After We Fall

by Melanie Harlow

  Jack Valentini calling.

  I refused to answer it. It refused to stop ringing.

  “Fuck you,” I said. But my heart throbbed. I wanted to hear his voice so badly.

  What if he’d changed his mind? What if he was calling to apologize? What if he’d realized we deserved a chance?

  I grabbed the phone. Whoa. Stay calm. Summoning Old Margot, I took a breath and accepted the call.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey.” His voice cracked, and so did some of my composure. “How are you?”

  Be strong. No tears tonight. “Fine,” I said coolly.

  “That’s good.”

  Silence. My patience wore thin. “What do you want, Jack?”

  “Just to hear you.”

  I closed my eyes and swallowed. So this wasn’t an apology call. Damn him! “Why? To torture yourself?”

  “I guess.”

  “I’m not playing these games, Jack.” My voice wavered. “If you want to wallow in your own pain, you go right ahead, but I will not contribute to it. It hurts me too much.”

  “I’m sorry, Margot. I never meant to hurt you. I want so fucking badly to be someone else right now.”

  I bit my lip so hard I expected to taste blood. “I wouldn’t want anyone else! How can you not see that?”

  “You say that now, but you don’t know what it’s like to be with me.” His voice was stronger. Angry, even.

  “Because you won’t show me! You’re a coward! I don’t even know what it is you’re so afraid of! All I know is that you’re throwing away the chance to be happy, and you’re taking it away from me.”

  “I’m sparing you!” he blurted.

  “You’re sparing yourself! It’s going to take work to move on, Jack. I know that. And I know it wouldn’t be easy.” I softened my voice. “But I’d be there for you. Don’t you want to try?”

  Silence. “You’d never be happy with me.”

  I took a breath and put my heart out there one more time, praying he didn’t crush it. “Give me the chance to prove you wrong, Jack. I won’t ask again.”

  “I can’t,” he whispered. “I want to, but I fucking can’t.”

  I lost the battle not to cry, and hot tears spilled down my cheeks. “Then say goodbye, because this is all we will ever be.”

  “Margot, please—”

  “Hang up!” I yelled. “I want it very clear that it’s you who’s walking away, Jack. It’s you who thinks you couldn’t love me.”

  “I know I could love you,” he said without hesitation, his voice full of anguish. “I just don’t deserve to.”

  I steadied myself. Willed myself to stay calm. “Then say goodbye, and hang up.”

  I held my breath, hanging on to one tiny thread of hope that he’d say something—anything—other than goodbye.

  But he didn’t.

  Thirty-Three

  Jack

  Margot’s words cut deep. The truth always does.

  You’re a coward.

  You’re sparing yourself.

  You’re throwing away the chance to be happy.

  I was a coward. And a fool. And an asshole. I knew calling her a second time was the wrong thing to do, but I was so damn lonely and depressed, I couldn’t think straight. I hurt, and I wanted to feel better—she was the only one who could make it better, so I called her.

  The logic of a fucking child.

  I didn’t blame her for getting angry or calling me names. Some part of my brain probably hoped that she would, I was so fucked up. And I was mad as hell at myself. What right did I have to call her, say those things to her, hurt her all over again? I’d only thought about my pain. But hers was real, too. I could hear it in her voice. I’d told myself a thousand times over the last few days that my agony was the price I had to pay for letting her get close, but what about the price she was paying? It killed me to think that she was half as miserable as I was. Did she really think I was walking away because I couldn’t love her? It was exactly the opposite!

  I lay back on my bed and covered my face with my hands. What the hell was I going to do? I couldn’t live like this, torn between the past and the future, between two lives, between two selves.

  It was like standing at a fork in the road—one path went nowhere, simply circled back upon itself in a never-ending spiral of solitude and sameness. The other went forward, and while I couldn’t see what was at the end of that road, I knew it offered the possibility of being happy again.

  But what would it take for me to feel I deserved a second chance?

  A few nights later, Georgia invited me to dinner at the house. I accepted, grateful to escape the lonely silence of the cabin. Brad and Olivia were there too, and after dinner we went out to the front yard, where my brothers got on the trampoline with their kids.

  Georgia and I sat on the porch rockers, drinking whiskey on the rocks and watching Pete try to do a flip. “He’s going to break his neck,” I said, chuckling a little.

  “Oh God, don’t even think it.” She glanced over at me. “It’s good to hear you laugh. Been kinda down this week.”

  I tipped back some whiskey. “Yeah.”

  “Probably no point in my asking this, but I will anyway. Want to talk about it?”

  On the trampoline, my brothers bounced and laughed and took pictures of their grinning kids in mid-air. I want that—I want it so fucking badly. “I envy you guys,” I said.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw her nod slowly. “I get that.”

  “I thought I’d live in this house eventually, raise a family, all that.”

  “It’s not too late, you know.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “Not at all.”

  I thought for a moment, willed myself to be brave. “Georgia, can I tell you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ve been thinking lately, I served with guys who didn’t make it back. Guys who were stronger than me. Braver. Smarter. Sometimes I wonder why I survived and they didn’t. What was it for?”

  She looked at me but didn’t say anything.

  “I used to think it was for Steph. For the family we’d have. But once she was gone, it seemed pointless again.”

  “You don’t think you could fall in love again? Have a family?”

  I hesitated. “I never used to.”

  “And now?”

  “Now…” I inhaled and exhaled slowly, met her eyes. “Now there’s Margot.”

  She smiled, her eyes lighting up. “So what’s holding you back?”

  “A lot of things.” I stared at the ice cubes in my glass. “I fucked things up really badly, Georgia.”

  “I know.”

  Something hitched in my chest. “You’ve talked to her?”

  Georgia paused, and I sensed she didn’t want to betray Margot’s confidence. “Yes.”

  “I mean it when I say I fucked up. I hurt her.”

  “Ask forgiveness.”

  She made it sound so easy. “What if she says no?”

  “What if she says yes?” Georgia countered.

  “She could have so much better. Someone with money and cars and—”

  “She wants you. Trust me.”

  I looked her in the eye and spoke the truth. “I’m scared.”

  “I know you are. And it’s gonna take some hard work, but I bet it’ll be worth it. I know it’ll be worth it, Jack. Even if Margot isn’t the one, you have to do this for you. It’s time.”

  Nodding, I let her words sink in. “It’s three years tomorrow.”

  “I know,” she said softly, her eyes tearing up. “But Jack, Steph would be the first one to tell you that you’re not honoring her by refusing to move on.” She reached out and touched my arm. “You’ve been using her to punish yourself. It’s time to let her go. I know it hurts, but it’s time.”

  My throat closed, and I had to look away from Georgia’s tears before my own started to fall.

  The following day, I went to the cemetery. Sitt
ing in front of the stone the way I always did, I imagined Steph beside me and concentrated on the memory of her voice.

  “Hey. I need to talk to you.”

  What’s up?

  My throat tightened. “This is hard.”

  Talk to me.

  I swallowed hard. “I met someone.”

  Good.

  “Is it?”

  Why wouldn’t it be?

  “Because she’s making me doubt myself. She’s making me reconsider things I’d already decided.”

  Like what?

  “Like getting involved with someone again. Letting myself fall in love again. Spending my life with someone instead of being alone.”

  Sounds serious. What’s she like?

  “She’s impossible. Spoiled rotten. A know-it-all city girl.”

  Laughter bounced off the stones. Someone to put you in your place, huh?

  “She loves to try.” I took a breath. “She’s also kind and smart and beautiful. She makes me laugh.”

  You have feelings for her?

  “I do, but…I don’t know if I want them.”

  Why not?

  “For one thing, it drives me crazy that she’s nothing like you. I feel guilty—like I’m betraying your memory by falling for someone so opposite everything you were.”

  You’re not betraying me, Jack. I want you to move on and be happy.

  Tears sprang to my eyes and I touched my eyelids with my thumb and forefinger. “I want to be happy too, I just can’t seem to figure out how to get there and be OK with it.”

  Well, first, you need to go back to therapy. It’s time to admit you stopped going because it was helping and you didn’t want to get better.

  I blinked. I’d never thought about it that way. In my mind, I’d stopped going because it was too painful to talk about my feelings anymore. Was Steph right? Had I let myself off the hook? Was quitting therapy just another way I’d sabotaged my recovery?

  You know I’m right. Next, you need to clean out that cabin. Give my clothes away. Throw out my junk. Take my pictures off the damn wall. Better yet, move out. It’s all just part of the prison you created for yourself, and you know what? It’s imprisoning me, too.

  It felt like a punch in the gut. “What?”

  You heard me. You have to let me go, Jack.

  Gooseflesh rippled down my arms. The back of my neck prickled. “But I—”

  No backtalk, you. If you loved me—

  “You know I did. More than anyone. You were the love of my life, Steph.”

  I was the love of the life you had then, Jack. I was your first love…but I’m not your last.

  The breeze rustled through some nearby trees while I let her words sink in and dissolve the final doubts inside me. She was setting me free, and I had to do the same for her. A weight was lifted. “You’re right.”

  Of course I am. Now I have one more request: Call that woman and take her out for dinner. Poor thing is probably tied in knots wondering what the hell is going on in that thick skull of yours. You tell her I understand. You drove me crazy, too.

  “I’m sorry, Steph. For everything.”

  I know you are, Jack. I forgive you. You ready to do this?

  I nodded. “I think so. I can’t say I’m not scared, but I think I know what I have to do.”

  Good. Go live the life you were meant to. You’ve got a lot of love to give, Jack Valentini. Don’t you forget it.

  “OK,” I whispered, a shiver working its way through my body. “And Steph…thank you. You’re an angel.”

  I listened for a response, but she was gone. I felt her absence as strongly as I’d felt her presence just moments ago. Somehow I knew she wouldn’t be back.

  I kissed my fingertips, touched the top of the stone, and said goodbye.

  Later that night, I stood in my bedroom and looked around. It looked the same as it did every other night, but it felt different. For the first time, I recognized it as what Steph had called it—a prison. Steph was so present here—her clothing in the closet, her books on the shelves, her shampoo in the shower, our photos on the wall. But it wasn’t entirely in memory of her; it was punishment. A lifetime sentence of solitary confinement.

  Yet I’d brought Margot here. Kissed her. Touched her. And when she’d offered to stop, I’d been the one to press on. I’d wanted her more than I’d wanted to preserve the sanctity of this space.

  Would she forgive me? Would she still want the chance she’d asked for? I pictured her, and something in my stomach went weightless. I wanted to be happy again. For the first time in years, I felt like it was possible.

  I glanced down at my left hand, where my wedding band still circled my finger. Slowly, I twisted it off, looked at it for a moment, then placed it in my nightstand drawer. I was slightly sick to my stomach for a moment, but after a few deep breaths, I was OK again.

  It was time.

  Over the next week, I made four important phone calls. One to my therapist, who was glad to hear from me, and scheduled an appointment for me within days. The second call was to Georgia, who said she would be happy to help me sort through and remove Steph’s things from the cabin. The third call went to Suzanne Reischling’s voicemail. I left a message saying I was finally cleaning out the cabin and told her to call me if she wanted to come by one night this week and see if there was anything she wanted. And the fourth call was to Brad—I wanted to sit down with him and see if there was anything I could do to help Pete and Georgia buy that house.

  It made the most sense for me to buy them out and live there, especially since I was planning on moving out of the cabin anyway—too many memories there, and I was serious about moving on—and I wanted to have a place I was comfortable inviting Margot to.

  Brad said he’d be glad to meet with me, and he’d be thrilled if I could buy him out. “Let me talk to the bank,” he said. “I’ll explain the situation, get the numbers, and we can sit down sometime this week.”

  “Sounds good,” I agreed. “But don’t say anything to Pete and Georgia yet. I don’t want to get their hopes up.”

  My first therapy session was painful, but I’d promised myself I was going to be honest. For the first time, I told him how I really felt about Steph’s death, the way it was connected to the incident in Iraq in my mind, and how that guilt had prevented me from moving on. While he couldn’t ease my conscience completely, he did give me some strategies for coping with my feelings and dealing with the guilt, and urged me to use the meds to get more sleep.

  He also told me about a weekly group therapy session for Veterans that he’d organized within the last year, and I began attending them. Hearing others talk about their feelings, tell their stories, admit to struggling with guilt and anxiety just like I did made me feel like I wasn’t alone. Sometimes I didn’t even talk at those sessions, and that was OK too.

  Cleaning out the cabin was tougher. I got through it with Pete and Georgia’s help, by remembering Steph’s wish to be set free, and by watching Cooper play with Bridget Jones while we worked. But it wasn’t easy or quick. We worked Wednesday evening and throughout the day Thursday. There were moments I choked up, moments I teared up, moments I had to walk outside and take a few deep breaths. Even so, there was no uncertainty. I knew in my heart I was doing the right thing.

  On Thursday night, Suzanne came by, and her eyes misted when she saw the bags and boxes in the front room. “You really did it,” she said, putting a hand over her heart.

  “I had to,” I said quietly, but firmly.

  Her eyes scanned the room. “You took down the pictures. Why?”

  “Because they were making it too difficult to move on with my life, Suzanne.” I met her eyes directly, and noticed she didn’t appear to resemble Steph quite so closely tonight. It was a relief.

  “Oh.” She trailed the fingers of one hand along a box. “Are you moving on with that blond woman?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “Sorry,” she said meekly. “It�
��s just hard this week.”

  Sympathy softened my tone. “I know. But she wouldn’t want us to sit around and grieve her again. She’d want us to celebrate her life by moving on with our own.”

  She nodded sadly. “My mother wants everything, but she was too upset to come.”

  “I’ll help you load it. I’ve got a four wheeler here, and we can take it to your car.”

  “OK.” Closing her eyes, she sighed. “I really am sorry about what I said. You’re right. Steph would want us to move on. I just miss her, and it helps to think that you miss her like I do.”

  “Apology accepted. And it’s OK to miss her, Suzanne. I miss her too. But it took me a long time to get where I am now, and I like thinking she’d be proud of me for that.”

  “She would be. I’m sure of it.” Suzanne sniffed, and then laughed a little through her tears. “She was a much nicer person than me.”

  Three weeks after she’d gone home, I was ready to apologize to Margot and ask for another chance, but I wasn’t sure how to do it. An apology over the phone wasn’t the same as coming face to face with someone and asking their forgiveness. Admitting you’d been wrong. Putting yourself out there. If I was going to ask for a second chance, I needed to do it in person.

  But how? What could I say that would convince her to see me again without giving myself away? All day Friday I thought about it, trying to come up with something romantic and clever—but romantic and clever had never been my thing. I needed help.

  Swallowing my pride, I went to Georgia.

  She grinned. “I’m not sure what you should do, but I know someone we can ask.” Scooping up her phone from the counter, she tapped the screen a few times. My own phone buzzed in my pocket, and I took it out.

  She’d shared a contact with me. “Jaime Owen?” I asked. “Who’s that?”

  “It’s Margot’s close friend and business partner. Call her.”

  I frowned. Involve another woman in this? “I’m not sure.”

  “Call her.” Georgia squeezed my arm. “I’m positive she’ll know exactly what you should do.”