by Tara Sivec
“I’m so sorry, Olivia,” Cole finally speaks.
I hear a bird squawk in a nearby tree and I wonder if it’s our son, telling me it’s okay to walk away. I know I have to. I know I need to be strong, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I’m not only walking away from my little boy, I’m walking away from the man who holds my heart in his hands.
He can keep it. I have no use for it anymore.
“I know you are,” I tell him, refusing to turn around and look at him. I know how sorry he is. I listened to the pain in his voice on my voicemails and I saw it on his face when I went to Caroline’s funeral the other day and his eyes locked onto mine from across the crowd of people, refusing to let go.
“You didn’t give him my last name,” Cole mumbles.
I close my eyes and count to ten. Of course I didn’t give him the name Vargas. On the day he was born, I hated every single thing that last name represented. It was hard enough naming him after Cole, but it was something I had to do. He looked so much like his father. Even in death I hoped he’d be strong and fearless, just like him. I wanted that name to give him strength as he moved on and away from me. Once again, just like his father.
“You weren’t exactly there to sign the birth certificate,” I reply, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. There’s no use being mean. He knew he wasn’t there. He knew he’d failed me the day Cole Garrett was born. Saying it over and over again wouldn’t change that.
“I need you, Liv. Please, don’t leave me,” he begs.
I squeeze my eyes closed and try to calm my racing heart. This is why I didn’t want to have any contact with him right now. His words cut through me and make me want to change my mind, but I realized in the ambulance as we rode to the hospital with Caroline’s body that this is what I had to do.
“I gave you everything and you threw it all away, Cole. Not once, but twice,” I remind him, opening my eyes and staring down at my son’s grave, hoping it will give me the strength I need to get these words out.
“I can’t afford a third time. If you’re really sorry, if you really love me, then you’ll let me go,” I whisper.
I hear a sharp intake of breath behind me, but I don’t let it affect me.
“Liv, please,” he begs. “You are everything to me. EVERYTHING. I can’t live without you.”
I feel anger bubbling up inside of me and I clench my fists at my sides as I finally turn around to face him. I won’t allow myself to feel bad for the shadows I see under his eyes or the haggard, broken look on his face.
“Don’t put that on me! I can’t be everything to you, don’t you get that?” I ask him furiously. “I have nothing left. NOTHING! I gave you my heart, my soul, my trust and my future. It’s gone. I’m empty. I lost myself in you and I can’t do that again. I WON’T do it again. I’m sorry for everything that happened with your family, but I can’t forgive you for not trusting me. For not knowing me and believing in me.”
He takes a step towards me and I back away. I watch his face fall with sadness and the realization that he can’t change my mind.
“This is coming out all wrong. Fuck! Just give me a chance to explain, to do better,” he pleads.
I shake my head at him. “You’ve run out of chances, Cole. You can’t do better. You can’t always fix things. Sometimes they need to stay broken and all you can do is step around the pieces and start over. I need to start over, Cole. I can’t do that with you because I’ll always want to go back to those broken parts and try to make sense of them. You’ll always feel guilty and I’ll always try and heal you. I can’t live like that. I’ve spent my entire life taking care of people and I’m so damn tired of it. I have to go. And you have to let me.”
I step around him, picking up my pace, afraid that if he says one more word to me I’ll turn around and run into his arms. I’m weak when it comes to Cole and I can’t afford that anymore.
It’s my turn to do what I think is best for everyone involved.
It’s my turn to walk away.
SIX MONTHS LATER…
I cross my legs in front of me and lean back on my hands on the fluffy blanket we’ve thrown down on the lawn, the warm night air and the sounds of people singing along with the woman on stage flowing all around me. A smile lights up my face as I stare at the singer behind the microphone, belting out the words to one of the first songs she’d ever written as the people surrounding us on the lawn scream her name.
“Isn’t this insane?!” Parker says next to me in awe. “I mean, she’s just Layla to me. But here, she’s freaking famous. Our friend is famous!”
I laugh and shake my head at her. I had never met Parker’s friend Layla Carlysle, but I had definitely heard a lot about her over the last few years, and not just because she was a mega superstar in the music world. She managed to get Brady Marshall, one of the members of Garrett’s SEAL team, to settle down, spending the last year on the road with her as she wrapped up her farewell tour. I’d always wanted to go to one of her concerts, but I’d never been able to find the time.
“I’m suddenly not so angry anymore that you kidnapped me and forced me to come to Napa Valley,” I tell Parker as Layla finishes her song and speaks to the crowd for a few minutes.
“No one is forced to come to Napa Valley,” Gwen Marshall-Conrad announces as she flips over onto her stomach on the other side of me and kicks her feet up behind her. “People dream of Napa Valley and then they float here on a cloud of happiness.”
Parker and Gwen clink their wine glasses together and share a laugh.
After six months of no contact with Cole, I thought I was finally doing better. After that day in the cemetery, he gave me what I asked for and never tried to call me or see me again. I was relieved, initially, realizing I needed time and space to heal. The last year of my life had been fraught with loss and sorrow, feelings I hadn’t yet dealt with, much less moved beyond. I knew I had decisions to make about my future and being anywhere near Cole would just cloud my judgment. It didn’t take long, though, before I started missing him. I couldn’t just turn off my feelings for him no matter what he’d done and one again, the absence of Cole left a huge hole in my life. It was after a particularly difficult day, one spent battling grief coupled with a nasty case of PMS-induced tears, that the first gift arrived.
Two months ago, on the seventeen of the month, marked the one-year anniversary of the day I found out I was having a boy. When I got home from work that evening, I found a small, wrapped box on my front porch and, assuming it was something from Parker, I tore into it. Inside a little black box was nestled a beautiful silver necklace, a charm of an angel boy holding my son’s birthstone dangling from the chain. When I called Parker to thank her for remembering, she had no idea what I was talking about.
A week after that, I found a gift bag in my mailbox filled with Sour Patch Kids. I always ate that candy when Cole and I curled up to watch a movie, but I still wouldn’t let myself believe he was the one responsible for sending them to me.
A few days after that, I found another box on my doorstep, wrapped in the exact same paper as the necklace. Inside this box was a custom-made, Heather B. Moore ring stamped with dates: the day we met, the date of our first kiss, the day we moved in together and the day our son was born.
It wasn’t until the final package came a few days ago that I was absolutely positive Cole was behind the gifts. Inside the package that UPS delivered was a brand new collector’s edition of Dirty Dancing with a note that simply said, Keep practicing that lift.
When the gifts started arriving, I immediately became concerned about what they meant. I was afraid Cole would try calling me again and I wasn’t sure I was strong enough yet to talk to him. I worried for nothing, though, because those presents were the only contact he’s attempted for six months. He sent me things he knew I would love to let me know he was thinking about me without expecting anything in return. I didn’t know what to make of it and I didn’t know how to respond. I knew I should than
k him for his thoughtfulness, but I just wasn’t ready to hear his voice again.
I started seeing a therapist a few months ago when the flashbacks of Caroline’s death became too much for me to deal with on my own. She spent hours listening to me recount the horrors of that night, eventually suggesting I go out to that spot overlooking the cliffs where my dreams and my nightmares all rolled into one. She thought seeing the place in the daylight, with the sun shining down around me instead of dark clouds and the boom of thunder, would help put the demons to rest, giving me the closure I need and helping me heal. I figured it couldn’t hurt. I knew holding onto so much anger and so many bad memories wasn’t healthy. Finally saying good-bye to the dream I once had of a future with Cole in the spot where my nightmares came to life could only help, right?
I was doing great, too. My hands barely shook as I turned the wheel into the driveway. My steps never faltered as I walked through the skeleton of the house, banishing the memories of having a gun pointed at my head and coming to terms with the fact that I was about to die. I had no trouble letting the sun warm my skin as I walked out into the backyard and towards the cliff. Everything was fine until I got to that damn cliff.
A small, white picket fence squared off about a fifty square foot section of grass right at the edge. A yellow wooden gate granted access to the area and I held my breath as I pushed it open and walked through, moving blindly to a stone bench that sat in the middle of the fenced-in area. I felt my eyes fill with tears when I walked around in front of it and saw a two-foot tall stone angel perched on the end of the bench, his serene, cherubic face looking down and his arms spread open by his wings as if he were just waiting for someone to hold him.
I managed to hold it together as I stared down at the beautiful memorial to our son, knowing in my heart that Cole had placed it here. I was able to keep my tears in check and continue to breathe as I thought about Cole coming here, building the fence and hauling the stone bench out to end of the property so that whomever sat here could look out at the ocean below. What finally broke me was the inscription carved into the seat of the bench. I knelt down in front of it, rested my cheek on the cold stone and ran my fingers over the words like I’d done so many times lately at my son’s grave, letting the tears fall down my cheeks.
I’d been a mess ever since. I picked up the phone at least a hundred times to call Cole, but what the hell would I say at this point? Thank you for the gifts and for what you did for our son and, by the way, I still don’t want to have anything to do with you? I could never say those words to him because they just weren’t true. Every day I spent without him just made me more conscious of how empty my life was. I thought I held the monopoly on grief because I went through the pain and horror of losing our son all on my own, but I couldn’t think that way any more. That bench, that inscription… it just proved how much Cole was hurting, as well. He’d lost something, too. He’d lost a child he never got to hold in his arms or even know existed until it was too late. At least I got seven months of feeling him grow and move in my stomach and that one final moment, no matter how painful it was. I got to hold him in my arms, run my fingers through his hair and kiss his little head. Cole had nothing but the stories Parker had told him and the pictures in the album she shared with him. In the span of one week, he’d found out he’d lost a son and his entire family had lied to him, his mother killed his sister and then I walked away. I know it was what I needed at the time, but how do I know it was the right thing? I thought I was justified in walking away because he’d hurt me. I never even considered the hurt he himself was shouldering.
When I told Parker a few days ago that I was thinking about going away for a while to clear my head, she made me promise not to go anywhere for at least twenty-four hours. I’d told her about the bench and her silence on the other end of the line proved she’d known about it. I wasn’t angry that she hadn’t told me. It was obviously something Cole needed to do for himself and the fact that he did it alone, giving his son his last name the only way he could, made my heart ache for him.
While I packed my bag and searched the internet for a secluded, quiet location to lick my wounds, Parker called in reinforcements. By noon the following day, she was standing on my front porch with Layla and Gwen in tow, all three of them sharing the same devious smile. Parker grabbed my bag from my room while Layla and Gwen grabbed my arms and dragged me out to the car.
I bitched the entire drive to the airport about how they couldn’t just throw me in a car and not tell me where we were going, but as soon as we drove up to Layla’s private jet, I forgot about being mad. The lush, leather interior of the plane and the expensive champagne we sipped on the hour and forty-five minute flight momentarily washed away my troubles.
When the chauffeured car Layla had waiting for us at the airport drove past the Welcome to Napa Valley sign and I saw the sun setting on acre after acre of grape vines with the mountains in the distance, I forgot about my irritation. When we pulled up to the Villagio Inn and Spa and I stood in the Tuscan-inspired lobby while Layla checked us in and Gwen grabbed a bottle of wine and four glasses from the bar, I couldn’t help but smile. Even though San Diego is only a little over an hour flight or a nine-hour drive from Napa Valley, this was my first taste of California’s wine country. I quickly realized that it wouldn’t be my last.
As it turns out, Layla had a tour stop at the Robert Mondavi Winery’s outdoor concert venue and Parker rallied the troops, calling both of the women and telling them I was in serious need of girl time. Layla left her tour bus in Washington State and brought her private jet to San Diego and Gwen put her new husband, Austin, on daddy duty, leaving him home with her seven-year-old daughter, Emma, while she hopped on the next flight out of Nashville to be here. I had only met these women in person once, right before Cole left for the Dominican, but they dropped everything to come out here the minute Parker told them I needed them.
I was initially afraid that this week would be all about rehashing my life and the decision I’d made to walk away from Cole, but these women each understood in their own way what I am going through. Garrett had hid his feelings for Parker for years and, when she told him she felt the same way, he didn’t believe her and he walked away. After Layla suffered through the worst possible betrayal from her mother and her friend, she needed Brady, but he left because he thought he wasn’t good enough for her. Gwen escaped with her daughter from an abusive husband, only to be stalked and almost killed by a woman she’d thought was her best friend. Austin got a taste of what it was like to be a husband and a father and he thought he wasn’t man enough for the job, so he walked away from both of them.
Each of these women lived through their own version of hell and they came out on the other side happier than they’d ever been. I thought for sure they would tell me I’d made a mistake and try to get me to see that, through all the pain and loss, it was still possible to forgive and forget, but they did none of those things. They simply stood by my side, told me their stories over many bottles of wine and left me alone with my thoughts. Instead of pushing me to talk or asking questions, they each let me know in their own way that they were here for me if I needed them, and they have no idea how much it means to me. I needed to forget about my life for a little while, but I know I can’t push it out of my mind forever. Sitting here under the stars, listening to Layla sing about love and loss just reminds me that our week is coming to an end and the real world awaits back home.
Before I left, I’d contacted a real estate agent about selling the house, convinced that leaving California was the only way I would ever heal. I didn’t know where I wanted to go and I knew I’d miss Garrett, Parker and Annie, but I wasn’t sure I could stay there any longer. There were too many awful memories wrapped up in that place and sometimes I wasn’t sure I’d survive one more day there. When I think about moving now, after I’ve had some time away, I break out in a cold sweat and my hands start to shake. As much as I don’t want to think about Cole, I can�
�t help it. He was my whole world for so long and it’s impossible to push him out of my mind completely. Everything I do reminds me of him in one way or another. Some of the memories are good and some of them are bad, but they are always there and they refuse to leave.
I don’t know the first thing about forgiveness. I thought I did considering how I was able to move on after my mother died and make something of myself, never once hating her or cursing her for what she did. I realized in the last few months of therapy, however, that I never really forgave her for not being the mother I needed her to be. I simply pushed her out of my mind and vowed to never, ever be like her. I didn’t go to her funeral and I never said good-bye. I never told her I forgave her; I just walked away and started over, assuming that forgetting was the same as forgiving.
I told Cole I was tired of taking care of everyone else’s problems and, while that’s sometimes true, it’s also who I am and what I was meant to do. I can’t change that anymore than Cole can change who he is. He’s strong and he’s stubborn, protective and trusting. He believes there’s good in everyone and he would do anything for the people he loves. He broke my heart, but he also put it back together again when I thought I’d lost everything after our son died. He gave me hope and he reminded me that life is worth living. He knows what he did was wrong and I know he hates himself for the way everything turned out. I can’t stand the thought of him living the rest of his life like that, torn between his family and me and wishing he would have chose differently. I wonder if I’d had a mother who did everything she could to protect me, everything she could to keep me safe from harm through the years, someone who I thought had never lied to me my entire life, if I would have listened to every word she spoke and believed her wholeheartedly, as well. If I had a mother like that, who actually cared about me, I wonder if I would have been able to see through her lies and trust the person I was in love with instead of her.