“Temporary?” you howled, your eyes bulging. When you stood, you did so with such force that it smacked the couch hard against the wall. You ran to the kitchen, picked up the vase we’d purchased at the flea market and flung it against the tile wall.
“Like this?” You picked up a plate and did the same thing. “Temporary like this?”
You moved on to the glass-blown bowl sitting on the coffee table. “What about this?”
Crash.
I saw your eyes linger on the picture of us on the wall. You lunged at it, pulled back for a second and then threw it on the ground. “And this?”
Crash.
“There you are, Carin! Pieces of our temporary life on the floor!”
I was wracked with sobs, covering my face in my hands, desperate to answer but out of words. “No, no!”
Olive ran in circles, stressed out and upset. I scooped her up and held her tight.
Diana ran to me. Ariel did the same to you. He placed both arms on your shoulders and shook you. “Roman, buddy, it’s okay. Let’s take a minute to calm down, okay? Come on,” he said, leading you to the door. “Let’s take a walk and talk this over.”
You twisted your neck, turned to look at me before allowing Ariel to push you forward.
And when I heard the door slam shut, I folded myself in Diana’s arms.
“What have I done?” I cried.
“Shh. It’s okay,” Diana cooed. “You have to understand him. All these months, you’ve been preparing yourself for this day. He didn’t see it coming. Or he didn’t want to see it.”
“How could he not!” I cried. “We’ve been playing house all these months! How could he not?”
“People believe what they want to believe. Maybe he thought there’d be a way, somehow—”
I cut her short. “What way? What other way could make this a permanent thing?”
She shook her head, lost for words.
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve hurt him. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I love him so much.”
I knelt on the floor and began to pick up the pieces of glass, remembering that in my old life, I’d be besieged with thoughts of hurting myself. Not then. I wanted to see this life through, live it so I could have another chance of living with you. And Charlie.
“Julia, don’t. Let me get the broom and we can sweep it.”
Diana ran to the pantry to pull it out. I stood and grabbed both her hands. “Please believe me. This is me, Carin, Julia—the person you know, your friend. Please don’t think there was any pretense in what I showed you, what I told you. Please don’t think that our friendship was anything but genuine and real. I love you, Diana. You’re my friend.”
“I know, I know,” she whispered, tears running down her face. “You think it was me who took care of you. But the truth is, I needed you too.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Death and Dying
Diana helped me clean up for the next few minutes. Without a word, we began to pack up the things I wanted her to keep. We wrapped the paintings in plastic garbage bags and folded our bedding neatly for her to put away.
I was grasping at anything you’d touched, holding those things close to my face to remember the feel of you. The furniture you’d built for me, the things we’d picked up on the side of the dirt road, the books I’d read to you late at night. I wanted to hold on to all of them. I offered to send her money to place them in storage but she refused to accept anything from me.
When I’d done enough to get our home in order, I wanted to look for you.
We found you on the beach, sitting with your feet in the water, Ariel with his pants rolled up to his knees. He smiled when he saw his wife, lovingly took her hand when she offered it. We didn’t exchange any words. Ariel squeezed your shoulder while Diana blew me a kiss. And then they quietly disappeared in the dark.
I sat next to you, brought my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. You turned to me with the same tears you’d taken with you when you left. “I’m sorry, Carin. You didn’t deserve that.”
“It’s not your fault,” I answered. “To be loved like this. No one will love me like this but you.”
“I’m going to die without you.”
“You only die without love. Our love for each other—it will keep us alive,” I said.
“Were you waiting for this all along? For the day we’d be found? Did you want to be found?” you asked. I could feel the pain in your voice. Once these words are uttered, they become tangible. They confirm our truth.
The tide began to rise. Still, we sat. You held on to me protectively, making sure I stayed anchored on the sand.
“I knew this time would come. I just didn’t know how or when,” I replied. “The thing is, I don’t think I wasted a single second of our time together. All this time, through all these months, I loved you with all of me. There was never a moment when I could have loved you more, touched you more, laughed with you more. I did it all to the fullest, Matias.”
You nodded. “Those vows you said to me—”
“I didn’t exist before you. I was meant to love you.”
We were now waist-deep in the water. You made a move backward, closer to the shore. “Let’s go,” you said. “It’s getting deeper.”
“I’m not afraid anymore. You took away all my fears. We can stay,” I said. “It’s a gorgeous night and we’re never going to see the stars like this again.” I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the salty sea air. “Mmm. Can you smell that? I’m going to miss everything about our home.”
My voice broke. I set my tears free. Every word I said that night, I said because I had to. I had to show you that we could both make it out of there alive.
“What are we going to do?” you whispered, trying to stop the flow of my tears with your thumbs.
“I don’t know. I suppose we have to go back, make amends for the hurt we caused. I have to make it up to Charlie.”
“And Jack?”
“And Jack, and Trish. And you, your mom, and dad and your family. Isabella.”
You shook your head. “I’ll die without you,” you said again.
“No, you can’t.”
You rolled your eyes. “How can you say that? You wanted to die so many times.”
“But that was before you!” I held up my right hand. “Look! No more pain, no more scars. You’ve healed me.”
You spread my palm across your face and kissed it.
I continued. “We have to make these months count for something. We celebrated love and life! This has to be enough. Many people don’t even get this privilege, ever.”
“Privilege, my ass. Why couldn’t we just fight to be together? Plain and simple. Fate, faith, whatever else fuck is at play here, I can’t go on.”
“That’s the point of all this. You can’t skip steps. If I didn’t lose my mother, if I didn’t go through all that pain, my heart would not have met you. This is all part of our story. This time with you,” I looked at you and smiled. “I’ve had a lot of time to think. I’m here because I came from there. The scars on my hand had healed because I wanted them to.”
You faced me with pleading eyes. “Please, Carin. We have to find a way. Let’s go tomorrow. Leave everyone, start over.”
“I can’t leave Charlie any longer than I have. I have to go back to him.”
You looked away. Stared straight into the ebony sky. “I know.”
The water was now up to our chests. I knew we had to go. “Let’s go home, my love. We’ll figure things out together, okay?”
You stood and offered me your hand.
I looked up at you and said, “Six months ago, we threw our lives into this water. Tonight, we’re taking them back. We’re taking them with us wherever we go.”
There we stood, soaked to the bone, our clothes weighing us down against the waves. We held each other, arms tightly locked in an embrace, my head resting on your chest, your lips on my hair. I felt your chest rise and fall, heard your
jagged breaths in my ear, felt your tears slip slowly against my back. I didn’t know whether to cry for us or to cry for those we’d hurt. The only thing I was sure of that night was that the moon and the stars would hear us.
And because we’d done what we did out of love, the world would forgive us.
Chapter Forty-Five
The End
When we entered our home, you didn’t question what you saw. Instead, you stood in the middle of the living room with your eyes closed, still holding tightly to my hand. To the side of the house by the kitchen counter were all the things I wanted Diana to keep. Olive was asleep on the floor instead of her bed—as if she knew that she’d have to be ready to leave at any time.
“Diana will come for our things,” I said in an almost-whisper.
You looked around once, twice, before burying your face in your hands while slowly sinking to the floor on your knees. You clutched at your chest as if trying to pull your heart out.
“Please! No!” I cried. I dropped down to the ground with you, cocooning you in my arms. I tried to absorb the shocks that wracked your body, tried to remain steadfast, to keep us alive.
“Carin, please, don’t leave me. We can figure this out,” you begged. “I’ll give you time to make your amends with Charlie, but promise me you’ll find me.”
“I promise. I promise.”
I took your face in my hands and kissed you. It was a soul-rendering kiss, urgent, demanding. We tasted each other, blood and sweat and tears. Touched every inch of our skin, memorized every mark, every mole, every scar. And when you came, you lifted my legs up, laid them on both shoulders so you could thrust as deep as you could. Give me all you had to give.
“I love you, Carin,” you gasped. “Without you, I am nothing.”
I don’t even remember when we fell asleep. We talked until dawn, made love three more times, made plans to purchase our tickets home in the morning.
It took them one day to find us.
It was Olive with her supersonic ears who stirred us from sleep by barking in my ear.
“Shh,” I whispered, careful not to rouse you from your peace. Our bodies, our legs, our arms were intertwined, twisted around one another on the bare wooden floor. Olive perked her ears and sat up on her hind legs, her head snapping upward in full attention. And then I heard it. The low drone of a motor, maybe an airplane or a boat. As seconds passed, the noise seemed to fade. But then it returned—this time it sounded like a plane was about to crash into our home.
“Matias.”
We held each other, calmed each other down with a lingering kiss.
Calmly, we got dressed, moving around the house to wash our faces, take our wallets and our keys. I placed Olive’s collar on her before you opened the front door.
We walked out, holding hands, standing at the stoop of our porch. In the distance, a helicopter was trying to land a few feet from the shore.
The waters were angry, waves slapping along the shore, the tide bringing with it rocks and sediment. The force of the propeller created a sandstorm that uprooted our flowers, caused the wind chime to fly off its post. We stood, keeping watch, our fingers locked tight, both our stances steady—not rigid, but accepting. As the propeller slowed, it sliced through the air first with loud thumps and then a hiss.
The sun was so high I had to shield my eyes.
I saw them disembark—first Jack, then Trish, then Charlie. He’d grown so much in the six months since I last saw him. Taller, I think. He’d let his hair grow out. His bangs were down to his nose, the length of his hair down to his chin.
“Mom!” he shrieked, running toward me.
I let go of your hand. When you tightened your grip on my arm, I yanked until you let go.
“Charlie!” I ran faster than I ever had before. Faster than when we’d tried to get away from the reporters on the beach. Or the day of the earthquake. Or the day of our vows.
You walked slowly behind me with Olive by your side.
“Olive!” Charlie shouted. “Hi, Olive! Is that Olive?”
I stopped dead in my tracks, turned to face you. You stopped too—shaking your head, shoulders stooped, your mouth hanging open. Your eyes flickered back and forth, and your face began to crumple, folding in evident pain.
“Carin? Why does he know Olive?”
I stepped backward, not knowing what to do. And then I kept on running.
When I finally reached Charlie, I held him in my arms and cried. “I’m sorry, baby,” I sobbed. “I missed you so much.”
“It’s okay, Mom. You had to get better.”
I looked up to find you standing in the same spot, watching as Trish and Jack and Charlie surrounded me, built a wall around me. They stood guard, their arms locked around me as if protecting me from you.
Another sound, a deep grumble, came from the water. Not loud—subtle, subdued. A speed boat approached, long and slim, driven by a man in a suit and sunglasses with another man in shorts and a T-shirt standing next to him. A thought flashed in my mind—one of you telling some coworkers about the beauty of an Aston Martin speedboat. Right then, I knew who the man in the boat had to be. He was assisted off the boat by the other man, who painstakingly laid out a ladder, lifted him up and carried him on his back, careful not to get the older man wet.
“Papa.” You walked toward him and folded yourself in his arms.
That was it, I guess. The moment we had both feared was upon us. Little did we know a few months ago, that every day we’d spent together was really a long, drawn-out goodbye. We walked towards the helicopter. The pilot started the engine—sputtering once and twice, and then those bothersome blades began slicing into the air once again. The noise blared but the pounding in my heart was all I heard. I turned around to see you walking toward the water.
“Wait!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, making sure my family heard me.
I ran for you. I ran to you. Stumbled on the sand, my feet digging in with each step like it was quicksand, waiting to swallow me whole. You didn’t run to me. You waited, tears in your eyes, your father already in the boat, the man turning the key to start the engine. They weren’t tears of sadness or pain. The hollow in your eyes, the glazed look, the lack of expression showed me that you were gone.
“Live, Matias. Take my love with you. Live for us.”
The irony of your fears and your worries about my being the first to leave. That day, you made sure it was you. You were the first to leave.
Part III: YOU, ONE YEAR LATER
“How can our love die
If it’s written
In these pages”
Rupi Kaur
Chapter Forty-Six
Back At Home
I can feel her presence as if she’s still here. Everywhere I look, during the one-mile walk closer to the shore—I see her. This was the refuge we’d made together. A home built out of one big lie, one horrible deception. And yet, I want to be here. I feel no guilt, no regret. This past year, I’ve considered myself lucky to have had her in my world. The thing is I’d always known it was temporary. She just wasn’t the type of person who would do that sort of thing. But I thought that if I denied it long enough, we would find a way to make things right. Together.
My thoughts are all of her as I walk along the water, my feet sinking with every step into the warm, soft sand.
I stand in front of it, in all its little glory—our one-bedroom bungalow repainted and refurbished but now falling apart. We’d used our hands to make it our home. It remains unoccupied; Ariel had been waiting for further instructions from one of us and I guess neither of us have had the heart to think about it.
It hasn’t even been that long. Sure, it’s taken me a year to make this trip. A year since I’d last seen her, touched her, begged her to assure me that we were making the right decision. It has taken me twelve months to accept the fact that the past is a closed door and there’s nothing one can do to change that. Still, I think this is the perfect place to lay it all
to rest. It had been, after all, our home for many months—and the times I had with her were still the happiest times in my life.
That sounds so wrong, considering I am going to be married in two weeks.
Which is why I had to come.
It tears me up to see our home this way, but the salty sea air held no shame when it penetrated the wooden walls and allowed the mold to cultivate and flourish. Without life and its fierce protection, death always seeps in. I slowly make my way toward the front deck. It stretches out along the length of the house—dead plants and cracked Chinese jars still fill all four corners; our blue hammock has twisted itself into a knot. The crashing waves, the soft gentle breeze, the squeaking floor, the silent melody of the rusted wind chimes—these are the sounds of life that envelope me, and yet, I am dead.
I refuse to enter the house just yet, thinking it best to settle myself on the top step overlooking the sand and the sea. In my right hand is a brown envelope containing a tiny green notebook. When I’d first received it from Diana, I couldn’t imagine why she’d sent it to me.
“She wants you to know,” was all Diana had said.
I’d never even known she kept a diary while we were together. I imagined when she would have had the time to work on it and realize that there were many occasions. This was how she had filled her days, maybe. Until she couldn’t take the silence any longer
Now, here it is.
It has to be a hundred pages. Written and addressed to me. I’d tucked it away in the same box that contained all my memories of her, knowing full well that one day I’d be ready.
This day is it. The travel agent suggested I stay at a resort, but the only place on this island that has any meaning for me is right here.
I take a deep breath before unlatching the leather-bound book, its button flapping loose. Coming apart after being opened and closed for a million times. It is so her, this book, this letter full of memories. I wonder right away whether she’d kept the tiny notes she used to leave for me all over our house. She reveled in words. Thought they were important. As if she had thought that I, too, would need something to help me remember one day.
The Year I Left Page 21