“And how are things with you and Kevin?” She hesitates, then smiles a little sadly. “It’s still weird for me to have to ask that.”
“Yeah.” I’m not sure how to answer her question, so I shrug.
“You haven’t blogged recently,” Beth says, cautious. “I still check from time to time. It’s been weeks.”
“I know. It’s . . .” I bite my lower lip, meet her eyes, and admit the truth. “I don’t think I want to do it anymore.”
She sends me a relieved smile. “Good. That’s good. Isn’t it?”
She sounds too hopeful.
“I guess so. Brock says I’m a good writer, if you can believe that. I do enjoy it, writing. But blogging might not be the way to go. You know?”
“You could write a book.”
I give a half laugh. “I’ve certainly got enough material.” I splay my bare fingers across my jeans and catch her curious glance. “My rings are at the house in the Berkshires. I left in a hurry. I’ll get them when I go back.”
“Are you sure about that?” Beth asks quietly.
“Maybe. I don’t know.” It’s the truth. I don’t know now whether, when I took them off, I intended to put them back on again. “I’m trying, Beth. Trying to do the right thing, say the right words, trying to be there for Adam and Zoe. But part of me doesn’t want to be here. Part of me just wants to go back.”
“To Brock?”
“In a way.” He’s been on my mind. Constantly. But when I dream, it’s always Kevin who shows up. I thread my fingers through my hair and wish this wasn’t so hard. “I’m so confused. When I left here I knew what was happening. Kevin had moved out and we were getting a divorce. He didn’t want me. I’d accepted it. And after a while I felt like I was starting to heal. Like I was moving on. Being back here feels stifling. I can’t think. Can’t breathe.”
“Kevin’s still here at the house?”
I nod. “In the guest room. Said he’d rather be here than at his apartment in the city. He asked if it was okay and I couldn’t tell him no. He’s driving almost two hours to get to work and back, but he wants to be here for Adam.”
“And for you?”
“I don’t know.” Part of me thinks I do know. I’m just not sure what to do about it or whether I want it to be true. “Kevin said . . . he said he thinks I’ll never forgive him. And I think he might be right. Even if I get to the point of forgiving him, truthfully, I don’t know if I could start over with him.”
“Because you’ve met someone else?” She’s hesitant and I see a hint of disapproval in her eyes, even though she’s trying her best to be supportive. I don’t blame her.
“Beth, no.” I reach for her hand and watch her expression change. I let out a sigh and acknowledge the truth. “Brock’s dying. He has an inoperable brain tumor. I have no future with him even if I wanted one.”
“Oh goodness.” Her tears come quickly and she squeezes my hand tight. “Honey, that’s . . .”
“Awful. I know.” I sit back against the couch and stare at the photographs on the mantel. “I do have feelings for him, and I know that even despite what Kevin did, it’s wrong. I’m still married. But I didn’t plan this. To meet him, to feel this way. I had no idea it was coming. And I got sucked in.”
“Oh, hon. You’ve been hurt. You were vulnerable.”
Sad laughter catches in my throat. “I’ve tried to justify it more nights than I care to count. And maybe if I’d never met him, this wouldn’t be so complicated. The worst of it is, I really think if things with Brock were different, I might . . .” I can’t voice that thought. The reality is too raw, too startling. Too wrong.
“I can’t tell you what to do, you know that.” Beth smiles, dabs at her eyes with a tissue. “But you have to figure out your feelings, figure out what you want. If you don’t want to reconcile with Kevin, he needs to know that sooner rather than later.”
“Do you think it’s possible? To get past this kind of pain? That kind of betrayal?”
“Anything is possible if it’s what you want. If you’re willing to work at it.” Beth smiles and I know what she’s thinking. But she won’t spout Scripture. I know the verses anyway.
“I wish somebody would just whack me over the head with some sign, you know?” I smile with a halfhearted shrug. “I’m trying to pray and listen . . . but sometimes I doubt I’ll ever get the answers I’m waiting for.”
I startle when the grandfather clock in the hall starts to chime, and we burst out laughing.
“Is that you, God?” Beth jokes, but I get the point.
“Remember how long I asked Kevin to get that clock fixed?” I recall the satisfied expression on Kevin’s face the first day we were home and I realized it was working.
“He made us come over and check it out the moment the guy left.” Beth laughs softly. “Said he wished he’d had it fixed years ago.”
“It sounds good. Good as new.” Sadness curls around my heart. “Too bad you can’t fix a marriage just as easily.”
“Sweetie, he’s trying. I really believe he is.”
“I know.” I’m starting to believe it too. I’ve seen changes in his behavior. Things that tell me he’s doing his best to put me and the kids first. It wasn’t always that way. But I don’t know what comes next. We’re at a stalemate. Pieces on a chessboard, hovering, waiting to see who will make the next move.
And I don’t like playing games.
Another weekend creeps up on me. I’ve been back home a month now. I miss the life I created up north. I miss talking with Clarice. Miss the sound of Maysie’s giggle. Going into the greenhouse, that strange, fragrant aroma and the feel of my fingers in the dirt as I attempt to coax new life into being, and imagine what miracles might happen in my life if I’d let them. And Brock. No matter how hard I try to put him out of my mind, he’s there.
But it’s been surprisingly easy to step back into my old life as well.
I’ve visited the elderly ladies I used to take library books to, given them new books I discovered during my time away. I’ve met up with friends I haven’t connected with in so many months and found them willing to begin again, willing to let me back into their lives. And I want them in mine. I walk each morning, along trails I’d forgotten, grateful for the fresh air and exercise and a chance to escape the static tension in the house.
It’s Saturday and Adam is downstairs in the basement family room with some friends, watching football, and Zoe is out. I make coffee, sit in the kitchen, and stare at all the photographs and magnets on the fridge. Kevin always stuck a couple of Alice ones in my stocking each Christmas.
“Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?”
“That depends a good deal on where you want to go,” said the Cat.
“I don’t much care where—” said Alice.
“Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,” said the Cat.
“—so long as I get somewhere,” Alice added as an explanation.
“Oh, you’re sure to do that,” said the Cat, “if you only walk long enough.”
Which way, indeed.
I reach for my laptop, open the page to my blog, and pause, run my fingers over the keys. I remember what Kevin said to me in Adam’s room, about how we need to stop blaming each other. That it’s time to move forward. I don’t know much, but I do know that angry venting about my husband, even anonymously, is not the way forward.
Dear friends, I type, this will be my last post. Today, after much thought and deliberation, I’ve decided to shut down the blog.
And so I begin.
When I’m done I pour another cup of coffee for myself, hesitate, and then reach for a clean mug. Kevin’s been bringing work home on the weekends. He’s been holed up in the study for most of the day.
I wander through the quiet house, mugs in hand. The door to the study is open and Kevin sits at the desk, his dark head bent over paperwork. We’ve been sidestepping each other for days. Not sure what to say or how to reac
t to being in the same house again. The kids watch us with wary eyes, waiting for some hint of which way the wind will blow.
He looks up and sees me standing there. “Hi.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I made coffee and thought you might want a cup.” I approach the desk and place the steaming mug on a coaster. “No sugar.”
He puts down his pen, stretches his arms above his head, and flashes a smile. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” I survey the study, Kevin’s domain. The dark-green walls and built-in bookshelves filled to overflowing, the old basketball that still sits pride of place on a shelf, signed by all the members of the varsity team he captained. They won the championships that year. Framed photos of the players surround the ball. I wonder what some of those guys are doing now. Whether they are husbands, fathers; happy with their lives; or if they too have marriages that have somehow fallen apart despite their best intentions.
Photos of Zoe and Adam sit on his desk, ones he didn’t take when he left. I thought he would have gotten rid of the pictures of me. But they’re still here. Our wedding day, me with each of our children the day they were born. Vacation shots taken the year we took the kids to London. The trip was my parents’ idea. Mom was into family vacations for a few years. I focus on one picture in particular—Kevin and me on a riverboat cruise along the Thames. Mom and Dad had ferried the kids off to the zoo that day, and I’m relaxed, leaning back into Kevin’s arms, looking up at him with such innocence, joy, and adoration. Little did I know in a few short years our world would implode.
For some reason, seeing Kevin here, back in the room he spent so much time in throughout our marriage, puts an unwanted lump in my throat. Because I always told myself he worked too hard, that he was obsessed with his job, never made time for the family, which wasn’t really true, but I never saw it from his perspective. Never understood that he was only doing what he felt he had to. That he only wanted to give us a good life. To allow me to stay home and raise our children like I wanted. To give the kids extracurricular activities like soccer and tennis and ice hockey. Summer camps, piano, and riding lessons. Maybe to some extent, for him that came with a cost, but I’m not sure I ever thanked him for the sacrifice.
I’m overwhelmed with emotion and I head for the door, not wanting him to see my tears.
“Savannah?”
“Yeah.” I don’t turn around.
“Want to sit?” I hear him push his chair back.
“Okay.” I exhale and find a space on the old leather couch by the fireplace.
Kevin puts his mug on the long table in front of me, throws a couple more logs on the fire, brushes his hands on his jeans, and flops down at the other end of the couch. “Nice that Adam’s buddies came over, huh?”
“Yes.” I swallow hot liquid and try to smile. “He’s had a good week, I think.”
“I think so too. He’s more talkative at least. Don’t you think?”
“He is. How do you feel about him going back to school?” Adam broached the idea last night. Said he was getting too bored and wanted to be somewhere that would take his mind off things. Wanted to get back to normal.
“I think if the school agrees, it’s probably a good idea.” Kevin runs a finger over the face of his watch. “We can schedule a call with Ms. Eldridge. He’d be able to continue counseling there too.”
“Okay. Let’s talk to her.” I take a breath and just put it out there. “What about us? Our family sessions? Have you had enough already?”
He rolls his eyes. Neither one of us was a fan of pouring our heart out to a complete stranger. The doctor we’ve been seeing is nice enough, but . . .
“I’d rather talk with John,” Kevin says. “I have been. But he . . . he’s offered to see you as well. The two of us together, I mean. If you . . .” His voice trails off and he looks away.
“Oh.” I wasn’t expecting that. My pulse picks up as I struggle for the right words. But I have no idea what they are. Or what I want. All the times I’ve asked him, begged him to come back to counseling with me, and he adamantly refused. Of course now I know why. Even then, in the years following Shelby’s death, when it got too hard, I suspect he had thoughts of leaving. “Is that what you’d like to do? You want us to go back to counseling?”
Kevin meets my eyes and nods. “Yes. I do.” Then he shrugs. “But it’s totally up to you. If you’re not ready, I won’t push it.”
“Can I think about it?”
“Of course.” He rubs the scruff on his chin and pulls his fingers through his hair. “Meant to get a haircut today. Guess time got away from me.” He gives a sheepish smile that somehow makes my stomach flip.
“It’s not horrible,” I offer. “Gives you that sexy, movie star kind of look.” Um, what did I just say?
“Yeah?” He doesn’t hide his surprise, grins a little too widely, and lifts a dark eyebrow, which does another number on my insides. Whoa. I can’t remember the last time I felt this attracted to my husband.
The moment feels so awkward it’s stupid. “Well. I was wondering if Zoe said anything to you about Tim?” Changing the subject. Safety first.
“Tim? No.”
I curl my legs under me. “I think they might have broken up. It’s weird that he hasn’t been around, especially when Adam was in the hospital. And she hasn’t talked about him. With everything going on, I haven’t wanted to ask.”
Kevin drinks his coffee and studies the flames. “That would be a shame. I like Tim.”
“Me too.” I pick at a few dog hairs on my red sweater. Poor Hope. By the time she finally comes home with me, she’ll be so confused. “I’ll bring it up when I feel the time is right. So . . .” I glance his way again. It’s hard to think of things to say. Hard to imagine we used to talk so easily. “Thanks for . . . coming back. I mean, for being here. For Adam. I think it means a lot to him.”
He shoots me a sidelong glance. “I should probably be thanking you. For letting me stay.”
How did we get to this? Stilted conversation, worrying about what to say next.
A shaky sigh leaves my lips. “How do you like your new job? Looks like you’re working hard as usual.”
“It’s a job. It pays the bills.” He leans back against the couch and studies me through serious eyes the color of a stormy sky. “Truthfully? I hate it. I really hate what I do.”
“You do?” Confusion sneaks up on me. “Really? Even when you were working for my dad?”
“Yes, even then. I only went into it because your father said there would be great opportunities. And there were. I’m not ungrateful or anything, it’s just not really what I want anymore.” He shrugs and his lips curl in a sad smile. “I’m looking down the road at fifty and suddenly I don’t know what I’ve done with my life.”
“Well.” Surprise shakes me as I ponder my response. Because I feel exactly the same way. And that scares me. “I think that too. I mean, we’ve got two amazing kids, but they’re pretty much out of the house. Adam will be off to college in a few years. They’ll get married eventually and have families of their own. And I . . .” The truth is too daunting but I can’t look away. “I don’t know where I’ll be.”
“Where do you want to be?” He asks the question quietly, like he’s almost afraid to hear the answer.
“Right now, I’m not sure.” We used to talk of traveling. We said as soon as Kevin hit retirement, we’d start on our bucket list. We dreamed about exploring Italy, Greece, maybe Australia. I probably still have that list somewhere. But now? I don’t know what my future holds. So I’m being honest, and I think that’s okay. “Things aren’t exactly going according to plan, are they?”
“I guess not.” He nods slow and thoughtful. “You know what I’d really like to do?” His grin comes back, boyish and full of mischief. I shrug and smile, sad in a way, because I have absolutely no idea.
“Tell me.”
He sits forward, new light shining in his eyes. “I’d like to run a bookstore.” A c
huckle rumbles from his chest.
“A bookstore?”
“You know, one of those delightfully old buildings with shelves and shelves of books to browse through. And a reading area with comfy couches and a coffee counter.”
It’s so easy to catch the vision that I’m right there with him. “I can see that. And you could feature local authors too, have readings, poetry nights. Remember that place we used to go when we started dating, what was it called . . .”
“Bill’s Books.” He tips his head, smiling. “Wonder if old Bill is still around.”
I grin at the memories. “You know that old bookshop in the Berkshires is for sale.”
“No kidding?” His smile slips and he sits back with a sigh, rests his foot over his knee. “Ah, well. I guess we all have our dreams.”
“I never knew you were unhappy, Kev.” It’s not until the words are spoken that I realize the deeper meaning to them. But it’s true. I didn’t. And I should have.
He doesn’t speak for a few moments. The pain of the past mars his face and he’s having trouble keeping his emotions in check. “You know . . . after Shelby died, I thought you coped so well. You seemed to carry on, with Adam and Zo, church, our friends. You gave our life this air of normalcy, and, well, I envied you that. Then after a while I hated you for it. Because you were moving through the days like things were actually going to be okay. And I was dying a little inside each day.”
“So was I.” I lower my head and watch tears splash onto my hands. Kevin reaches over and grasps one of them. Our fingers lace together from habit.
“I know that now. But I didn’t know it then. And I’m sorry for that, Savannah. I’m sorry I didn’t see through your brave front. I’m sorry I didn’t sit you down and ask how you were really doing. You might think you shut me out, but I did the same to you. I didn’t want you to know how I really felt. And until that day I came home and found you . . . I had no idea how much pain you were in.”
Where Hope Begins Page 23
