The Arrival of You

by Cranford, B.

  I laughed at that. “I get the feeling your yelling and my yelling are two different things.”

  “I don’t know. I can be pretty impressive when I’m mad.”

  “Downright scary, kitten,” the husband added.

  “Damn right.”

  “Okay,” I said, appreciating their little aside even as I tried to think of something else to say—something that might convince Ashton to spill the beans, or maybe make Bianca appear from thin air. But I came up blank, and I knew I just needed to let it go. At least for now. “Thank you for letting me know.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m sorry again.”

  “No worries,” I replied, hanging up after waving goodbye, a move that made me feel a little ridiculous.

  But no more ridiculous than saying “no worries” when, despite the fact that I knew Bianca was safe and okay, all I had were worries.

  * * *

  Lucas: No idea if you’re awake, but oh well.

  Lucas: I thought I should tell you that you were right. Not that I relish the idea of you being able to hold that over my head, but there you go.

  Lucas: You were right.

  Rose: I usually am, but want to elaborate for me? Please.

  Lucas: When you told me I wanted to fall in love only if it was easy.

  Lucas: When you said I was different with Bianca.

  Rose: Okay, but we knew that, so what’s changed? And why am I reading these texts as though you’re sending them with a hang-dog expression, in the dark of your bedroom, sad music pumping in the background?

  Lucas: It’s not dark and there’s no sad music. Though I was tempted to put a little Harpoon on earlier.

  Rose: Wait, by Jebadiah? I haven’t heard that song in a good 15 years.

  Rose: Must be dire. Are you okay? Is SHE okay?

  Lucas: No idea. She stopped talking to me and I’m pissed and I’m worried and I wanna go find her.

  Lucas: Shouldn’t I be trying to make my escape right about now?

  Rose: Hold up, what do you mean she stopped talking to you?

  Lucas: Exactly what I said. She messaged me and said she had news to share and I haven’t heard from her since. I’m fucking angry about it, tbh.

  Rose: But?

  Lucas: I don’t want this to be the end. It felt like hard work with the others. Easier just to walk away, you know? But not with her. I want to figure out what’s going on and then fix it.

  Lucas: I’d also like to shake the fuck out of her, but I probably should keep that thought to myself.

  Rose: Probably.

  17

  Bianca

  I’d toured the cities of Perth and Adelaide in such a fog, I don’t think I could tell you much about them. After nearly two weeks in Western Australia’s biggest city—the first of which I’d mostly spent resting in my cheap-but-serviceable hotel room or quietly people watching in the city center—I’d headed to the City of Churches in South Australia. In both places, my mind had wandered back and forth between the past and the present but refused to detour into the future—no matter how many times morning sickness reminded me that my life was in major flux.

  I’d taken photos and smiled at people wherever I went. I was asked at least twice if I was Canadian, and I’d met a man who’d also grown up in North Carolina. But I’d walked around in such a daze, it was like someone smeared Vaseline over my memories.

  I hated myself for letting Mason’s email get to me, and yet, at every turn, I felt the lingering pain, the sense of failure, the heavy weight of doubt.

  Thirteen years. That’s how long I’d given my ex. I’d believed in what we had and told myself that we’d made it. Even when things had started to shift—when uncertainty grew in the face of Mason’s distance—I’d been so sure that everything would work out fine.

  Better than fine. I’d known that Mason and I were going to re-center and be good, be happy, again.

  God, I’d been so wrong. So. Fucking. Wrong.

  And now, here I was again, trying to see the future, on a precipice with another man—a better man—despite my brain constantly and loudly reminding me that Lucas and I hadn’t had enough time together. I was carrying a baby that was half me, half him, and instead of leaning into what he and I had, I’d shut down.

  That was another reason I hated myself.

  Except I was also aware that the moment I’d read Mason’s email, I’d grown a protective outer layer—a shell, somewhere to hide and be safe and weather the storm that had descended on my life. And really, can you blame me?

  Yeah, don’t worry. I blamed me too.

  My phone felt like a lead weight in my hand. Bringing up my text string with Lucas, I couldn’t fail to notice that, since I’d texted him about my “news,” it had been completely one-sided.

  The first few I received after I’d found out about the baby, then made the unforgivable mistake of reading Mason’s email, were filled with concern.

  Lucas: Hey, where are you?

  Lucas: I’m still waiting to hear this news.

  Lucas: I’m getting worried. Is everything okay?

  Lucas: Pretty girl?

  Lucas: Bianca, what’s going on?

  Lucas: I don’t know what’s up, but can you just let me know you’re okay?

  I’d nearly replied to that last one, but morning sickness had stolen the moment from me and by the time I’d revisited my breakfast, I didn’t have it in me to do anything but fall asleep.

  I’d slept for seventeen hours, waking only just in time to pack my things and get to the airport for my flight to Perth. Even though I’d known that I needed to send something, even if it was just a “yes, I’m okay,” I hadn’t.

  I hadn’t and that possibly made me the worst person ever.

  The next couple came moments before my best friend in the world called me . . . and read me the riot act.

  Lucas: Please call me.

  Lucas: Or text. Even if it’s just to say you don’t want to talk to me.

  Lucas: I’m worried about you. And I miss you.

  Lucas: I sent a message to your friend, Ashton. Don’t be mad at me for that, okay?

  God, he was better than I deserved, at least in that moment. Here I was, selfishly hiding in my shell, while he did the most to find out if I was safe.

  That was the one. That last message, where he’d told me he’d contacted Ashton and asked me not to be mad—that was the one that did me in and made me tap out a reply.

  A reply I’d never sent, because Ashton had called, and the aforementioned riot act was read.

  “With the exception of your parents, no one loves you like I do, so believe me when I say that I don’t like this anymore than you do. But I can’t believe you’d leave him hanging like that. It’s borderline cruel, B. He’s worried about you and you haven’t even taken five seconds to send a reply to let him know you’re not dead somewhere in a ditch.”

  Like the bruised, angry, messed-around, hormonal pregnant woman that I was, I’d begged her to buy me more time.

  “Will you tell him I’m okay? Tell him I just need to finish this, and then . . .”

  “And then what?”

  “Ash, even though I’m going through it right now, I swear, I’m close. I can figure this out—I can make the right choice. I just need a little more time.”

  She’d agreed and I’d practically sobbed with relief.

  Only now, the moment had come. The time that’d had been bought on my behalf had run out, and as I looked down at Lucas’ messages—the last few just reminders that he was thinking of me and he missed me and he hoped that I was okay—I steeled myself for what was to come.

  Bianca: I’m sorry.

  Fuck, it seemed so inadequate. But I was getting ready to climb into a rental car and make the drive from Adelaide to Melbourne—taking the scenic route, because who knew when, if ever, I’d get the chance to do this again—and once I was back in Melbourne, I had to be able to face the mistakes I’d made. Not just with Lucas, but with Mason
and with myself, and I was terrified.

  I wasn’t surprised when Lucas replied almost immediately. I could only imagine (and hope—really, really hope) that he’d been waiting to hear from me, even after I’d backed off entirely.

  Coward.

  Lucas: What for? Are you okay? Can I call you?

  Bianca: Disappearing. Yes, I’m okay.

  Lucas: Can I call?

  Bianca: Now’s not a good time. But I’ll be back soon.

  He didn’t reply, and even as I navigated the streets of Adelaide, GPS set to take me along the famed Great Ocean Road back to Melbourne, and to Lucas, my phone stayed silent.

  It felt terrible.

  And like I’d brought it on myself.

  * * *

  The Blue Lake in Mount Gambier wasn’t the first stop on my drive back to Melbourne—I was pregnant and despite the fact it was early days yet, I still needed to stop more than once every five hours—but it was definitely the prettiest.

  I’d already decided that it was going to be my overnight resting place before I’d arrived and staring out over the stunning cobalt water gave me a feeling of peace that had been eluding me for a good two weeks. I’d be lying if I said the idea of staying there forever hadn’t floated to the surface of my mixed-up mind and remained there for more than just a hot minute.

  But I couldn’t do that. I knew it and more than that, ultimately, I didn’t want to. I owed it to my baby and to Lucas to figure my shit out. If I wanted to have some semblance of happiness in my future, I had to figure it out. That’s what this entire trip was about, after all.

  “Pretty, right?”

  I startled, turning my head reflexively toward the older lady standing nearby. She wasn’t looking at me, but since there was only me and her in the vicinity, I knew she had to be talking to me. “Gorgeous.”

  “This isn’t even the bluest it gets, you know.” She shifted so she was facing me, a friendly look on her face. “It’s already starting to lose some of the color it has during the height of summer.”

  I nodded, remembering what I’d read about the lake. “It’s still stunning, though. I think I could sit here and stare at it forever.”

  “You wouldn’t be the first person to try to find answers in it.” Her hazel eyes were lit with knowledge, as if she’d figured me out. Which I hoped she had, so she could share her know-how.

  Still, I found myself shaking my head, disagreeing. “I’m not looking for answers, just enjoying the scenery.”

  Reaching out, she placed a hand on my shoulder. She was shorter than me, so she had to raise up just a little, but before I knew it, she was in my personal space and giving me a look that rivaled the ones my mom would give me when I was on her last nerve. “It’s okay to search for answers here, my dear. You might find them.”

  I wanted to shake her off and shake my head again, but instead, I nodded.

  “I come here all the time, looking for them.”

  “Answers?” I clarified, even though I knew what she was talking about.

  Her nod was sage and regal, and it struck me that this was a woman who’d lived an entire life. It could have been a good one or a bad one, but it was hers and she had experience. The weight of her hand on my shoulder morphed into a comfort I’d been missing while I’d been traveling—the physical touch of someone who cared.

  I don’t know how I knew she cared, but she did.

  “Want to sit?” She gestured to a small bench that was set back a little from the lookout we were standing at.

  I shrugged but when she began to move, I moved with her, and when she sat, I sat beside her. “What’s your name, dear?”

  “Bianca.”

  “I’m Anne. Whereabouts are you from?”

  “America. North Carolina.” I smiled, thinking about all the people who’d asked me if I was Canadian. “But I’ve lived all over.”

  She smiled back at me. “And you live here now, or just visiting?”

  “Just visiting. I-my marriage ended and I—” Cutting myself off, because I couldn’t believe I’d even started telling this woman anything at all, I cringed a little. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize for having something you need to get off your chest.” For the second time in only a handful of minutes, Anne reached out. This time, her wrinkled hand rested on mine, a light pressure that was nothing more than one person offering succor to another. “I was married for twenty-three years and have been divorced for twenty-five. Lord knows how many times I vented to or about someone I shouldn’t have.”

  “You never got remarried?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. “You don’t have to answer.”

  To her credit, Anne didn’t look fazed in the slightest by my question. “No. Came close once, though. About two years after my husband left me, I met a man who I thought would propose, but it didn’t work out.”

  “Oh?”

  “We were together about six, seven years”—her face pinched in concentration, as though the memory needed to be dredged up from deep within—“and by then, I was getting impatient. If you asked me now why I was so impatient to get married again, I couldn’t tell you. But I remember wanting it so badly and being so angry that he didn’t.”

  “So, what happened?” I asked, leaning in a little.

  She pressed down on my hand, just a little, acknowledging my question, but instead of answering, her gaze moved away. “Oh, we can come back to that. Why don’t you think about what you need to get off your chest and then, if you want to, tell me about it. Maybe I can help. Maybe I can’t. But I can most definitely listen.”

  I gazed over at her, checking her sincerity and finding it as real as can be. For several long moments, we sat in silence, but despite the fact that we’d only just met—and the fact we were still joined by our hands—it didn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable.

  Like Lucas, my mind supplied, the ease with which we’d connected on the airplane launching a highlight reel of memories.

  Laughing at his teasing.

  Learning his middle name and rewarding him with a kiss.

  Picnicking in the galley at the back of the plane.

  Testing to see if the bathroom could hold us both.

  Joining the Mile High Club.

  All that before we’d landed. Since then, we’d shared so much more . . . and then I’d shared nothing at all. I’d learned the biggest news of my life—outside of discovering Mason’s betrayal—and instead of telling the one person who needed to know almost as much as me, I’d curled up into myself, my shell, and left him wondering.

  Before I knew it, I was talking, and I didn’t even care if Anne was listening.

  “I met a man on the flight here. An Aussie, like you. His name is Lucas and he’s . . . god, he’s amazing. But my ex, he cheated on me and the whole point of this trip was to figure out who I was and what I wanted now that I wasn’t Mason’s wife anymore. We were together for years, years, and in the end, it was like I didn’t know who either of us were, you know?” I looked at Anne, who nodded encouragingly, then kept going.

  It was like a purge.

  “But with Lucas, I felt like I was someone special. Like I could be anything and it-it scared me. Because I don’t want to tie my identity up with another man. I don’t want to just be someone’s wife. We had this amazing window of time together and then I left.”

  “Left where? And did he want you to stay?” Anne’s questions were asked without heat or judgement.

  “Melbourne. We were in Melbourne.” I nodded, and added, “And yes, he asked—begged—me to stay.”

  “Why did you leave then?”

  “Because I’m a chicken?” I joked, wondering if it was true. Maybe I’d just been running scared this whole time.

  But Anne didn’t laugh at my lame attempt at humor. “No, I don’t think that’s it. Think about it.”

  “I felt so stupid when I found out about Mason and Lindsey,” I explained, not bothering to give any additional details because Anne seemed t
o be following along just fine. “Like, how could I not have known he was capable of that? After we’d been together for so long? So when Lucas asked me to stay, I knew I couldn’t do it. Or, that I could, but then I’d always wonder if I’d rushed things. He said we could make it work, but I wanted to travel. I was determined to see what I came here to see and do what I came here to do. Is that, I mean, was that wrong?”

  I didn’t wait for her answer, despite having leveled a question directly at her. “I couldn’t stop picturing this incredible, zinging, wonderful feeling disappearing because we’d rushed too hard, fallen too fast.” I was starting to talk really fast, as everything I’d been holding in since Mason’s email—fuck, since before then—spilled out of me. “If I was so wrong the first time, didn’t that practically guarantee I’d be wrong again? And then I’d have killed this perfect thing because . . . because . . . I’m a terrible judge of character? Because I’d moved too fast and not seen what was right in front of me? Or because I was scared?”

  Taking a deep breath, I was prepared to keep talking, except Anne interrupted me before I could. Her hand tightened on mine. “Bianca, dear, think for a second. The fact that you were with your husband for years doesn’t mean that you judged him badly in the beginning, because people change. And pursuing something that doesn’t work out, doesn’t mean it wasn’t perfect for a little while. It’s not an all or nothing situation. Sometimes things work and sometimes they don’t, but that doesn’t change one simple fact: it’s not that you’re right or wrong that matters, it’s that you keep learning and keep trying. Don’t let fear keep you standing still, and don’t let someone else’s mistakes dictate your life.”

  I breathed in, holding her advice inside and turning it over and over and over. Letting it take hold until I felt ready to talk again. All the while, she waited patiently beside me. “There’s a part of me that still loves my ex-husband and he-he’s not a nice man anymore. He told me it was my fault, he told me he found someone who could give him everything I didn’t. And it hurts because I still love him.”