Wild Abandon

by Jeannine Colette

  When he told me he was falling in love with me.

  We rush out the elevator and are quickly in front of the hotel. I run into the middle of the street and stop a cab. Nate flies in, and I get in next to him.

  “Golden Gate Rehabilitation,” he tells the driver.

  He spends the rest of the drive looking frightened, staring wide-eyed out the front window, willing streetlights to change and traffic to move.

  We pull up to our destination, and Nate scurries while I pay the fare. It doesn’t bother me. I could use the moment to collect myself. Figure out what the hell is happening.

  Yes, let’s go there.

  What the hell is happening?

  Twenty minutes ago, I was making love to Nate, and now, I’m standing outside a beige building where his wife is inside.

  Does she work here? Is she a patient?

  Oh my God, he has a wife. He’s married.

  And I followed him. Here.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  Do you ever have one of those moments when you run on autopilot, not necessarily doing the right or wrong thing? You’re just moving along with the actions because you haven’t had a moment to process what is actually happening.

  That is me.

  And call me a glutton for punishment because my feet are moving through the threshold, despite my brain telling them to stay away.

  My heart even knows it’s about to break.

  But my feet have a mind of their own.

  “What happened?”

  I hear Nate’s voice nearby. There is no one at the reception desk, so I peer down a corridor and see him talking to someone, a nurse perhaps.

  “She’s okay. The doctor was able to stop the seizing. We have her…”

  She is speaking, but all I can hear is the way Nate cries at what she’s saying. He’s tugging at his hair with one hand, the other covering his mouth, his eyes crimson. The nurse puts her hand on his arm, and he seems to relax at what she’s saying to him.

  “Where is she?” he asks.

  The nurse takes him through a set of double doors, and I stand, cowering behind a wall, as the doors close behind them.

  The welcome sign on the wall says, Golden Gate Long-Term Care and Rehabilitation. The lobby area is large yet empty, closed for the day for visitors. They must have opened the door for Nate. Leaving it open for me was an accident. With marble floor, maroon chairs, and a wooden desk, the lobby is eerily quiet.

  I move down the hall, passing the recreation room. My footsteps echo in the soundless space. Tables and chairs, board games, a sofa, and TV. Vending machines along the far wall. All unoccupied.

  I walk toward the double doors where Nate disappeared. It’s open. The hall is empty, but there is the distinct sound of moaning. Someone is in pain or discomfort. I look into the room where the sounds are coming from and see a man in a hospital bed, calling out into the air. I want to go in and help him, but I can’t.

  Many of the doors are closed. A food cart in the hallway has empty trays. There is an open door at the end of the hallway, a dim light pouring in. I walk closer and see the sign above the room says, Medical Center.

  Someone is approaching, so I dip into a doorway and hide in the shadows. I don’t know why I’m hiding, but I do. A doctor walks out and down the hallway. I wait until he is out the double doors I came through before I step out of the shadows.

  I walk through the opening of the Medical Center. The light is brighter in here. A nurse has her back to me, filling out a chart. When she’s done, she walks away, and I move past the nurses’ station to where there are two rooms. One is empty. The other takes my breath away.

  Beside the bed, Nate is on his knees, head bowed. He could be praying, but by the way his back is shaking, I know he’s crying.

  He is clasping the hand of the woman sleeping on the bed. Her hair is overgrown yet still has the shine that comes with youth. She has black hair and very pale skin. Her features are pretty with bowed lips and a straight nose. Her face has a puffiness to it, and even in sleep, it looks to be asymmetrical.

  His wife. How old could she be? My age? So young and living in a long-term care facility?

  “Do you believe bad things happen for a reason?”

  What kind of awful event could have taken away a young woman’s ability to live on her own?

  “Only the good die young.”

  But she’s not dead. She’s very much alive, as proven by the way he is stroking her hair and kissing her knuckles.

  “I’m here. I’m here now. I’m here. And I’m sorry. So sorry. I should have been here. It was my day. I wasn’t here for you. Did you know I wasn’t here? Do you know me? It’s Nate. I’m here. I will always be here. I won’t ever leave you alone again.” His breath is ragged, like he’s trying to talk through the tears. “Open your eyes. Wake up for me. Tell me you know me. Tell me you’re there. I can’t believe I…” His head falls to the bed. The last words are muffled as he says, “I’m so sorry.”

  He raises her hand up into his praying hands. And that’s when I see it. An infinity tattoo on the inside of her left wrist.

  A symbol of love.

  True love.

  A symbol of forever.

  Their forever.

  I take a trebled breath myself and quell the emotions building in my throat.

  I have to get out of here.

  I walk through the corridor and out the doors, through the lobby and out the front.

  I can’t wait for Nate. I can’t go back to the hotel. I need to go home. And I need my friend.

  I take out my phone and call Naomi.

  She says she’ll be here in an hour. I tell her I’ll be in the coffee shop across the street.

  “Hang tight.”

  So, I hang.

  I sit tight, at a stool, looking out the front window at the beige building where a woman is spending her days and the man who promised to love her forever sits by her side.

  “Let’s just say I’m paying my dues.”

  How cruel. To fall in love and promise forever. Who knew forever was going to be torture?

  Head in hand, I cry.

  I cry for Nate. I cry for his wife.

  And I cry for me.

  Because I am madly in love with someone who promised forever to someone else.

  chapter NINETEEN

  “Take these.” Naomi hands me two Advil and a glass of water.

  I don’t have a headache, but for the amount I cried today, I’m sure to be hurting tomorrow.

  I swallow the pills and put the glass down. I don’t think I can cry anymore.

  I spent the car ride home in silence with Naomi patiently waiting for me to talk, but I needed time.

  When we got home, I sulked in my room for a while. Played the cello on the porch a little. Took the longest shower known to mankind. And when the sun set and the worst day of my life started to close, I joined Naomi on the stoop with a glass of wine, and I told her the whole torrid story.

  She listened, she gasped, she cried, and right now, she is rubbing my back and telling me that everything is going to be okay.

  “Is it weird that seeing how much he loves her made me love him even more? Is there something wrong with me?”

  “No. He’s a good man. He was just dealt a shit hand.”

  I nod and wrap my jacket around me. It’s cold, but I don’t want to be inside. I don’t want to be outside. I don’t know where I want to be.

  “I still want him.”

  “I know, sweetie. I know.” Naomi rubs circles on my back.

  We sit in silence as a truck’s headlights appear down the road before stopping in front of the house.

  Through the windshield, Nate looks at me and Naomi in surprise, clearly not planning on us being outside when he arrived. Naomi gives me a look with her eyes, asking if I’ll be okay. I assure her that it’s okay, and she goes inside, closing the front door behind her. I look back at the truck, and Nate is still sitting there, staring at me
, probably unsure as to how he is going to explain why he lied to me.

  Because that’s what he did, right? He lied. He let me believe he had a girlfriend. I had a hard enough time staying away from him when I thought he had some chippy on the side. But a wife? I would never have considered our friendship a possibility.

  He turns the car off and takes the longest possible time exiting the car and walking around to the sidewalk.

  I don’t move. I shouldn’t have to. As sorry as I feel for him and whatever he’s going through, he owes me an apology. I deserve at least that much.

  Basked in the light provided by the lantern on Naomi’s front porch, Nate looks like he’s on a small stage, his face highlighted just enough for me to see the frown lines and dark circles under his eyes.

  I watch as he stands there, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the cement.

  “It was a stroke,” he starts. “She was twenty-seven. No one knows why. Doctors said it was an intracerebral hemorrhage with a ventricular rupture. All I know is, she can’t walk, can’t talk, can’t feed herself, and can’t use the bathroom on her own. She doesn’t even know who I am.”

  He looks up at me and takes a deep breath when he sees the tears in my eyes. “We met at a festival in San Francisco, one of those three-day things where everyone gets high and drinks too much and pretends they’re at Woodstock. She was eighteen, and I was twenty. She was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen. She dared me to eat this ridiculous amount of hot sauce. So, I did. She dared me to streak through the festival. So, I did. She dared me to marry her. So, I did.

  “We eloped. After seventy-two hours of knowing each other, I married a complete stranger. I was young and dumb and in love. We didn’t have money for rings, so we got these tattoos. They were just outlines at the time. We had them filled in on our fifth wedding anniversary.

  “She was a dancer. Taught at a school in San Francisco. She was a beautiful dancer. Too short to ever make it but spunky enough to teach it.

  “I wasn’t with her when the stroke happened. By the time I found her, the effects had set in. The doctors brought her back to life. They didn’t know what mental function she’d have when she woke up and asked what they should do if she flatlined again. I knew she’d want to be let go, but her father told me I wouldn’t be a man if I let her die. He punched me in the face. Said if I let them kill his little girl, he’d kill me. So, when she flatlined again, I told them to do whatever they could to save her.

  “When she woke up, the most vivacious woman I’d ever met was just a shell.

  “I can handle feeding her through a tube. I can handle changing catheters. But I still can’t handle her not knowing who I am. You have no idea what it is like to love someone who isn’t even there.”

  The words are stronger than anything I imagined in my mind. I tremble with the wakening emotions and offer him my deepest condolences. No one should have to live their life like this. Neither of them.

  Nate takes a step toward me, and I rise up, holding my hand out, willing him to stay back.

  “Crystal—” There is a pleading to his voice.

  “No, Nate.” I pause, needing a moment to compose my thoughts. My feelings for him, for this story, for the reality of the moment are heavy on my heart. “I hurt for you. My stomach is literally aching with the thought of you hurting. This is awful, and I am so very sorry this is the life you live. But it doesn’t negate the fact that you lied to me. You were my friend. You should have told me.”

  “And what? Have you look at me the way you are now? As the man who is living a life in purgatory. I can’t look back because it hurts, and I can’t move forward because there is nowhere to go. I promised forever to someone who I can’t share forever with. When I am with you, I can be me. You look at me like a man. I haven’t wanted to let anyone in. I tried to keep you away, but I can’t, Crystal. You walked into my life, and I couldn’t shut you out.”

  “You used me to play pretend? To feel like a man? Thanks, Nate, but I think you missed something. I actually cared about you—”

  “I’m in love with you.” His words cut through me like a knife.

  He walks closer, and I feel my heart leaving my body and running into his hands. Hands that can crush it.

  “Somewhere along the way, I fell in love with you. And it’s not because I was lonely. You complete me in a way no one else ever has. I want to be with you, Crystal.” He bows his head and clenches his trembling jaw. “But I made a vow to someone else. I swore to God that I would take care of her for the rest of my life, and I will.”

  “I can’t be with someone, knowing I’m their second choice.” I pull on my lip and fight back my tears.

  Nate lets his own tears fall free. “And I can’t be with you because I’m afraid you’d be my first.”

  I inhale my sob and fall apart before him. I spin on my heel and close the door behind me. I fall to the floor, and Naomi takes me into her arms, wiping away the tears. We don’t move until Nate’s truck drives away.

  It’s been three days. Three days that I’ve had a chance to sit and think about the awful tragedy I have been a part of. A woman who can’t fight for the man she loves because she’s trapped in her own body. Another who can’t fight for the man she loves because he’s trapped in his own heart.

  I’ve thought about the scenario from so many angles. I’ve considered the fact that Nate has been alone for the last four years, loving someone who cannot love him back. She might not be dead, but she is certainly not there in the traditional sense. Part of me wonders if I should go to him, give him the companionship he deserves. He must be awfully lonely.

  But I can’t. Because the truth is, if his wife were well, he’d be with her. He’s married, and I cannot come between a man and a wife. Even if he might have chosen me over her.

  The thought makes me sick. The whole thing makes me sick.

  “You look as bad as I feel,” Ed says, hobbling onto the veranda where I’ve been sitting for the last three days.

  He has been gone for the duration, leaving me to conduct two tastings on my own. I felt like an idiot, but I suppose it was a good distraction from wallowing in my misery.

  “Thanks for the note. Nice to find out in a Dear John that your boss will be MIA.”

  “Did you sell any wine?” he asks, taking a seat next to me.

  I never knew him to care if we sold anything.

  “I did, in fact. Six bottles.”

  He pats my leg and looks out at the roses. We both sigh. Well, I sigh. He grumbles.

  “Everything all right? I mean, the fact that you weren’t around. Are you okay?” I look at him.

  His eyes are tired. More tired than usual. And his lips are pouted out a little more than they usually are.

  “I’ve been better.” He looks over at me and squeezes my knee. “You gonna tell me why you’re so heartbroken?”

  “How did you know I was heartbroken?”

  “I’m a husband and father. I can spot a forlorn woman a mile away.”

  I take a cleansing breath and shake my head. “I fell in love, Ed. I fell in love with someone who I didn’t have to add sugar to mask the flavor. And I didn’t have to shield myself against him or pretend that I was something I wasn’t. He knew me and loved me. I met the right person, but I had to let him go.”

  “Why in the hell did you do that?”

  “He’s in love with someone else.”

  “Well, that is a problem.”

  “He’s married, Ed. And his wife sounds amazing, but she can’t fight for him. How do I fight for a man against a woman who can’t put up her fair share?”

  “Does he love you?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It’s the only thing that does matter.”

  I nod my head. “Yes, he loves me. It all seems so unfair.”

  “Life’s not fair. I’ve loved and lost my fair share. You know the worst part? I shut out the world. I stopped doing the things I loved, stopped being with the people
I loved. Sometimes, the hurt overpowers the love. We become blinded by it. I let too many years go by, living in the pain. It wasn’t until something magical happened that I finally started to realize I wanted to live in the real world again.”

  “What was that?”

  “You.”

  “Me?”

  Ed places his hands on his cane and looks out to the roses. “Crystal, a man without a home is a man without a heart. You brought my home back to me.”

  I throw my arms around Ed’s neck, my head nestled on his shoulder.

  “Crystal?”

  I sit up at the sound of my name. I look at Ed, and we wonder who is here. I rise and walk into the wine-tasting room where the voice is coming from. Imagine my surprise to see Brent Montavale standing in the middle of the room, wearing a baby-blue plaid button-down and navy trousers.

  “Brent. What are you doing here?” I haven’t spoken to him since I told him I wasn’t going to Tahoe.

  “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” He smiles and holds out his hand.

  I can only imagine what kind of sight I really am. Red and splotchy from three days of wallowing.

  “You drove all the way from Sonoma to see me? Here?” I ask as I watch his eyes roam around the room.

  “You bailed on me last weekend. Maybe Saturday, we can take a drive to Sausalito.”

  He tries to give me a kiss on the lips, and I offer him my cheek. He doesn’t seem to notice my avoidance.

  “About that. I wanted to talk to you—”

  “So, this is the infamous Russet Ranch? After our dinner, I did some research. Quite a spot you have here.”

  “Yes, it’s quite special,” I say. I try to veer the conversation to where it needs to go. As wonderful as Brent is, I have to end the relationship. I shouldn’t have been in it to begin with. My heart always belonged to Nate.

  “I drove around the property. Twenty acres. After you told me about this place, I looked it up. The soil here is prime for cabernet.”

  I tilt my head at his words. Looks like he really did do his research. His eyes widening, as if he’s imagining how he can build and expand upon it.