Unmending the Veil

by Lisa Heaton

  Peeking an eye open, he asked, “Are you better?”

  “Yes, some.”

  He reached for her hand and pulled it to his cheek. “I don’t like being a visitor.”

  At first, she was not sure what he meant, but then concluded he must wish he were home in his own bedroom, and could hardly blame him. It was miserable indeed to be sick while traveling.

  “Can you eat?”

  Shaking his head, he rolled over and went back to sleep.

  It was the next morning before either was able to be up and around for long, having lost an entire day in bed. While she stayed in her room to shower, he went downstairs to his own to clean up. Afterwards, he waited in the parlor for her. When she came down, he had plugged in the tree lights and started a fire.

  “Merry Christmas.” He was sitting in the floor, leaning against the same club chair he had on Christmas Eve.

  “Merry Christmas. Is this our do-over?”

  “I suppose it is.” Though he was due to fly out that afternoon, he was considering calling work for an extension of his time off. He wanted to stay longer and make sure she was healthy enough. Since Emma would not be home for several more days, he hated the thought of leaving her there sick and all alone.

  Sitting near him, she asked, “How will you travel today?”

  “I will be okay, but should I stay until you are better?”

  “I will be okay, too. You need to get back to work. I know this was last minute to begin with.”

  He took her hand in his. “You are still pale.”

  She grinned, and informed him, “You are, too.”

  “I need to eat something and get some energy back. I am not sure I can stomach anything, though.”

  “I have some biscuits in the freezer. Let’s start there.”

  They had a small breakfast together and went back to the parlor to open gifts. Time was against them and both felt rushed. It was not at all what either had expected their Christmas together to be.

  He gave her the first gift, the one he was most excited about. “I hope this is okay.

  Inside, she found an iPod and at least a dozen CDs. “This is too much.”

  “No, it’s not. You don’t have one?”

  “No.”

  “I know how you used to listen to Christian music back home. It’s all I listen to anymore. I bought the CDs for some of my favorite songs, but from now on, you can just download music online. I was thinking it would be something we could share.” Laughing, he clarified, “Not share the iPod but share the music we like. When you find something new you really like, you can let me know, and I will download it.”

  She was sitting in the floor beside the tree. Moving onto her knees, she crawled over to him and hugged him. “Thank you for this.” It was hard to get a station to come in that played Christian music there locally, so it would be something she used daily. It was much more extravagant than anything she bought for him.

  When all the gifts were opened, they sat for a moment without speaking. With shirts, including her new red flannel one, socks, and books scattered about, there was also a new air of sadness that filled the room. Their time together had come to an abrupt end, and neither was ready for it.

  “I will call a taxi. I don’t want you to get out in this weather.”

  “No, I will take you.”

  “Please, it is cold out, and the roads look bad. I would rather say goodbye here. It will be more difficult there, and on top of that, I will worry about you driving home.”

  Sitting there without arguing, she was perplexed. It was hard letting him go. What would their relationship look like going forward? After the closeness they shared during their illness the day before, and, she recalled with a blush, the kiss on Christmas Eve, was a simple friendship even possible anymore? What else was there for them, though? They lived nearly eight hundred miles apart, and neither could afford to fly often. Could she expect any kind of real relationship? When deliberated with even the slightest bit of reality, she knew the answer was no.

  Her silence disturbed him, as her mind was clearly spinning. On her face was a mixture of disappointment and sadness, mirroring his feelings at that very moment. Reaching for her, tucking her hair behind her ear, he pleaded, “Talk to me.”

  “I don’t know where we go from here.”

  “Where do you want to go?” Her eyes were weak and she was so pale, even her lips had no pinkish tint to them. He hated the thought of leaving her in such a state.

  “I am not sure.”

  He looked away, knowing exactly what he wanted, for her to come home. He wanted to marry her again. He wanted to be a family like they used to be. Ultimately, she would have to want those things, too, and until she did, this was where they were, separated by time and distance. What they cautiously called friendship was instead, a man loving his wife with all he had in him. And while he was confident she loved him, too, he feared that, after all that happened between them; after all he had done to her, her love was not enough.

  “I think for now, we simply leave things as they are.” There were no other options as far as she could see.

  “That is what we will do then.” With his fears substantiated, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. His heart was breaking, and all he could do was hold her to him, knowing it would likely be the last time he would see her for months, maybe even longer. He loved her letters, and now, he presumed they would talk on the phone, but neither would satisfy his need to have her in his arms. Looking up at the grandfather clock in the corner, he held her a little tighter. Then, after a minute more, said, “It’s time to get things packed up. Will you get me the number for a cab?”

  She simply nodded.

  His bags were by the front door and the cab was pulling into the lot of the inn. Wrapping his arms around her tiny little frame, he admitted, “If I have to be sick, doing it with you is my first pick.”

  She grinned. “Me, too.”

  “Thank you for inviting me.”

  “Thank you for coming.” Her face was buried in his coat, and the thought of seeing him walk out that door was tearing at her heart. A small part of her wanted to beg him to stay, but then the whispers came and she had no strength to fight them. “It is too late,” were the words that echoed in her mind. How could they ever piece back together any sort of life?

  Finding it difficult to let her go, he heard the cab horn blow. Dropping his arms to his side, he admitted, “This is harder than I thought it would be.” She was looking up at him with those Bambi eyes. He wanted to scoop her up and take her home with him. Nothing was right about leaving his wife, flying hundreds of miles away, and somehow trying to resume life again.

  Nodding, she reached for his hand. “I knew it was going to be difficult. This is beyond what I expected.”

  The horn sounded again. Leaning down, he kissed her cheek. “Stay inside and stay warm.”

  “Will you call me when you get home?”

  “I will.”

  Ignoring his instructions, she walked with him to the front door and stepped out onto the porch. As he walked toward the cab, she could see he was still feeling ill and wondered how he would make the trip. As if the rush of a tidal wave came against her, the memory of standing on that very porch watching him leave the summer before brought tears to her eyes. Then, he was completely broken. For them both, it was a final good-bye. This year, with him looking so very weak, it felt as if she were watching an instant replay. In contrast to his previous departure, however, she was coming to wonder if there could ever really be a final good-bye.

  After he loaded his bag into the trunk, he jogged back up to where she was standing. Her heart felt heavy, knowing she would not see him for a very long time. Her heart felt heavy that he was leaving at all. As uncertain as she said she was, she was certain she wanted him to stay. She was certain she loved him. Reminiscent of that day the year before, her heart was once again tearing in two. As much as she wanted to be with him, confusion over how
to undo all the damage clouded her thinking, maybe even her judgment.

  Grabbing her into his arms, he whispered into her ear, “You don’t have to say anything, but I need you to know how much I love you, how much I will always love you. I promise, after this, we go back to being friends, no more love talk. But I had to say it.”

  Turning her head, she kissed his cheek. “I love you right back.”

  The horn blasted again, so he turned to leave. Standing by the open car door, he smiled one final time and held his hand out. It was not a wave exactly, just his hand extended. She did the same.

  17

  Emma had been home since the day after New Year’s Day, and other than the worst cough she had ever had, Robin was feeling like herself again. All was back to normal at the inn, or what had become the new normal. She talked to Mike most days, and though she was no closer to defining their relationship, for the time being, it did not seem to matter to either of them as long as they were able to stay in touch. January proceeded this way, and then into February. Along with phone conversations, they wrote still, just not as often.

  Emma’s new normal included Stan, and Robin was sure wedding bells would follow soon. She had never seen her as happy as she was with him. He spent most evenings there with them at the inn, always for dinner, and along with his presence, Emma had a new outlook on life and on love.

  Having become a part of their evenings, when he never arrived one night, Robin became curious. They were sitting at dinner, and Emma’s silence on the matter said all that was necessary.

  “So, where is Stan?” Robin watched Emma’s face and was certain she winced.

  “I don’t know. I suppose he is home.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Sure,” Emma said with a smile, “everything is just fine.”

  Robin knew better. “Did something happen between you?” She probed further.

  Emma sat her fork down and shrugged her shoulders. “You know, things like this run their course. We had fun. What else can I say?”

  “So it is over?”

  “Yes.” Emma stood, lifting her plate as she did so. “Don’t worry. It is no big deal.” And with no more said on the matter, she walked into the kitchen and left Robin there wondering.

  It was less than an hour later when Stan stood knocking at the door. Fortunately, Robin was the one to answer, as Emma was upstairs soaking in the tub. Finding out from him that Emma just up and ended things with no real explanation made her feel better, at least it was not by his choice. It made more sense that it was Emma. Since she had run from love for decades, to see her run from Stan was not all that surprising. And certainly, it was something that could be repaired.

  He left with Robin’s assurance she would try to talk some sense into her. Touched by his parting words, that he loved Emma enough to wait, no matter how long it took, Robin was determined to help them find a way through it. Sitting alone beside the fire, she prayed so hard for wisdom. More than anything, she wanted to see Emma love and be loved. It appeared, though, she would fight it to her own detriment.

  When Emma never came back downstairs, she eventually went up to her room and found her there crying. Entering quietly, she went and sat next to her on the bed. “He loves you very much.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why are you doing this? I think you love him, too.”

  “Sometimes, people are just too different.”

  “What in the world are you talking about? You have everything in common.”

  “He’s such a good man.”

  “Yes, he is. And you are such an amazing woman. You belong together.”

  “There are things…” Emma trailed off. Beginning again, she said, “There are just some things that make it impossible. He will find someone else.” Finally, she admitted, “Hummingbird, I really need some time alone.”

  Robin moved to the door and stopped there. Turning back to Emma, she asked, “What has you so bound?”

  Knowing exactly what she meant, Emma looked away. They had discussed it before, but always she refused to tell her. This time, she at least admitted, “Choices.” Then, looking at Robin, disgrace filling her heart, Emma added, “He deserves better.”

  “I am here when you are ready to talk.”

  “I know, and thank you.”

  Weeks passed and still, Emma refused to speak to Stan. He called Robin often, and she sensed he was at the point of giving up. How could she blame him? Determinedly, he wooed and pursued Emma without shame: calling, sending letters and flowers, and often stopping by unannounced, but his efforts were in vain. Feeling sorry for him, Robin began to hope, for his sake anyway, that he would stop the pursuit.

  By all appearances, winter was winding down. It was April, and though all had not yet thawed, Emma kept herself deep in busyness, preparing guest rooms and planning menus. It was all a ruse to keep her mind and heart occupied.

  One day, having had enough of the sulking and secrecy, Robin cornered Emma in the kitchen, demanding, “He’s about to give up. Don’t you care?”

  “Of course I care.”

  Surprised by her honesty, Robin asked, “Why then? Why do you keep pushing him away? He loves you.”

  Emma walked over to the stool beside the island. Tossing her cookbook onto the countertop, she admitted, “He doesn’t know the real me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He doesn’t know the worst of me, and I’m afraid when he finds out, he won’t love me anymore. It just seems easier this way.”

  Since Emma had accepted the Lord, they often spoke about her past. Robin knew something deep and deceptive had her utterly bound. Although she prayed about it time and time again, asking for insight, none came. She explained the mending of the veil to her, and at times, Emma seemed likely to open up. Whatever it was, it would prevent her happiness and future with Stan if something was not resolved.

  Robin walked over to her and took her by the hand. “What worst are you talking about?”

  Emma patted the stool next to her. “Hummingbird, you don’t know the worst of me either.”

  She sat. By the look on Emma’s face, Robin realized for the first time how serious it must be. But still, her heart was firm. “There is nothing I could find out about you that would change how I feel. I love you.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  “You realize, you will never be free as long as you keep this inside? You can tell me anything.”

  Emma looked away and stared out the window. Watching a bird hop along the edge of the flower bed outside the window, she tried to focus on anything but the truth. But no matter how many times she tried to turn away from it, the truth always danced around in her field of vision. It was what she thought of in her final hours each night and her first thoughts of every morning. Finally weary of the secrecy and lies, she blurted out, “After my fiancé died, I found out I was pregnant.” She looked at Robin, anticipating shock, but found only concern.

  “I knew I couldn’t keep the baby. I was such a mess. For so long after he died, I could hardly get through a day myself, let alone raise a baby. Or at least that was the way I felt then. Now, I know I could have done it. Back then, though, I was weak and, honestly, a complete emotional wreck. I cried all the time, hardly got out of bed most days. After I came here to live with my aunt it took years for me to engage in life again, if that is even what you call this life I’ve lived.”

  “Kind of like me?”

  “No, nothing like you. You are one of the strongest women I have ever known. I was nothing like you.”

  “What about the baby?”

  “I gave her up for adoption.”

  Robin put her arms around Emma. You did what was best for your baby at the time. That is selfless. You could have chosen the alternative.”

  “I was never selfless. I was selfish. All I could think about was what I lost instead of what I could have gained. I regret that decision more than any other thing in my life. If I could go back and
do it all differently, I would.”

  “Now, you are afraid to tell Stan?”

  Nodding her head, she began to cry.

  “He will love you anyway.”

  “What about you?”

  “Of course I love you.”

  Emma sat for a moment, unsure if she should continue on. Finally, she took Robin’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I gave my baby girl to my best friend. She could never have children of her own.”

  Robin sat frozen for a moment, trying to allow Emma’s words to sink in. Her mom was Emma’s best friend.

  “I was that baby?”

  “Yes.” Emma sat, waiting for some sort of reaction, explosive or angry, something.

  Though she knew she needed to say something, instead, she sat very still and very quiet, trying to process this new information. All of the sudden, when looking back, her life was different, in many ways a lie. For Emma’s sake, she stammered, “You made sure I had a very good home.”

  “I knew you would.”

  Still, she was hardly able to wrap her mind around it. Biologically, her mom was not her mom, and her dad was not her dad. All those questions like, “Do I get my eyes from you or my nose from him?” she would ask her parents. How uncomfortable that must have been for them, and all the time, she had no idea whatsoever. “Who was my father; what was his name?”

  “Robert.”

  Connecting the dots, she questioned, “Robin? Is that where my name came from?”

  “Yes.” Touching her stomach, she explained, “When you would move, it felt like the fluttering of little wings. One day I called you Robin, and it just stuck. It was close to Robert, and I felt as if it would honor his memory.”

  “And Hummingbird, where did that come from?”

  Emma waved her hand. “Oh, there was no significance to that. You were such a busy little girl, one day I called you that and never stopped. Calling you Robin was the only thing I asked of your mother. Well, that and that she not tell you about me. She hated being dishonest, but I made her swear.” Emma had always felt terribly guilty for the position she put Linda in. “I think you should go and talk to them. They were always willing to be open with you. Please don’t blame them.”