charge his card with your return flight and pay for the driver as long as you need him. And he left you this.” She kept her back turned on me as she retrieved a small box from a drawer, and then pushed it toward me. “He says it’s your birthday gift.”
My heart plunged. “Thank you.”
Once inside the safety of my hotel room, the heavy sadness inside me became unbearable. I suppressed the urge to run my hands over the pillow he had slept on, but I couldn’t quite fight the urge to hold on to that tiny memory of him.
Slowly, I leaned over the pillow and inhaled his scent. I knew I didn’t have to. The whole room still smelled of him. He seemed to be everywhere. Inside my heart. On my skin. In my thoughts.
And yet it wasn’t enough.
I leaned back on the bed.
My throat made a choked sound as another wave of pain rippled through me.
His parting gift—a white box with a turquoise ribbon—lay in my lap. No note was attached to it.
I opened it.
As soon as I lifted the lid, a shaky breath escaped my lips.
The first thing that caught my attention was the necklace—my mom’s necklace arranged on a black velvet pillow. My fingers shook as I lifted it up in the air. The amethyst, crowned by a Sterling silver Celtic design, sparkled in the sun. I realized Chase had kept true to his word. The loose stone had been fixed.
“Thank you,” I whispered, even though he was miles away and couldn’t hear me.
I had almost stashed away the box when I realized it was far too big and heavy. With a frown, I removed the lid and let out another shaky breath as my eyes fell on the letters and the familiar handwriting.
For Laurie.
It was my mother’s handwriting, without a doubt.
My breath made a whizzing sound as tears started flowing down my cheeks.
Oh, my God.
Chase got the letters. I had no idea how he did it, but it was amazing. When Clint called, I had been afraid he’d never give them to me. That he’d break his promise. I smiled as I realized all my fears had been unwarranted. Chase had picked them up for me. Gratitude and happiness settled within my heart, and for a moment I considered calling him to tell him just how grateful I was.
But that thought was quickly lost when I realized the magnitude of the situation.
My mom’s letters were mine. Finally.
A shaky breath escaped my lips as I stacked them together and lifted them to my face, inhaling their scent. They felt so old, fragile, but I could smell the lavender and her. A tear rolled down my cheek as my feelings erupted, leaving me a sobbing mess of joy and sadness.
At last, I scanned through them. There were only four of them—each of them had a few inscribed words at the back.
They said:
For Laurie when she has her first child.
For Laurie when she feels sad.
For him.
I frowned at the third letter, surprised that my mother had left a letter for Clint, but then of course she would. She had married him. There had to be a lot she never got to say.
My eyes fell on the last letter. The fourth one was much thicker than the other letters. It said:
Laurie, open me first after your twenty-third birthday.
It was directed at me, and so much thicker and larger than any other letter. A short shake, and I knew there was something inside. Pictures? A postcard?
My heart sped up as I let my finger trail over the familiar handwriting. I took my time opening it. When I finally did, I reread it a few times, and then I cried myself to sleep, feeling that my world had gone the darkest shade of black.
“Oh, my God,” I whispered, my voice choked, ready to die in my chest.
It made so much sense.
Everything I thought I knew had been crushed by her words.
Chapter 23
Eleanor’s Letter
This is for you, my daughter—the only thing I’ve really truly loved, like every mother should her child.
The day I’m writing this letter, you’re nine years old. In a few weeks, you’ll turn ten. I want you to get this letter when you’re twenty-three, maybe even older. By that time, at least thirteen years will have passed, and you’ll be a beautiful, intelligent woman.
You most certainly have many questions. There’s a great deal of information in this letter. Do not feel you have to understand everything at once. Some of what I will reveal will be hard to believe. Maybe you’ll be angry. Please ignore everything that you’re not ready to accept until you feel the right time has come. Understand, too, that I’m a human being. I made mistakes. I didn’t always know what’s right and what’s wrong.
My biggest fear is that, some of the things in this letter will make you judge me. Again, please know that I only want you to understand who I am, what happened to me, what I had to do. The truth is, much of what I’ve done was a mistake. I had no friends to help me see the truth. I had no one I could confide in. There was no one to teach me faith. I didn’t know better.
One of the reasons I sent you to boarding school was that I hoped you’d never be alone. I wanted you to discover the blessing of friendship. I wanted you to learn the earthy, practical things in life rather than be homeschooled, and at the constant mercy of others. I couldn’t let you make the same mistakes I made, and most of all, I couldn’t let you witness my gradual mental decline.
Clint has without a doubt told you that I was insane. It’s a lie we concocted together…a means to hide the fact that my illness takes away my memories and makes everyday tasks impossible. My illness has started to transform me into someone I’m not. I’ve become someone I no longer recognize. Sometimes I think of the loss of my memory as a blessing, but then I remember that I’m also losing myself, that I forget how to be a mother to you, that all the good things will be erased, too, and I realize just how much of a loss I’m about to suffer.
In the beginning, we were hopeful, thinking the medication I was prescribed would take care of my little problem, but now we know my illness cannot be cured. The doctors have told me that it’s only a matter of time until I lose my memory, the ability to breathe, eat, and I’ll die. They tell me I have months left, but I don’t feel like I have months. I feel like it can happen any time now, which is why I’ve been up for thirty-six hours to draw up my Last Will and the letters.
So, please forgive me if the words seem jumbled or hard to understand. It’s not my intention. I’m just trying not to sleep and forget. If I fall asleep, I’ve no idea in what state I’ll be when I wake up, and days, even weeks could pass before I remember what I was about to do before my memory failed me.
I want to start from the beginning, what I deem the most important events first.
My name is Eleanor Hanson and I’m your mother. I was born Eleanor Stonefield to John Stonefield and Annette Fiddling. Your father is Richard Walker. Moving on from him was hard. Indeed, it took me a few years, but you were the one thing that kep
t me sane. You were a gorgeous baby, my love, my joy. Everything was easier with you. But living so close to your grandparents wasn’t. I’m not proud of who my parents are. I’m not proud of what they’ve done to me.
My father was a hard and strict man. My mother was very religious. You will know very little about them. That’s because I made sure you wouldn’t get to know them.
I wouldn’t say that my parents were evil, but they were cruel people. Every parent who harms a child should not be called a parent but a monster.
I cannot explain the pain I went through whenever they punished me as a child, each in their own way. Though I’m sure my parents loved me, they both turned a blind eye, abandoned me when I needed them the most. My mother knew what was happening to me. I confided in her early on. Yet, she proclaimed that it was all in my head. My father had this tendency to sweep everything under the rug to keep the family name untarnished.
The truth is, I didn’t know that being sexually abused by your uncle is wrong, until I got much older and had you. As a child, I assumed I had no choice and that I had to accept my family for who they were. As I grew older, I knew I needed to escape. Marriage was my only way to get away from them all.
That my uncle raped me throughout my childhood and adolescence is not something I’m proud of. In fact, I wished I didn’t have to tell you, but if it opens your eyes to the world I lived in, then so be it. I hope it’ll help you understand some of the choices I made in my life.
There’s something else I need to tell you. Something that’s even harder to put on paper. Something I still cannot live with, even after all those years.