“Yes,” I answered simply, not moving.
Samantha looked up at me, tears forming that were about to drop any second. I shifted my gaze toward the dishes. I couldn’t even look at her, just braced myself for the words. Anticipating her asking me how I could do this, or telling me how I was an even a bigger asshole than she had originally thought.
“She, um…”
She paused again. I started biting my thumbnail, waiting for her to get the words out, already trying to think of a rebuttal.
“She was murdered on Christmas Eve. The police found her body yesterday. They arrested her fiancé today. Apparently, they think she was trying to leave him, and he strangled her.”
At that moment, I felt a knife slice deep into my heart and my soul leave my body.
“No.” I shook my head. “No, she’s lying!” I was now screaming. “She’s a vindictive bitch; she’s lying to you! It isn’t true…it isn’t!”
But suddenly, Sarah not picking up the phone made sense. I collapsed to the kitchen floor. I was on my knees, balling. The ugliest crying you could ever imagine coming out of a man. I kept repeating the same thing, over and over: it isn’t true; she’s lying to you.
Through her own tears, Samantha looked down at me on the floor with a sudden revelation.
“It was her? It was my sister?”
I couldn’t even answer her. I just nodded.
Yes.
I didn’t remember much of the next three years. I barely remembered the divorce proceedings, or moving my things into a new apartment. I wasn’t sure when I started drinking so much, or when I stopped shaving. Or even when I started smoking again. Casey’s graduation, Nick’s wedding—all a blur. I was miserable to be around; I was pathetic.
Sarah had died that Christmas Eve, and I’d died two days later.
No one knew what had happened. No one knew she’d even existed. I had no one to grieve with. I couldn’t even mourn her death.
The next Christmas Eve, I showed up on that roof, with the same bottle of wine. I had a whole speech prepared in my head that I was going to tell her. It didn’t turn out quite that way. I just sat in that nook, by myself, drinking the entire bottle of wine and crying.
The second Christmas Eve was even worse. I couldn’t even get through the bottle before I threw it against the wall. The same wall we first had sex against. I had so much hatred in me. I was so angry—I wanted to kill him. If he wasn’t in jail, I probably would have. He’d taken her from me but also, I’d failed her. I’d always told her that I’d never let anything happen to her. I didn’t know who I hated more: him or myself.
It was almost Thanksgiving when my assistant, Amanda, came into my office. “Vince, there’s a very attractive woman waiting for you in the conference room.”
“Who?” I asked.
“She wouldn’t say, just said a friend. I’m hoping a romantic friend?” she asked with a grin.
Amanda was an attractive girl in her early thirties, very into the dating scene. She’d been urging me to date for months; constantly trying to persuade me to create a profile on some sort of online dating site.
“I have no idea who is there, but I can assure you it’s no one romantic,” I replied as I made my way to the conference room.
Amanda was right; the woman who waited for me was very attractive.
“Isabel?” I said, surprised.
“Hi Vincent, it’s been a while,” she said.
“Yeah, it has been. How are you?” I asked.
“Hanging in there, thanks. Sit down, I need to tell you something.”
I sat across from her, staring at her like I was looking at a ghost. I hadn’t seen Isabel since before Sarah died.
She got right to the point. “I wrote a book about Bianca.”
“Her name is Sarah,” I said firmly, looking her straight in the eye.
She paused, her expression sympathetic. “I wrote a book about Sarah. About you and Sarah. The publicist liked it so much it went straight to Hollywood. The movie comes out on Christmas Eve. They’re going to start playing previews this week. I didn’t want you to be caught off guard.”
I stood, walked over to the cabinet, and took out a bottle of Johnnie Walker and a glass. I poured myself a drink.
“Would you like one?” I offered.
“No, I didn’t realize you can drink at work,” she said.
I walked back over to the table and sat down. “Nice thing about being the boss, you can do whatever the fuck you want.”
I couldn’t stop my leg from moving. Up and down, up and down, uncontrollably. I took a sip of my drink. I didn’t even look at her, just stared at my glass.
“Isabel, three years ago, I lost everything. My wife, my house, half my bank account, and most importantly, the woman I love. My heart, my soul…my dignity. Are you trying to take what little I have left?”
Isabel glanced down at the shoebox in her lap.
“You know,” she began. “I was the last person she called that night, right after she got off the roof with you. She was crying. So upset. Hysterical. She asked me what she should do. I think she wanted me to tell her what she assumed would be my answer. Once a cheat, always a cheat. You need to break up with him. You’ll never be able to trust him. You need someone your own age. That’s not what I said, though. You know what I said?”
I took another sip of my drink. I could see Sarah’s face in my head. The last vision I had of her, crying on that roof. Now, I pictured her on the phone with Isabel that night.
“I said, ‘Vincent loves you, unlike any man I have ever seen love a woman. They don’t make men like him anymore. If what he is saying is true, if he’s truly who he says he is—well, everything happens for a reason. There are no mistakes in life. If he is really going to leave his wife, let him. You’re the one who’s supposed to be with him. You know what you have to do—you have to end it with Brendon.’”
She paused before continuing. “I think even if I hadn’t told her all that, she still would have gone running to you. She was so in love with you. You’re not the only one who lost something that night, you know. I started the fight that took her life. I even introduced her to him. Sarah deserves for people outside this room to know that someone out there loved her more than life, and that she loved him just as much. She deserves a better ending than ‘that Broadway actress who was found dead in her apartment.’”
I looked up at her. I couldn’t watch the news about Sarah’s murder on TV when they’d aired it. I could never even bring myself to read the articles. But suddenly, there was something I needed to know, even though I was scared to ask.
“Who found her?”
“Her mother,” she answered.
I dropped my head. Now I finally understood why, after all that time, she’d felt the need to call Samantha. She’d had no one else. Sarah had been the only other person left. All this time, I’d been grateful that I wasn’t the one who’d found Sarah, but after hearing about their mother, I found myself wishing that it had been me.
Amanda poked her head in and noticed the drink in my hand. “Oh, I’m sorry. I came in here to offer you beverages—I didn’t realize you already had one.”
Isabel smiled up at her. “Thank you, but I’m just leaving.”
Amanda walked out while Isabel stood. I looked back down at my drink, silently absorbing everything she had just said. She slid the shoebox to me.
“When we cleaned out her apartment, I found this on the bottom of her closet. I didn’t know what to do with it and didn’t want to throw it out. I think it belongs to you.”
She started walking out and then turned back around.
“Vincent,” she said, with so much empathy in her voice that I finally looked up. “You are still young, super successful, and I’m guessing still extremely attractive under that bush on your face. You have so much going for you. Don’t die with her, live for her.”
I still had no words. She wa
lked out, and I picked up the shoebox and escaped into my office.
I placed the box on the edge of the desk, sank into my chair, and picked up the phone. I sat there and listened to the dial tone for so long that the sound eventually stopped. I hung up and then picked it up again. I was trying to think of the words to say. Samantha was going to be so upset. She was happy now, even dating someone. She’d moved on. Despite the fact she’d been initially so opposed to the divorce, she had finally come to terms with it. She’d accepted that our marriage was over, knew it wasn’t intentional. In fact, she’d assumed that I’d always cheated on her. She was genuinely shocked when she found out that I never had, until Sarah. Finally, she’d admitted to herself that we didn’t love each other the way we should have, and that we both knew she could do better.
I was fortunate. For a divorced couple, we had a good relationship. The past coming back up now was going to crush her. I hung up the phone again and rested my face in my hands, desperately trying to think of how to tell her. From the corner of my eye, I saw the shoebox. I pulled it over to me and slowly opened the lid, not quite sure what to expect. There they were. All five corks she’d saved from every Christmas Eve we’d spent on that roof. They still smelled like wine.
I sifted through the contents of the box. Tucked inside was every card from every bouquet of flowers that I’d ever sent her. “Congratulations!” “Happy Valentine’s Day!” “Happy Birthday!” “Happy Thursday!” All signed the same way: “Love you more than life, Vincent.”
I picked up a bundle of mesh. At first, I had no idea what I was holding. Then I realized: they were the stockings I’d ripped open that night. She’d saved them. I sat there, holding them for a while. When I finally went to tuck them back into the box, a piece of paper on the bottom caught my attention. I reached for it and saw that it was thicker than paper. Glossier. A photo.
I turned the photo over, and there she was, with her beautiful green eyes staring back at me. It was the picture the photographer had snapped of us in Puerto Rico, when Sarah was wearing that coral dress. She must have bought it when she’d gone back inside to use the bathroom. I was holding the one piece of evidence in the world that proved we’d existed. Maybe Isabel was right. Maybe this movie was going to keep the legacy of her, of us, alive. I just missed her so much.
I went to Samantha’s for Christmas Eve. She still hosted, just to a much smaller crowd now: her new boyfriend, Mark, Casey, Nick and his wife, who were expecting their first child. When dinner was over, Nick and his wife left to go home. Casey went upstairs, and I watched awkwardly as Samantha kissed Mark goodbye. I cleared my throat to indicate I was in the room, but neither seemed to care.
Once they’d finished, Mark came over to me and extended his hand. “Good to see you, Vince.”
I shook his hand. “You too, Merry Christmas.”
Then, he left too, leaving Samantha and I alone in the living room. The entire room was different than when I’d lived there; there wasn’t a single piece of evidence remaining to suggest I ever had. We never went into that kitchen together again. Maybe she was on to something with the kitchen demons. All I knew was, I didn’t want to find out.
“I spoke to the attorneys today,” she began. “Our names aren’t mentioned, so there’s not much from a legal standpoint we can do.”
“Look, the more I think about it—I mean, a stockbroker cheats on his wife who was from an estranged family? Of eight million stories in New York City, that’s seven million of them. No one will ever realize it’s us,” I said.
She shot me a look to stop talking. I turned around, and Casey had just come down the stairs. Wow, she looked beautiful, in a tight, very flattering red dress.
“Where are you going?” Samantha asked her.
“Tyler’s taking me to see the movie The Christmas Fairy. The one about that Broadway actress,” she replied.
I wouldn’t even look at Samantha. “You’re a little overdressed for the movies, no?” I asked.
“I think…well, I know he’s going to propose to me tonight!” she said in an excited voice. “A little birdie told me.”
Samantha and I didn’t say a word. That was it. Both of our kids were now real adults.
“Wow, congrats! Have a great time,” I said, kissing her on the cheek.
Samantha and I stood looking at each other after Casey left. “You know, this time next year there’s going to be another one. Except he’s going to be calling us Grandma and Grandpa,” she said.
I walked up to her. “For what it’s worth, you’ll be the hottest grandmother I’ve ever seen,” I said.
She smiled at me—a pure, genuine smile. “Vince, I know you have regrets…”
I stopped her. “I do,” I said, nodding. “But marrying you, that’s not one of them. We made some incredible children, and if I had to do that part all over again, I would.”
She hugged me. It was the first time we’d hugged in years. I embraced her for a while before backing away. “I should go.”
“Don’t go,” she said.
I looked at her, confused.
“You’ve been drinking,” she said.
“I’m not driving,” I said.
“Yeah, but other people are. Look, Casey is getting engaged tonight! This may be the last Christmas you ever wake up with your daughter in the same house. I’m sure you remember where the guest room is. Consider it my Christmas gift to you.”
I couldn’t argue. I smiled and agreed. “Hey, what’s that movie you used to make me watch every Christmas when we were younger?” I asked.
“Miracle on 34th Street,” she said, laughing that I couldn’t remember the name of such a famous movie.
“Yeah, that one! Let’s watch it.”
“It’s 2018, I’m sure they don’t still play that movie on Christmas. It’s probably been replaced with Home Alone,” she said, still laughing.
“I’m sure we can get it On Demand or something,” I said, flipping through the channels.
“$4!” I exclaimed dramatically when I found it. “Everyone knows how it ends!”
“Do they?” she asked. “Because if I remember correctly, I don’t think you have ever stayed awake long enough to actually see the end.”
She had a point.
“Fuck it.” I pulled a five-dollar bill out of my wallet and put it on the coffee table. “I’m spending the $4. We’re watching it, and I’ll stay up to see the end—consider that my Christmas gift to you.” I purchased the movie and sat on the couch, patting the spot next to me.
Reluctant at first, she settled uncomfortably beside me. While watching the movie, though, she gradually loosened up. At one point, I even put my arm around her the way I used to, and she rested her head on my chest. I ran my fingers through her hair like I did when we were in our twenties. It was really nice.
When the movie was over, I said, “So that’s how it ends! Now I get it!”
She smiled as we sat there, and our eyes locked. “Glad you could finally stay awake to see it.”
“I’m making up for lost time,” I replied. Still looking at her, with my fingers woven through her hair, I pulled her toward me and kissed her forehead.
“I’m going to sleep,” she said, slowly pushing herself off my chest.
“Goodnight.”
I poured myself a glass of scotch and walked out on the balcony. It was freezing. I cupped my hand on my mouth and blew into it, trying to warm up. I remembered the night that Sarah was breaking up with me, how I’d been so concerned about having questions that I wouldn’t be able to ask. Questions that I’d been afraid would drive me insane, if left unanswered. In that moment, I realized there was nothing I needed to ask her that I didn’t already have the answer to. Instead, I wanted to tell her so many things. I wanted to hold her in my arms and smell her hair. I wanted to dance with her.
I sipped my drink and looked up at the sky, focusing on this one star.
“Hey, baby,” I
began. “I’m late this year. I did go to the roof, but, well, I’m sure you know Isabel made a movie about you, and it’s now a tourist trap. $40 to get on! I would have spent the money, but there wasn’t enough wine to share with the hundred tourists up there. Look at that—you’re still a star! You know, Isabel thinks it’s her fault. We know better. It’s not her fault that she couldn’t prevent what happened. It’s my fault. I never should have listened to you. I should have left two years before. You would never have gone out with him to begin with, and you wouldn’t be where you are now. God, I miss you. So much.”
I paused, and then started again. “You once told me your loved ones look over you from heaven. Do you see me? Do you feel me? Do you feel the enormous amount of love I still have for you? If you do, please just feel the love, not the pain. I would never want you to feel pain. Give me a sign, baby, anything. Tell me you feel me, tell me you’re with me, tell me you forgive me. A shooting star? A twinkle? A lightning bolt through my chest, take me with you…”
I stood there for a few minutes, waiting for a sign. Any sign. “Nothing, huh? It’s okay, you don’t need to. When you’re ready, you will. Happy Anniversary, Sarah—I love you more than life.”
I took another sip of my drink and lit a cigarette. I heard the balcony door open, and I froze. Oh no—had Samantha misread what had happened on the couch? I mean, cuddling had been nice, but not romantic at all. Why’d I kiss her?
“Please, Samantha, don’t make me turn you down, not tonight,” I begged silently.
I slowly turned, cigarette still in my mouth. Casey stood at the door.
“Aren’t you a little old to start smoking?” she asked, walking toward me, pulling her coat in tighter.
“You were always smarter than me; it’s a filthy habit,” I said, putting the cigarette out.
“I’m glad you’re still here.” She shivered.
“Your mom thought I should stay over tonight. How was the movie?”
She smiled with a hopelessly romantic gaze in her eyes. “Beautiful,” she answered. “One of those sappy, tragic love stories that makes you leave the theater appreciating life.”
Wounds of Time Page 21
