Where Hope Begins

by Catherine West

  Shelby’s room.

  Oh, God, help him.

  My fingers clench the blankets and I close my eyes in one last prayer.

  He hasn’t set foot in that room in years.

  Not since we packed up the last box, put away her furniture, and repainted. I’ve used the room sporadically for crafts and wrapping presents, but I’m still reminded of her when I go in there, and it’s too overwhelming.

  I lie very still, bite my lip, and wrestle with my conscience.

  Maybe he needs this. Time to be in there alone. Time to deal with what that means for him. What it means for us.

  Or maybe he needs you . . .

  I don’t know where the thought comes from, but it’s as clear as if someone leaned in close and spoke into my ear.

  My heart taps a reluctant beat, but I get up, pull on my robe, and pad down the hall.

  There’s not much left in the room that once belonged to our eldest child.

  The old rocker where I nursed her, where we held her through fevers and ear infections and stomach bugs, her pink princess blanket draped over it.

  A writing desk with a few framed photos on it, the table lamp turned on low, and a beat-up couch from Kevin’s college days. He and John dragged it up from the basement one year, thinking it might help him, might make it easier to be in this room. It didn’t.

  Kevin stands by the window, his back to me. He’s only wearing sweatpants, and I wonder how he’s not freezing in here. But as I step farther into the room, my bare feet sinking into soft carpet, I realize it’s actually quite warm. Warmer than it should be. Perhaps he adjusted the thermostat, but somehow I don’t think so.

  “Kevin?”

  He jumps a little and turns, surprise widening his eyes.

  He stands in silence, the shadow of a man so bound by grief and remorse that I wonder how it hasn’t killed him.

  But perhaps it has.

  Oh, Kev.

  Kevin lets out his breath and drags a hand down his damp face. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “You didn’t.” I get a little closer, almost afraid to interrupt this outpouring of sorrow. But I want to share it. I need to share it.

  “We have to let her go, don’t we?” The question is ragged, yet resolute. There is so much pain here I almost can’t bear the weight of it.

  “We do.” I nod and take the last few steps until I’m close enough to reach for his trembling hands.

  And I think, at last, I am ready.

  Kevin clears his throat. “I keep thinking about what Adam said the other day, about how we haven’t moved on. How he thinks everything he and Zoe do must measure up to Shelby somehow . . . and . . . he’s right.”

  Last week, in one of our final counseling sessions together as a family before Adam goes back to school, we talked about Shelby. I never knew how Adam and Zoe really felt. Never knew the extent of their own grief and loss. Or how they believed we never really got over their sister’s death. Talking all that through was probably one of the most difficult things any of us have ever done. But sometimes the honest truth just hurts and there’s no getting around it.

  “I know. I get that now.” A gentle breeze stirs the air and makes me smile. I don’t know where it comes from, but I don’t suppose it matters. “She’d hate to see us like this. Broken. Too stubborn to heal, to let her go. She’d hate what we’ve done to each other. The pain we’ve caused.”

  He nods in silence as tears slip down his cheeks. “You’re right.”

  “I told Adam.” I swallow fear and level my gaze on him. “While you were upstairs talking to Zoe, I told him what happened that summer. How I tried to take my life too . . . so now he knows.”

  Kevin lets out his breath and shuts his eyes a moment. “Why is it all so horrendously hard?” He presses his forehead to mine and I slide my arms around him with a shaky sigh.

  And then I realize what’s happening.

  I don’t see the past when I look at him.

  I don’t see his sins. Or mine.

  I only see a brokenhearted man struggling to free himself from the chains that dragged him down, dredged his soul, and took him into dark places he never dreamed of going.

  My man.

  My husband. The one I chose to live my life with.

  The one I promised to love forever.

  And God help me, I will fight for that.

  I will fight for this marriage.

  I will do battle with him, for him, but never again against him.

  “I think the things worth having are the ones we have to fight the hardest for.” My fingers brush across his face, move through his hair and back down to pass over the stubble that shadows his jawline. “Shelby will always be with us, Kev. In our hearts, in our memories. But she’s been gone a long time. And we need to start living again.”

  He sniffs, nods, and grazes the pads of his thumbs over my wet cheeks. “Have you always been this smart?”

  “I don’t think so.” I smile a little and try to be brave. “I’ve just had more time to think lately.”

  “I guess you have.” He smiles back at me through bleary eyes, but there’s a different light in them now. That palpable energy rises between us again and I press my hands against his warm bare skin, watching him watch me.

  “Hey, Kev?” His heart beats hard against my palm. I lower my head a bit, my hair falling forward as I wait out the moment. Wait for the courage to speak the final words that will truly free us.

  He places his thumb under my chin and tips my face up. “What?”

  My breathing is shaky, but I reach for his hands and slip my fingers between his and bring them to my lips. “I forgive you.”

  We stand there in the quiet of the dimly lit room, our eyes and hearts and souls connecting at last.

  Kevin sniffs and takes a deep breath. “What you said up at the house, over Christmas, about not wanting to be my second choice?” Tears spill onto his cheeks, but he smiles through them, winds his arms around me, and pulls me against him. “You’re not. You never could be. You’re my only choice. Always, forever.” He breathes into my hair and holds me until we both stop crying.

  In that finite moment, I hear laughter.

  It rings around the room in one quick spin and then it’s gone.

  I’m afraid to ask if he heard it, too, but the incredulous look on his face tells me I don’t need to. He shakes his head, gives a shrug and a lopsided smile. And then we’re back to staring at each other.

  “You’re stunning.” His eyes move over me, over every curve, slowly, sensuously. “My beautiful Savannah.”

  I don’t want to cry again but I can’t help it. It’s been so long since we’ve shared anything close to this kind of intimacy.

  “No more tears.” He presses soft kisses all over my face. “I love you,” he whispers, running his hands over the silky fabric of my robe. “I will always love you.”

  “I love you. So much.” I hesitate, but only for a moment. Then I place my hands on his broad shoulders, slowly slide them over his biceps and up again. I relish the groan that gets stuck in his throat as I trace my fingers across his chest in slow motion, watch him drink me in and allow myself the luxury of feeling completely and unabashedly desired by my husband.

  “You call the shots, remember?” His low voice tickles my ear as his hands move across my back in a way that makes me tremble. “I don’t want to rush you. Tell me what you want.”

  I shiver under the heat of his touch. “You. That’s what I want.”

  Kevin moves my hair aside and presses his lips to that sensitive spot just above my collarbone. “What happened to slow?”

  He’s torturing me now and I’m suddenly impatient. “Slow is for sissies.” I shove my fingers through his thick hair, pull his face up, and cover his wicked grin with my mouth. “Unless you’d rather go back to sleep.”

  “Uh, no.” He captures my laughter with his lips and molds me against him in an exquisite kiss that should be outlawed. Then he lifts
me off the floor, still working his magic over me.

  My husband carries me back down the hall to our bedroom. We are heading toward a future that, until today, I was reluctant to claim. But I welcome it now, in that slow and silent moment as he takes me back into his arms and we give and receive a love renewed.

  I welcome him back to the place he belongs.

  Because I know now, this is life.

  This is what it’s all about. This is what we were made for.

  Living through the pain, the heartache, facing fear and finally . . . finally . . . finding the courage to grab hold of grace and savor the chance to begin again.

  Sometime in the early hours of the morning Kevin shakes me awake. “Morning, gorgeous. Zoe’s getting ready to go.” We share a sleepy smile and head downstairs to see her off. I beat a hasty retreat back to the bedroom where it’s warm. Kevin will wait at the door, watching her car drive down the road until it disappears, just like he’s always done.

  Sometime later he slips back into bed.

  I let out a squeak as his cold feet brush the back of my leg. “You’re freezing.”

  “Yup.” His arms come around me and his low laughter warms the back of my neck. “We should do something about that, Mrs. Barrington.”

  And so we do.

  Somebody is yelling my name.

  “SAVANNAH!”

  I pull a pillow over my head and groan into the mattress. I didn’t realize I still had my phone turned on. It’s probably a telemarketer. Kevin startles as it rings again in Martin squawk and I peek over at him.

  He moans and flings an arm across his face. “What . . . in . . . the . . . world . . . is that?”

  “Um. My phone.”

  “Why does it sound like a parrot?”

  “Long story.”

  “Where is it?”

  “No idea.” I cover my head again. I hear him fumbling around, cursing until he finds the thing.

  “Who is Mitch Chandler?” His voice sounds gravelly, satiated, and still heavy with sleep and it makes me smile. But then I realize what he’s said and open my eyes.

  “Brock’s brother.” Crazy fear wraps cords around me. “Oh no.”

  Kevin holds the squawking phone toward me but I shake my head. I think I might actually be sick. “I can’t. Please answer it, Kev.”

  He nods. “Hello? Uh-huh. No.” He narrows his eyes a bit. “Yeah. This is Kevin . . . Who is this . . . Maysie?”

  I sit up fast, pulling blankets with me as I lean against his shoulder.

  “Slow down, sweetheart. Where are you?” He pushes his fingers through his disheveled hair and looks at me through worried eyes. “Hang on, honey. Savannah’s right here.” Somehow he knows exactly what button to press for speakerphone and Maysie’s tearful voice trembles out.

  “Mi . . . Miss . . . Savannah?” she hiccups. “Are you there?”

  “Yes, I’m here. Mays? What’s going on, sweetie?” My heart begins to thump in wild staccato and I take a breath. Kevin puts the phone between us and puts an arm around me.

  “Daddy fell down. He’s in the hospital and I . . . have to wait out here.”

  “Are you at the hospital, Mays?” I put a hand to my mouth as she lets out a sob. “Sweetie, are you by yourself? Where’s Aunt Clarice?”

  “I’m in the hospital, too, but I hafta stay out here in this room. Aunt Clarice is with my daddy. And so’s Uncle Mitch. He . . . bought me . . . donuts and said I could play games on his phone.” She gulps out the words. “I’m sc-scared.”

  I close my eyes and imagine her sitting in a hospital waiting room all by herself with a big box of donuts on her lap.

  Kevin grabs the phone because I can’t get words out. “Don’t be scared, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  I widen my eyes at that one.

  “Okay.” Maysie sniffles a little. “I ‘membered your number with my picture memory. You know, like what Daddy has?”

  A sob mingles with laughter. “That’s good, sweetie. I’m so glad you did.”

  “Can you . . . come . . . back, Miss Savannah?”

  Oh, Lord. Help.

  I don’t even have my car. I left the Escalade up north. I’ve been using one of my parents’ cars while I’ve been home. How . . .

  Kevin jogs my elbow to get my attention. “We can drive up right after we drop off Adam. If the weather holds we can be there this afternoon.”

  Oh, this man. “Are you sure?”

  Kevin runs a thumb over my cheek and nods. “Maysie? We’ll get there as soon as we can. I’ll get Miss Savannah up there today, okay?”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise. Hey, Maysie?” Kevin gets out of bed, already searching for clothes. “Is there a nurse or someone there I can talk to?” He’s taken charge, looks back at me over his shoulder, and jerks his head toward the bathroom. Go, he mouths, I’ve got this.

  Before I can even think, we’re packed and on the road, halfway to Adam’s school. Our son is leaning forward between us, ignoring my pleas to sit back and put on his seat belt.

  “Just let me get this straight.” He shakes his head again. “You’re going to drop me at school, then go back up to the Berkshires to see this Brock guy who’s got the hots for Mom.”

  “He does not have the hots for me!” I gasp and ignore Adam’s chuckle.

  Kevin shoots me a sidelong grin and lowers his sunglasses a little. “He totally has the hots for you, darlin’.”

  “But he’s probably gonna die, so it’s a moot point,” Adam decides.

  I slink lower in my seat and cross my arms. “Are you done with the interrogation, counselor?”

  “I guess so.” I hear the click of Adam’s seat belt and let out my breath.

  “What’s the verdict?” Kevin wants to know, teasing in his tone.

  Adam laughs a little too loudly. “That you guys are even weirder than I thought you were. Hey, lawyers make good money, right?”

  “If they’re good at what they do, yes.” I roll my eyes. Just what we need. Another one in the family.

  “Maybe I’ll talk to Zo about that. We could open our own firm.”

  “Perfect.” Kevin grins. “So you’ve given up the professional skateboarder dream?”

  “Ha-ha. That was when I was, like, eleven.” Adam leans forward again. “I might want to go to Harvard, though, if I can get my grades back up. Sorry, Dad.”

  Kevin gives a mock sob. “You’re just angling for your grandfather’s millions.”

  “Well, I didn’t think of that, but . . .” He cackles when I turn around and give him the stink eye. We drive on a bit in silence.

  “So . . .” Adam pipes up again when we settle at a stoplight. “You guys aren’t getting a divorce?”

  I lean back in my seat, smile, and look over at my husband.

  Kevin reaches for my hand and brings it to his lips. “No. No divorce.”

  CHAPTER 29

  “’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”

  —ALFRED LORD TENNYSON

  How do I do this?

  We don’t say anything on the ride up the hospital elevator. I have no idea what to expect and no idea what I’ll say or do when I see Brock. So I try to think about Maysie instead. Our first task is to find her.

  Kevin follows me down the busy hallway, past empty beds and monitors, nurses walking hurriedly and wandering visitors searching for the right rooms. Kevin has done the legwork for us and we find the waiting room easily enough.

  Maysie is curled up on a red faux-leather couch, sound asleep, a brown teddy bear tucked under her arm. A man is sprawled in a chair, hands behind his head, with long denim-clad legs and cowboy boots.

  I glance back at Kevin, who’s looking a little uncomfortable, and I wonder if he’s having second thoughts. But we’re here now. I move in and study the sleeping man, hoping he’s Mitch Chandler or I’m going to be sorely embarrassed. “Excuse me?”

  He startles, sits forward with a gr
unt, and settles a pair of familiar blue eyes on me.

  It would appear the Chandler brothers have the market completely cornered on the genes for good looks.

  “Mr. Chandler? Mitch?”

  He rubs his eyes and gives me a skewed look. “Yes?”

  “I’m Savannah Barrington. A friend of Brock’s.”

  I see Brock in the way he musses his blond hair and scratches the stubble on his jaw. His smile broadens as he gets to his feet. Clearly he knows who I am. “Savannah.” He takes my hands in his. “Did Clarice call you?” He still looks a bit confused.

  “No. Actually, Maysie did.” Now the poor man is really confused.

  Kevin moves in, clears his throat, and sticks out a hand.

  “Kevin Barrington. Savannah’s husband.”

  “Um. Okay.” Mitch looks at me in some surprise and I know then exactly how much Brock has told him. But Mitch recovers quickly. “Great. Great to meet you both.” They shake hands and Mitch glances from me to Kevin to Maysie. If the situation wasn’t so stressful I might laugh.

  I fill him in on Maysie’s early-morning call. He shifts a little uncomfortably, then flashes a smile. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure whether to call you, Savannah. Clarice was so upset I didn’t want to ask.” He’s got the same southern drawl. “But I’m glad y’all are here.”

  “I’m here for Maysie.” It’s half true, though I know both men in the room see past the pretense.

  “Of course.” Mitch nods too seriously. He adjusts a loose-fitting polo shirt and flicks some fluff off his dark jeans.

  “How is he?” I can see the stress on Mitch’s face and wonder how bad things really are.

  “Not fantastic. According to Clarice, he’s spent the last few weeks holed up in that library of his, writing like the devil was after him. A few days ago he could barely get out of bed, but she couldn’t get him to see a doctor. I flew in yesterday and he looked like hell. Then this morning he was up and making breakfast like always. I thought I was dreaming it. He turned around to say something and just passed out. I was pretty sure”—he shoots Maysie a look—“that this was it. But . . . he is miraculously still with us.”

  Suddenly Maysie stirs. She pushes herself up and lets out a shriek. “Miss Savannah!” The next minute she’s thrown herself at me and I pick her up and wrap her up tight. “You’re here!” She buries her face in my neck and I press back tears.