by Tory Jane
Is everyone I know a closet smoker? Don't people know it's terrible for you? A nasty habit? Nonetheless, I light two and hand her one, and we both sit on the stoop in front of the shop.
“How did you know what you wanted to do?” Cecelia asks.
“That's a good question. I'm not sure I have the right answer for you. It changes over time, and you adapt.
“What I can say is follow your passions and your instincts. Try everything. Take risks in life. In college, I studied liberal arts for two years and soaked it all up. Then I majored in marketing, sales, and interior design. Sometimes the only way you find out what you love is by discovering what you don't.
“You’re graduating soon. What are your plans? Have you discovered anything you love?”
She smokes, looking lost. “I don’t know,” she responds. “I think the plan is to get married, have children.”
“It doesn’t sound like you’re making those plans? Is that what you want?”
“I guess. Someday.”
Talking to her is like pulling teeth. Was I that apathetic when I was graduating?
“Easier question. What do you dislike?”
“Math, statistics, hanging out with narrow-minded people.” She pauses. “I'm fascinated by politics. I'm concerned about our country, the poor, and the underprivileged. The environment. I love to write. I want to travel.”
“That’s all exciting and could lead to a number of opportunities. Get involved with a non-profit community organization, join a political campaign, or join AmeriCorps or the Peace Corps for a year. You could delay your graduation, study abroad or in a big city for the summer. Jack did that.”
“Yeah, I think I heard that from Mrs. Cliff or my mom. I was in Florence last summer. I loved it. I had a design instructor who was my mentor. I miss her. We’ve stayed in contact.”
“I regret not doing those things. I did travel with my parents. We didn’t take luxury vacations, like my friends. I was jealous at the time. Now I realize they gave me a gift. They exposed me to different cultures, different foods, art, music, and people. One summer we spent a month in Haiti helping build houses, creating gardens for food production. It was sad and scary, but also amazing. Now gardening is one of my favorite things to do.”
“You have those skills. You graduated from Duke. Now you own a clothing boutique, selling to the richest women in Charleston.” She rolls her eyes. “And that’s fulfilling?”
Her tone is snide, judgmental. She is a mystery to me. I think I like her and then I catch a glimpse behind her façade. She leaves me unsettled every time we talk.
I sigh and stand. “It’s not world peace, but helping people feel good about themselves, even rich women, is fulfilling.”
I turn to her as I open the door. “Promise me something? Whatever you choose, kiss as many people as you want in your twenties. Live your life without fear. Find out who you are. Be brave and bold.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry. Never mind. I’m not the right person to give advice. What do I know? I just sell clothes. You have your whole life ahead of you. You’ll find your path.
“Now let’s crank up the music, clean up, and get out of here.”
The Time for Truth Telling
On the way home, I pick up a bottle of bourbon, wine, and cigarettes. The essentials for sharing secrets.
When I arrive, Jack is waiting for me. He, too, holds bottles of bourbon and wine and a pack of cigarettes. I hold up my supplies, and we laugh. It breaks the tension between us.
He leans down and kisses me. “I’ve missed you. I’m glad you invited me over.”
I think, “Then why haven't you contacted me in the last two days?” I can't feel this way. Going into this conversation bitter will do neither of us any good.
Tonight, there is no making out at the front door nor any urgency to enter. Jack takes my bag from me as I search for my keys and unlock the door. We're being careful, tentative with each other. Too polite.
“How about I build a fire?” he suggests.
“That would be great. Thank you. I’ll pour some drinks. Are you hungry? Would you like some cheese and crackers, fruit?”
“No, thank you. I'm fine. I ate dinner with the family earlier.” Of course, he did. Children eat before 8:00 p.m. “Please, eat. I'm sure you've had a long day. Mom told me the shop was busy today. She loved the things you helped her pick out. I hear you're quite the stylist.”
“You question my gift of style? Silly boy.”
“Who am I to question you? You’ve been a success at everything you’ve ever loved.”
“Except us,” I reply.
The fire is burning brightly, and he rises and comes to me. Cradling my face in his hands, he pleads, “I know what's at stake tonight. I know what you want from me, and I will give it with no hesitation. Please, I need you to let go of the idea that I left you. You’ve told yourself this so many times over the last five years that it’s become your truth.
“I left Charleston. I left behind a way of life to pursue a dream that I intended to share with you. You did nothing wrong. It was something I had to do for myself. Should I have discussed it with you? Absolutely. I was wrong.
“I am here now, begging you to forgive me and to give us another chance.”
I step back, arms crossed. “According to your mother, I have to forgive you because our parents are already planning our wedding.”
He laughs aloud, and I struggle to keep from smiling. “You're kidding me? That's what she told you today?” He shakes his head. “Our parents.”
“She asked me to call her Mom.”
“Mrs. Cliff? She did not.”
“Yep.”
“Unbelievable. Your parents did the same. Well, they asked me to call them Lillian and Thom.”
“My mother? Miss Prim and Proper? She’s never extended that privilege to Wallace or Julia. Not even a Miss Lillian; she has always been Mrs. Tucker. Julia spent half her childhood hiding at our house. Julia’s mother, of course, was always Miss Sarah Beth. Dude, you’re in like Flynn.”
He grabs the drinks from me as I carry the ashtray and smokes. “Well,” he chuckles, “I guess we have a lot to discuss, don’t we?”
We sit cross-legged opposite each other in front of the fire.
We don’t know where to begin, until I request, “Tell me about Charlie. I’m guessing he’s the reason your time with me is limited?”
“Yes. Maintaining a routine is essential. We have breakfast and dinner together, and then bath and bedtime. He’s asleep by 7:00, but sometimes he wakes up and crawls into my bed at night. My parents know that I've been coming to see you and they've been great about helping out with bath time and bed time.”
“He’s beautiful, Jack.”
“He is, isn't he? Belle, he's such a great kid. He's almost eighteen months' old now, talking up a storm. I swear he learns ten new words a day. I can't wait for you to meet him. I’ve been wondering since your text, how did you know about him? You didn’t say.”
“Um, well, I saw you with him. In early October. At the market. I almost crashed my cart into you. I was in shock. There you were. My first instinct was to run and jump into your arms, until I saw Charlie in the cart. I hid behind a display case and watched you. You were talking to him and pointing things out, naming them. Jack, you were amazing with him. It was beautiful.”
“You’ve known all this time?” He is angry.
“Yes.”
“Why haven’t you said anything? Why didn’t you come find me?”
“Watch it, Jack. You’ve lied to me and hidden things from me for the last three weeks while you profess to love me and ask me to trust you. You have no right to get self-righteous with me.
“You left me. I hadn't heard from you in five years. You promised you would return to me. Then I see you buying milk with a kid. I knew he was yours. He has your eyes. What was I supposed to think? I thought you were married or at least in a relationship. I didn't know anything except th
at you didn’t come find me.
“That day, I suffered a breakdown. I was heart-broken. I could not understand how you could be in Charleston and not contact me. I’d been waiting for you. When I saw you with him, I knew you had moved on with another woman. You had a baby with another woman. I had no idea where baby mama was.
“I’d been spiraling for years, but that day pushed me over the edge. For six weeks, I was hell bent on self-destruction. I made bad choices, to put it mildly. I purposefully hurt Julia. After a particularly bad incident, she and Wallace let me have it. If it wasn’t for their intervention, I might be dead. I felt dead. I’m still amazed and grateful they forgave me.
“For the last two months, I've been in therapy, trying to find myself again. I stopped waiting for you to find me, although I still looked for you. I thought you were gone. That you'd only come to town for a visit. It never occurred to me that you would move back and not find me.
“When we I ran into you on the street and you came by my shop, you acted like nothing had happened. You didn’t tell me about Charlie. You lied and said you moved here a month ago.”
“Belle, I had no idea. I’m sorry. Our parents didn’t tell me that you have been struggling. I’m glad you’re getting help. You’re right, of course. I have no idea what I would have done if I came back and saw you with a child. It would have wrecked me.”
“Now do you understand why it’s been so difficult to believe you? I knew you were lying to me.
“I put my heart on hold. I waited, even when I didn’t hear from you. I didn’t know what I’d done wrong. How you could move on with someone else. Have a baby with someone else. He was supposed to be our baby.”
“If you give me—us—a chance, he could be.”
“How? He has a mother. Is she here? Does she live with you?”
“No. I told you. I am not involved with anyone. It has always been you. I would never do that to you.”
“What is his full name?”
“John Charles Cliff, Jr. Charlie Cliff.”
The floodgates open.
“Bella! What is it?”
“I want to hear your story, Jack. From start to finish. First, I need to show you something. I have my own confession. I haven’t told you everything.”
I rise slowly and go to my bedroom to retrieve the enamel box. When I return to Jack, I place the box gently in his lap. I take a long drink of bourbon and light a cigarette.
“What is this, Belle?”
“Just open it, Jack.”
Inside, our baby’s birth certificate lies on top of the silk bag filled with his ashes.
He studies the birth certificate and the pictures of me. I watch as it slowly dawns on him what he's holding in his lap. He looks heartbroken. His eyes fill with tears.
“This is our baby? We had a baby?”
I can barely get the word out. “Yes.”
He closes the box and handles it as if it is a Fabergé egg. He rests it on the floor, away from the fire and us. Then he grabs me in his arms and lifts me into his lap holding on for dear life. “Tell me.”
I whisper it all in his ear. When I discovered I was pregnant. How I tried to find him. How I begged my parents to help me find him. How much I loved our baby. I was stubborn. I refused to tell anyone until I could share it with him first. I hid it. I've hidden it for five years.
I weep as I tell him how our baby died and I went through labor and delivery. “We had a baby, Jack. His name was John Charles.”
He sets me aside. Gently, carefully. He rises, grabs the bottle of bourbon, and pours himself a shot. Then another.
He falls to his knees in front of me, lays his head on my lap, and sobs. Giant heaving sobs.
“You must hate me. I left you alone. You had to deal with your grief alone. I was selfish. I was gallivanting about, living life. Following a dream. While you were here alone. I missed seeing you pregnant, taking care of you, holding your hand while you delivered our baby.”
He roars out his pain and grief.
He holds me around my waist. “It's been my dream to have a baby with you. You're supposed to be the mother of our children.”
I reach out my hand and stroke his hair and back to comfort him. “I'm sorry, Jack. I'm sorry I failed you. I lost our baby. He left me, too. He knew I was broken.”
Jack jerks himself up, stunned, staring at me with red, puffy eyes. “That’s what you’ve been telling yourself all this time? This is not your fault. You are not broken.” He holds me and kisses me. “How could you even think that? Belle, you have such a big heart. You're good, kind, and unbelievably strong. We'll have another baby. I know it. I will never leave you alone again.”
I cannot hear this. The fear of losing another baby overwhelms me. I stand and walk to the bathroom and grab a roll a toilet paper. I sit in his lap and tear off sheets for both of us. “I’m sorry. I never have any proper tissues.”
“Do you forgive me? I could have told our parents. If they knew, they would have told me how to find you. I needed you to know first. I was stupid and stubborn. I waited to hear from you and then it was too late. I should have tried harder.”
“I’m the one who should have tried harder. I did try to call you. You admitted you ran, changed your phone and your address, but I could have called the vintage shop. I knew how to reach you there. I could have contacted Wallace or Julia. Like you, I was stubborn. I waited to hear from you. Bella, I will never stop being sorry.”
I curl up in his lap, and he rocks me, comforting me. Then he asks the question I have dreaded. “What did he look like?”
“I’m sorry. I will die with this regret. I couldn't look at him or hold him. The nurse tried to put him in my arms. She kept thrusting this tiny bundle wrapped in a blanket at me. He'd been dead inside me for at least two days. They wanted me to hold our dead baby. I was terrified. I knew he would be blue. I could not live with that image. I killed our baby. They told me it would help with the grief process. I pushed him away. I screamed, ‘My baby is gone. That’s not my baby.’ I'll never know what he looked like. He was dead, and it was my fault.”
“You've been carrying this guilt and pain around for five years? You believed you killed our baby? No, no. None of this was your fault. You were grieving. You'd just gone through a traumatic experience, alone. You are not broken. You have to believe me. Trust me. I love you, and I will regret not being there for you for the rest of my life.”
“Yes. I’ve grown. I’m still growing. I’m becoming the woman I want to be. Do you forgive me?”
“There is nothing to forgive. Do you forgive me for not being there for you?
I nod. “Will you tell me now?”
He sighs and cuddles me closer. “Are you sure?”
“Do you want us to move forward? Be together?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“Then it’s time for you to tell me the truth. As you say, I’ve grown. I’m a strong woman. I deserve the truth.” I crawl out his lap and sit facing him again. “Please. I cannot follow you anymore blindly. Let me make my own choices.”
We join hands, I sit and prepare to listen without interruption, and he begins….
Jack’s Secret
I have to start it from the beginning. It isn't a simple fairy tale. It is not just about Charlie.
Once upon a time, I fell in love dancing under the stars in the mountains of North Carolina.
I'd known you my whole life. You were a small, but powerful whirlwind. I remember you as a mischievous sprite with your long, wavy hair, always ready for an adventure. No fear. I may have pretended to ignore you, but I always knew where you were.
I watched you change over the years. You took on any role with ease. You were a debutante, a socialite, a rebel, a partying pixie. As much as you fascinated me, you also confounded me. You seemed to be so free and yet I wondered who you were.
I was a typical teenage boy, not much of a talker. I rolled my eyes frequently and grunted to communicate. I was bored and
frustrated, and longed for escape. First, I got stoned as often as possible. Then I discovered surfing, and I started to feel alive. Being out on the water for hours at a time, I found the escape and peace for which I'd been searching.
I knew my parents expected me to attend college. I procrastinated. I could have gone to any school I wanted. The problem was I didn't want to. I wanted freedom, water, and peace. In the end, I gave in to my parents' expectations, but I waited too long. My opportunities had dried up. The only choice left for me was to pack up and become a Gamecock at Carolina. There I was at a huge state school, a misfit with no interest in football or fraternities.
I didn’t see you again for five years. I don’t know if I was conscious of it at the time, but it felt as if a piece of me was missing. You were my best friend. You knew me, understood me, better than anyone. I never realized how often I looked for you until you were gone.
From the first day at Carolina, I was miserable. At the end of first year, I'd had enough. I’d breezed through my classes. I loved learning. I knew I wasn’t a loser. I also knew what I wanted, and it wasn’t that life. My passion was nature, the water, our environment. I developed a vision for my life that I would create beauty out of other people's trash. I was probably stoned when I came up with that plan. I’d never built anything in my life.
Would it surprise you to learn that my parents were not pleased with my choices? Their only child was going to live in a rustic cabin on Johns Island; surf at Folly Beach, stay stoned and read philosophy? “Where did we go wrong?” my mother cried dramatically. Okay, maybe she wasn't that clichéd, but she was dramatic.
My father put his foot down. He refused to support me financially. He cut off all access to my trust fund. He insisted I work. Honest, hard work. I didn't have to wear a suit and tie, but I had to find a profession about which I was passionate. That was fair, particularly because I knew already what I wanted to do.
Have I told you about Billy, and how I learned woodworking? Yeah, he was a crotchety old man. I’m sorry you never met him. For two years, he barked orders at me, and that was the extent of our conversations. However, he was an artisan. He created art with his gnarled, calloused hands. He taught me how to perfect my craft. It was through him that I realized my dream and followed my passion.