A Little Too Late

by Staci Hart

  She shook her head, her eyes heavy and sad. “I don’t want to believe it. I don’t want to believe there’s nothing you can do to get her back.”

  “I don’t want to believe it either. But she’s not coming back.”

  “Then go get her.”

  “It’s a little too late for all that. She was right—I couldn’t look her in the eye and tell her I believed her, not when it mattered.”

  “Do you?”

  I ran a hand over my mouth. “She wouldn’t have lied to me. I know she wouldn’t have.”

  “And you don’t think it’s worth you telling her that? Sounds to me like you owe her an apology.”

  “I do. I just don’t know how to or if she’ll listen. And I don’t know to what end. I’m not ready for this; I knew that much before it even got started. I knew I’d hurt her. I just didn’t expect to get hurt too. And she walked away. She doesn’t trust me either.”

  “So you’ve spent all weekend licking your wounds. Don’t you think she’s worth fighting for?”

  Emotion blossomed in my chest. “Of course I do. She’s the only woman I’ve ever felt the desire to fight for. I didn’t fight for Mary, didn’t even fight for our divorce. I didn’t fight for my kids, not until Hannah, and all because I was afraid. I want to fight for her, but I don’t know how. How do I fix this? There’s nothing I can say to make it right. Katie, I want her back, but I’m afraid.”

  “Well, forgive me for saying so, but that’s bullshit.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but she cut me off. “Maybe it’s time to do it anyway. Was quitting your job easy? No,” she answered for me, “it wasn’t. And neither was attending custody hearings and lawyer meetings and working as hard as you have to keep this house running. It wasn’t easy for you to start staying home more, and it wasn’t easy for you to help with the kids, but you did. It wasn’t easy for you to trust Hannah, but you do. And you should. She wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

  “And if I hurt her?”

  “Well, that’s a risk she’ll have to choose to take or not to take. But don’t use that as an excuse not to ask.”

  She watched me for a moment, searching my eyes, but she didn’t find answers. I had none to offer.

  So, having said her piece, she changed the subject. “What will you do about the children now that she’s gone?”

  “I’ll keep Sammy in preschool, but after this month, I’ll keep Maven home with me to save money—at least until I figure out what I’m going to do with myself. We have plenty to keep us afloat for a long while, especially if I sell the house.”

  Her face just kept getting sadder, and my heart just kept sinking.

  “Well,” she said after a second, “don’t worry about me, all right? If you need to let me go, I don’t want you to think twice. Because I’ll be just fine.”

  I covered her hand with mine. “Thank you. Right now, I need all the help I can get.”

  Sammy appeared in the doorway with his hair standing up in every direction and eyes bright. “Hi, Katie!”

  “Heya, bud,” she said cheerily. “You hungry?”

  He nodded. “Are there any more poffertjes left? Hannah made a big bag! Will she be back before they’re gone, Daddy?”

  I shook my head and tried to smile. “No, Sammy. Remember? Hannah went home.”

  His smile fell, his shoulders sloping. “Oh, yeah. Maybe I can draw her a picture. Can we send her a letter?”

  I got out of my chair and moved to kneel in front of him. “I don’t have her address, but if you want to write her, maybe I can find a way to get it to her, okay?”

  He nodded at his bare feet. “’Kay. I just want to tell her we miss her. Maybe if we tell her we miss her, she’ll come back.”

  I reached for my son and pulled him into my chest, my own aching and cracked and split open. “Maybe so,” I said quietly before letting him go.

  Katie fed Sammy while I woke Maven and dressed her, and an hour later, I dropped them off at school and headed home alone.

  Even with Katie home, the house was too big and quiet. I made my way to my office, trying not to think about Hannah’s empty room as I passed it, the door closed, as if it could keep the memories inside. But it was no use.

  The office felt foreign, full of books that no longer held value. I sat in the chair that had been part of another life. And I stared at the open doorway, unsure of my future.

  It was too much, that room. I picked up my laptop and walked out, closing the door behind me.

  There was no escaping any of it.

  The best I could do in the way of a distraction was to pester Katie in the kitchen while she folded towels. We chatted about nothing while I browsed real estate, trying to get a handle on what I could ask for the house and what I could get that was smaller, more modest, less empty, and without the memories this place held.

  It was just before lunch when the doorbell rang.

  I opened the door expecting a package, but I found Lysanne instead, her jaw set and eyes hard.

  “Hannah asked me to bring you this,” she said before I even had a chance to greet her, thrusting an envelope at me.

  I took it and stepped out of the way. “Please, come in.”

  She sighed as she walked past me and into the entryway.

  “Is she all right?” I asked.

  “No, she isn’t.”

  I took a breath and cleared my throat. “What’s this?”

  “Open it and see for yourself.”

  I watched her for a second, my mind full of questions my mouth wouldn’t speak, long enough for her to fold her arms and nod to the envelope in my hand.

  So I opened it up, unprepared for the wash of emotions that hit me when I saw what was inside.

  First, a letter addressed to the children in Hannah’s handwriting, the long slant of her letters elegant and easy.

  Sammy and Maven,

  It’s time for me to go home. I loved every day I spent with you and all the fun we had while baking and playing and singing together. I’ll miss you both very much, and I’ll think of you all the time, I know it. I’ve written my address here. Will you send me letters? I’ll send you letters back.

  I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to say goodbye and give you both one last hug, but wrap your arms around yourself very, very tight. Close your eyes and squeeze. And remember me. I won’t forget you.

  —Hannah

  My heart thudded against my ribs, my throat squeezing tight, tighter still when I saw the address she’d written below was in Holland.

  My eyes snapped to Lysanne’s, who was still watching me with irritation.

  “She’s gone back to the Netherlands?” I breathed, disbelieving, and stepped over to the bench to sink into it.

  She nodded once. “You didn’t expect her to stay after all that, did you?”

  “Well … yes. Yes, I did. I … I didn’t even realize that was on the table.”

  I looked down at my hands, flipping to the page behind the letter. She’d drawn a picture of her and the kids in the park with a rainbow overhead, perfectly lovely, perfectly happy.

  And I realized there was something in the bottom of the envelope and reached in.

  It was a Polaroid of her and the kids that she’d taken herself, the three of them smiling and smushed into the frame. I touched the image of her face with my thumb.

  “I …” My throat closed; I swallowed the words.

  “She left Friday for home. I tried to get her to stay, tried to get her to call you, but it was no use.”

  My eyes were still on the photo in my hand. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”

  “Well, I can’t believe you believed Quinton over her. Of all the things. She didn’t tell you about him, which I understand upsets you, but she had her reasons, the first being that Quinton had nothing to do with you and the second being that it hurts her to speak of it.”

  “What happened between them?”

  “That’s not my story to tell.” She took a
seat next to me. “She never would have hurt you, Charlie. She is the most loving, loyal, giving person I have ever known in my life, and you accused her of the unthinkable. That is, after your wife confronted her, hurt her. And then you delivered the final blow. And now, she’s gone. She ran all the way back home, ran away to be where she’s safe, and it’s your fault.”

  “I know,” I said miserably and ran a hand along my unshaven jaw. “I know. And there’s nothing I can do about it. She was right. My heart and my soul are tangled up and used up and broken, and I can’t love her like she deserves. I have too much hanging over me to give her what I wish I could.”

  Her cheeks flamed. “That’s not at all true. You’re here, wounded and pouting, sad over her, but there’s plenty you can do. You’re broken, yes, but she loves you. She loves you, and she’ll care for you. And you know she can. You know she can heal anything; it’s her magic.”

  “But she’s gone. She’s not coming back.”

  Lysanne leaned toward me. “Then make her come back. You’re the only one who can. You need to talk to her. You need to tell her you’re sorry and how you feel, or you’re going to lose her forever.”

  “Haven’t I already?” I asked, my voice rough.

  “No, I don’t believe you have. But you’ve got to apologize, and you’ve got to listen to her. Prove to her you’ll be what she deserves because she deserves everything. And I think you can give it to her. You just have to decide to maybe comb your hair and have a good shave and do something about it.”

  I blinked at her, my mind stumbling over what she’d said.

  The truth was, I owed Hannah so much more than an apology. Deep down, I realized I’d been holding out hope that it somehow wasn’t over. Geographically, I’d thought she was around the corner, but instead, she’d gone halfway across the world to get away from me.

  Lysanne was right. And there was only one thing I could do about it.

  I only hoped Lysanne was right.

  Because if there was a chance, I’d take it.

  Hannah

  When my phone rang, his name was the last I’d expected to see on my screen. I stared at my phone for a long, breathless second, my eyes on his name, before ducking out of the kitchen under watchful eyes and accepting the call.

  “Hello, Charlie,” I answered softly, sadly.

  “Hannah,” he said, the depths of his feelings in one breath, one word, two syllables—my name. “I … I got your letter.”

  I stepped outside and closed the door behind me, sitting on the stoop, saying nothing.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I want you to know, I’m sorry. For what I said, for what I didn’t say.”

  “So am I.”

  He paused. I didn’t speak.

  “I … I want you to understand … I want to explain. When I saw you with him, when he said what he said, I didn’t believe him. In my heart, I didn’t believe him. In my soul, I knew better. But my mind told me I’d been there before. You have to understand that, when faced with the thought of him and you, my brain rang a warning. And I know that’s not fair. I know too well what Mary has done to me and what I’ve lost because of it. I told you before we started this that I’d hurt you, and I did. I told you I was broken, and I am.”

  “I know. I know why you’re hurt, and I understand why you felt what you felt. And I’m sorry too, for not telling you about him and for not trusting you about Mary.” I propped my elbows on my knees, my eyes on the elm in front of the house, the pattern of the bark like a maze. “Charlie, Quinton and I didn’t sleep together.”

  “I know. I believe you.”

  “But he wanted to.”

  Silence.

  I took a deep, painful breath. “He wouldn’t leave me alone, not from the minute I walked through their door. The night before I left, he came into my room while I was sleeping, and he … he …” I swallowed. “When I woke, his hands were on me, and he was kissing me. But he didn’t do what he could have done, and he left when I told him to. The next morning, I quit.”

  “Hannah …” The word was thick and heavy with pain.

  “He found me somehow; I know that now after he admitted he saw us together. He’d been following me, I think. The first time it seemed like it might have been a coincidence. The second time, I didn’t believe him. I wanted to tell you then, but … Charlie, you’re not the only one who’s afraid. I thought you might believe this was something I had done. And that’s exactly what you ended up thinking. I should have just told you from the start.”

  “No, don’t do that. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. And I … I accused you of … God, Hannah.”

  My eyes filled with tears.

  “Did you file a report? Tell me you did.”

  I shook my head, forgetting he couldn’t see me. “No. I left the country. He can’t hurt me here.”

  He swore under his breath. “There might still be a way. Will you let me look into it? Because we might be able to prosecute. We could—”

  “Charlie, please,” I said gently. “It’s all right.”

  “It’s not all right. Nothing about this is all right.”

  “But it is. As much as I hate all of this, it’s okay. Because you and I felt right and good, but it wasn’t the right time, not for either of us. But I don’t belong there; I never did. I wish I could have only worked for you. I wish I could have helped you, but I only complicated things. I only made it harder.”

  “No,” he said, his voice rough. “You did help me. You made everything better, not worse. I want you back. Tell me what I have to do. I want you to come home, Hannah.”

  “I am home. Charlie, don’t you understand? Your life … your life is too complicated, too crowded for me, don’t you see? My being there caused Mary so much pain that she put Maven’s and Sammy’s safety at risk. My being there complicates you being able to sort through your divorce, your job—”

  “I quit my job, Hannah.”

  I paused. “You what?”

  “I quit the day you left me. I came home to tell you, but you were picking up the kids. And when I went to meet you, I saw you with him.”

  I took a shaky breath, a pregnant pause. “What will you do?” I finally asked.

  “I don’t know. I just know I don’t want to be away from home anymore. I don’t want to be away from you. But now … now, you’re gone. I thought … I hoped for a second that it wasn’t real—this feeling that it was over,” he said, the words breaking.

  My breath hitched, my words trembling as hot tears rolled down my cheeks. “I wish things had been different. I wish the timing had been better. And now, it’s too late. Charlie, this is the right thing,” I insisted. “You’re still married. You have Mary to sort out and your children who need you. And I need some time. I just need time.”

  “Will time change your mind?”

  “Maybe. But I can’t come back. I can’t. I shouldn’t have ever left in the first place. But for a moment, I had you, and that made it worth the pain.”

  He didn’t speak; the silence was oppressive.

  “I want nothing but happiness for you,” I said. “And I hope you find it. I know you will.”

  “Not without you,” he whispered.

  “You will. I know it.”

  Put like that, he didn’t refuse. “Hannah, I … I don’t know what to say.”

  I swallowed the stone in my throat. “I think this is where we say goodbye.”

  He didn’t say anything for a long moment where the wind blew the oak so its branches creaked and rustled.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t be everything you deserve,” he finally said.

  “And I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.” My breath hitched, my tears silent, and when I found my voice, I said words that broke me completely because I knew I’d never hear his voice again. “Goodbye, Charlie.”

  Charlie

  I cupped my hand over my mouth, elbows on my knees, the ache in my chest deep and burning.

  The revelation of what he�
�d done to her, of what I’d done to her, was almost too much to bear. I hurt her far worse than I could have imagined, believing him over her, and after what he’d done. But I’d done so much worse by not taking her side, by not trusting her when it mattered most.

  I couldn’t look past myself to see the truth of her.

  I had to make it up to her. I couldn’t give up. Not without fighting for her.

  And I knew exactly what to do. I only hoped she would take me back.

  23

  Letting Go

  Hannah

  Music played from the portable speaker, the overhead light shining down on the long countertop in the center of the room, which was covered in flour, and my hands were kneading dough, squeezing and folding it and squeezing it again.

  The bakery had closed an hour before, and Mama had gone home, leaving Annelise and me to finish preparations for the next morning. I was in charge of the dough, and Annelise was busy soaking grains and berries and leaven for our breads.

  I had spent my childhood in this kitchen with the smell of sugar and yeast and sweet vanilla and cinnamon. I’d fallen asleep as a little girl under the table to the sounds of the women of my family talking and laughing and gossiping and sharing their lives with each other. I’d sat on my opa’s lap and helped him roll banketstaaf and chased my baby brothers around the counter and under the feet of our family.

  This place was just as much my home as the house where we lived. Maybe more.

  Days had passed since Charlie called, and I didn’t find myself much closer to finding peace or comfort. Not with the finality of what we’d said, not with the thousands of miles I’d put between us.

  I had a feeling it would be a very long time before my heart healed. And in the meantime, I would bake and lose myself in the bustling business of my family.

  It seemed the only thing to do.

  “Have you heard from him again?” Annelise asked, reading my mind, breaking the silence.