“It’s really nice of you to offer, but right now, what I really need is to focus on Charlie.” He blows out a shaky breath. “And I can’t do that with you here. It’s too hard to be near you and not be . . . us. The us we used to be.” Hurt pours out of his eyes, and my stomach clenches. My being here is causing him more pain, not helping him.
“Okay.” I’m worn out. Physically, mentally, and emotionally, but I dig for the strength it’s going to take to walk away. “If that’s really what you want.”
“I gave up the hope of getting what I want a long time ago. This is what I need.”
Bryson has asked me for only one thing—to choose him. I didn’t do that before, and I won’t make that mistake again.
I nod, holding back the plea I want to make to give me another chance. “If you change your mind, I’m just a phone call away.”
“Thank you.” He walks past me then, and I have no choice but to turn and watch him leave with a woman in blue scrubs who has no idea that Bryson is bleeding inside.
I’ve never quite understood heartbreak. I thought I did when my father left my mom, and again when my trip was canceled, but those were different. They were losses completely outside of my control. But as I watch Bryson disappear with the nurse through the glass double doors, that’s when I know this pain in my chest is greater than all the others.
Bryson’s leaving is my fault. I pushed him away because I was too afraid to let go and love him the way he needed me to. I did to him the very thing his mom did. I chose someone else, and regardless of what I do now, it doesn’t matter. I lost him the minute I walked out his door.
thirty-four
I’m in my truck, staring at my apartment building for five minutes before finally cutting the engine. Cameron called me twice while sitting here, and both times I let it go to voicemail. For as long as I can remember, he would be the first person I’d seek out when feeling like my world is ending, but not anymore. His admission changed things between us, just like it had when we were in high school. It took a month to get back to normal then; I have no idea how long it will take this time.
The air is hot and sticky when I open the door, and the heat elevates my already frazzled emotions. I need a shower and a time machine to make this horrific day go away. My pace to the stairs is slow, but it’s the best I can do when feeling like a collapse is imminent.
“So, you are avoiding me.”
I glance up the minute I hear his voice, and anxiety fires through my veins. Cameron’s sitting on the stairs, waiting for me, and the expression on his face mirrors my balled-up and twisted insides. “I can’t do this with you right now.”
He stands and waits for me to get to the top step. “I’m not leaving until we talk.” Dark circles mar his eyes, and he fidgets the way he always does when nervous.
I push past him and head to my apartment. He follows down the hall, into the alcove, and through the door right behind me. I’m grateful for the blast of air conditioning that hits when we enter; maybe it will calm down the rising heat in my chest. Piper barks and runs to greet me for only a second before running back to the kitchen. Zoe’s in there cooking, and Piper is obviously reaping the benefits.
“Hey, I tried to call you. Cameron’s been by here twice. He’s all messed up about some—” She quits talking when she steps into the living room, where both of us still stand by the now-closed door. “Oh, I see you found her.”
“We need a minute.” Cameron grabs my arm and pulls me toward the bedroom in a move that’s far more Neanderthal than I appreciate. This isn’t how we operate. We don’t demand conversation and impose our wills on the other. He lets go the second we’re inside and shuts the door with bottled aggression. “Why won’t you talk to me?” he barks. “I’ve been out of my mind wondering what you’re thinking or doing.” He runs both hands through his hair and grabs the strands like he needs to pull them out. “I can’t play onstage tomorrow feeling like this. You have to give me something.”
“I can’t.” I cross my arms, trying to find the compassion I’ve always had for him, yet nothing but bitterness remains. I resent him. Resent him for loving me the wrong way. Resent him for convincing me that he was all I needed. Resent him because I chose him, and I shouldn’t have.
“You can’t what? Answer my phone call? Take two seconds to put my mind at ease?”
“No, because all of those require me telling you what you don’t want to hear.” The words fly out harsher than I meant them to, and I rub my temples trying to make sense of this entire mess. “I’m sorry.”
He stares at me, and it feels like my world is caving in. This was my worst nightmare. Hurting Cam. Losing my best friend. But I can’t pretend something is possible when I know it’s not. Maybe if I hadn’t known Bryson, then I could have convinced myself that what Cameron and I share is enough, but I know now what love—true, romantic, spend-your-lives-together love—feels like. And it’s not this.
“You’re sorry?” He stares at the ceiling now as if that might change my words. “Well, I can’t go back to just being your friend. Not anymore.” He looks at me as though I’m to blame for putting us in this position. “You opened Pandora’s box, and my feelings are not going back inside.”
“I know that.” I swallow down the ache. “I know things between us have to change now.”
He shakes his head, bewildered. “Why? Just give me one good reason why you and I aren’t perfect for each other?”
I duck my head because I can’t verbalize it.
He rushes to me and cups my face, his eyes pleading into mine. “You love me, don’t you?”
Tears assault my eyes. I can see how this ends even if he can’t yet. “You know I do.”
“And I love you,” he says with a ferocity that tears my heart in half. “Don’t you see? This is our moment. You were leaving, and by some miracle you stayed, and I don’t think it’s coincidence. I think it’s providence that we are here together right now.” He leans forward, touches his forehead to mine. “This is the beginning of our love story, Darcy. If you would just stop being afraid . . .”
“I’m not afraid, Cameron.” I pull his hands away and put more space between us. “That’s just it. For the first time in years, I’m completely at peace with where God has me.”
“Then help me understand why you won’t even try. We are soulmates. You know it. I know it. Our families know it.” He throws out his arms. “Even Bryson knows it! Why do you think he forced you to choose?”
“He didn’t make me choose for him. He did it for me.” I rub my eyes, only just now recognizing that truth. Bryson knew I was caged by fear. That’s why he couldn’t waver. Why he couldn’t let me have both. “You and I don’t thrive together, Cameron. Don’t you see that? Every time one of us starts to move and try something new, the other one keeps us stuck right here.”
His breath hitches like I’ve slapped him. “You feel stuck with me?”
“No. Not just me. I’ve done it to you, too. We live safe and we live trapped and I don’t want to live that way anymore.” He takes a step back, the hurt so dark in his eyes I swear they change colors. “You know I’m right. You’ve called me fifteen times in the past four days. You couldn’t even play your concert tomorrow without seeing me. That is not healthy. We are not healthy, Cam.”
“This isn’t you talking. This is Bryson. You’ve been pushing me away since the minute you two became involved with each other.”
“Bryson’s not why I’ve pushed you away.” Though I almost wish he were the reason, because then I wouldn’t have to admit the darkest truth to myself or to my best friend. “I think I’ve known for a long time that you and I . . .” I shake my head, unable to speak the words out loud. How do you break up with your best friend? How do you say goodbye to the one person you thought would always be there?
His jaw tenses as he reads the anxiety I’m emoting. “What do you mean you’ve known? Known what?”
Tears lodge in my throat. I can’t say it.
Can’t say what I’ve only just now accepted. But I have to, because if I don’t, I’ll cave to him. I always do. Bryson’s right. I’ve spent so much time clinging to Cameron, I’ve ignored the fact that I’m terrified to take a step on my own.
He comes to me again, gentler this time, my hesitation giving him hope that I don’t know how I feel when really I just don’t know how to tell him. “This is you and me, Darcy. We don’t have secrets between us. I love you. And whatever is stopping you from taking this step, you can talk to me about it. We’ll get through it together.” His gaze remains fixed on me and I ache with his want, ache with what I can’t give him. “Tell me. What have you known?”
“How you feel. I just didn’t want to accept it.” His eyes soften, and I duck my head, unable to look at him and see the agony I’m about to unleash. “I think part of why I wanted that mission trip so bad was to see what life looked like without you. And to give you time to let go of me.”
The air immediately turns cold between us, and even though I knew this reaction was coming, it still sickens me when Cameron shoves himself away. “You wanted to get away from me?”
“You and I have been entangled my entire life. So much so that I don’t even make decisions without first considering the impact on you. I’ve been Cameron Lee’s best friend for so long that somewhere along the way, I stopped knowing who I am without you.” I look up, bracing myself for what’s to come. “A year away was my chance to find me again.”
He chuckles and it’s a horrific sound. “You’re telling me that you went through all of that work of trying to be a missionary just to get me out of your life?”
“That’s not what I said.” I did want to be a missionary, at first. Then it became more about leaving than actually what I was going to do. God was right to stop me. My heart wasn’t where it needed to be. “This isn’t about you, Cameron. It’s about me and what I’ve had to learn through all the pain this past year.”
“So now I’m a lesson?” He takes two more steps away, as if he doesn’t trust me not to plunge a spear into his chest. “A lesson in what? How to hurt people? How to betray a twenty-nine-year friendship? Bravo, Darcy. You learned it well.”
“Cameron.” I move toward him, but he raises his hand.
“I heard you. Loud and clear. You want to know what your life looks like without me in it?” He smiles but it’s not sweet. It’s quite possibly the nastiest look I’ve seen him give anyone. “Your wish is granted. You’re about to find out.” He leaves then, slamming both my door and the front door on his way out.
The sound hits me like a wrecking ball, the gut punch so severe I have to lean over to brace myself.
He’s gone. It echoes in my head, in my trembling body.
My best friend is gone. And this time, there won’t be a make-up call weeks or months later. I know the difference. This is the kind of break that stays permanent.
I collapse to my knees, the sobs coming so fast and hard that my room becomes a blob of color around me.
A soft knock comes at the door. “Darcy, are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not now, Zoe,” I manage to squeak out. As much as I appreciate her effort, she’s not who I need. I need my mom. I need her caring touch and her unconditional love. But mostly, I need her to tell me it’s all going to be okay.
I’m still a blubbering mess when I reach out and press my mom’s doorbell. I don’t even remember what time it is or when Mom usually gets home from work. I only hope that Michael’s parked SUV means that she’s here and hopefully still willing to talk.
The door opens after my second press to the ringer, and her mouth opens in surprise. “Darcy?” Her eyes trail my pathetic state—the bloodshot eyes, scuffed knees, disheveled hair—and she immediately pulls me into her arms. “Baby, what happened?”
I break down, sobbing into her embrace like a little girl. I hear Mom mumble something about getting the door and feel myself being slowly moved to a more private location. I recover enough to recognize I’m in the living room, close to the couch. Michael stands in the doorway, fidgeting, while Mom uses her palms to brush the tear-soaked hair from my eyes. “Are you hurt? Did someone do something to you?” She’s gone to the worst conclusion, and I shake my head to ease her fears.
“No. Cam and I had a fight.” My breath shakes as I try to talk through the tears. “He’s gone. He hates me. Bryson hates me. Charlie’s in surgery.” I break down again as Mom eases me down onto the couch.
Michael clears his throat. “I’m going to . . . um, go somewhere else.”
I lay my forehead in my hands and start to laugh. Michael is truly the most socially awkward person I’ve ever met.
Mom runs her hand along the back of my hair. “Do you want some water?”
I sit up, the hysteria finally under control. “No, thank you. I’m better now.” It’s amazing how just being here helps. How even though I’m nearly thirty and long past adolescence, her touch can still heal a million hurts.
“Do you want to talk about what happened?”
I fall back against the couch cushion and look toward the woman who raised me. “Cameron wanted more from our relationship. I couldn’t give it to him.” My chest seizes, my mind still struggling to accept his final words to me. “You don’t look surprised,” I add when my mom shows no visual reaction.
“You’re my daughter, so I can read you pretty well, and Cameron, well, he kind of wears his heart on his sleeve.”
I look at the ceiling and shake my head. “How did I miss it for so long?”
“We see what we want to see, especially when we love someone. You probably knew this would be the result if the issue ever got pressed.”
As usual, my mom is right. “What do I do now?”
“Are you willing to go where he wants you to?” When I shake my head, she sighs apologetically. “Then you can’t really do anything. When and if he’s ever ready, he’ll come back. Until then, it’s only fair you give him the space he needs to fall out of love with you.” She touches my cheek and brushes hair from my eyes. “Considering how amazing you are, that may take him some time.”
It’s in that moment I realize how very much I missed her these past several weeks. “I’m sorry I haven’t called you back.” She folds her hands in her lap and looks down. “I didn’t know how to be happy for you and still be sad for me.”
She nods like she understands. “I’ve thought a lot about what you said the other day. I’ve even written you three ridiculously long emails that I didn’t send, because you asked me to give you time, and Michael convinced me I needed to respect that request even though I didn’t like it.”
Score one for Michael. Dad would have made her push. And like it did with Cam, pushing would have only led to words that couldn’t be taken back.
“I should have talked about how I was feeling earlier,” I admit. “I shouldn’t have waited until I was that angry to unload on you.”
“Well, if I’m being honest, I didn’t exactly want to hear it. I wanted to move on, to keep going and looking forward so I didn’t have to deal with the whys and the hows.” We smile at each other, both cut from the same cloth in that respect. “I’ve been unfair. I’ve expected you to comfort me like my friend, while still expecting the blind support of a little girl.” Her words nearly bring the tears again, because for the first time she truly does seem to understand my struggle. “But you’re an adult now, and it’s only fair that you be given the courtesy of my listening instead of assuming.” Her voice shakes from nerves. “I know that for you, our divorce was a shock. We’ve never wanted you kids to stress about the two of us, and I guess we got a little too good at hiding our issues.” She takes a stabilizing breath, then releases it. “I don’t know what’s crossing the line for you. How much you want or need to know, but I’ll give you whatever information you ask for . . . even if I don’t necessarily want to.”
I pull out my ponytail holder and pull my hair back into a fresh tail, tired of the
strands sticking to my face. There are so many questions I’ve been too afraid to ask. Too afraid to get answers for. And some of those still linger in my mind. Were there other women? Were there other men? How long had they been unhappy? Was our Partridge family growing up a lie or was it real? But none of those questions will change the outcome; they’d only change my feelings toward my mom and dad. And if this summer has taught me anything, it’s taught me to let go. My parents’ marriage and divorce is not my problem to solve. It’s their journey and their choices. Not mine.
“Do you remember when I was a kid and you’d make your special night-night concoction for me when I was scared at bedtime?” I later learned it was tea, hot milk, and some honey, but it never tastes the same when I make it. “Could you make me some now?”
She sighs in relief as if she realizes exactly what I have decided, that I’m not going to live in the wreckage of what’s lost anymore. “Only if afterward you promise to tell me who Bryson and Charlie are.” Sadness descends on me like a heavy cloud, and my mom sees it right away. Her face turns pensive, ready for me to dump all my burdens onto her. “Unless you don’t want to,” she amends.
No, I need to, but not until I do this first. I scoot over and wrap my arms around her. “I love you, Mom.”
She presses her cheek against mine. “I love you, too, sweetheart.”
Bryson’s text comes three hours later, long after my mom soothed away my pain and helped me reconcile my choices. We ended the night with a long hug goodbye and a promise to never again go so long without speaking.
I sit up in bed, preparing myself for what his text might tell me. I don’t think it’s possible to cry any more than I have in the last twenty-four hours, nor can I fathom a world without Charlie in it. Carefully, I swipe up to see the full message.
Charlie is out of surgery. Critical but stable.
I hold the phone to my chest and look up at the ceiling, the enormous relief enough to liquefy every muscle. “Thank you, Lord.”
Answered prayers come in many different forms, most of which we don’t recognize. This one, though, came exactly how I’d hoped.
Love and the Silver Lining Page 29