While the microwave whirs, I flip through the junk mail and bills that are on the table, my mind only partially registering what I’m doing. I wonder idly if Ronan would appreciate me showing up at his office or if I should ask him first. I haven’t talked to him once the entire three days I have been gone, driving Carter across the long state of Florida, getting him settled, and coming back.
My eyes wander to the framed family photo on the wall across from the kitchen. Ronan’s arm is around my waist, his dark hair contrasting with his sparkly blue eyes. Carter, blonde like me, is standing on the other side of me. My two men, handsome in completely different ways. I look dwarfed by them, both of them towering over my slight frame.
Ronan had been ‘that guy’ in high school; the one that every girl wanted. Except for some reason, he had wanted me. I hadn’t been anything special. Sure, I was pretty enough, with my blonde hair, green eyes, and athletic body. I had always been an introvert, and definitely not one of the ‘cool girls’. From the time he had started at my high school in my junior year, we had been together. He had helped me come out of my shell, and I had—well I’m not sure what I had done for him.
We broke up right before graduation, since he was headed to New York for college and I was staying in Kentucky and his family had pressured him into breaking up with me. Except that hadn’t lasted for long, and within a few months he had given up New York and we had headed to Florida as we got married and started our family. The things that happened in between that time is something neither of us like to relive, and we have spent the majority of our married lives trying to forget the time we had been broken up. As hard as I try, the memories attack me out of nowhere sometimes, and I find myself wondering where he is and what he’s doing. It would be easy enough to find out: I know my parents still keep in touch with his. But it’s a line I know I can’t cross. Not anymore. That is part of my past, and I have to leave it there. I haven’t heard from him since that fateful summer, unless you count the terrible pictures and the cryptic note I’d been sent. But I try to forget those images, even if they are forever burned in my brain.
The microwave beeps, shaking me from my daydream, and I turn and take the meal out to let it cool. I go back to the mail and see a letter addressed to me tucked into some other bills. Frowning, I pick it out of the pile and look at it. It’s Ronan’s handwriting; that much I know. But why would Ronan send me a letter to our own house? The days of sending letters are long over, as we survive solely on technology to do everything for us.
Confused, I rip open the envelope, my mind racing. I don’t think he has ever sent me mail, especially to our own house. As I catch a whiff of the cologne I bought for him for Christmas, my stomach starts churning. I have the feeling that whatever this is, I’m not going to like it at all.
My hands shake as I pull the letter from the envelope. It’s probably nothing, I tell myself. I know that it’s my nature to expect the worst, so I often try to talk myself out of the hysteria that threatens.
I see the typed words and Ronan’s scrawled signature at the bottom. He typed a letter to me. It looks like something he would send to a business associate, with his letterhead across the top and his formal signature at the bottom.
My eyes scan it, trying to look for clue words on what it might say. Forcing myself back to the top of the letter, I stare at my typed name for what seems like forever. Liane. I have always loved the way he says my name, especially while we are making love. My name falls from his lips like a prayer, and it always makes me feel good. Wanted. Loved.
Forcing my eyes to the first line of the letter, I fight the urge to throw up. It isn’t too long; the words take up less than half of the page.
Liane,
I hope that getting Carter to school went well. I’m very sorry that I wasn’t able to be there with you. I’ve loved you for a very long time, and this is very hard to say to you. You’re a great mother and wife, and an amazing teacher to those little students. I have always known that I didn’t deserve you, even back when we were teenagers. Now that Carter is grown and off on his own, I have to be honest now. If you think about it, you feel it also. Our marriage is over. I’ve moved out while you were gone. Don’t worry about the house or the car; you can keep it. I’m not fighting you for anything, I just want out. I can’t pretend anymore. I’ll always love that you are the mother of my son and you’ve been such a great part of my life, but it’s time for both of us to move on. I’ll have my lawyer send the papers sometime this week.
I’m sorry. Please forgive me. It’s not you, it’s me. I just don’t love you anymore, and to be honest… I’m not sure you ever loved me.
Ronan
I drop the letter like it’s on fire and feel my legs giving way. I watch the paper flutter to the floor a few feet from me, like it’s mocking me. Clutching my chest, I force air in and out of my lungs as the room spins around me. No. This is a bad dream. I’m going to wake up and be in my bed, exhausted from my trip. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying but failing to keep the tears from escaping past my eyes. Stumbling up, I half run, half fall up the stairs and fling open our bedroom door. I’m going to find all of his things still here; this is some sort of cruel joke. There’s no way he would do this to me.
My eyes dart wildly around our room, looking for the telltale signs of Ronan: his phone charger by his nightstand, his work shoes tucked into the corner, his gym clothes over the chair. None of it is there. A strangled cry comes from my throat as I stand at the door to our walk-in closet. My eyes scan the closet, frantically looking for what I know is supposed to be there. But instead of racks of his suits, polo shirts and pants, I see empty hangers. Empty. Ronan’s things are gone. I drop to my knees on the plush floor and see a sweater that he had left. Crawling over to it, I recognize it as one I had given him years ago. Clutching it to my chest, I allow the finality of this to overtake me. It isn’t a joke or a bad dream. My husband left me. The empty hangers mock me, swinging back and forth like children on a swing set as I howl, clutching that sweater like it’s the last life preserver on earth. This isn’t happening. Not after all this time. Not after everything I gave up.
I HAVE NO idea how long I’ve been lying on the floor in the closet, clutching that old sweater to my chest, but I know it’s long enough to make my back sore. My eyes are puffy and barely functional from crying, and my chest feels like an elephant is sitting on it. Stumbling back down the stairs, I realize it had gotten dark while I was upstairs wallowing in my own pity. Realizing I never told Carter I made it home safely, I dig in my purse for my phone. Just as I pick it up, it rings in my hand. I jump, sending the phone clattering to the counter. Fumbling to pick it up, my heart hammers in my chest. What if it’s Ronan? What if he’s sorry and is coming back?
Finally getting the thing in my hand correctly, I see that it’s Kinsley. She and I have been friends ever since college. While I’d only been there for one semester, our friendship had lasted the test of time. Ironically, she’d ended up meeting her husband while she was here visiting me one summer, and the rest, as they say, is history. She’s my best friend in the world, but I don’t think I can talk to her just yet. She will know just by the sound of my voice. But I also know that she won’t stop calling until I answer her, because she’s checking to see if I’m home safely.
I stare at the screen until the call ends, knowing I only have a few more minutes until she calls again. What will I tell her? How can I explain this to her? She has the perfect marriage; her husband would never do this to her and their two girls. He worships the ground she walks on. Like you thought Ronan did, the voice in my head reminds me. I shake my head against the thought.
The phone chimes with a voicemail, but I know I can’t listen to it. I tap out a quick text to her, letting her know that I’m home and exhausted. There. That should do the trick. When I see her name again within seconds of my text, I sigh. She isn’t going to give up. I can do this, right?
“Hey Kins,” I answer, trying but faili
ng to keep my voice from cracking.
“Lia, what’s going on?” Her voice has that no nonsense tone I’m used to from her. Other than Ronan, she knows me better than anyone else. There had been a time that two other people had known me like that too, but one I hadn’t spoken to in years and the other, my childhood best friend Gretchen, had died eight years ago during childbirth. Both things still pain me to even think about.
I try to make the lie come out of my mouth; God knows I do. I don’t want to tell anyone and admit that this is really my reality now. But as soon as my mouth opens, the floodgates break and sounds that could never be described as words tumble out. I know that nothing I’m saying makes sense, but I can’t stop myself from continuing.
“Lia,” Kinsley’s soothing voice breaks through my babbling. “Sit tight. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“No,” I manage to force out of my mouth before more gibberish ensues. Damn it, I wish I could stop myself from continuing this foolishness, but it’s like a switch has been flipped that’s unable to be stopped.
“Yes. Now breathe, honey.” I close my eyes and try to listen to the soothing tone of her voice. I hear her rustling, muffled sounds as she says something to her husband Zander, then her car engine starting. She talks to me the entire time she drives to my house, and all I can do is try to focus on the sound of her voice. I have no idea what she’s saying, my body shaking uncontrollably as I wait for her to come save me from myself.
“I’m here. I’m letting myself in.” I mumble some sort of answer, glad that I had given her that key long ago. There’s no way I have anything in me to get up and answer the door. As I hear her walking towards me, I force myself to sit up. I groan in pain from lying on the floor for so long.
“Lia,” Kinsley gasps, using her weight to help pull me up off the kitchen floor. “What are you doing? What happened? Is it Carter?” Her dark eyes search mine, and I all I can do is shake my head ‘no’. “Ronan?”
The second his name goes past her lips, I crumple. Kinsley half drags me to the couch, and I know it isn’t easy. Though I’m not a big person, she is tiny, her Asian background making her easily several inches shorter than me and about thirty pounds lighter. My mouth opens and closes; I know I need to say something to explain myself. But once again, only inhumane sounds come from my lips as I struggle to get my composure. The letter, I thought. That would explain everything. But where is it now? My eyes swing back to the kitchen, where I know it had fluttered to the floor all those hours ago. Kinsley follows my gaze, her hand clasped tightly in mine.
“You’re scaring me,” she whispers, tears gathering in her eyes. She hasn’t seen me like this since back then; I know it is totally freaking her out. I’ve always been careful about how much emotion I show, even to my best friend, after those dark days. God, it seems like a lifetime ago that I kissed my baby boy goodbye and wished him well in his first year of college. Ronan had this all planned out, didn’t he? “Should I call Ronan?”
That got my attention. My eyes snap up to hers and I shake my head vehemently. “No.” I withdraw my hands from hers and put them over my face instead, unable to stop the moaning sound that comes from my mouth.
“Letter,” I mumble through my hands. I know I’m not making any sense to her and I’m pretty sure I look like a mental case. Hell, maybe that would be the best thing. Commit me and give me some drugs to make me forget.
“Letter?” Kinsley questions, pulling my hands from my face. “Lia, you have to talk to me. I’m here for you, but I need to understand what’s going on.”
I force air in and out of my lungs, my heart pounding like it might jump out of my chest. I feel like I could be sick at any moment; my stomach is churning and revolting against the onslaught of emotion overtaking me. “He wrote me a letter,” I squeak out, pointing in the vicinity of the kitchen. This is all Kinsley needs to hear, and she makes her way quickly to the kitchen, her eyes sweeping back and forth as she looks for the paper. All I can do is watch her in shock as she looks for the paper. Maybe I imagined it; maybe I was asleep and having a nightmare. Kinsley would come back and shake her head, laughing and telling me I was worrying over nothing, Ronan was on his way home from work.
When Kinsley bends over and retrieves the letter, my eyes fill with tears again. She turns back to me, holding it in her hand as she looks from me to the paper, her eyes wide as saucers. It’s true. The letter had been right where I dropped it; there’s no way this is a bad dream.
She crosses the room quickly and wraps her arms around me. The second my forehead hits her shoulder, my body starts shaking again; streams of tears make their way out of my eyes and soak into her shirt. Kinsley rubs my back and whispers into my ear, but I haven’t a clue what she’s saying. This can’t be happening to me. I’ve never been the kind of woman that wants to assert my independence; I love being a wife and mother. Now I feel like I am nothing.
I have no idea how long we sit like that, but I finally lift my tear-stained face to hers. “I can’t do this,” I whisper, the first full sentence I have said in hours. “Why is he doing this to me? What did I do wrong? I’ve always loved him and put him and Carter first. Now I have no one, Kinsley! I can’t be alone. I…”
“Lia,” Kinsley interrupts, putting her small hands over mine. “I wish I knew how to make this better for you. If I could find him right now, I would give him a piece of my mind. What kind of decent man does that to their wife? He was such a coward, honey. Nothing about this was what you deserved; not at all. He should’ve sat you down and talked to you about what was going on in his head. Have you tried to call him?”
I shake my head. “No way. I’ve barely been able to speak.”
A small smile crosses her lips. “Liane Collier, you can’t let him do this to you. If he wants to get a divorce, he has to be a man and talk to you about it. Sending you a letter after over eighteen years of marriage? That’s beyond shitty, and you know it. You don’t deserve to be treated no better than a mistress being let go from her married boyfriend. He doesn’t think you’ll call him on his behavior, because in the past you’ve allowed him to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. It’s about time Liane Collier finds her inner bitch, because you’ve been wronged. You deserve respect. Don’t let him get away with this. You get tonight to be upset, but tomorrow morning when you wake up, you pick up that phone… actually, scratch that. You go to that bastard’s office and you don’t give him an option about listening to you. Demand the respect you deserve. You do this on your terms, not his.”
I listen to every word she says; I really do. I wish that I could put her feisty little self inside my pocket and do all of those things. But none of that is me. I’m more likely to run away with my tail tucked between my legs than do any of the things she says I should do. I know he had taken the coward’s way out, and he knows I won’t call him on it. So maybe that’s the reason I should try what she’s saying.
“I know you’re right,” I hiccup. “But I’m afraid, Kins.”
“Afraid? You’re just going to let him throw this away and you aren’t going to fight? Is this what you want?”
“No!” I shriek, standing up abruptly and pacing the room, my mind reeling from what she’s saying. She’s right. I can’t just let him throw this away and accept it.
“That’s my girl,” Kinsley says, grabbing my shoulders and stopping my pacing. “So you have tonight to cry and come up with your plan. Tomorrow morning, you will be waiting at his office when he arrives, and you won’t let him get away with this. Right?”
I lock my gaze on her face, my chest heaving with the exertion of my increased breathing. I could do this, right? I had to do this. I loved him, I still love him. I find myself nodding, even though I’m not entirely sure I can go through with it.
“If I have to come over here and drive you there, I will,” she says. “Now get up there and get some sleep. Tomorrow morning, you’re going to show Ronan Collier a side of you he hasn’t seen ever before.”
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We hug quickly, and I try to keep a reign on the tears that threaten again. I watch as she walks out the front door and pulls her car out of the driveway. I’m alone again. Looking around the big house that Ronan and I thought of as our dream house, I feel a deep ache settling in my bones. He doesn’t want me. He said that he didn’t love me anymore, and that I didn’t love him, either. How can he say that? I have given him my entire life; all of me at all times.
I can’t bear to turn the lights off, so I just curl up on the couch and close my eyes. There’s no way I can lay in our bed tonight. Picking up my phone, I see nothing on the screen. Ronan really doesn’t care if I made it home or not. My stomach clenches as I realize that Carter hasn’t called to see that I made it back, either. I can’t blame him; he’s a college kid in the most exciting time of his life. Here I am, thirty-seven years old, and I have no idea who I am anymore.
MY EYES BLINK open as a beam of sunlight shoots straight into my eyes. Groaning, I fumble for my phone on the coffee table to silence the alarm. I can’t believe I actually fell asleep. I had stared at the ceiling the entire night, praying for my phone to ring, for it to be morning, for me to disappear, and so many other things. My heart plummets as I realize that even though it’s only seven in the morning, no one has tried to contact me.
I think about what Kinsley said last night. Should I just call Ronan instead of going there? My stomach clenches as I think of seeing him face to face and him rejecting me. You’re being ridiculous, Liane. He’s your husband. You’ve known him since you were sixteen years old. Get a grip. With renewed resolve, I rush up the stairs to take a shower. If I go to him, will he remember how much he loves me? Will he tell me he’s sorry and pull me into his arms, his signature scent washing over me? It’s possible, isn’t it? Then everything can be fine again, and we can forget all of this. Right?
Twisted Paths Page 2
