Surviving Goodbye

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Surviving Goodbye Page 23

by Morgan Parker


  She stared off. “I’ll be all the way out in Sterling Heights.” Hard to tell whether she was happy about that or disappointed.

  “Oh.” Wasn’t hard to tell how I felt, judging by my deflated tone.

  “I’m sorry, Elliot. We’ll get together soon. I promise.” She moved to the driver’s door, pulling it open. She moved slower now that I had cornered her outside, and it gave me a bit of pleasure to see that I had distracted her a little today. It felt like payback for all of those nights that my thoughts of her had kept me awake, and the days that had dragged into eternities because she hadn’t reached out to me.

  “Hey, Veronica,” I called after her before she set her foot on that big step inside.

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t want to be your biggest what-if,” I said, my own voice cracking because it hurt to say those words. There was too much truth to them. I just wanted to reach out and hold her, forever. But I couldn’t move.

  She hesitated for a beat before she told me, “You already are.” Then, without looking at me or seeing how I had gone completely numb, she climbed into the van and drove off. Like she didn’t care.

  Later that night, after attending the Wayne County Credit Union’s annual awards banquet for the company’s best performers, I arrived home ahead of a storm that would normally bring snow. The unseasonably warm air promised thunder and lightening and a ton of rain instead. When I entered the house, I found Lena sitting in the dark. In the interrogation chair. I flicked the light switch and watched her attention waft toward me. Her red, puffy eyes suggested something was wrong.

  “Sorry I’m late?” I asked, wondering why she was sitting here like this, still in her school uniform (but there were crumbs of some sort on her chest, so I knew she had eaten).

  “Saw Jennifer today after school.”

  I frowned, curious why Lena’s cousin would have been slumming it in this neck of the woods. It seemed Lena was good at reading my mind.

  “Her boyfriend goes to my school.”

  Oh, I see. But I didn’t see the point quite yet.

  “What’s this letter from Mom she mentioned?”

  Oh, now I see.

  I shifted my weight. I cleared my throat. I kept my tone soft, a your-credit-application-is-declined soft, like the training modules at work had taught me. They were the same tactics they taught police negotiators who talked crazy people out of jumping off of a bridge.

  At least that was what I had told myself. “It never concerned you, Lena.”

  She reached back and produced a letter, the last one, the longer one where Karen had explained her plan, the reason for lying in the first place. Lena waved the paper, then released it so I could watch it flutter to the floor.

  “Lena…”

  “How long ago did she tell you this?” she asked, her voice cracking. “How long have you thought I wasn’t yours?”

  At a steep disadvantage, I moved toward her, something a negotiator would probably never do when working with a real jumper.

  “How long?” she demanded, her eyes darkening.

  “That last day in the hospital, she told me.” I nodded at the letter on the floor. “She gave one letter to Uncle Jamie and another to Nathan Darien, an influential man she dated in high school. He was at our wedding.” I left out the part about his crooked dick because it probably didn’t add much to the story. “He married a bridesmaid. Leanne.” Her name felt like acid reflux.

  Lena covered her face and cried. I didn’t step closer to her; I had learned my lesson already. Watching her from a few feet away, I said, “It was a rough year for me too, Lena. I didn’t shut you out because of what she told me.”

  “I hate her,” she admitted. “I fucking hate her.”

  I frowned, approached her, and knelt next to the chair. Brushing her hair out of her face, I admitted, “I hated her for a long time, too. I lost a year of my life to that hatred. I lost Veronica to that hatred.”

  Lena sobbed a little harder at hearing Veronica’s name.

  “But she was motivated by love, Baby Bear,” I said, my voice cracking and broken.

  “Don’t call me that,” she whispered back.

  “It was all motivated by love,” I explained, the sound of my wrecked voice something of an embarrassment. “Because there was nothing else she could’ve done to convince me I could, should, and needed to love again.”

  Lena tears subsided and she stayed quiet for a long time, holding her face in her hands while I rubbed her back and twirled her hair. I hated that her baby would know so much sadness before she or he was even born because Joffrey with an ‘O’ was too afraid of responsibility, just as I had been.

  “Your mother loved you before you were even alive,” I assured her. “It’s what makes you so determined with your own baby. The way you love this unborn child makes me so proud to be your father. And to be your mother’s husband.”

  At last, she peeled her hands away from her face and stared at me with red, puffy eyes.

  “You love me, right?” I asked. I knew the answer; you don’t get pleasure from annoying someone you hate, and Lena clearly enjoyed annoying me.

  She nodded.

  “What would you have done, Lena? Knowing how much I loved your mother, what would you have done or said that would’ve nudged me to move on, to grow up and let her go so I could find a happy life again?” I pulled Lena out of the chair and opened my arms to her. After a beat, she dropped into my embrace.

  And then our hug evolved into a slow dance. I grabbed my daughter’s hand with mine, held her lower back with the other, and we moved slowly and softly to whatever music played in our heads and the rumbling thunder of a far-away but approaching storm. It was the first time I had ever danced with my teenage daughter.

  Later that night as I lay in bed, reading a book about building relationships with qualified clients, my phone buzzed. I didn’t have to look to see who had sent a message—nobody else texted when Lena wasn’t at work—but I did look because I needed to see her words right about now. The number on the screen belonged to Veronica, and my chest tightened at the reality that she had contacted me after all of this time, after all of my certainty that I would never hear from her again. Seeing her today had felt like fate, or some other act, and I quietly thanked Karen for that.

  I still miss you, Elliot. <3

  I smiled, one of those super-big smiles that inspired a happy dance in bed, under the sheets. The bedframe squeaked a bit, just as Lena was walking past my bedroom door.

  “Gross, Papa Bear!” she said, suggesting I might be self-servicing. Nice.

  “It’s not…” I started, then abandoned my thought. Nothing I said would convince her. I looked at the phone and tapped out a quick response.

  Me: I still miss you more. Guaranteed.

  I waited a few seconds, and then another buzz.

  I’d like to apply for a loan tomorrow

  Still grinning, I tapped out:

  Me: I’ll be there all day. Lunch at noon. Whatever works.

  Before she could tap out her response, I added:

  Me: I’ve never fallen in love with a client before.

  There was a long pause, so long that I worried I that may have overstepped some pretty strict boundaries that the book in my lap hadn’t mentioned yet. I hadn’t expected her to be serious about the loan; I was hoping she wanted to stop in and see me, get our relationship back on track.

  Is this really a relationship? Young people fuck all the time, you were her fuck buddy. Shit. Maybe she really needs a loan and thinks I want something more…

  At last, the phone buzzed.

  No worries. You loved me before I became a client.

  She was right. Of course she was right, Veronica was always right.

  Me: We’ll see. Sleep well.

  I waited for a response, but she never wrote back, so I placed the phone next to the bed, closed the book from work, and reached for the light when I noticed the letter that Lena had read. I deliberated
reading it again, looking for a clue that Karen was still watching over me and would help me iron things out with Veronica. Deep down, I believed she was. It had to be Karen who aligned the stars, right from the start.

  Sighing, I picked up the letter and decided to read it, promising myself that if it became too difficult, I could always put it down and close my eyes, dream about that moment when Veronica would enter the bank and walk right up to my office. I imagined her smile, the blue streak—oh, wait, the streak was gone now—and the way she would stand in the doorframe and maybe tease me with a glimpse of her collarbone tattoo, the Never let me go, the one I had somehow ignored.

  Elliot,

  You wanted a daughter so badly. You gave me that daughter. Despite what I’ve said and written, Lena was always yours. You know me better than anyone, as my husband, that I would’ve never strayed when it came to my marriage, to the man who fought hardest to keep me happy, keep me alive, and just keep me.

  You always were and always will be the man who is my everything. And, you know, even if I had strayed, Lena’s heart, soul, and love always belonged to you, her father in every sense of the word. Just like my heart, soul, and love belonged, and still belongs, to you.

  Near the end, when I realized that I wasn’t going to make it to Thanksgiving, let alone Christmas, I remembered those holidays and memories we created together, the three of us. I remembered the hikes, and trips, and shopping. I remembered making love to you on those lazy Thanksgiving mornings, and locking the door while Lena played with her toys on Christmas morning. And I remembered your unwavering loyalty.

  I knew you would not stop loving me once I was gone. So I called upon the few people who would help with your goodbye. Of course, Jamie, my brother. Regardless of what you think about him and his wife, I know he will give you the first letter. Not sure when, exactly, he’ll come through, but I instructed him to give it to you within the first month unless you ask for it sooner…and I hope you do because you need to move on. And then Nathan, who might seem like an odd choice because of my history with him, but he’s the one I trust to not throw me a curve ball (see, even while I’m staring death in the eye, I’m punny). Nathan’s role is a little more complicated, but the way he looks at Leanne, I just know that he understands what love is, and he can appreciate that I look at you the same way; he’ll understand and he won’t let me down.

  Which brings me to the finale of my letter and my final goodbye to you, Elliot Fitch. Your love is the most beautiful reason to exist. When you (Elliot) love someone, you become the sunshine in her cloudy sky; you are her reason for waking up, for smiling, for staying strong and pushing forward when everything else urges her to do the opposite. I know this because I’ve had your love, and this is how I felt and still feel, even while my last hours burn out. Once I’m gone, your love will be wasted, and that makes me so incredibly sad. So that is why I lied, why I pushed you to hate me, so you could move on and share your love with someone who deserves it best.

  Whoever she is, love her as hard and deep as you loved me. Don’t make her sad. And please do not push her away now that you know the truth and motive behind what I did. If you lose her, she will be the biggest what-if of your life.

  Elliot, I’ll love you until the end of time. Mine were the happiest days anyone could ever ask for; I want the same for you.

  Your wife, forever.

  Karen

  I wiped at my eyes. The tears belonged in my past, in a place that no longer existed. Like my marriage. The sadness existed the same way you might shed a tear at seeing an old friend you never expected to see again. They existed because, as much as I loved Karen, she was gone. Forever.

  Folding the letter, I tucked it into the drawer of my bedside table where I kept a few magazines and other items from those long-ago nights when Karen and I had the house to ourselves and we wanted to explore a few new ideas she had discovered in a book or magazine. I would’ve loved to have tried that wedge with her, but I hadn’t discovered that website until Lena’s delivery arrived on a day that I was supposed to be at work.

  And I was pleased that I had discovered that website, because that was how I had met the girl in the uniform with the blue streak in her hair.

  It had been Karen’s doing, all along.

  “Thank you,” I whispered to the dark ceiling.

  And then, as if in response, the sky outside my window exploded in brightness from the lightning of that approaching storm.

  Epilogue

  Time had never moved so slowly for me. Despite hating my job, finding Lena at the end of every day, her belly getting bigger and bigger, and spending time with Veronica at the end of a workweek, it made it worthwhile. But nothing like this, nothing like standing at the edge of Lena’s bed and watching her obstetrician announce:

  “She’s crowning, this is happening, everyone. This is happening, and quick.”

  He didn’t mention what he didn’t know, however. He didn’t know that this moment was the culmination of a long process, starting two days ago with those mild contractions—the way Lena painted the picture, she was about to deliver her child any minute now—and then gradually, so very gradually, progressed quarter-inch by quarter-inch to where she was fully dilated. Two days of slow progress, an epidural later, and now this was happening, and quick.

  Time had never moved so slowly.

  When Lena’s son was born, time moved even slower. So slowly that I thought he might not be breathing. But he was. Little and alive, red and fierce with clenched fists and squirmy little toes. He was beautiful. And when he cried, his little screams were tiny too.

  “Papa Bear,” Lena panted. “Can I see my son?”

  I turned to the doctor after snipping the cord, and the nurses wrapped him up and handed him to my daughter. She smiled, and her boy stopped crying the moment she took him, a silence that lasted long enough for him to seemingly take in the beauty of his mother.

  Wow.

  The scene reminded me of when I met Elena Fitch for the first time as well. She had looked exactly like her son (minus the swollen penis), full of life and possibilities and all things pure. It had been up to Karen to keep her safe, to love her and guide her in those earlier years. Now it was up to me to care for her and her child, to love them and guide them, pick up where Karen (and Joffrey) had left off. It was the best responsibility I would ever know, the responsibility of fatherhood and grand-fatherhood.

  “Congratulations,” the obstetrician told me while he tidied up between Lena’s legs.

  “I’ll be back,” I promised.

  “No family just yet,” the nurse said. “We’ll come and let you know.”

  I nodded as I left the room, walked along the halls to the soundtrack of other women giving birth to their own most beautiful babies in the world. I entered the waiting area and found Ava asleep across a couple of seats, her head in her mother’s lap. Veronica looked up from her book and smiled—that smile never gets old—and whispered, “Well?”

  “It’s a boy,” I whispered back.

  Ava woke up, her face groggy and eyes lost, lacking focus. “A boy?” she asked. “Where is he?

  I smiled, kneeling down next to her. “Go back to sleep, Ava. You’ll see him soon.”

  “Okay,” she said, then placed her head back down.

  I shifted my gaze back to Veronica. She had replaced the streak in her hair, except it was orange instead of blue.

  We didn’t say anything; we simply stared at each other. It was the kind of stare that belonged to survivors.

  At last, I leaned in and kissed her hard on the lips. The kind of kiss that belongs to love, just like Karen had wanted for me all along.

  THE END

  Acknowledgments

  Without question, Surviving Goodbye has been my most collaborative effort to date. I have so many people to thank and I apologize in advance for forgetting a few…

  Firstly, a HUGE thank you to Megan Hand for editing this manuscript. The day I sent the first draft to
Megan, I also sent it to a handful of others, and those early comments were not exactly favorable. Megan not only ensured consistency in the names and storyline, but she managed to push and prod so that I could transform the original “broken” story into the mostly cohesive and “consistent” product we have here.

  Hang Le, thank you for taking on my little project and creating a cover that continues to amaze me each time I happen to look at it. You created the visual “vision” for this story, that first impression that pushed the words inside the cover to amount to so much more than they are.

  This is where it gets tricky because so many people have contributed to the evolution of Surviving Goodbye… So bear with me. Lisa, Kayla, Kelsey, Clarksy and Nikki for taking a look at the earliest and least-refined version of this manuscript and steering me in the right direction; Helen for your tireless effort, amazing graphics skills (and patience), and ongoing support (I can’t thank you enough for helping build such angst-fueled demand through your teasers); Denise for your insight, belief and commitment from Day 1 with Textual Encounters and of course your friendship through all of this Surviving Goodbye insanity; MJ, Rhonda, Kelsey (again), Denise (again), Clarksy (again), Amy Luka, Michelle, Laveda, Syrina, Tara, Patricia, Jenny, Janett and Pamela (aka the Morganettes) as well as Yolanda for your continuous contributions, for believing in me, for your detailed feedback on the revised manuscript (without your feedback, I don’t think I would have passed a spell check), and of course your friendship. You’re my online family; thank you for not doing what one would expect, which is beating up on me as the black-sheep/adopted kid that nobody else wanted.

 

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