Erin pushed the lid of her laptop down a little harder than she probably should have. Listlessly, she washed her face and brushed her teeth. Then she crawled into bed, and for the first time in over ten years, she cried herself to sleep.
Chapter 16
The Whole Package
It had been a productive morning for Isabella, and she felt unusually energized. As she stood in line at the post office, waiting patiently for once, she felt rested and wondered if her sleep had improved. Not that she was sleeping more, but perhaps it was deeper. It seemed the only explanation for her alertness and ability to cope with the day.
Still, it didn’t quite ring true, not since she’d been struggling with nightmares centered on her lackluster relationship and how she had no control over her life. It just trudged on without joy or purpose. Except, of course, for loving and raising Alberto.
She could no longer pretend her relationship with Richard didn’t remind her of a dead houseplant in a window, still standing on the windowsill for everyone to see with its withered leaves and decaying roots—mocking the life and beauty it should possess.
Wryly, she realized that she could probably resurrect an actual plant with greater ease and more success than she could this relationship. She wasn’t happy. Surely Richard wasn’t happy either? He deserved to be loved, to be needed and appreciated. Talking to Erin had opened Isabella’s eyes to that. How had she ignored the issue for so long?
She chewed the inside of her cheek. Was she actually sleeping better or merely feeling less depressed because of Erin’s presence in her life? Speaking to her new friend, getting to know her, had injected energy and meaning back into her life. Was this what made her more alert and present?
“My, what a cute baby! He’s so precious!” an old woman suddenly said, while staring into the stroller and grinning happily at Alberto.
Isabella forced a smile. Not much for pleasantries, she still had difficulties getting used to the friendly people of Florida.
“Thank you. He certainly is,” she said, then turned in the direction of the post office clerk, a clear hint to the old woman that Isabella was done with the conversation. It didn’t work.
“How old is he? What’s the little angel’s name?” chirped the old woman, still looking at Alberto.
Annoyed or not, Isabella felt the swelling of maternal pride, and charitably gave the woman another smile. “It’s Alberto, and he is three months.”
“What a sweet name for a sweet boy. And all that hair! He’s going to charm the girls.”
“And the boys,” Isabella added nonchalantly.
The old lady looked confused. “Pardon?”
“He’ll charm all the girls and the boys. Oh, and the people who don’t feel like either category, too. I’m certain he’ll win over anyone he wants to charm.” Isabella wasn’t just trying to make a point; she hoped the subject would make the other woman less inclined to keep talking. That didn’t work either.
Instead, the pensioner beamed. “Of course! Have ’em all. That’s what I say! No one ever told me I could choose anything else when I was a girl. Could you imagine having options? Personally, I’d go with one of them people who have both sets of parts. Call me greedy, but I think I’d like to have both. And all of it in one person…well, saves time. Dating takes so much time. Especially at my age, when you have to nap so much.”
Isabella stared at the woman, relieved to find her so open-minded but unsure what to say next. Where should she start? Should she try to teach this old lady about not fetishizing whole groups of people? Should she laugh at the “frequent naps” thing? The old lady wasn’t looking at her, though. She was busy trying to get Alberto to wave at her.
Isabella was saved, as she was called to the window. She said goodbye to the woman, then handed the clerk the package for Erin and asked to get it sent ASAP.
In the package was, as promised, half her bag of Azúcar Negra, and a little something else, something much more valuable that she’d gone out to buy a few hours ago. It had taken a long time to find exactly what she was looking for, but just shy of eleven, she’d found it and added it to the package.
Isabella hoped Erin wouldn’t balk at the pricey gift, nor the money she was forking over to have it sent express delivery. As far as she was concerned, Erin deserved a real treat.
She was also sending the proofread and printed copy of how she met Richard and ended up where she was today. That made Isabella painfully nervous.
She paid and thanked the man before turning the stroller around and walking out into the sunshine. The old woman waved to Alberto as she passed, but Isabella was too preoccupied to react. She was trying to analyze why she felt so comfortable talking about her dreams and fears to Erin but not about how she met her boyfriend, nor how she longed to leave him.
Was it because even she could see the hesitation and regret in those words? No matter how she’d edited, her explanation still showed that she’d settled for what seemed clinically logical. The best choice for Alberto, not for her. And certainly not for Richard. She didn’t love Richard. Not romantically, anyway. Did she really want to raise Alberto in a home where his parents were just pretending to be a couple?
Surely Erin would see it like that. Would she judge her? Judge her for settling for a safe situation? For focusing on Alberto’s needs because her own didn’t matter? Was I born disliking myself? Or is my own disregard for my happiness and needs something else to blame on my mother?
Isabella gritted her teeth until her jaw ached. She had to contain her emotions. She was in public, and she was with Alberto. Even though he was too young to understand, Isabella hated the idea of him seeing her upset. She wanted to be strong and calm for him. Tears started to form in her eyes, and she growled with anger. She walked more quickly to the car, molding her fears and doubts into anger. Anger she could deal with.
Focusing on what had to be done, she gritted her teeth and got on with it. She was going to go home, feed Alberto, and prepare lunch for herself. At least Richard was at work today, and she didn’t have to worry if there was enough for them both. She felt increasingly ashamed and confused that his presence only annoyed her.
It had been so strange when Richard wasn’t out somewhere with Joshua. Having him home for the weekend had just made her doubts stronger. All the jokes he made that weren’t funny, but still she felt she had to laugh. Or when she felt guilty, because she wished he wasn’t there. The times he would ask how Alberto liked this or that, proving he barely knew his son. Every moment made her skin crawl.
Poor Richard. What have I dragged him into? She resented the thought the second it arose. He was a grown man. He could take responsibility for himself. Couldn’t he?
Her knuckles had turned white on the handles of the stroller. She had to stop thinking about this right now. She could berate herself later, when she was at home and away from Alberto.
She thought about the package, soon to be on its way to New York, and hoped with every fiber of her being it would coax out one of those infectious, Erin Black smiles. And, yes, she hoped she would be allowed to see that smile. She had to admit, just to herself, how much she wanted to see her again. Erin had a way of making everything seem clearer…more manageable. She calmed her.
Isabella wished she could be on Skype. To look into Erin’s honest, sea-green eyes and find her answers in them.
She got herself, the stroller, and Alberto safely into the car and drove home. She had a baby to feed, lunch to make, and a lot of soul searching to do.
Oh, and the kitchen cupboards had to be cleaned. With a sigh, she decided that keeping busy was probably the best thing to do. At least until she could figure out what to do about everything else.
The afternoon sun hid behind the clouds. Isabella watched them drift across the sky with Alberto in her arms. It was almost time for his nap, but Isabella couldn’t tear herself away. Looking at the clouds made her problems seem less pressing.
She looked down at Alberto, lying snug
ly in her arms, as he peered up at her.
“Alberto, we need to talk about your dad. I know, I arranged everything so that you would have a mommy and a daddy and a safe place to grow up. But here’s the problem, cariño. I’m not happy with your father. And I’m starting to wonder if I might not be doing you any favors by going on like a robot, just going through the motions and not feeling anything. So what should I do?”
He gurgled and blinked at her. She gave him a tired smile.
“That really wasn’t helpful, you know. Maybe I should just forget what I want? Stick to the plan, and just give you your family? Although, maybe you’d like it if your family was just you and me, with occasional visits from your dad? Would that be okay? Would it be better for you if you didn’t see your dad so much but your mom was happy? Is that selfish? So many questions and so few answers.”
Alberto started cooing and reached his hand out to grab the tip of her nose. Her laugh as he caught it sounded more like a sob.
“That’s right, mi príncipe. You work on your coordination. It’s my job to worry about everything else. Let’s try and get you to sleep.”
Isabella felt tired but was too anxious to rest. She rocked Alberto to sleep, then put him in his baby bouncer and watched him sink into a comfortable position. The bouncer was right by her writing desk in the corner of the living room, so she could keep an eye on him as she wrote. The only problem with this arrangement was that, on rare occasions, the tapping of the keys woke him. She’d have to risk it; today, she felt like she could write, and she didn’t want to waste that.
As she booted up the PC, she realized that talking to Erin made her feel more creative too. Perhaps it was a side effect from the increased energy, she mused.
For the hundredth time, she wondered why she’d become so attached to Erin. Was it simply because she needed something—someone—new in her life, because she was unhappy with Richard? Would—could—someone else have the same effect on her?
She considered Erin and all the other people she had met online while tweeting and on Facebook, people who lived close by, attractive men, people she had more in common with. None of them had interested her. No, there was something about Erin that caught her interest, and more importantly, kept it. There was something about her that woke Isabella up. Something about Erin had changed her—changed everything.
That change made Isabella face what was right in front of her and had been for quite some time, a family that wasn’t a true family. They were simply two adults sharing a house and loving the same child. Richard could be a good partner and a good father, but not to her and Alberto. And he deserves so much better than what I’m giving him. I owe it to him to let him know that.
They were so out of sync. Surely that wasn’t right for anyone. She couldn’t just go through the motions anymore. She had to make a decision, one that wasn’t influenced by Erin or even made solely for Alberto’s sake. It had to be a decision that was the lesser of two evils for Richard, Alberto, and her. Was she sick with the worry that she was making the wrong decision? Yes. But she’d spent plenty of time in her career having to make unpleasant decisions. Do we cut back on personnel or on materials? Do we invest further or stay the course? Do we take a gamble on more exotic cuisine, or do we stick to what we know works? Do I leave Richard or find a way to live in a loveless relationship?
She could find the right solution they could all live with. She had to. It was then she realized just how distanced she was from Richard. Until that moment, it never occurred to her that he should be involved in making this decision, that he could help if she talked to him. But then, he had never given any indication that he wanted anything to change.
Have I? Haven’t we both just let things run their course with sad smiles and empty kisses?
It was all so complicated, so many gray areas and endless, seemingly unanswerable questions. Her stomach ached, and her jaw hurt from grinding her teeth again.
Who did she think she was kidding? In the past, Isabella had had no qualms about who she’d had to lie to in order to achieve her goals. But she never, ever lied to herself. That was the line she wouldn’t cross. And she wouldn’t—couldn’t—start now. She and Richard weren’t working. They were never going to work. Seeing the effect Erin had on her had proved that without a doubt.
Nevertheless, her future with or without Richard needed to be decided without Erin factoring into the equation. Richard deserved that, at least. They had a son together, after all. One way or another, they would always be in each other’s lives because of Alberto. And he was a good man. He was kind and sweet and gentle. He just wasn’t right for her. She wasn’t right for him. They both deserved more than they were prepared to give each other. And Alberto deserved a father who could give him the love and attention he deserved. Isabella had to believe that if she and their broken relationship were not standing in the way, Richard would be a more attentive father.
Exhausted by relentless musings that seemed to go on in never-ending circles, she sat down to write, in the hope that it would block it all out for a while.
Eventually, the words began to flow. Her shoulders relaxed, as did her jaw muscles, as she escaped her own life for a while and delved into the world of fairy tales. Next to her, Alberto slept, his little hands opening and closing with his dreams.
The afternoon had flown by in a blissful writing frenzy and time spent playing with Alberto. The subsequent dinner with Richard was polite and quick, since he excused himself to go out for drinks with an old friend.
But no matter how short the time, it had still felt like torture to Isabella. She constantly cast wary glances at him. Her pulse raced, and her appetite was nonexistent. She felt like she was betraying him in one moment, and freeing him from equal misery in the next. She recalled that Richard had promised he would always be there for them, that he would never make the mistakes he’d made with Shay and Joshua, and that he would never leave her. She believed he meant every word. He would stay by her side, no matter how miserable they both were, because he’d promised her he would. She could release him from that promise. She could let him go. Should she set them both free? Could she?
The three hours spent talking to Erin about movies, TV shows, and books were glorious. Leaving the chat was a painful decision, but she was bone tired. The words had begun to swim into one big alphabet soup on her screen, forcing her to say good night. She was learning that mental anguish and uncertainty really were exhausting.
She cuddled up in her chair, pulled her blankets around herself, and looked over at the sleeping Alberto one last time, to make sure he was all right. Then she closed her eyes and drifted into a deep sleep.
One second, she felt herself descending into sleep. The next, she felt small, hard pebbles under her bare feet.
Isabella looked around. Where was she? A beach? She knew this place. A vague memory grew stronger in her dreaming mind. With effort, she remembered visiting that beach early one spring with her parents. How old had she been—five, six maybe? She couldn’t quite remember, but in the dream it didn’t much matter. She remembered how she had been dragged along for a trip to see several scenic parts of northern Europe with her parents. They had visited some fellow bourgeois Americans who had emigrated.
In the dream, she began to walk. The feel of the small pebbles and the look of the gray sky and the ocean, so dark that it was almost black, brought back more memories. She remembered taking off her shoes because her mother had said she wasn’t allowed to. She’d told her that she would hurt her feet. Sadly, her mother hadn’t seen the tiny rebellion. She had been too busy walking ahead with the American art collector who was playing host to them all. Where was her father? She couldn’t remember. Strangely, she could remember the art collector talking about the unique light and the quaint towns and ruins that were ‘just to die for’—or maybe her adult mind filled that in—but she couldn’t remember her father being part of the scene. She found herself wondering what that meant. Did it mean anything? Was
it just an idiosyncrasy of her adult dreaming mind or of deeper significance to her undeveloped child mind? She couldn’t remember him being there, because he never truly was. Not when she needed him. Not when she needed his protection.
The cliff face in front of her drew her attention away from her musing, and her eyes followed it up to the solitary church at the top. It looked stark and abandoned. She wasn’t sure if it had actually been on that beach or if it was part of her dream. She supposed it didn’t matter.
Little Isabella had hated the trip. She had wanted to be home with her toys, home where she didn’t have to travel constantly from one hotel room to the next. Home was where there weren’t so many new faces all the time and where the food didn’t taste so strange. Home was where people spoke English and didn’t laugh at her when she didn’t understand the ways of foreign cultures.
The sudden, overwhelming urge that she was supposed to be searching for someone overtook her. She heard her mother’s voice calling her from behind. Chasing her. She turned to answer, to tell her she had to find…someone…but her mother wasn’t there. It was just her voice, sharp and echoing in her ear—loud, urgent, yet unintelligible. Isabella ran. Her feet pounding, slapping against the stones. The pebbles hurt her feet. She looked down, checking to see where she was going, but they were no longer a child’s feet. They were her feet as they looked now, full grown and aching with every pounding step.
Still, she heard her mother’s voice. Speaking so fast—too fast—for Isabella to clearly make out the words. Straining as she ran, all she could decipher were the words failure and disappointment. No surprise there, she thought in her dream. But it didn’t calm her. That disembodied voice hunted her, and she just couldn’t shake it.
Her lungs ached from the cold air she sucked into her body as she continued to run. She tried to take calm, deep breaths, but the air, heavy with the scent of seaweed, salt, and something which reminded her of lavender, bit and clung inside her, refusing to replenish her body with much-needed oxygen, as she pounded down the beach,
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