by Marie Force
“You’re Amy’s brother, right?” the owner, Deborah, says to Eric.
“One of them.”
“I know her through the Bensons.”
While they catch up, I walk around the room, trying to focus on the cakes and not the voice in my head that begs me not to leave. I stand for a long time, staring at a cake decorated with live flowers. It’s the most gorgeous cake I’ve ever seen, but I’m not thinking about my wedding or the cake or Eric.
No, I’m back in a San Diego hotel room with a man in uniform who can’t stand for long on his new prosthetic. He’s begging me to forgive him for what he’s done to me and asking me not to go. I see his blue eyes, so focused on me the way they always were when we were together.
“Ava?”
I realize Eric is speaking to me and has been trying to get my attention. “I’m sorry,” I say, smiling at him. “What did you say?”
“Deborah was going to explain the various options. Do you want to come sit?”
No, I don’t. I don’t want to sit or talk about cake or think about anything as trivial as a wedding when John is out there somewhere, trying to learn how to walk again. Nothing in my life makes sense to me after seeing him.
But I don’t say those things. Rather, I walk around the table and take a seat next to Eric, who looks at me with concern and maybe a hint of dread, as if he can feel me coming apart and doesn’t know how to stop it.
Deborah’s presentation is thorough, and it would’ve interested me greatly a week ago. Today, I can’t work up the enthusiasm.
She suggests we taste each of the various flavors, but I can’t. I just can’t.
“I’m not feeling well,” I tell her.
“Oh, sorry to hear that.”
“Would it be possible to reschedule the tasting?” Eric asks.
“I’m booked for the next six weeks.”
That’s how long we waited for this appointment.
“We might need to find someone else, then,” he says. “Our wedding is the third of July. We need this sewed up long before six weeks from now.”
“Let me check with my assistant and see what we can do.” She gets up and leaves the room.
“What’s wrong, Ava?” Eric asks when we’re alone.
“I don’t know, but the smell in here is making me sick.”
“Do you want to wait outside while I set up another appointment?”
“Yes, please.” I grab my coat and purse and head for the door, stepping out into cool fresh air that’s a welcome relief from the overly sweet air inside the bakery.
I lean back against the building and take deep, cleansing breaths.
Eric comes out of the bakery, pulling on his coat as he walks. “What was that in there? I thought you were excited to pick out the cake.”
“I was. I am. It was hot in there, and the smell… It was overwhelming.”
“No, it wasn’t. It smelled the way a bakery should.”
I realize he’s angry with me, which is a first.
“Are we going to talk about what’s really going on here, or are we going to pretend that the smell of cake made you sick?”
“I… I told you…”
“You haven’t actually told me anything. Instead, you’ve left me twisting in the wind for two days wondering what happened in San Diego while you try to pretend everything’s fine when we both know it isn’t.”
I can’t think of a single thing to say that.
Huffing with disgust—or what I take to be disgust—he waves down a cab and holds the door for me.
I slide across the cracked vinyl seat to make room for him.
Eric gets in and gives his address to the driver.
We take off like a shot into traffic.
Eric sits a foot from me, but he stares out the passenger side window the whole way home. When we arrive in Tribeca, Eric pays for the cab, holds the door for me and follows me up the stairs.
Inside the loft, we hang up our coats.
“I need to know one thing,” he says, breaking the long and unusual silence.
“What?”
“Do you want to be with him? Is that why you’ve shut down on me since you saw him?”
“No! That’s not what I want, and I haven’t shut down on you.”
“Yes, Ava, you have. You’re here, physically, but you’re not here in any other way. You’re a million miles away from me.”
“I’m trying to process it all. I’m sorry that I’ve been unable to talk to you about it or that you thought what you did.”
In a softer, more conciliatory tone, he says, “You have to tell me about San Diego. I’m going crazy trying to figure out what’s happening to us.”
“I’m sorry to have done that to you. It was really… hard to see him again and to see him diminished by his injury.”
Eric takes my hand and walks me to the sofa, where we sit together.
“He said some things…”
“What kinds of things?”
I look down at the floor. “He’s sorry for what he put me through. He said he never should’ve gotten involved with me and actually tried to leave a couple of times but couldn’t bring himself to do it.”
Blinking back tears, I force myself to continue because Eric deserves to know these things. “While he was gone, he thought about me every day, he still loves me and wants a chance to make things right with me. I told him about you and our relationship and that we’re engaged. I told him how you put the pieces back together for me and that my life is here with you now. And then when I had to go, he said… He asked me…”
“What, honey? What did he say?”
“He begged me not to leave him.” I feel dead inside as I say those words and hear his voice in my head, pleading with me as I walked away.
“God, Ava.” Eric puts his arm around me and encourages me to rest my head on his chest. “No wonder you’ve been so upset since we came home.”
“I don’t want to be upset. I don’t want to think about him anymore. I want to think about you and the wedding and our life, but all I can hear is him begging me not to go. I… I didn’t know that he was raised in the foster system. I don’t think he has anyone else.” I squeeze my eyes shut against the threat of tears. “He broke my heart all over again.”
Eric holds me close to him and rubs my back. “We’re going to find a way through this together. It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
“How? How is it going to be okay?”
“I don’t know, but we’re going to figure something out. Maybe we should get with Jessica. She might be able to help.”
“Okay.”
“You want me to call her?”
“Would you mind?”
“Not at all.”
He takes my phone and punches in the code I gave him a long time ago. Eric and I don’t have secrets from each other, so it’s a relief to have told him what happened with John even if it hurt us both.
I sit back against the sofa and close my eyes. I can hear him on the phone, but I don’t pay attention to what he’s saying. I already know the story. I don’t need to hear it again. I’m so tired, I could sleep for a week and it wouldn’t be enough.
Eric returns to the sofa. “She’s coming here in thirty minutes.”
“She is? Really?”
He nods. “She said you’re one of her VIPs. If you call, she drops everything for you—and she said her husband is at a movie with the kids tonight, so she’s free anyway.”
“And she probably has better things to do than listen to my sob story.”
“It’s not a sob story, Ava. You’ve survived one of the most difficult things anyone I know has confronted with grace and class and determination. Everyone who knows you admires the way you’ve handled an unimaginable situation.”
“That’s very nice of you to say, but I don’t feel worthy of that kind of admiration.”
“Well, too bad,” he says with a teasing smile. “You’re stuck with it.”
“I don’t
want to feel this way anymore, Eric.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
AVA
We sit together until the buzzer sounds to announce Jessica’s arrival. Eric gets up to let her in.
Jessica comes in and makes a beeline for me, hugging me like an old friend.
“Thank you for coming.”
“I told you before—any time you need me, I’m here.”
“Eric told you the latest?”
“He did, and on the way over here, I tried to imagine what it must’ve been like for you to see him again and to hear the things he said.” She sighs. “I couldn’t imagine it.”
Eric sits next to me and takes my hand.
“I can’t get it out of my head.”
“And you won’t, probably for quite some time.”
That’s not exactly good news to me.
“Tell me what happened. I need to hear the details.”
I relive my hour with John, from the moment I arrived until the second I left. “I found out things about him I didn’t know before. He’d told me his father was a high-ranking military officer, but that wasn’t true. He grew up in foster care and went into the Navy out of high school when a judge offered him that or jail. They put him through college and recruited him for special assignment because of his lack of personal attachments. I never knew, until I saw him the other day, that I was all he had.”
“And now you’re feeling guilty for leaving him when he’s facing a long, arduous recovery. Am I right?”
Leave it to my Jessica to zero in on the heart of the matter. “Yes, you’re right. I feel awful.”
“He’s not your responsibility, Ava.”
“I know, but—”
“No buts. He is not your responsibility. I want you to say that back to me. He’s not my responsibility.”
“He’s not my responsibility.”
“Say it again.”
“He’s not my responsibility.”
“Do you need to say it again, or is it sinking in?”
“It’s starting to sink in.”
“And you understand that no one is at fault here except for the terrorist who decided to blow up a cruise ship and the lives of thousands of people, including you, along with it, right?”
Placing the blame on Al Khad is much better than blaming John for doing his job and serving his country. “I’m trying to understand that. It’s a work in progress.”
“You wondered what became of John. Now you know. You wondered how he truly felt about you. Now you know. You wondered how you’d feel when or if you saw him again. Now you know. What else do you need to know?”
“N-nothing. I have all the answers I needed.”
“Then it’s time to move on. Unless…” She glances at Eric. “I’m not quite sure how to say this…”
It’s so unlike her to waver. “Just say it. Whatever it is.”
“Unless you’d rather be with John than Eric,” she says, grimacing in Eric’s direction. “Sorry.”
He looks like he’s been punched.
“That’s not what I want.”
“You’re sure of that?” Jessica asks.
“Yes.” John is the past. Eric is the present and the future. I have no question in my mind about that.
“Are you really sure, Ava?” Eric asks. “I don’t want you torn between me and him while we’re planning our wedding. If you want to postpone it, we can do that, but I need you to be absolutely certain that I’m what you want before you commit to me.”
I look at him and see everything he’s been to me since that day last June when he saved my life with a slice of cheese pizza. He’s held me up, supported me, helped me put the pieces back together and never wavered in his devotion to me, even when a lesser man surely would’ve said enough already.
I see him down on one knee with the Christmas tree lights twinkling behind him, asking me to spend the rest of my life with him. I see him holding my hair back when I was sick when Al Khad was captured and calling in favors to find out whether John was still alive after the video surfaced. I see him buying first-class tickets to get me home as quickly and comfortably as possible and not asking a single question even when he must’ve been full of them. He’s already proven himself to me in every possible way. It’s time now for me to return the favor.
“I’m absolutely certain that you’re what I want,” I tell him.
His relief is obvious and palpable.
“I’m sorry I ever gave you reason to doubt that.”
Eric hugs me tightly. “Don’t be sorry. If you’re here with me, I have everything I want and need.”
Jessica dabs at her eyes.
I close mine and thank my lucky stars that Eric Tilden found me when he did and loves me like he does. I hope that in time, I’ll stop hearing John’s voice begging me to stay and give him another chance. Sharing my dilemma with Eric and Jessica has helped me to put it into perspective and to free myself from the shackles of the past.
I want to focus on the lovely present and the beautiful future that’s ahead for me and Eric.
“I think,” Jessica says as we continue to hold each other, “that my work here is finished. Don’t get up. I’ll let myself out, and I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”
She ducks out, and still I cling to Eric, my port in the storm, my love. “I love you so much,” I whisper. “I’ll never have the words to properly tell you the full extent of it.”
“I think I know, because I feel the same way about you.”
I’m not under any illusions that the path forward will be easy or that I’ll suddenly stop thinking about John or aching over the things he said to me. But I’ve made my decision, and there is peace in that.
Epilogue
AVA
Four days before my July third wedding, I get home early after work—my last day for two weeks. Miles, Trevor and Carlos threw a shower for me this afternoon that involved far too much champagne. I’m a little buzzed and super excited for the festivities to begin.
Work has been insane since the family group settled with the government. Numerous officials were forced to acknowledge that they could’ve done more to possibly thwart the attack, which was the primary goal of the lawsuit. The two hundred million in damages they were awarded is almost beside the point to the families.
I moved in with Eric in May—the same week Sky moved in with Miles—but Eric’s loft felt like home long before I officially moved in.
I’m stronger now than I was a few months ago. I’ve been amazed by how freeing it is to not have to wonder about John anymore. A thousand-pound weight has been lifted off me now that I know he’s safe and on the road to a full recovery. I still think of him frequently and hope he’s doing well, but my heart and mind are no longer held prisoner by a past I had no control over.
My heart and mind are fully engrossed in Eric, our wedding and our upcoming honeymoon to Spain and the Canary Islands. As Jessica predicted, it didn’t happen overnight, but as the weeks went by, I found myself thinking less and less about the things John said to me in that hotel room. I’m not haunted anymore by his parting words. I’ve successfully moved on by reminding myself over and over again that as much as I once loved him, he is not my responsibility.
My phone rings with a call from a number I don’t recognize. I almost ignore it, but because of the new frenzy of media attention for the family group since the lawsuit was settled, I take the call. “Ava Lucas.”
“This is Lieutenant Commander David Muncie. We met a few months ago…”
“Yes, I remember.” As if I could ever forget. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I wasn’t sure who else to call. Captain West doesn’t really have anyone else.”
My heart sinks along with the rest of me when I sit on the sofa. “What’s wrong?” Not my responsibility. Not my responsibility. Not my responsibility.
“He’s given up on his PT. He won’t talk to anyone,
and most days he doesn’t get out of bed. He refused to do the 60 Minutes interview. He’s in a bad way.”
I wondered why the interview he’d told me about never aired. But I can’t hear this four days before my wedding. I just can’t. “What does that have to do with me?” Not my responsibility.
“I wondered if you might be willing to give him a call. It might help if he heard from you.”
Not my responsibility. “I… I’m getting married. In four days.”
“I’m so sorry. Never mind. We’ll figure something out on our end.”
“Wait…” My mind races when I contemplate the implications of talking to John again, especially right now. He’s not my responsibility, but how am I supposed to hear that he’s in a bad way and do nothing? “You really think it would help if I call him?” I wish Eric was here to tell me what he thinks I should do.
“I really do, or I wouldn’t ask. He hasn’t been the same since he saw you.”
My eyes burn with tears, and I’m scared—truly terrified of a setback after I’ve worked so hard to get to a good place. “I’ll call him. When would be a good time?”
“What’re you doing now? I’m at the hospital and could encourage him to take the call. He’s been so overwhelmed with media and other inquiries that he’s stopped answering his phone.”
I have no idea if I’m doing the right thing or not, but I can’t take the time to think it all the way through. “Now is good.”
“You have the number?”
“Yes.” I get up to retrieve the paper John gave from my wallet where I put it after I saw him. All this time, I’ve known it was there, but I’ve never touched it.
“Give me five minutes,” Muncie says.
“All right.”
The line goes dead, and I return to the sofa, where I sit staring at my phone for five of the longest minutes of my life. Then I punch in the number and listen to it ring twice before Muncie picks up. “Please hold for Captain West.” In the background, I hear arguing. I hear Muncie say, “Take the goddamned call.”
