Eight Goodbyes

by Christine Brae

  “I don’t know. I feel like I slept through the past three years. I lived in the present, sank myself into raising Ciela. And now that phone call’s woken me up and nothing feels right. I want to find him. I want to know he’s okay. It’s time to remember what happened.”

  “There’s Will. There’s your career. There is your daughter. How will you manage all that—this life—and reconnect with the past at the same time? Listen. I know it’s been a living hell, not being able to remember what happened. But it was a mutual agreement between the two of you.”

  “And he never tried to come back,” Tessa answered, the pain of Riley’s words going straight to her heart.

  Clouds of cold air emanate from Riley’s lips. They look at each other and acknowledge the need to get indoors. They stand, hold hands and walk out toward the parking lot.

  “I have to be home before Ciela gets there,” Tessa says. “I have no answers today. Give me some time to digest it all. And then I’ll know what to do next.”

  Riley nods. There’s nothing they could do today. Tessa would have to tie up loose ends before pursuing the threads that would lead back to her past.

  The weekend drags on. Tessa is forced to shroud her anxiety, mask her apprehension, forget her pain. It feels worse than when she first lost Jake. The panic attacks have returned; she can hardly breathe, makes every effort to function.

  A week after the phone call, Ciela has a birthday party at Chuckie Cheese. Tessa can’t decide whether spending time with the other mothers in the midst of carnival music and screaming children would kill her or help her. But then she reminds herself: she’s been dead for a while, so what does it matter? Ciela is the only one who reminds her to pull herself back up. And Will’s love for her makes her feel like she still deserves to live. Two people who have no clue they’ve saved her.

  Tessa sits motionless on a bench facing a musical helicopter ride rising and falling a few feet from the ground, its propeller churning slowly as her daughter bobs up and down in its seat. A small sized cheese pizza and two paper cups of root beer are placed neatly in front of her.

  “Sit still, Ciel,” she orders, “or you might hurt yourself.”

  Ciela nods and lifts her arms up in the air. “Go, go, go!”

  Tessa has grown accustomed to seeing him in her daughter’s eyes. Today, she longs for him so much, the physical pain is debilitating. It’s too difficult for her to stand, to sit, to interact.

  The ride’s motion mesmerizes, hypnotizes her. She clears her mind of everything—lord knows she’s learned to master the art of shutting off. Of storing away the memories of the day that changed everything. Not like she hasn’t tried to remember. But there hasn’t really been any time to dwell on it. She molds herself into the mother she’s always wanted to be and makes sure the past no longer has a hold on her life. She’s given up every semblance of the person she was before. And now, all she wants is to free herself from all this pretense. Before she completely loses herself. Does she even know who she is anymore?

  The party progresses, the lunch alarm goes off and all the kids are corralled in an area with tables in front of a large stage. Chuckie and his friends are about to do their dance. Ciela bounces excitedly in her seat. More pizza is served, and then a birthday cake. Chocolate and fudge and everything sweet, devoured by parents and children alike.

  Tessa and Ciela dance with the mascots, take pictures and go on more rides. Three hours pass and the world around her swirls in music and camaraderie. No one bears a mark of sadness in this place. Everyone’s secrets are hidden for the sake of their children.

  “Wiw!” Ciela jumps up from her dance and races in the opposite direction. Will sweeps her in his arms and gives her a kiss. Tessa follows her daughter until the three of them are side by side, a perfect picture of family and togetherness.

  Will leans over to kiss Tessa, and she takes his hand.

  “Hi.”

  To the parents in Ciela’s school, they are a couple. In fact, everyone has assumed Will is Ciela’s father. They think it’s cute that she addresses him by his first name. Tessa and Will play along, without the need to explain anything to anybody.

  “Finished my deposition early, so I thought I’d come and join the party,” he says. “I’ve missed you.”

  It has been a week since she told him she was feeling sick and sent him home. She hasn’t seen him in all that time. Normally, they spent weeknights together and weekends in his house in the suburbs. She’s at a loss for faking normalcy and so she tries her best to avoid him.

  “Are you hungry?” she asks as Ciela rejoins her friends. “There’s so much pizza on the tables. I think they have a few with peppers for the parents.” She leads him toward the boxes and trays.

  Will grabs a piece and sits next to Tessa as they watch Ciela pick up where she left off. She twirls around in her little pink tutu, ballet slippers gliding on the floor, trying her best to mimic the dance steps brought forth by the mascots.

  “She’s really getting into it,” Will says proudly.

  Tessa pours him some root beer.

  Ciela runs toward them carrying an oversized balloon. Will stands abruptly and approaches her before she reaches her mother. He takes the object from her hand.

  “No!” Ciela shrieks. “Mama, wook! Owange!”

  “Ciely,” says Will. “Let’s get a blue one instead, okay?”

  Tessa turns around to collect herself, straightening her sleeves and then her blouse and repeatedly running her palms against her jeans. There are triggers. And that color continues to be one of them. Will keeps Ciela away from her mother for a good half hour.

  Until Ciela decides she’s too tired to sit through the opening of the gifts. It’s the same routine, refusing to set foot on the ground, her legs curling up as she lifts her arms and asks to be carried, followed by the kicking and whining. Will gathers their things as Tessa bids goodbye to the birthday celebrant.

  Later, at the house, Ciel motions for Will to take her upstairs and put her to bed. He steals a glance at Tessa, asking with his eyes if he could spend the night.

  Tessa takes his hand and nods.

  When the lights are out, and the house is quiet, Tessa and Will remain relaxed on the couch in front of the fire. They talk about their week, about Will’s most recent case. Tessa asks if he’s had a chance to review the production studio’s latest offer, and his thoughts on the indicated terms. He teases her about her choice of fixtures for the renovation and she teases him back about his lack of taste in hardware.

  Before Simon’s call, Tessa had been slowly giving in to the nesting phase of her life. Will has convinced her it’s time to update the look of the house. With the money she made from selling the movie rights, cash is never a problem. But then again, Will would have gladly paid for everything—he is, in his own right, a successful partner in a respected law firm. Who would have thought she would be dating someone in a suit?

  The glow of the fire, the silence in the house, their closeness to each other, the laughter they share. It just isn’t the right time for Tessa to tell him about Simon. Will holds her face in his hands and pours his love out when he kisses her.

  But tonight, she struggles to feel it. She consciously trails her hand downward and touches him, wanting him more than ever. She’s developed a habit of doing this, of initiating pain and coupling it with pleasure. Part of her resolve to live and feel in the moment. The force of his body inside her keeps her in the present, gives her something to focus on, even just for a few minutes. She gets what she wants from him. There would be other days or nights that would bring her more courage to tell him about the secrets she’s been hiding.

  She breaks his kiss, turns around and lifts her skirt up, urging him to enter her from behind. He obliges, pushing her down on the sofa, muffling her cries into the pillow, too involved to hear her utter the name of the man on her mind.

  And so, here she sits in her therapist’s office.
/>   “Did I ever tell you the original Lionel and Carissa weren’t star-crossed lovers?”

  Tessa crosses her legs before tucking her hands under her thighs. She wiggles her eyebrows at the man sitting directly in front of her, trying her best to lighten the mood in the room.

  “No, you didn’t. Why bring it up?”

  “I originally planned a HEA for those two. Until. Well, until I decided they didn’t deserve to end up together.”

  “HEA?” he asks, confused. Sometimes she forgets not everyone lives in her world.

  “Happy Ever After. You know, happy ending.”

  “Oh.” He nods and stares at her. Is he waiting for something?

  She matches his head bobbing with her own and digs her fingernails into the leather couch, focused on connecting old scratches with a new one.

  “Tessa.”

  “Owen, I know. I’m sorry about the absence. I thought I was fine. I didn’t think we were making any progress, and Ciel was growing so quickly and the days just blended into years, and now she’s almost two,” she rambles.

  “I was just going to ask how you’ve been,” he laughs. “How are things? And what brings you here after two years?”

  “Well,” she exhales loudly. “Three weeks ago, I got a call from Simon.”

  “Simon Fremont? The man you were going to marry before the—”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “And what did he want from you? Didn’t you tell me you were separated at the hospital? That the doctors advised you to separate from him for the sake of your recovery?”

  What was he trying to be so articulate for? It’s not like she doesn’t know.

  “I think it was a temporary thing. But he never came back,” she said. “Anyway, long story short—he said he just wanted to hear my voice. But it stirred something inside of me that won’t let things go anymore. I can’t stop thinking about him. I want to find him, talk to him. I can feel it, Owen. If he stayed away for this long, why now? Something must be wrong.”

  “Find him?” Owen asks. “How?”

  “Well, for starters, I reactivated my Twitter account. Last week, I sent him a message.”

  She looks at her therapist’s face for a reaction. There is none.

  She pulls her phone out of her purse and leans forward. “Remember that’s how we first started communicating? He followed me on social media. Well, since I don’t know where he is, I thought I would just post a message for him. Look.”

  GIRL IN 7C is searching for her friend, @DISCONNECTED. You called me three weeks ago and now it’s my turn to look for you. Please message me back.

  Owen leans back, and Tessa does the same. She puts the phone away and twists so she’s facing sideways, her cheek resting on the headrest.

  “So, it’s been a week? Have you heard from him?” Owen asks.

  “No.”

  “Tessa, have you considered how Riley is feeling in all this? The memories you’re trying to face are hers too. Have you guys talked about it?”

  Tessa pauses. “Not really. I know she’s more advanced in her process because she kept with the PTSD sessions and I stopped because I was pregnant shortly after. All she said was that she was supportive of my decision.”

  Owen nods.

  She continues. “Owen? Why do you think I can’t remember anything about that night? I mean, it was all over the media outlets. Nineteen people were killed, and it was international news. Jacob was honored one month later and maybe if I wasn’t so sick in the hospital, I could’ve relived what I needed to then, instead of holding on to it all these years.”

  She shivers when she remembers spending the holidays at Pitie’ Salpetriere’, a hospital in Paris, heavily sedated and alone. Riley’s parents had come from Madrid to take her home.

  “You’re experiencing one of the main characteristics of PTSD which is avoidance. A person may avoid people, places, thoughts, or situations that may remind him or her of the event. Your feelings of detachment and isolation from family and friends, as well as a loss of interest in activities you once enjoyed, is how you’re reacting to the trauma. It’s normal, Tessa. This new development may force you to face things sooner rather than later.”

  “Yes,” she agrees. Although she doesn’t know if she would have avoided this forever if Simon hadn’t contacted her.

  “Okay,” Owen begins again. “I think we need to break this down in a few parts. What is your major concern at the moment?”

  “It’s Riley. I’m afraid she may resent knowing that Simon is still here. First Ciel and now Simon. It’s like my life never suffered, but hers did. At least they are living, here in this world. Jacob is gone.”

  “Riley is married, starting a life of her own. Let’s focus on you.”

  “I know that,” she says, her eyes clouding with tears. “But Jake’s gone!” She begins to cry. “I’m going to have to relive what happened. And that’s why I’m here, Owen. I know. I know I can’t search for Simon if I don’t accept what’s happened.”

  Owen stands, walks to his desk and grabs a box of Kleenex. He places it on the coffee table in front of them before returning to his seat. Tessa pulls a wad of tissue and blows her nose.

  “Assuming you end up finding Simon, which in today’s day and age may not be a difficult endeavor, what next? What do you want from him?”

  He clicks his pen once, twice. She watches as he begins to scribble furiously. She’s running out of time and she can’t believe she’s here instead of on a plane headed for somewhere to find him.

  But she can’t break down, can’t give in to the chaos in her heart. She has a daughter now, a child who depends on her. She needs to go about this the right way.

  Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound of Owen’s pen against the clipboard calls her to attention.

  “Oh, sorry. You were waiting for me to say something.” She giggles nervously. “What was the question again?”

  “Your plans, Tessa. And what you’d do once you find him.”

  “Well, aside from sending him messages, I may go to London to see his family. Right now, I don’t know what his situation is, but all I want to do is remember. I want to tell him what’s happened in the past three years. I want to see for myself that he’s okay. It’s been so long—the last time I saw him was that day in the hospital. No, wait. Did I see him at the funeral? Was he there, Owen? Did I see him? I don’t remember.” She giggles again.

  Owen looks worried. She can tell he thinks she’s having a breakdown.

  Is she? She sits up, back straight, hands on her lap. She needs to pull herself together.

  “As you go through your plans of searching for him, there are things that will just naturally come back to you. It’s important for you to keep in touch with me. If you end up traveling,” he says with a smile, “and I expect you’ll be traveling—we can Skype.”

  At first, she reacts by nodding. And then she lifts up her finger, stopping him, reminding him they’re not done. “Owen. What about Will?”

  “You tell me. What about him?” Owen asks.

  “I…I don’t think I can be with him anymore. How do I tell him I can’t divide my heart into two? That he never had it, really.”

  “Is that how you’ve been feeling for the past year you’ve been dating?”

  “He’s so good to me, to Ciela. I thought I could learn to love him one day. But hearing Simon’s voice makes me realize I’m not over him. Nor am I over losing Jake either.”

  She scoots forward, intent on grabbing another Kleenex. “I want to tell him about Ciela. I want another chance with him.”

  “What if Simon doesn’t want a chance with you?”

  Tessa is taken aback by the question. It’s the ugly truth that never crossed her mind. How presumptuous of her to think he’d still want her. After everything she had put him through.

  She turns to the side and places her purse on her lap. Her right hand goes in, swirling and digging for something she’s try
ing to find. Owen watches calmly, expressionless.

  “I’m sorry,” Tessa mutters, as she removes each item from her purse. One by one, she lays them on the couch next to her, a pen, her wallet, her glasses, a pair of sunglasses, two lip balms, her face spray, some hand sanitizer. And then his card. She remembers this was the purse she wore the first time they met. She hasn’t carried this purse in almost three years. “I have his card. See here, I still have it.”

  “Do you think that’s still relevant? Three years later? Does he still work there?”

  She laughs. And then she tries not to blink her eyes because she knows what’s coming.

  “I’m not okay, am I?” she whispers, drop after drop cascading down her cheeks.

  “No. You’re not. But you’ll get there. There’s nothing to heal if you don’t admit you’ve been hurt. You may not have been ready to remember before, but I think you are now. When you recall the trauma of that night, you will find yourself. You will get yourself back.”

  Spring is finally in the air. The warm sun streams in through the open windows, the crisp smell of blooming flowers filling the house. She sits cross-legged on the floor, photographs of the past few years all around her. It’s time to face them, to remember how she got here. Two bestsellers, two movies. One of them still in production. The second book brought even more success, finished one year after the tragedy and published shortly thereafter.

  After that book, she had no more words. She wonders what it would be like to start writing all over again. The long hours, the sleepless nights, the words that seemed to flow so easily are nowhere to be found. They were in her veins, in her heart, but now she’s completely drained of them.

  Life just passes you by when you’re busy, when you’re sad, when you’re lonely. You fill your days with contentment. Tasks, goals and bouts of staring, sitting, contemplating. And then before you know it, your daughter is two years old and you’ve wasted two years in a blur. You’re still walking the same road with the same blinders on. You stop questioning yourself. Being alone feels right more and more. Until you’ve completely fooled yourself into thinking there’s nothing else you can do, your life is just…