Mid Life Love: At Last

by Whitney Gracia Williams

  I looked away and stared straight ahead, pressing the TV button on my mini remote. I would have rather watched the paint mixing show than talk to him right now.

  “Claire...” His voice was low.

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t believe he’d ignored all my calls for two weeks, couldn’t believe he hadn’t called after not hearing from me in almost two days.

  “Claire, how are you feeling today?” His voice was hoarse.

  I turned the volume up.

  “You’re not talking to me?”

  “I’ve been calling you for two weeks.” I kept my eyes glued to the TV. “I’ve clearly been trying to talk to you.”

  I heard him walking closer to me, felt him brushing a hand against my cheek. “I’ve been calling you as well. I called as soon as you didn’t call me on the hour like you’ve been doing... You didn’t answer.”

  “No. You didn’t.” I rolled my eyes. “You don’t have to lie. Just admit that you’re fucking selfish and you wanted to continue making me suffer.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.” I ignored the pain in my throat. “I can understand you being mad about me talking to Ryan, really I can. And I am so sorry that I hurt your feelings by talking to him at all. It was a mistake on my part and I shouldn’t have given him a second of my time, but that was last week and you haven’t called me at all this week. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “Claire...”

  “Even Ryan has called me since I’ve been here—fucking Ryan! And apparently he’s the reason why I’m in here!” I noticed his eyes were blazing. “I haven’t called him back and I’m never going to, but...You haven’t called me since I got here—here in the fucking hospital, Jonathan. I’ve been here for two days and...” I tried not to cry. “You just...Didn’t you think something was wrong when all my phone calls suddenly stopped? Huh? Or are you that self-absorbed to where you can only focus on your anger? Even when your so-called fiancée is in the hospital?”

  He sighed and opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

  “How long were you going to let me stay at that hotel by myself? How long were you going to keep sending me note-less flowers and ignoring my fucking calls?”

  “Claire...”

  “You want to know why no one got their wedding invitations in the fucking mail?” I didn’t care that he was narrowing his eyes at me. “It’s because I didn’t like the goddamn paper invitations, Jonathan. They weren’t us, so I thought I would do something different. I called everyone we invited and told them the date and venue information. I said we weren’t sending out formal invitations, and that they would get something a few weeks before the wedding...I told them not to say anything to you about it because I wanted it to be a surprise...”

  “I’m aware of that now, Claire. Just listen to me.”

  “No...Do you know how much time it took for me to design five hundred sea hooks? Five hundred sea hooks that’ll form together as one huge sea hook with our initials across the front? Do you know? Do you?”

  He sighed.

  “As far as our cake goes...” I wasn’t backing down. “I don’t know what the hell happened with that, because I only meant to cancel one of them...And do you honestly think I would wait until the last minute to design your wedding band? Really? I didn’t want to use Valenti’s—I wanted to find a place on my own. But you—you wouldn’t even listen to me. You didn’t even give me a chance...” My voice cracked. “I can’t believe that you’re so selfish...As a matter of fact, I don’t want you here right now. Get out...Tell Greg to come in so I can thank him for being here for me. He’s been in the waiting room since I got here, where you should’ve been.”

  There was hurt in his eyes as he tucked me underneath the covers.

  “Get out, Jonathan. I only want to be around people that care right now...”

  “I made it to the hospital before you did, Claire. “ His voice was low. “I was waiting on you to get here...”

  What? I tried not to look shocked, but I could tell he’d read my mind.

  “I was on my way to the Fairmont to talk to you so we could make-up because being without you—whether I’m mad at you or not, is still unbearable...I was twenty minutes away when I got a call from my security team telling me that you’d been pushed down the steps.”

  “I don’t have any missed calls from you.” I said flatly.

  “I was using Greg’s phone. He smashed mine.”

  “By accident?”

  “Greg never does anything by accident.” He rolled his eyes. “I was trying to call a few special people that would beat the shit out of Ryan and dump his body in the sea. He ran off once the medics came, after he told them that he didn’t mean to do it—that it was an accident...”

  “I slapped him...I shouldn’t have done that.”

  He pressed his fingers against my lips. “I’ve been sitting right over there since you’ve been in this room.” He pointed to the corner, but I still couldn’t move my neck. “I told them I wasn’t leaving unless you were coming with me.”

  “You saw me tell the nurse not to call you?”

  He nodded and narrowed his eyes at me.

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I was in shock.” He looked hurt. “I couldn’t believe you’d said that—that you didn’t want to call me first.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You shouldn’t be...” He brushed his thumb against my cheek, whispering, “I deserved it...I’m so sorry, Claire. This should’ve never happened...”

  We stared into each other’s eyes, not saying anything further. Then I remembered something he’d said earlier.

  “How did your security team know that I’d fallen down the steps that soon?” I asked. “You had them watching me?”

  “Not watching you. Protecting you.” He held my hand. “Apparently they were on a coffee break when Ryan came to see you...”

  “Are they always watching me?”

  He didn’t answer. He simply ran his fingers against the sling on my left arm and shook his head. “I’m sorry they weren’t able to prevent this...They should’ve never let Ryan get that close to you...”

  “You fired them?”

  “On the spot.” He kissed my forehead. “We’ll talk about everything later. Just rest.”

  “Could you ask the doctors how much longer I’m going to be here? The numbness is starting to wear off. ”

  “A few more days.” He looked saddened. “But let’s not focus on that. I’d rather know why you didn’t show up for our meeting with the wedding planner on Wednesday.”

  “I thought the wedding was off.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “I got a call about you canceling our meeting with the marital attorney, and since you didn’t show up for the final tour of the venue the other day...”

  “I canceled the marital attorney appointment because he wanted me to sign a pre-nup, not because I don’t want to marry you.” He shook his head. “And I did show up to the venue—on time. You must have been late because I waited for you for over an hour...” He smiled. “I made a promise to you, and whether I’m upset with you or not, you’re still the stubborn love of my life... Do you still want to marry me, Claire?”

  “Yes...”

  He bent down and kissed my cheek. “Would you like to push the wedding back?” He looked over my body. “Until you feel better?”

  “No.”

  He raised his eyebrow.

  “I don’t want to wait any longer—four weeks is long enough.”

  He smiled and kissed my forehead.

  “You didn’t change anything in that last meeting with Miss Corwin did you?”

  “I did actually.” He smirked. “Quite a few things.”

  I was alert now. “A few things like what?”

  “Like the way the room will be set up, the dance floor inscription, the lighting...”

  “So, you pretty much changed everything?”<
br />
  “I guess so.” He kissed my cheek. “I didn’t have much help that day.”

  “Jonathan, you said I could choose everything. I had the perfect ideas for the reception, and for you to go and...I can’t believe you. You just have to control something don’t you?” I groaned and he walked over to turn the TV off.

  “I wasn’t done watching that, and I’m not done talking to you about our wedding reception. Can you get her on the phone so she can explain what you changed and I can make sure it all matches?”

  “No.” He hit the lights.

  “Can you at least tell me the specifics then? It’s not that I don’t trust your taste but—” I felt his lips covering mine—softly, tenderly, as if he wanted to be as careful as possible.

  “Go to sleep, Claire.”

  Chapter 17

  Claire

  Two weeks later...

  I slowly walked across the room, ignoring the faint pain in my right foot, pleading with my body to keep moving.

  So close....so close...

  I took five more steps and collapsed onto the sofa once I made it to the other side.

  My specialist clapped and handed me a cup of water. “Very good, Miss Gracen!” She was beaming. “That was two hours of walking! You are going to be strolling down that aisle with ease! Has your fiancée been letting you do a little more on your own now when you’re at home?”

  No...

  I told her yes, but Jonathan hadn’t let me do much of anything. He’d taken an extended vacation from his company so he could tend to my every need. He even had a replica of our bedroom built downstairs so I could get to it—via the wheelchair I didn’t really need to use.

  I’d tried to convince him that the pain wasn’t that bad and that I really didn’t need physical therapy, but he refused to listen and he refused to let me go to work. He had my staff come over during the day time and we all worked in various rooms. And whenever I had an appointment with a client, I hosted it outside by the pool.

  As far as the recommended exercises I was supposed to do at home, he was always ready to help me complete them. Even when it took me an hour to walk across the room without wincing, or when I cried for half a day because I couldn’t do the shoulder routine right, he was patient and encouraging.

  “How long do you honestly think it’ll be until I can run again? And can you please write a note telling Mr. Statham that I’m fully capable of getting around without that damn wheelchair? I’m not taking it home with me today...”

  She smiled and pulled a pad out of her pocket. “Of course. You can probably jog in four months...Running?” She shook her head. “We’ll talk about that when I see you again. I’ll be right back with your progress chart.”

  My cellphone rang and I held it up to my ear without looking at it. Jonathan always called right after my session was over.

  “I need a few more minutes.” I said. “I’m waiting for my progress chart.”

  “Claire...” It was Ryan.

  I hung up.

  My phone rang again and I answered it, thinking it was Jonathan.

  “Please don’t hang up, Claire.” It was the asshole again. “I’m...I’m so sorry that I pushed you—I never meant to hurt you like that...Please believe me.”

  “I don’t. And I really hope you’re out of town because there are lots of people looking for you right now.”

  He sighed. “I just want to let you know that Amanda is recovering from her surgery very well.” He paused. “Phase two was a week ago and it was risky, but it actually worked.”

  “Well, good for her and good for you. Try not to push her out of the window. Goodbye.” I hung up.

  He called back but I didn’t answer. Then he called two more times before I finally put my phone on silent.

  I was about to call Jonathan and tell him I’d be outside, but Ryan sent me a text: “One of your employees mentioned you being at St. Francis...She’s in the same place...Room 2323...I won’t be there so you won’t have to talk to me—or see me...Just tell her hello. That’s all I’m asking...”

  I wasn’t sure what made me change my mind, but there I was in line for a visitation pass, considering coming face to face with the woman who’d drastically altered my life.

  The bright lights and taupe walls were triggering memories of years past, years when Amanda would be bedridden for the entire summer, when I would bring her teddy bears and catch her up on all the gossip she’d missed from the first week of high school classes.

  It always used to pain me to see her body connected to numerous tubes, but I’d never let my concern show on my face. I always told her that “This time is the last time. You’ll never be in this room again.” And after we graduated high school together I’d believed those words were true.

  “Next!” The woman at the security desk motioned for me to step forward. “I need your license and your parking ticket from the garage for verification. If you caught the bus, I need a separate form of ID.”

  I handed her my license and my therapy card.

  “Who are you here to see, Miss Gracen?”

  “Amanda Meadows. Oncology.”

  “Amanda Meadows?” She shook her head at her screen.

  “I’m sorry.” I cleared my throat. “Amanda Hayes. She married...”

  She nodded and filled out a green ID badge before handing it over to me. “Visiting hours are over at nine unless you’re given special permission by the doctors on that floor. Keep your ID badge on at all times. You’ll get your license back once you return it. She’s on level twenty three. Next!”

  I slid my purse over my shoulder and slowly walked over to the elevators, taking a deep breath.

  Why am I doing this? I don’t owe her anything...

  Before I could talk myself out of seeing her, the elevator doors sprung open and I forced myself to step inside. It took several minutes before I reached the twenty third floor; the cart seemed to stop on every level and everyone who stepped on was pre-occupied with whatever conversation they were having on their cell phone.

  “Twenty. Three.” The elevator system’s speaker droned out and I pushed my way to the front to step off.

  I looked down on my ID badge where Amanda’s room number was written and headed to the left. Each room I passed had cards and ‘Get Well Soon’ messages taped onto the door frames.

  Room 2323....

  I stopped directly in front of the door, forcing myself not to wince as her name—Amanda Hayes, stared me right in the face in red writing.

  I knocked four times but there was no answer. I shrugged and decided to walk away, but I heard a faint “Come in.”

  I hesitated, wondering if I should face her or not.

  I twisted the handle and stepped inside. When I rounded the corner, her eyes immediately met mine.

  I stood there completely frozen, taken aback by her ghastly appearance. Her skin was pale, her eyes seemed yellowed, and all of her hair had been shaved off. She didn’t look anything like the woman I’d seen in the catering store.

  I looked next to her bed and spotted a full, brown wig hanging off the nightstand.

  “Claire?” She croaked as she slowly sat up. “I didn’t think you would actually come to see me...”

  “Me either.” I kept my distance. “I heard your surgery went well.”

  She nodded. “Yeah. It did.”

  “Well, good for you...” My eyes veered towards the flower arrangements that were sitting on her window sill. They were all red roses—polo style. The exact same ones Ryan used to give to me when we were married.

  “Would you like to take a seat?” She cleared her throat. “If you’re not too busy that is...”

  “Actually, I am.” I took a step back. “I’m not even sure why I came here in the first place...I wish you well with everything and—good to know you’ll be well in the years to come...Goodbye, Amanda...” I turned around to walk away, but she mustered a throaty “Wait!” from her lungs.

  I paused and barely looked
over my shoulder.

  “Please, listen...If you find a small—however small it may be, part in your heart that would forgive me for what I did to you, what I did to us and our friendship...I would really appreciate it. I’m trying to really fix my life and work on being more positive so I...I would just like a clean slate...”

  “A clean slate?” I slowly turned back around. “Is that what you said?”

  She gave a weak nod. “I don’t want this to weigh down on my conscience anymore...There are some days that the very thought of what I did...It makes me so sick that I can’t stomach it and I literally vomit or cry myself to sleep...It’s been years and I still can’t get over it. I want you to know that I really am sorry, Claire—for everything I put you through.” She paused. “I know we can’t be friends again—and as much as I wish that that wasn’t true, I just...I just want to be able to have a clear conscience again—to go a full year without waking up in the middle of the night thinking about what happened... ”

  I took a deep breath and tried to swallow down the bitterness that I’d felt for years, that disgusting taste of betrayal. But it was still there—sour as ever, and sick or not, she was still a bitch.

  I strolled over to her bedside and looked her right in her eyes, tempted to squeeze her oxygen bag until she begged me to stop.

  “It should weigh down on your conscience every day.” I hissed. “Every. Fucking. Day. Every time you look into his eyes—the ones I used to tell you about, remember? How they look gray in the summer time and green in the fall? Every time he’s lying on top of you and you have to look at that tattoo on his chest—the one that reads “Claire” but can’t be removed because that small keloid is right underneath it, you should feel like shit. You don’t deserve a clear conscience, Amanda, and you’ll never get a clean slate from me. Ever.”

  “Claire—”

  “No.” I didn’t give her a chance for a rebuttal. “I want you to know that I am engaged to the man of my dreams—the man of my fucking dreams. He is everything I could ever want in a man and so much more than Ryan could ever be. And even though I had to lose Ryan to find him, I didn’t need to lose him the way that I did—the way you took him from me.”