by K. Bromberg
She hands me the white envelope, and I see that my name is scribbled on the front, with two hearts scrawled on either side of it that match the one my mom put above the i in her signature. My eyes flash up to Getty’s in shock and then back down.
Moving closer to the lamp, I perch on the edge of the bed and slide my finger under the lip of the sealed letter. It gives instantly, time lessening the adhesive’s effectiveness. When I look up, Getty is softly shutting the door behind her to give me privacy.
As if she already knows whatever is in this envelope is going to knock me on my ass.
With a lump in my throat and unsteady fingers, I carefully pull the paper from the envelope and unfold it.
Dear Zander—
If you’re getting this letter, something has happened to me. He’s finally followed through on his threats. I know you’re scared and you’re sad, but don’t be. I will always be with you. The greatest gift I’ve ever received was getting to be your mommy, so please, always remember how much I love you. You are my heart, my moon, my sun, and my stars. Please never doubt or forget that.
I’m sure you have so many questions and all I can hope is that maybe when you are older, this can help you make sense of everything that has happened.
Love can be pure. Love can be fierce. It can be volatile. It can turn black. But even when it does, you can’t always stop loving. The way I love you is pure. Nothing can ever take that away from us. The way I love your dad is all four of those things, even the black. It’s the kind of love that’s almost as bad as the drugs he loves.
I’ve tried to leave. We’ve stayed in a shelter. We’ve stayed with friends. But I’m weak. I can’t turn the love off. Even now when it’s black. Even knowing that if I walked away, I could protect you better. But I couldn’t. I’ve placed calls anonymously to CPS, telling them to check on the little boy in our house, in hopes that they’d see your dad’s addiction and make him get help. Then we’d be safe. Then we could start over.
I’ve failed you, Zee.
If you’re reading this, I’ve failed the only thing I’ve ever done in my life that is perfect—YOU.
I’m so sorry.
But I need you to do something for me. I need you to remember this advice I have for you. Because while we might not have much, while I might be a weak woman who stayed when she should have left, while I have done so many things wrong, you are the one thing I did right. So please, Zander . . . if you can live your life with this in mind, then you will keep me alive in your heart.
Love. Love fiercely. Love purely. Love blindly if you want, but never let love turn black. If it turns black, walk away and never look back. For me, because I couldn’t. Your heart only sees the good in everyone right now. I know that won’t last forever. Love is incredibly powerful when it’s right.
Live wildly. Not recklessly. Follow paths that wander. Take roads that are fast. Chase your dreams. Race into your future and forget about your past.
When you are older, find a woman who makes you laugh. One who is strong and who can fight her own battles because when you have to fight one together, you’ll be stronger knowing she can hold her own. Treat her well. It’s the little things that get lost in the big picture. Don’t forget this, Zee. Women like grand gestures just to know that you didn’t forget the little things. And love her with all your heart. We only accept the love we think we deserve, and you . . . you deserve the universe.
Make mistakes. It’s allowed. Don’t get upset over the little ones. Learn from the big ones. And whatever the mistake, right the wrong as soon as you can. If you don’t and you grow up to be anything like me, you’ll want to bury your head in the sand and put off fixing it, refuse to admit you were wrong—but don’t. You might never get the chance to fix it. I didn’t. If I had, you wouldn’t be reading this.
Have patience. But not too much. When there’s something you want, go after it. But if there’s something worth your while you want bad enough, be patient.
I hope you never have to read this. That I’m writing it as a reminder to myself why I need to leave and get help. A wake-up call.
There’s one more thing. You have something you love almost as much as me. It goes everywhere with you—even to bed. I left something for you inside it. Remember when I told your dad I lost it? I fibbed because I wanted to put it aside for you—just in case. I hope this makes sense. You’re such a smart boy, you’ve probably already figured it out. I hope that when you find it, it will bring you comfort.
I love you, my Zander, my Zee-man, my Zee-bug. I always will. Every time you feel the sun shine on your face, that’s me wrapping you in my arms and hugging you from Heaven.
Remember me always.
Mommy
I can barely breathe. I look again at the letter, ink splattered with my mom’s tears. My thoughts are all over the place. Salt on my lips. Tears, when I don’t cry. I wipe them off my cheeks. The letter trembles in my hand.
Then I read it again.
The numbness that burned within me for so long aches like a bitch, but I swear to God it’s because I’ve finally found some peace.
She knew. That’s all I can think over and over. She knew he would kill her and loved me as much as I remember she did and needed me to be okay.
She really loved me. What a stupid thought, a bittersweet emotion that threatens to overwhelm me.
“Getty.”
I don’t even know if I say it out loud or if I’m just thinking it, but when she pushes open the door, I get my answer. One look at me, and she’s across the room with her arms around my waist in an instant.
I can’t speak. Don’t know what to say, how to explain, so I shove the letter at her so she can understand.
Still lost in my own storm of emotion, I watch her read it. Her bottom lip trembling. Her other hand flying up to cover her mouth. Something clicks in my mind. A moment of clarity amid the haze. And I scramble for my suitcase shoved in the bottom of the closet.
I’m a madman. Throwing shit out of the way, unzipping it, flinging it open to find the one thing I grabbed at the last second on the way out the door before I left home. The errant thought to grab the only thing I had from my childhood, the ever-constant security blanket of sorts to maybe help with the sting of the goddamn box that had shown up in my life.
And of course after the fact I felt like such a pussy for grabbing it that I left the damn thing in my suitcase. Made it easier so I wouldn’t have to explain to Getty why a grown man toted around a ragged, lumpy, threadbare stuffed dog.
In haste I grab the dog, my childhood lifeline after my mother died, and fall back to my ass on the floor.
“Do you think . . . ?”
Getty’s voice startles me. I almost forgot she was there. But when I look up to meet her tearstained face, I know she’s thinking the same thing I am. She’s off the bed as my hands press and push at the lumpy stuffing inside the damn dog.
They are the same lumps that have always been there. The ones I’ve worried through the outside cover when I rocked myself to bed as a little kid, scared and mute from the fear. Lost in my own mind from the sadness.
Getty runs out of the room and returns in seconds with scissors, her eyes alive with encouragement as she hands them to me. “On the seam in the belly,” she says as she shows me. “I can sew that back together like new.”
Excitement and emotion and every other fucking thing I can’t even name courses through me as I try to steady the blade and snip a small opening in the seam. Carefully I make a two-inch-size hole, drop the scissors, and use my fingers to dig around inside. I can’t feel shit other than stuffing clumped together and turned stiff from age. The high hopes I had of finding this one last thing from my mother slowly crashing.
And then I hit something hard with my fingertip. My breath hitches. My heart races. The little circle inside the doggy that I used to rub my fingers arou
nd and always thought was just a part sewn inside.
“What is it?” Getty’s voice is loaded with the same emotion that I feel.
I know before I pull it from the hole. Know that it’s my mother’s way of letting me keep a piece of her with me forever.
I put the small gold band between my thumb and forefinger and hold it up so Getty can see. “It’s her wedding ring.”
She gasps.
I’m paralyzed. Swamped with memories.
Her arms go around me.
I break.
Every fucking thing I’ve been holding in since I was seven years old comes out.
The anger. The hate. The loneliness. The relentless questions. The need to feel my mother’s love again. The guilt.
Every single piece.
Except her love for me.
Because I know that was true.
Chapter 30
GETTY
Repair List
Replace Front Step—third one
Replace Missing Roof Shingles—Wet is only good in one place
Back Deck = Death Trap
Fix Lock on Patio Door—Sorry, Mr. Ax Murderer
Fix Bathroom Mirror
Clean Out & Fix Rain Gutter Spouts
Repair Shutters
Add Handrail to Front Steps & Paint
Connect Internet for God’s Sake
Boat Shit I Don’t Understand
Bulldoze House and Rebuild
Electrician—Call one
Plumber—Creaky pipes
Have sex with Kiss the Repair Guy
The sun is shining and the ferry’s horn sounds off a warning that a new wave of tourists is heading ashore, but as we walk through town, my mind’s focused on the man beside me, holding my hand.
And on the dwindling repair list on the counter I’ve set to memory. Each item that gets crossed off means one fewer day with him.
I have to try not to be sad; this was how our story was scripted to play out. I’ve come to terms with it more in the last few days after seeing a more lighthearted Zander. I knew him only with the weight of the unknown resting on his shoulders. And now that it’s been lifted, he’s still the same guy he was before, but there’s a significant change. He’s more carefree. His smile is broader. He’s not so moody.
That alone, watching the man I love live a happier life, will make saying good-bye to him a bit easier. Knowing I helped him get what he came here for and he in turn helped me overcome my past when it caught up with me.
Who the hell am I kidding? I’m going to bawl like a freaking baby, eat tons of ice cream, and paint dark stormy seas and skies again when he’s gone . . . but at least it was by my own choice. I chose to walk into this relationship with Zander when I knew the end before it began. Such a weird, liberating thing to have for myself after being controlled for so many years.
Carpe diem, Getty.
The thought really strikes me for some reason. Like if I really mean the saying, then I’d better do something about it. And so without preamble I tug on Zander’s hand. He stops to look at me, but I only catch a millisecond of the confusion on his face before I slant my lips over his.
I love the sudden movement of his body, the hitch in his breath. Even better, I love how, within a second, his hand slides against my lower back and pulls me into him so he can deepen the kiss.
He tastes like desire and the chocolate ice cream we shared moments ago. I think I’ll always equate him with that newly awakened sensation he’s brought out in me.
Our tongues meet, hands press our bodies closer, and our lips express our need. The tourists littering the sidewalk have to walk around us, and for once, I really don’t care who is watching. Because it feels like it’s just him. And me. And he’s not going to leave and I’m not going to cry and all will be well.
The warmth of his kiss allows me to believe the fantasy for a few seconds before Mable’s loud, identifiable laugh sounds off to the right of us. “Well, thank God. It’s about time you kissed her senseless, Zander.”
Zander breaks the kiss but not before I can feel his lips curve into a smile. “You keep denying me, Mable, so I had no choice but to move on. A man has needs after all.”
She throws her head back and laughs, bosom jiggling and cheeks turning red from the attention. “Young man,” she says with a shake of her head and a point of her finger, “I think that lass right there is taking care of your needs just fine by the looks of that kiss.”
“No complaints here, ma’am,” he says with a lift of his eyebrows and a smile well into dimple territory.
“Such a gentleman.” Mable pats her chest in mock swoon. “Oh, Getty! We got a great bid on that sequined cocktail number today. It’s going to bring in some good—”
“Excuse me a second,” Zander says unexpectedly as he sees someone over my shoulder. I watch him jog over to where Liam stands out in front of the bar. Zander calls his name to get his attention as I turn back to Mable. She continues on about some of my dresses up for sale, but my attention remains focused on Zander and Liam, whose eyes keep glancing back at me.
We meet up a few minutes later. “What was that all about?” I ask, hating that I suddenly sound nosy.
“Nothing really. Just wanted to ask Liam a few things.” He falls silent, which means my curiosity is piqued.
“What were—?”
“He wanted to give me this,” he says with a laugh as he holds out a white Lazy Dog Bar T-shirt like the staff has to wear, with the logo prominently displayed across the chest of it.
“Always the opportunist. He’s probably hoping you’ll be photographed with it when you head to the race or something and give the bar some notoriety.”
“I’ll wear it.” He shrugs. “Although I like how you wear yours much better,” he says with a wink, referring to how all the servers tie the back of their shirts to make them a bit tighter for the male patrons’ benefit.
“I’m sure you do.” I laugh and smile at him.
“It’s even better when you’re not wearing it, though.” I go to playfully hit him in the arm, but he catches my arm before I connect and presses an unexpected kiss to the top of my hand. While I’m startled, he acts casual when he links his fingers with mine and starts walking.
“You going to be okay while I’m gone?”
“Yes.” No.
The question stops my heart, but I try not to show it. I know he’s referring to his flight the day after next. And of course I feel ridiculously stupid that I’m panicking over how this will be the first time we’re going to be apart in almost three months.
But I know my feelings are haywire over more than that. Once he goes back to his real life, the anchor holding him here on the island will slowly lose its hold.
He’s addressed the reason he ran in the first place. Going home means he’s going to try to right the wrongs with his family. If he’s successful, he’ll have no reason to stay here anymore.
“I feel like after everything that happened the other night, I should be the one asking you that question. How are you doing?”
He blows out a breath as we take the turn off the main street to start back home. The weight of his thoughts fills the silence. “I’m good,” he finally says. “A part of me wants to be angry at her for not getting out when she clearly knew what was going to happen, but I’m just so tired of being angry, Getty. It’s all I’ve known for what feels like so long. And being pissed isn’t going to change anything.”
He sounds very different from the man I met a few months ago. His state of mind, his openness to introspection, and what he’s going to take away from the heart-wrenching letter his mother left for him.
“I agree,” I murmur, knowing these are the conclusions he needs to come to on his own, and so the less I say, the better.
“I think what I feel is closure m
ore than anything. A small sense of peace that I’ve never been able to have. I mean, I may not like her answers about why she stayed with him, but at least I have them and at least they were in her voice, not something I conjured up to make her the martyr and him the monster. And stupidly enough, hearing her tell me she loved me in her own words . . . that made all the difference.”
“It’s not stupid at all.” I lean my head against his shoulder, a smile on my lips, my heart swelling with pride for him. “It’s validation for your feelings. Hearing the person you love tell you they love you back is something every person wants to hear.”
Chapter 31
GETTY
I forgot how much I missed this. How much I needed this. And it’s crazy to me that I’ve had no desire to paint over the past few weeks—even after the dinner with my father and the chaos with Ethan—until now, on the eve of Zander’s leaving.
Maybe that says a lot about where I stand now in my life. My father and Ethan can no longer affect me. But Zander . . . by the flurry and fervor in which I’ve lost myself to the bold colors on canvas, he most definitely makes me feel.
I’m just not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
By the looks of what’s taking shape before me, it’s an all-new thing. Instead of blended soft colors of a sunset over turbulent water, the painting depicts sleek lines and defined edges. It might be called abstract at best and crappy at worst, but my first attempt at a moving object is much harder than the fluidity of nature.
“Wow.” Zander’s voice startles me. The absence of the hammer noise outside had gone unnoticed, my earbuds falling out overlooked, while my work once again consumed me.
“You think?” I set the brush down and look over my shoulder at him where he stands.
“Yeah. It’s actually incredible.”
He leans in closer while I scoot my chair back to get a different perspective. I angle my head and stare at it through judgmental eyes. The outline is just enough to make out the image of an Indy car flying across the canvas. It’s blurry on purpose, but I’m still not happy with it.
