End of Eternity 4

by Loretta Lost

  “I’m so sorry,” I tell her, reaching forward to give her a hug. “Are you disappointed?”

  “A little,” she says softly, returning the hug. “But I am sure it will happen when it’s the right time. It’s probably for the best—I’d like some time to prepare. And to actually get married first! Maybe travel a bit more, too.”

  I nod, pulling away. “This actually makes me really sad. I was really hoping to be an auntie soon, since I’ll never be a mother.”

  “You will be,” Helen says with conviction. “Didn’t Owen say he would find a way to help you?”

  “Owen’s getting married to Caroline,” I whisper.

  “Oh, yeah,” Helen says with a displeased look. “That feels like bullshit to me, Carm.”

  I lift my shoulders in a tired shrug.

  Helen frowns. “Did you talk to him about it? I don’t think marrying her is really what he wants.”

  “Well,” I say with another shrug, “he’s going to have to figure that out. I’m done chasing after boys, Hellie.”

  She places her hand on my upper arm and gives me a gentle squeeze. “I understand. Well, I’m here if you want to talk about it, okay? Or if you just want to hang out, and not talk about it. We could watch some movies and relax. Whatever you need! I’m here.”

  “I know,” I say softly, reaching out to punch her playfully in the shoulder. “Now what are you waiting for, woman? Go get me my cupcakes!”

  “Yes, ma’am!” Helen says with a mock salute, before heading to the door. She is halfway through the door when she turns back to look at me with a sad smile. “I wish Mom were here, Carm. Everything was always perfect when she was around.”

  Nodding slowly, I look into my sister’s melancholy eyes. The familiar pain spreads through my chest, as I remember yet another person I have loved and lost. “I know, sweetie. But we’re lucky, you know? We have Leslie, who’s probably the closest thing to mom on the planet. And she really took care of dad over the past few weeks.”

  “Leslie really has been great,” Helen says softly. “But I just…”

  She trails off into silence and stares at the wall.

  “I miss Mom, too,” I tell her softly. “But, Hellie? I think we’re going to be just fine.”

  “I hope so,” she says firmly. “But until then? Cupcakes.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Carmen Winters

  “Geez, Carm,” Owen says sheepishly. “I’m really sorry that doctor was such a dick.”

  “It’s okay,” I tell him as I sit in a corner of my treehouse. This is the third doctor we’ve visited, after just as many ultrasounds, and no one seems to have any good news for me. “Maybe it’s just not possible to fix me.”

  “The first doctor seemed hopeful about using surgery to…”

  “No,” I tell him firmly. “I can’t have surgery, Owen. The last time I went unconscious in a hospital… I woke up and my daughter was gone. And then I was forced to chloroform myself, and I woke up on another continent. The idea of being unconscious around people… it just horrifies me. I can’t do it.”

  He nods with understanding. “I thought surgery was a little aggressive anyway,” he says as he munches on some French fries. We have a few bags of take-out food with us in the treehouse; it has become a regular habit of ours to come up here when Owen has time off work, and to have little grown-up picnics. Well, as grown-up as picnics with Owen could ever be. I feel very young around him, with all the lighthearted conversation and laughter. It’s nothing short of paradise.

  The evening sunshine streaming through the branches of the old tree makes the treehouse feel warm and cozy. It has the most soothing atmosphere imaginable. The aged and weather-worn paint on the interior almost glows in the sunlight, and it feels like we’re in an old movie.

  Our skin is painted all in soft sepia tones, and I feel like we’re even moving in slow motion.

  “Your body probably just needs time to heal,” Owen says. “I have been doing some research on my own, and there are a couple natural remedies that can help. There’s this herb called vitex, or chasteberry? It’s commonly prescribed in Germany for fertility issues, but North American medicine is kind of… limited. The vitex seems to have been successful in helping many women who couldn’t get pregnant for years to heal their bodies and conceive children.”

  “Really?” I ask him, leaning forward curiously.

  “Yup! There’s also a new enzyme that was discovered in Japan called nattokinase, and it might be able to break down the scar tissue of the endometriosis. Some women with fibroids and ovarian cysts claim that it was able to shrink or completely dissolve them. I really think that if these supplements can work for such advanced conditions, they could easily help with your problems.”

  “Do you think so?” I whisper.

  “Heck, yeah! There were some small studies done on red raspberry leaves for strengthening the uterus and preventing miscarriage. I also read about this Chinese herb called dong quai. It’s not very well known in the western world, but it’s such a huge part of Chinese medicine that it’s even delivered intravenously for—”

  “Whoa, Owen. How much research did you do?” I ask him in surprise.

  “Oh, just a little bit here and there. I figured that the ‘specialists’ were so useless that I might as well give it a try. So, this dong quai is supposedly really amazing for the female reproductive organs, and helps with a number of conditions. As a fun side note, I also read that it can help men with premature ejaculation—not that I have that problem, but if I did—”

  “Owen,” I say suddenly, with concern. “This isn’t all a joke, right?”

  “I wouldn’t joke about something like this,” he says, moving closer and placing a few fries in my mouth. His blue eyes are solemn and optimistic. “I think you’ll be okay, Carmelita. Just trust me, and give my suggestions a try.”

  I chew slowly, enjoying the flavor. “I’ll do anything, as long as I don’t have to go to these appointments anymore, Owen. I hate it. Besides, I keep picking up fashion magazines when I’m in the waiting room, and they are so poorly written that I think my fashion sense dies a little with every appointment.”

  Owen grins as he stuffs his face with more fries. “Then you should try writing your own articles,” he says cheerfully. “You’re a much better writer than those bozos. I absolutely loved your piece on what to wear when you’re being abducted by a serial killer!”

  A smile touches my lips. “Ten tips for being an elegant victim? I had plenty of time to write that one in my head when I was shackled in a wedding dress and wondering if I’d ever see my family or my freedom again.”

  “I liked the part about the blood,” Owen says with a nod as he finishes the last of the fries. He looks down into the empty container with disappointment. “Oh, well. You should write more things like that!”

  “But I was inspired by extreme circumstances,” I inform him. “The news coverage also really helped. I can’t just pull material like that out of my ass! I have to wait until something really exciting happens to me.”

  “Spending time with me isn’t exciting?” Owen asks with hurt in his voice. “Is it because I ate most of the fries? You need to eat healthy foods like salads if you want to fix your lady parts!”

  “You know what I mean,” I say, kicking him lightly in the leg and smiling. “Since I got back from Europe, I’ve just been… afraid. I’ve been plain, old boring sauce. God, my doctor’s appointments with you are the highlights of my week. How pathetic is that?”

  “That’s not pathetic! You could totally write an article about the best fashion for sexy doctor’s appointments with a sexy doctor buddy.” Owen smiles and leans on his elbow. “Seriously though, Carm. I think you could write for fashion magazines, easy. You should give it a try.”

  I shake my head slowly. “I miss the old me. She was always doing something fun and brave. I wonder if I’ll ever be brave again? Will I always be boring? Oh, well. I guess I like it that way, fo
r now, even though it kills my creativity. I can’t handle any more excitement. And it’s not like I’m going to get abducted again anytime soon.”

  “Who says that you’re not being abducted right now?” Owen says playfully as he pounces on me, causing me to fall back on the little bed. “I am the evil Count Owenula, and I am here to steal you away into the night!”

  “Oh, no,” I say in mock terror. “Are you going to force me to go to doctor’s appointments and eat my veggies? The cruelty!”

  “None of the above! I am going to force you to laugh until you cry! Until you beg me for mercy! Muwhahaha!”

  “And how are you going to—” I am interrupted when Owen begins to tickle me madly. I gasp and try to writhe to get away from him, but he holds me fast as he attacks me with furiously flying fingers. “Damn you, Owen!” I say between bouts of laughter. “Stop it, you dork!”

  “Never!” he wails as he doubles his efforts.

  Gasping for breath, I decide that the best defense is a good offense, and I begin to tickle back. It turns out that Owen is much more ticklish than I am, for he screams and pulls away from me so quickly that he goes flying off the bed and lands on the floor with a thump. This immediately makes me laugh harder. Then I remember that there is a hole in the treehouse floor that leads to a very steep fall, and I quickly sit up to make sure that Owen hasn’t fallen through.

  “Owen?” I say with concern when I see him lying on the ground, motionlessly. My smile disappears, and I actually wonder if I have killed him with tickles. It’s possible, isn’t it? Death by tickle. I remember the look in Brad’s eyes right before I shot him, and my heart begins to pound faster. I draw my knees up to my chest and hug them, trying to control my breathing. “Owen,” I whisper, as my eyes fill with tears. I realize that this is completely irrational, but…

  My vision suddenly becomes blurry as I remember my husband’s shoes at eye level, swaying before me in the foyer. He’s dead. Brad’s dead. They’re all dead. Are all men so fragile? Is Owen fragile? Is he paper-thin and brittle-boned, like glass that could shatter with a touch?

  “Hey,” he says, moving to my side. “I was just playing around. Carm? What’s wrong?”

  I don’t respond for a moment. How insane would it sound if I confessed that I was worried that I had tickled him to death? I just hug my knees and try to breathe. The gunshot is still echoing in my mind, clear as day. Brad’s eyes, his expression, his voice. Owen is speaking beside me, but I can’t hear him over the sound of the gunshot. The blood soaks me all over again. Is there something wrong with me? Am I cursed? Am I destined to kill every boy I like? I guess those preschoolers on the playground were right to run away from me and insist that I had cooties. I must have cooties, and they’re lethal.

  “Carm?” he says again, shaking me gently. “Are you with me?”

  “Yes,” I say after a moment. I can see that he’s fine, and I try to push away the images from my thoughts. “I’m sorry.”

  “Hey, no sweat,” he says lightly as he wraps his arms around me. “I was being insensitive with my dumb jokes. I know that. I’m always being inappropriate and insensitive. I should really learn some darned social graces.”

  “You’re always appropriate for me, Owen,” I tell him softly, nestling my head against his shoulder.

  He holds me close for a moment, before lowering his face to press his lips against my forehead. His skin is warm, and the small touch fills me with both comfort and yearning. I find myself lifting my chin to touch my lips to his as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

  Owen responds, deepening the kiss and pulling my body closer. It feels so right, and so easy to be with him. His kiss tastes like home; and not just because of the lingering saltiness of the French fries. His touch feels like home. His arms around me feel like home.

  It might just be the fading sepia light of the evening, but I know that I belong with him.

  Owen places a hand on the shoulder strap of my dress, and he is about to slide it off when he pauses. He pulls away. He looks at me in surprise, and blinks.

  We both remember.

  We both pull away from each other, and sit in silence and guilt for a moment.

  After everything I’ve lost, it is almost unbearable that I should continue to lose Owen every day. I lose him every hour, and every minute that I remember that he’s not mine.

  So why does he act like he is? Why do we act like we are together, in almost every way but physically? And even, sometimes, a little bit, physically?

  “I’m so sorry,” Owen says softly.

  “No, no,” I say at once. “I kissed you, remember?”

  “I started it. It’s my fault, and I’m a giant douche…”

  “Owen,” I say, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. I sigh deeply. “This is hard.”

  He snorts and mutters, “Well, if you think my hand is hard…”

  A smile pulls at the corners of my lips. A very sad smile. No matter how sad I am, he can always make me smile. But I need to stop. This has gone too far now.

  “Owen—” I begin softly.

  “Don’t say it, Carm,” he begs. “Please don’t say it.”

  “I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” I say quietly.

  He is silent for a moment. “I really don’t want to lose you, Carm. Is there any way—?”

  “Are you still engaged?”

  “Yes,” he responds, choking slightly on the word.

  “Then, no. We can’t see each other anymore.”

  He shakes his head. “Maybe we can try to control ourselves…”

  “We have tried,” I tell him.

  “Carm—”

  “I love you, Owen. I think I’m in love with you. I probably shouldn’t be able to feel anything at all after Grayson and Brad, but… I do. They’re dead and gone, but I’m still alive. And my heart is still beating, and I’m still breathing—and I still feel things. And I don’t want to waste any time loving someone who will never be able to love me back.”

  “I do love you back,” Owen says through clenched teeth. “I just can’t leave Caroline—”

  “You won’t leave her,” I correct, “and that’s fine. But you shouldn’t be spending time with me like this.” Pushing him away and rising to my feet, I move to exit the treehouse. “I’m so sorry, Owen. I can’t put myself through any more heartache. Life is too short. I hope you have a beautiful wedding, and that you two are very happy.”

  “Carmen,” he says, swallowing. “Please don’t go. Wait—”

  He reaches for me to try and grab my arm to stop me, but I quickly climb down out of the treehouse, and let my feet descend to the ground. Once they hit the grass, I begin running. The fresh oxygen fills my lungs, and I feel free. I know I’ve done the right thing.

  And I know I’ll get through this. I always do.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dr. Owen Phillips

  I never expected to be sad at my own wedding.

  Soft music fills the open ballroom of the hotel. A simple wooden arch rests near the back wall. An altar is behind it, where Caroline and I will be standing in less than an hour to make our vows. Friends and family from all over the country are getting into their seats, chatting amongst themselves excitedly. Caroline’s parents are sitting in the front row, giving me broad smiles of approval. I think they had given up hope of this day ever happening. I know I had. Even now, it seems like this must be some kind of dream. Why then, at the moment, does it feel more like a nightmare?

  “Can I get you a drink, Owen?” Liam asks me as he approaches. “You look like you could use one.”

  “I could use a small lake,” I tell him with a forced chuckle. “I’ve spent so much time wanting this. I’m almost one-hundred percent sure that something is going to go outrageously wrong.”

  Liam places a comforting hand on my shoulder and says, “Don’t be so negative, bro. Things are going to be fine. Even if something goes wrong, it doesn’t really matter. It’ll
make a good story to tell the grandkids when you’re old and wrinkly.”

  “Maybe I should marry you, Liam. You just… get me,” I tell him jokingly.

  “Have you been listening to The Cure again?” he asks me with a raised brow.

  I lift my shoulders slightly. “See what I mean? You just know me so well, man. You know my sad music.” It’s nice to be able to talk with a friend before the big event. I really needed this. I’m afraid that without Liam standing beside me, I’d go out of my mind thinking about the woman I let slip through my fingers.

  “The Cure is everyone’s sad music,” he replies pointedly.

  “Touché,” I reply with a sigh. “Things will be better once the stress of the wedding is over and the honeymoon starts.” I wish that were true; night after night for weeks my stomach has been turning over into knots, and I think I’m developing an ulcer down there. Every day, my anxiousness gets worse, even though Caroline has been trying her best to make me feel better. I just don’t feel good about any of this. I dreamed of this day for years—but now that it’s here, it’s nothing like I imagined.

  “Let’s get you that drink, bud,” Liam suggests when he notices me staring off into space.

  I snap out of my daze and blink several times. Being an eye doctor, I really should know better than to dry out my eyes. “Anything with a lot of bourbon will do.”

  Liam leads me through the crowd toward the fully stocked bar in another part of the hotel. I see my parents chatting with some of the other guests over a glass of wine.

  “Hey, Ma and Pa!” I greet them excitedly. “Is being in the city as bad as you thought it would be?”

  My father, a tall, heavyset man, produces a sound somewhere between a grunt and a huff. “Well,” he says in a raspy voice. “The parts you’ve shown us aren’t so bad, but I still don’t think this place is safe. Especially not to raise a family.”

  “Come on, Pa,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder. “It’s not so bad.” I’ve long given up arguing with the man about the benefits of living in New York, but I would never change him for the world. His steadfast values and stubbornness made him the best damn father a boy could ask for. He is allowed to be a curmudgeon, too.