The Color of Forever

by Julianne MacLean

  I let out a small hiccup as I tried to suppress my tears. Bailey set down her glass and wrapped her arms around me.

  “It’s going to take some time,” she gently said, “but you’ll soon realize that you’re better off without him. He wasn’t the one for you.”

  “But he was so perfect,” I replied, recalling the early years of our relationship, when we were head over heels in love. “At least I thought he was. He was everything a woman could ever want. He was unbelievably handsome and devoted—at first—not to mention that he made buckets of money. He was charming and funny and he drove a great car.”

  “He did look pretty good on paper,” Bailey replied, stepping back and picking up her wine again.

  “When we first started dating,” I said, “I remember ticking off all those little boxes on the Great Husband Material List and believing I’d hit the jackpot, but now everything feels so superficial. What does all of that matter if you don’t really know somebody? If you’re not truly connected—in here—like you should be?” I held my fist over my heart.

  “He wasn’t the one for you,” she said, a second time.

  “But is there really such a thing as the one?” I argued. “God, the world’s such a big place. How do you ever find that one person, and how do you know they’re it? I thought Mark was the one for me, but most of the time, I had no idea what was going on inside his head, and he didn’t know what was going on inside of mine. I thought that was normal, because no one’s a mind reader, right? You live together, you get to know each other pretty well, but you’re still two separate people.”

  We moved into the living room and sat down on the sofa, facing each other from opposite ends.

  “But the whole time,” I continued, “it was like we were playing house, pretending to be each other’s one and only, but we weren’t really connected at all. We couldn’t have been, or I would have known he wasn’t happy.” I sat forward and set my wineglass on the coffee table.

  “Is that what all marriages are like?” I asked Bailey, thoughtfully. “Is it just a big act for everyone? After the initial passion wears off, do most people just pretend to be happy and in love as the years go by? Do they stay together for appearances, or because they signed a piece of paper that said ‘until death do us part,’ and feel as if they have no other choice?”

  Bailey considered that for a moment. “I wish I had the answers, but I don’t because I’m still single. All I have to go on is my parents, and they seem pretty happy—genuinely happy. I can tell by the way they look at each other sometimes. They share intimate, knowing looks and they still make each other laugh after all these years. I’m pretty sure it’s the real thing.”

  “You’re lucky,” I replied. “My parents got on each other’s nerves constantly and divorced when I was fourteen, so I don’t really have much of an example to go by.”

  Bailey sipped her wine. “For what it’s worth, I do think it’s possible to find your soulmate and be happy together, forever.”

  I let out a sigh. “Maybe, in rare cases. And to tell you the truth, I would have been perfectly happy growing old with Mark if he’d been willing to stick it out and start a family. I’m sure he would have been a wonderful father. He would have taken our kids to the playground and taught our son how to throw a baseball. And he had such a great sense of humor. The family dinner table would have been lots of fun.”

  Bailey’s eyebrows pulled together with a look of sympathy. “But he cheated on you, Katelyn, and he lied to you, so I think you need to stop idealizing him as your dream husband. That’s just a fantasy because he probably wouldn’t even have made it home for dinner most nights. He would have called to say he was going to be late.”

  I lowered my gaze and nodded. “You’re right. I’m dreaming. He saw something shinier and younger and he broke our marriage vows to go after it. And I hate him for that—honestly, I do—and feeling that way is killing me because I did love him. Maybe I’m crazy, but in a way, I still do and part of me wants him back. I loved our life together. If only he could have loved me as much as I loved him, and wanted the same things.”

  I paused a moment and felt my throat close up again.

  “But was it Mark that you loved?” Bailey asked. “Or was it the idea of married life?”

  I buried my face in my hands and groaned with frustration. “I don’t know, but either way, my heart is broken. He’s ruined me for anyone else, because how will I ever trust someone not to do this to me again?”

  “I’m so sorry,” Bailey said with compassion. “I wish there was something I could say to make it better. To take the pain away.”

  “I wish there was, too,” I replied, “but there’s nothing anyone can say.” I fought to collect myself. “I’m just going to have to get through this somehow and hope that in time, I’ll get over him and find a way to move on.”

  We sat in silence for a long moment.

  “Why can’t people just resist the desire to cheat?” I asked heatedly, lifting my gaze. “I understand feeling attracted to someone different—that can happen—but why not just wait for it to pass? Exercise some self-discipline, for pity’s sake. Go home and make love to your wife.”

  “I agree wholeheartedly,” Bailey said with a nod. “You’re absolutely right.”

  “And honestly, what marriage, after seven years, is still as passionate as it was in the first two? No relationship can sustain that kind of madness for an entire lifetime. But if you’re committed to a life together, and you enjoy each other’s company, shouldn’t that be enough?”

  “Absolutely.”

  My shoulders slumped with resignation. “I just wish Mark had been more willing to have a baby sooner. It might have given him something else to focus on besides himself.” I lowered my eyes and shook my head. “Poor Mariah,” I said, regarding Bailey in the warm lamplight. “I hope she knows what she’s getting into. Because you know what they say: Once a cheater, always a cheater.”

  Bailey sighed with resignation. “I wonder if that will be true in his case.”

  “Only time will tell.”

  Chapter Five

  The thing I remember most about the crash—besides the strange, unfamiliar life that flashed before my eyes—was the sound of the cyclist’s wheel a few lengths in front of me, clipping the wheel of another cyclist beside him. My awareness of the impact sent my blood racing through my veins with white-hot terror because we were traveling at a tremendous speed downhill, coasting around a bend with nothing but a guardrail to keep us from flying over the edge, into the ravine below.

  Both riders’ bikes began to wobble, and my heart exploded like a fireball in my chest.

  Time stood still as the rider in front of me became tangled in a jungle of spokes and wheels and went flying over his handlebars.

  In a panic, I squeezed my brakes and tried to swerve around the pileup, but everything was happening so fast, it was impossible to avoid it. Another rider went down in front of me and suddenly I was catapulted through the air, over a sea of carnage and mangled bicycles and spinning wheels.

  In that instant, everything went silent and still as I flew toward the guardrail and steep cliff beyond. My husband’s face appeared in my mind, but strangely, it wasn’t Mark’s face I saw. It was another man I didn’t recognize, and yet I knew him intimately. He was a good man, a faithful man, the father of my child, who loved our son as deeply as I did. Our boy’s name was Logan, and he was the most beautiful baby imaginable. After a long, hard labor, I held him in my arms and wept tears of joy and love, while my husband kissed the top of my head and told me how much he loved me.

  Moments flashed by like shooting stars—incredible moments that filled me with exhilaration, euphoria and hope. Our son took his first steps at eleven months; my husband put together the swing set in the backyard; I said good-bye to Logan on the first day of preschool, went home and cried over the loss of his sweet presence in the house during school hours.

  We spent summers in Maine, where
Logan played on the beach and caught hermit crabs with his cousins.

  My husband—his name was Chris—gave me diamond earrings for our fifth anniversary.

  I was hesitant to have another child. A part of me was still searching, longingly…for something. I felt lonely but I didn’t know why.

  There was another man named Joe.

  Chris was angry with me. He shouted and made threats on the phone.

  My son seemed more tired than usual. Was he coming down with something?

  Constant hospital visits…needles…blood work…medications…

  Suddenly I saw myself here in this very place, flying over the guardrail into the ravine below and waking in intensive care the next day, confused and in pain. My back was broken. I was paralyzed from the waist down, concerned about how I would care for my sick child.

  No….it can’t happen like that. I have to be there for him. For Logan.

  Somehow, with unfathomable strength and agility, I twisted my body downward and collided with the guardrail, which sent pain shooting into my skull but that shift in direction prevented me from tumbling down the steep rock face into the wooded ravine below.

  When I opened my eyes, I was staring up at a rescue worker.

  “Can you hear me?” he asked, shining a penlight in my eye. “Do you know your name? Do you know what day it is?”

  While others writhed in agony on the road beside me, I managed to speak a few words. “Am I dead?”

  He grinned with relief and sat back on his heels. “No, ma’am, you’re just a little banged up. You fell off your bike and hit the guardrail. Your star must have been shining this morning, because you just missed going over the edge.” He leaned forward again. “Now, can you tell me your name? And what day it is?”

  “It’s Friday,” I said. “And my name is Katelyn Roberts.”

  “Good. Where do you live?”

  I gave him my current address in Seattle—the house Mark had left to me in the divorce—then wondered suddenly if that was indeed my house, because all the images I’d seen as I was flying through the air had me living in a different house entirely. With a son named Logan and a husband named Chris. I could still see their faces vividly in my imagination.

  “I must have blacked out,” I said, trying to sit up and get my bearings, but the paramedic urged me to remain on my back.

  “You sure did,” he said. “You were unconscious for about fifteen minutes.”

  “I was dreaming, then.” I glanced around at all the mangled bicycles and riders lying on the side of the road with cuts and bruises, then pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead. “Am I okay?”

  “You’re better than you were five minutes ago,” he replied, “but you’ll need to get checked out at the hospital. Another ambulance is on its way and we’ll have a stretcher here in a minute or two. Just stay put, okay?”

  Dazed, I blinked up at the sky. A part of me feared I might have broken my back, not because I was in pain, but because I remembered my wheelchair from the flashback—the black leather seat, the texture of the rubber wheels in my hands as I insisted upon rolling myself down the long hospital corridor in the recovery unit, rather than have someone push me.

  Had that been a premonition?

  “I need to call my mother,” I said shakily, “and my friend Bailey.” I felt desperate to speak to them and make sure I was the person I thought I was—a single, divorced television reporter who had been emotionally ravaged by her husband’s affair and the divorce that followed.

  Because the life that had flashed before my eyes as I faced death had been something else entirely.

  Chapter Six

  Bailey was first to arrive at the hospital, while my mother had to travel all the way from Port Orchard. The paramedics had just brought me into the ER when Bailey hurried through the sliding glass doors and found me on a gurney with a neck collar and backboard.

  “Oh, my gosh, Katelyn,” she said, rushing to my side. “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “I’m waiting to get checked out. The paramedic said the neck collar is just a precaution, but I’m really scared. What if it’s bad? What if I can’t walk?”

  She gripped my hand and squeezed it. “Is there anything I can do? Have you called your parents yet?”

  “Mom’s on her way.”

  “Are you in any pain?”

  “I’m achy from the fall and I have a few bad scrapes, but it could be worse. I’m just afraid that my back’s broken or something.”

  She glanced around with concern. “Do you want me to get someone?”

  “No, the paramedics are here to keep an eye on me. We just have to wait until a doctor can see me.”

  For a moment, neither of us knew what to say.

  “What happened?” Bailey finally asked. “Did a car hit you or something?”

  I explained what caused the crash—that a cyclist had accidentally clipped the wheel of another. Then I described how I went flying over my handlebars. “That’s the weirdest part,” I said. “You know how they say your life flashes before your eyes in the moment of death?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s exactly what happened, except that I saw a totally different life. I was still me, but…” I paused and swallowed uneasily while a pregnant woman walked past us. “Nothing was the same.”

  She frowned with bewilderment. “What do you mean, nothing was the same?”

  I took a moment to shift slightly on the gurney and gather my thoughts. “I saw myself living a different life,” I explained, “where I was married to a man named Chris and we had a son, Logan, who got leukemia. When I woke up, I thought maybe I’d dreamed the whole thing because I’d been unconscious, but now I can’t stop thinking about that little boy—my son. Honestly, Bailey, I know it sounds crazy, but I think he exists. I can’t explain it, but I can’t get rid of this feeling, this awful melancholy—like he was my son and we were together, but now we’re apart. I feel like he’s waiting for me.”

  Bailey regarded me with concern and glanced over her shoulder again. “I think you need to see someone. You hit your head pretty hard. It must have been a hallucination.”

  “Maybe,” I replied, fully aware that I wasn’t entirely rational at that moment. “But it felt so real. There were so many details I can’t even comprehend. Things I find really upsetting.”

  “Like what?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to find a way to admit what I didn’t want to admit. “After what happened with Mark, I can’t believe I would have done that.”

  “Done what?” she pressed.

  “The man I was married to…” I paused and took a breath. “I cheated on him. I had an affair, and then I asked him to move out so I could be with that other man. I broke up our family.” By then my stomach was churning with guilt and remorse. “How could I have done that, after what Mark put me through? I vowed I would never do anything like that to another person. That I would never be a cheater. You know I hate cheaters.”

  Bailey laid a hand on my shoulder. “It wasn’t real, Katelyn. It never happened. It was just a dream.”

  A nurse arrived just then and asked the paramedics to wheel me into one of the examination bays.

  “I’ll be right here in the waiting room,” Bailey said with concern as they took me away.

  Chapter Seven

  Thankfully, the CT-scan showed no evidence of a spinal cord injury or damage to my brain—which caused a profound flood of relief in me. This meant I was not paralyzed, and the life that had flashed before my eyes was not a premonition of things to come. There would be no wheelchair in my immediate future.

  My relief, however, was tainted by sorrow, for this also meant that the son I’d envisioned and loved in that apparent alternate reality did not exist. He was nothing but a fantasy.

  At least I had never cheated on my husband.

  As for my prognosis, the doctor informed me that I’d suffered a serious concussion from the accident, havi
ng lost consciousness for such a lengthy duration. On the upside, my cuts and bruises were minor. I required no stitches, just a few bandages. The doctor warned me that I would be stiff and sore for a few days. He recommended I take some time off work to recover.

  When I was given the option to be discharged, it came with a condition that someone would be available to escort me home and remain with me for the next twenty-four hours. I was to be awakened every two hours throughout the night to ensure my speech wasn’t slurred or I wasn’t suffering any pounding headaches, in which case we were to return to the hospital immediately. Naturally, my mother volunteered for the task.

  o0o

  I fell asleep that night working hard to convince myself that the images of Chris and Logan on the sandy beaches of Maine were simply aspirations. It was the life I wished I’d lived, with the family I’d always longed for.

  As far as the cheating was concerned, I decided that I’d dreamed about that as a reminder to never, ever do such a thing to someone I loved.

  But this caused an uncomfortable turmoil in me—for I felt suddenly lost and displaced, as if I were spinning around in an unfamiliar world—searching for something, like an astronaut, hurtling through space without a tether. I longed for home, which seemed hopelessly distant. I longed for my loved ones. Where were they? Was I really this lost? This far from true happiness?

  o0o

  I woke to the jarring sensation of my mother’s hands on my shoulders, shaking me hard. She shouted at me from the edge of the bed.

  “Wake up, Katelyn! Wake up!”

  My eyes fluttered open and I stared up at the overhead light. Heart racing, I leaned up on my elbows. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s five in the morning,” Mom said. “I was supposed to wake you every two hours, but I fell asleep. Are you okay? Does your head hurt?”