Never is a Promise

by Winter Renshaw

  His eyes flickered like a shattered mirror, like a man who’d just lost everything he’d suddenly discovered he’d ever wanted.

  “I love you, Coco,” he said. “We belong together. We’re cut from the same cloth, you and me. I knew it since the moment I first saw you at that audition.”

  He’d been working at a local news station in New York, and I’d auditioned for a morning anchor position. I didn’t get the job, but he called and offered to help me work on some things. At the time, a handsome producer several years my senior showering me with all kinds of affection was a kind of exhilaration and excitement I’d never known before. That’s when the wonderment had started.

  “We had a good run, Harrison,” I said, feeling his scotch-tinged breath upon my face. Our lips held in limbo mere inches apart, as if he was two seconds from trying to claim them as his again.

  Reality hit halfway into the second year of our marriage, when work took a front seat and everything he’d said or done that had once given me butterflies suddenly felt overdone and contrived. That’s when the wonderment ended.

  “We didn’t try hard enough,” Harrison said. “We should’ve tried harder.”

  For as long as I lived, I’d never forget walking out of that therapy session with him as a general sense of relief washed over me. We’d walked into that building as struggling marital partners, and we walked out of that building as new old friends. He’d held my hand the whole walk home, and we’d spent the better part of that evening reminiscing about our better days. That night we flipped through our wedding album and shared a bottle of wine, and after that we changed into sweats and I helped him move into the guest suite.

  Addison never understood it, but I couldn’t help that. I didn’t understand it either. Harrison had been my rock when I first moved to the city. He was the first friend I made. The first guy I trusted with my heart after Beau broke it. He got me. And for that reason, I never felt the need to let him out of my life completely.

  “But we didn’t and what’s done is done,” I said as I felt his mouth inch closer to mine. “Please don’t.”

  I backed away from him. “I think it’s time I move out. Get my own place. I’m meeting with Addison tonight, so I’ll have her find me an apartment. It’s going to be better this way.”

  “He doesn’t deserve you, Coco,” Harrison said, letting his hands fall from my face to the bend in my arms. “You should know things about him. He’s a womanizer. He’s been around. He’s-”

  “Enough,” I silenced him, unwilling to listen to his spiteful word vomit. I wasn’t sure if any of it was true or if he’d hired a private detective on some jealous whim while I was gone, but my situation was already confusing enough. “You will not speak about him.”

  I didn’t allow Beau to speak of Harrison, so it was only fair.

  “Pull yourself together, Harrison. Your mother would be ashamed right now if she saw you acting like a petulant child. I know you were raised better.” I pulled my arms out of his grasp with one quick tug and took a step back. “You’re thirty-fucking-eight for Christ sake.”

  “Get that twang out of your mouth.” Harrison rushed at me once again, smashing his lips against mine in a frighteningly desperate attempt to salvage what was rapidly disintegrating before our very eyes. Gone was his class, his subtle arrogance, his New England aristocratic pedigree. Harrison Bissett was a desperate, desperate man showing all his cards and wearing all his colors.

  “God, Harrison, what are you doing?” My face scrunched as I peeled myself from his clutches.

  “You fucking taste like him,” he seethed, his shoulders drawn back as he reached for my arm. I’d never seen him acting this way before, holding onto me with a bulldog grip. Years ago, I’d caught a glimpse of a nasty, jealous side of him once. A man was hitting on me at a bar when Harrison had slipped off to use the restroom. When he returned I thought he was going to beat the man to a bloody pulp, but after a heated exchange, the bartender asked us to leave before it escalated.

  My fingertips rose to my lips, tracing along the tender space where Beau had left his mark on me that morning before I left the ranch. “Yeah. I kissed him. But I didn’t cheat on you, Harrison. You’re acting like I’m still your wife, and that’s completely absurd.”

  I imagined the things Beau would do to Harrison if he could see what was unfolding. He’d tear him limb by limb and throw him out our tenth story window when he was done.

  “Believe it or not, I still love you, Coco,” Harrison said in a way that I wholeheartedly believed. “I never stopped. I pulled back because you pulled back. I thought giving you more space would somehow bring you back to me. And when that didn’t work, I thought giving you the career of your dreams – something no other man could ever do – would show you how much I loved you. I meant it when I said I was your biggest fan. I have been since the day we met.”

  “Harrison.” I crossed my arms, though not in an angry way. My heart broke for him, because I saw a part of me in his eyes. The desperate longing, the clinging onto something so hard it slipped through your hands like tiny grains of sand. I’d been there. I’d felt it before. “Then why didn’t you speak up at therapy? You just sat there, going along with everything I said and agreeing that you weren’t vested anymore.”

  “Do you have any idea what it feels like to look into the eyes of the person you love more than anything in the world and hear them say they don’t feel the same way about you?”

  Yes, more than anything.

  I knew that feeling like an old friend.

  Harrison snapped backward, falling into his easy chair like a rubber band that had been pulled to far. “The morning of that therapy session, I was looking for an old sweater in our closet.” He reached down, retrieving something from under his chair: my box of all things Beau. “Found this.”

  He patted the top of the box, running his hand along the smooth mahogany as his lips formed a pained smile.

  “I knew,” he said. “I knew when I found this that I could never compete with any of it. I had nothing on this guy.”

  So that’s how he knew about Beau. He didn’t talk to my mother. He’d known all along.

  Although it felt like a violation of my privacy, his admission was the final puzzle piece I needed to understand what had happened that day we decided to file for divorce. He was angry with me, and the things he’d said in our session had given our therapist the impression that he wasn’t vested in us. She mistook his anger and bitterness for something else entirely, and I interpreted it as the sign that I needed to finally exit the marriage in a graceful way.

  My heart sank as I realized he’d probably read every little note in that box and seen every little photograph; including the one I kept in there of my daughter.

  “So you know about…”

  “The baby. Yes.” His eyes flashed dark. “I don’t know why you felt the need to keep it a secret from me. I was your husband for two years, God damn it. I wouldn’t have judged you.”

  “My sister doesn’t even know, Harrison.” I shook my head, not feeling the need to validate my reasons to a crazy person a second longer. “So if you knew about Beau, why didn’t you try to stop me from going?”

  “Because you needed the interview to get promoted. Because in spite of the risk of losing you, I wouldn’t do that to you.” Harrison slid his hand down his jaw, clenching and releasing it as he cocked his head to the side. It was as if he was coming back down from his heated high. He stood up and paced the living room, finding a spot by the window and gazing outside at our bustling little neighborhood. “God, this is embarrassing. I’m quite humiliated at my behavior actually.”

  My feet stayed frozen to the ground as I struggled to find the right thing to say to the man whose heart I’d just obliterated, albeit unintentionally. “There were a lot of cracks in our marriage.”

  He glanced up at me with melancholy sadness in his stare.

  “What I mean is, don’t spend the rest of your life wonder
ing what you could’ve done differently to make things work.” I pulled in a deep breath, hoping my words would mean something someday. “We were never meant to last. It would’ve ended eventually, one way or another.”

  Harrison slumped back in his chair with the mahogany box of my past still resting in his lap. I imagined him poring over those old love letters and happy photographs as he investigated this side of me he’d never known before.

  He was going to be haunted by his time with me for the rest of his life, the same way my time with Beau had haunted me.

  “Everything’s going to be okay for you,” I told him. “I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but it will.”

  He turned to face the window, staring down at the late April rain that had begun to fall and beat against the glass. “I’m sorry I kissed you that way, Coco. I shouldn’t have done that. You’re a lady, and it was wrong.”

  That was his upbringing speaking. The Bissetts of Manhattan were known to be dignified and respectable members of society, though I’d learned over the years that all families had skeletons – some were just better hidden than others.

  “I’m going to step out for a bit,” I said, “and go meet up with my sister.”

  “Hey!” Addison said, kissing my cheek as she stood to greet me at our favorite restaurant. Her blue eyes studied me as she puckered her lips to the side. “Something’s different about you. What happened in Darlington?”

  I placed my napkin across my lap and took a sip of my still water. “I need you to find me an apartment.”

  Addison’s jaw fell. “Can you repeat that again, please? This time, speak right into the mic.”

  “Oh, stop.” I swatted her away. “I’m ready to move out of the apartment and get a place of my own.”

  “How soon are we talking?”

  “Immediately.”

  Her eyes widened as she leaned in. Her poppy-red lips spread into an entertained grin. “All right. Back up. Start from the beginning.”

  “This isn’t about Beau,” I said, backtracking. “The apartment. It’s not about him.”

  “Really?” She cocked a disbelieving eyebrow.

  “Harrison,” I said, shaking my head, “apparently found out about my history with Beau. He kind of got all weird on me.” I spared her the details out of the kindness of my heart. Harrison was just a man who had a low moment. I’d been there before. “He started talking like he wanted to get back together, and when I told him no, he kind of lost it. It’s just better that I get out of there as soon as possible. Can you make that happen?”

  “Of course,” Addison assured me, reaching her hand across the table and placing it over mine. Her engagement ring glinted in the dim light, throwing fire everywhere. “Wilder just renovated a building in SoHo. Take your pick. We’ll do a month-to-month lease until you find something you love.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So what happened with Beau? You’re killing me here. I’ve been waiting all week for this.”

  “He wants me back,” I said.

  “Of course he does.” Addison took a sip of water. “But do you want him?”

  Asking if I wanted him was the equivalent of asking if I needed oxygen. The answer, however, was a bit more complex. “It’s not that simple. There are logistical issues, my promotion coming up…and besides, how do you know after three or four days with someone if you’re willing to throw everything away and take a chance that maybe this time, he might not break your heart? He smashed it the first time. How do I know he won’t do it again?”

  “You don’t. And you’ll never know. That’s the kicker.” Addison’s temperament had taken a mild and balmy quality to it since meeting Wilder, and that’s how I knew he was right for her. He calmed her nerves and quieted that nagging voice we both had in the backs of our heads that said true happiness was elusive and fleeting. “You have to take a chance if you really want something.” She scrunched her brow. “Is your promotion a sure thing?”

  Glancing at the flickering candle between us, I shrugged a shoulder. After what went down with Harrison, who the hell knew? He’d been my biggest cheerleader my entire career, and I wouldn't blame him if he was sitting in our apartment scheming and planning my demise. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “All right,” she said. “So we’ll cross the bridge when it gets here. And where the heck is our server, because I’m this close to eating my napkin right now.”

  We enjoyed our dinner and caught up on our weeks, but the nagging voice in the back of my mind had been urging me to tell her about Mabry all night.

  “Thanks for dinner,” she said as she hugged me outside the restaurant. “And thanks for letting me vent about the wedding. It’s stressing me out, and I’m pretty sure Mom’s going to pull some stunt that day.”

  I smiled and nodded. The words were on the tip of my tongue.

  “What’s wrong?” Addison scrunched her brows.

  “You know my freshman year of college and how I only came home twice?”

  “Uh, yeah,” she said. “I missed you like crazy, but you were acting all weird all the time, and you never wanted me to come see you.”

  “I was pregnant.”

  Addison’s jaw fell. She leaned back in her seat.

  “I had a baby. Beau’s baby. It was a girl.”

  Addison’s jaw fell a notch lower while my entire being suddenly got a bit lighter. I just hoped she wouldn’t resent me for keeping it from her for so long.

  “Coco, why didn’t you tell me?” Her eyes watered, reflecting off the moonlight above. She placed a hand across her chest. “I would’ve been there for you. I wish you would’ve told me.”

  I bit my lip and stared down at the folded linen napkin across my lap. “That was one of the worst years of my entire life, and I may not have been thinking clearly at the time, but I did what I had to do.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Sam and Rebecca are raising her.”

  “Mabry is your and Beau’s daughter?!”

  I nodded.

  “She’s my niece.” Addison stood there, letting the information sink in. “I’ve played with her at barbeques and family reunions, you know, back before I left for college. Huh.” She stared off to the side.

  “I’m sorry I never told you. I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me, and I didn’t want anyone else constantly reminding me that I needed to do this or say that or be a certain way.”

  Addison wrapped her arms around my shoulders and pulled me tight. “Your apologies are no good here. You did what you had to do.”

  ***

  The following Monday began with a personal tour of my new, handpicked-by-Addison SoHo apartment given by the one and only Wilder Van Cleef.

  “You seem a little more energetic than usual,” he said, eyeing me with a curious stare. “Must be pretty excited to move?”

  “Sure,” I said, not about to tell him the real reason for my nervous excitement. Beau was flying in that day for our sit-down interview. I hadn’t seen or talked to him since I left the previous Wednesday. If I knew Beau at all, I knew he was just giving me space. He wasn’t a smothering, suffocating type, and if he had any brains about him, he knew we were walking a delicate tightrope.

  “Addison said you were wanting a month-to-month,” he said.

  “Is that okay?”

  “Absolutely. You’re family, Coco,” he said.

  “Less than two weeks and you’ll be stuck with me as a sister forever,” I said, nudging his arm.

  “I endured you as a sister for a whole month last year,” he teased. “Anyway, you’re not half as bad as you think you are.”

  He wasn’t a man who wore his emotions on his sleeve, but he didn’t need to. I saw it in the way he looked at my sister and the way he held her and all the ways he encouraged her and believed in her. Wilder was loyal and gracious, determined and compassionate, and Addison was lucky as hell.

  “All right, mister,” I said, mentally photographing the space that
would soon become my new home for a yet-to-be determined amount of time. It had been a long time since my immediate future was nothing but a glaring question mark. Glancing at my watch, I calculated just four more hours to go before seeing Beau again. “Movers are delivering my things this afternoon, so I need to get the key over there. Anyway, I better get going. Busy day ahead of me.”

  “Right this way, Mr. Mason.” A perky, fresh-out-of-college girl with a clipboard and headset led me down a long hallway toward a dressing room with my name on the door. “Hair and makeup are on their way and someone will be in shortly to mic you.”

  I nodded a thank you as I took a seat across from the lighted vanity as a team of MBC badge wearing men and women flooded my space.

  “Beau,” a man’s voice said from the doorway. Glancing into the mirror, I saw the reflection of a man with dark salt and pepper hair and steel blue eyes. Dressed in a navy suit with a red tie, he offered a thin smile, his jaw clenched. “I’m Harrison Bissett. I’m producing this interview.”

  He walked toward me, extending his hand, and when I met his handshake, he squeezed the hell out of my mitt.

  “Nice to finally meet you,” I lied.

  “Likewise,” he probably lied.

  “Are we ready?” Dakota appeared just behind Harrison, her eyes dancing between our faces with apprehension.

  A staffer came in and hooked a mic pack under my shirt and clipped a tiny mic on my collar before we all shuffled like a herd of stampeding cattle down the long corridor toward a studio. The set resembled a living room with a spotlight shining down on two overstuffed chairs and a table where two waters rested in coffee mugs.

  Dakota took a seat, staring down at the notes in her lap while a young woman powdered her nose and scurried off. If she was nervous about her big interview, she sure did a good job of hiding it.

  “Are we rolling?” a voice called out from behind two cameras. Everyone was dressed in black. The director. The cameramen. The rest of the crew. They all faded into the dark background, and all I could see was her.