Taking Christopher’s hand, Bea looks to Jimmy for answers. Keeping his eyes on me, he speaks quietly to her.
“She didn’t know,” he explains, confirming that he, in fact, did know.
He knew who I was.
He knew who Chris was.
He knew and never thought to tell me.
The realization makes me weak in the knees and I grip the railing to keep me upright as Bea ushers Christopher into the house. Once the door closes behind them, Jimmy steps in front of me. Face to face I stare into his eyes and a million questions race through my mind.
His lies burn between us, ruining everything.
Destroying us.
“How could you do this to me?” I whisper.
“I’m sorry—”
“Did you know all along? From the beginning did you know who I was? Who he was?”
“No — “I don’t believe you,” I shriek, tears falling from my eyes.
“I didn’t know until I brought you home on our first date. I was walking out the door, and I saw the picture of the two of you.”
“That was the fucking beginning!”
Anger boils in my veins and I place my hands on his hard chest, shoving him backward. He doesn’t budge and so I ball my fists around the fabric of the shirt.
“What did you get out of it? Huh? Did misleading me and getting me to trust you—did it scratch an itch for you? Does fucking the widows of the people you couldn’t save get you off, Jimmy? Is that what gets your dick wet?” I shout between sobs.
“I did fucking save him,” he hollers back. “He didn’t die on my watch!”
For some reason hearing him say those words brings me back to my wedding day, to the point in time when I stood before the altar and turned around only to be told my groom wasn’t coming.
I’m sorry, Ms. Moscato.
We did everything we could.
He died on impact.
“Look, I thought he had left you at the altar. I didn’t know he died until you told me, yourself and honestly, after that, I didn’t think it mattered.”
“Oh, so you thought he didn’t matter? I have a son who will prove otherwise,” I sneer.
“You’re twisting my words. That isn’t what I meant,” he hisses. “If you would just calm down, then I could explain—”
“I don’t want your explanations. What I want is for you to leave.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“With every fiber of my being,” I rectify. “If I never saw you another day in my life, it would be too soon.”
Like his lies, my words cut him deep and his face falls. I feel a temporary burst of satisfaction before my own pain rears its ugly head, and it forces my eyes away from him.
“I love you,” he says, hoarsely. “I fucking love you with every fiber of my being. I’ll give you a few days to cool off and collect your thoughts but then I’m coming back to you. We’re going to talk it out.”
“It’s over Jimmy,” I say with conviction in my tone. I hold his gaze for a moment before stepping around him. Needing to be alone with my thoughts, I start for the front door.
“No, it’s not and if you think I’m giving up, then you don’t know me at all,” he calls out as I step inside. Without replying, I slam the door shut and lean against it. The tears fall freely as I’m foolishly reminded that timing is everything.
And, my time with Jimmy is over.
Sometimes the best laid plans are actually the worst mistakes of all.
Chapter Fifteen
Make It Right
Sitting on the steps outside Melissa’s house, I drop my head into my hands and release an agonizing sigh. I should fucking leave, give her space and go to work but I can’t. All I can do is sit here like some fucking schlep, hoping she opens the door and gives me a chance to explain.
Not that any explanation will help matters much.
There is no righteous reason for my actions and now, I must suffer the consequences.
The door opens behind me and instantly I pull my hands away from my face and rise to my feet. Hopefully expecting Melissa, I turn around and lock eyes with Bea. With a forlorn expression on her face, she starts for me. My eyes drift towards the door, willing it to open one more time. Of course, it doesn’t and Bea pauses in front of me, laying a hand on my shoulder.
“I never thought I’d see you again,” she starts. “I thought about calling you when he passed but so much time had passed since he had mentioned you, I wasn’t sure it would be appropriate.”
Looking away, I think about her statement and wonder if I would’ve even answered the call, knowing very well I’m the reason behind the severed friendship.
“How did you find Melissa?”
“I wasn’t looking for her,” I grind out, lifting my eyes to hers.
“I don’t know what you think—”
“I don’t know what to think, Jimmy and I gather Melissa doesn’t either.”
“Fair enough,” I mutter, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Melissa is my daughter’s guidance counselor, Bea. That’s how I met her. It was not some fucking sick plan, it was chance.”
Scrutinizing me, she raises one perfectly manicured eyebrow as if to call bullshit. Anger rolls through me and I decide I’ve had enough. I owe only one woman an explanation and she’s too busy damning me to Hell to hear me out.
“She told me about you,” Bea reveals, causing me to slice my eyes back to her. The wary expression has been replaced by a somber one. “She didn’t name you specifically, but she told me she was dating someone,” she says before pausing for a moment.
“Melissa loved my son very much, Jimmy. She was devastated by his death. You have to put yourself in our shoes”
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know,” I grind out, balling my fists at my sides. I’m very well aware Melissa loved Chris and I’ve been nothing more than respectful towards her love for him, but there is only so much a man can take before he snaps. And what the fuck is this our bullshit. As far as I’m concerned, the only one who gets to call foul play here is Melissa.
“Look, Bea, I’m sorry you lost your son, truly I am but I’ve got to get something off my chest too. I’ve been a fireman for seventeen years, seventeen years. Do you know how many people I have saved in that time?”
She doesn’t reply, and I watch as her eyebrows knit together with confusion.
“Neither do I,” I continue. “After the first year, I lost count. I don’t remember every face, nor do I remember every name and you know why? Because it was my duty to save their lives. It wasn’t an act of kindness or a product of some divine intervention. Yeah, I save lives, but I’m paid to do it, Bea. I’m not some glorified hero, I’m a guy who couldn’t make ends meet hanging sheetrock and decided to take every city test imaginable. There were no aspirations to become a fireman, it wasn’t a dream I had since I was in diapers. The FDNY called and I answered. It was luck.”
“But—”
“Your son got lucky too,” I interrupt. “But that’s where it ends. Sure, I appreciated his gratitude and yours as well, but, he was just a man in an elevator that called for help. I didn’t keep in touch with him and yeah, I felt bad for a while but that’s life. Now, I had no idea Melissa was his fiancée when I met her. Did I learn early on? Yeah. Should I have told her? Yeah, but I can’t change any of that. Just like I can’t go back seventeen years and save a fleet of people.”
“Jimmy, I—”
“I love her, Bea,” I say, cutting her off again. “I fucking love her and I lied because she’s still in love with your son. A man can fight a lot of things, but he can’t battle with a ghost.”
Her lips tighten into a thin line and her knuckles turn white as she grabs onto the banister. I’m sure she’s got a few choice words for me, but I don’t care to hear them. With another glance towards the closed door, I start to make my way down the steps. As I reach my car, Bea calls out to me and my hand pauses on the handle.
�
��Wait!”
Glancing over my shoulder, I watch her hurry down the stairs and mutter a curse. Bea pauses in the middle of the walkway and crosses her arms under her chest.
“She loves you too,” she murmurs. “You know how I know that?”
My curiosity wants to know but my pride won’t let me entertain the question and so, I keep my eyes pinned towards the door and act as if I’m not hanging on her every word.
“When I pulled up and saw her with you, my heart stopped for a minute because Melissa looked at you just the way she looked at Chris like you were everything to her. He’ll always be my son and there won’t be a day that goes by, that I won’t think of him, but that girl deserves a bit of luck herself. She deserves to be happy and to be loved. You might not want the title of hero, Jimmy, but you earned it. You saved my son, and you saved the woman he loved more than life itself, you saved her from a broken heart.”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I process her words and force myself to look at her.
“I can’t speak for Melissa or tell you how she’s feeling right now. I know she’s hurt, and she feels betrayed, but I can speak for my son. Chris would want her to be happy. He’d want his son to have a good man in his life, someone he could look up to. Make it right, Jimmy. Find a way and make it right.”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nod.
“And stop kidding yourself,” she adds, brushing away a fallen tear. “It’s not always about luck. Sometimes, it’s just fate.”
The pessimist in me wants to tell her there is no such thing, but what if she’s right? Do things like this really happen? Does a man save another man only for him to die? Does he really meet his fiancée by chance and fall head over heels in love with her?
I don’t know.
All I know is that Bea is right about one thing.
I gotta make it right.
Chapter Sixteen
Another Façade
After Jimmy revealed he was the man who rescued Chris from the twin towers, I went through a series of different emotions. It was very similar to the way I felt after Chris died. I was angry, sad and heartbroken. One minute I wanted to punch something, the next I wanted to crawl into my bed and cry. The difference was, back when Chris passed away, I wasn’t a mother yet. Well, I was pregnant—but I didn’t know that until a month afterward and the moment I found out, I snapped out of it. It wasn’t just me anymore. I needed to be strong for the baby I was carrying.
The baby who would never know his daddy. Now, that baby has grown into an impressionable young boy with wide eyes and a knack for feeling out his mama’s pain. It’s a proven fact that children feed off their mother’s energy and I’ve been trying my hardest to brave a smile and act as if the ground hasn’t been swiped out from under me.
I was never more anxious to send my son to school than I was this morning and after I dropped him off, I called out sick myself. I needed time to process what I was feeling, and I couldn’t do that with my son around. When I got home, I headed straight to my bedroom and pulled out the box of Chris’ belongings. I didn’t keep much, just enough to fit in one of those plastic shoe box containers you get at the dollar store.
There was his wallet, a watch—I figured I’d pass down to our son when he got older, some photos and little mementos he kept through the years. One of those keepsakes was a prayer card. Chris wasn’t very religious and when I asked him why he kept that card in his wallet, he told he obtained it on September 11th, after a fireman rescued him from the towers and brought him to a church. A priest found him in that church and prayed with him. He then shoved the prayer card in the inside pocket of Chris’ suit jacket.
In all the times we spoke of that day, he never once mentioned Jimmy by name and I never asked. Thinking about it now, it seems odd. It’s not like it was one single conversation. Chris was personally impacted by the attack. If Jimmy hadn’t rescued him from the elevator, he would’ve died. He would’ve been buried alive when those buildings came crashing down. His name would be etched with thousands of others on the 9/11 memorial. I never would’ve met him, and I wouldn’t have my son.
While that’s a heavy realization to come to terms with, so are Jimmy’s lies. How could he keep that from me and more importantly why would he keep that from me?
Why would he break my fragile heart after so patiently piecing it together?
Taking the prayer card, I give into the first emotion and tear it in half.
“Fuck you, Chris.”
Why didn’t you tell me his name?
“He was so fucking important to you and you never mentioned his name!” I shout, my voice vibrating off the walls of the empty bedroom.
Why didn’t I ask?
Guilt washes over me and I let the pieces of the destroyed prayer card slide between my fingers, falling to the floor. I reach for the box and sift through the photographs, finding two tiny black velvet boxes which contain what would’ve been our wedding bands.
I used to take these rings out every night before I went to bed. I’d slip them both on my left hand before crawling into bed. Sometimes I cried myself to sleep, other times I talked to Chris. I stopped taking the rings out of the box after I met Jimmy at the diner and made the conscious effort to move forward with my life.
Isn’t that funny?
You think you find the one man worth your future, bury your past and it turns out he’s nothing but a liar. I don’t know what bothers me more, the fact I trusted so easily and feel like a fool or that the bastard broke my heart and despite everything, if I had to do it all over again, I would. I’d open my heart to Jimmy knowing I shouldn’t because for two months I didn’t feel so alone. For two months I was happy. I wasn’t the sad girl who got left at the altar because her fiancé died on the way to their wedding. I wasn’t the single mom struggling to get it all done. I was Melissa Moscato, mother of an amazing little boy and in a loving relationship with Jimmy Casale.
What a facade.
Maybe everlasting love isn’t for everyone.
Opening one ring box at a time, I stare at the two gold bands, each an infinite circle. They have no beginning and no end.
Another facade.
Every beginning has an end in my world.
And not every ending is another beginning.
Snapping the boxes closed, I shove everything back inside the shoebox. Suddenly, the anger fades from me and the loneliness consumes me. Tears well in my eyes and I lift my hands to my face. Giving into my sorrows, my shoulders shake as a sob erupts from the back of my throat.
“Damn you, Chris and damn you too, Jimmy Casale,” I shriek, pulling my hands away from my face. As the tears continue to spill, I climb further onto my bed and bury my head under the pillow, muffling the sounds of my sobs.
My phone rings, startling me for a moment but I decide to ignore it. It rings again, and I remember I can’t ignore anything because I’m someone’s mother and father. I’m everything.
Tossing the pillow aside, I reach for my phone on the nightstand.
It’s not the school calling.
It’s Jimmy.
Denying the call, I drop the phone back on top of the nightstand. Part of me is curious to hear what he has to say; the other part doesn’t trust my gullible heart. My phone chimes, alerting me of a text and I stare at it like it's an offensive object.
A moment later, I weakly reach for it and swipe at the screen, opening Jimmy’s text.
Melissa, I’m not giving up on us. I love you and if I have to text you every day, reminding you love burns brighter than lies, I will.
Another facade.
Burn in hell, Jimmy.
You, your lies and your love.
Chapter Seventeen
She Deserved More
It was ten days later and still no word from Melissa. I called her, I texted her—I even dropped by her house three times. I knew she was home. I made sure to go at night when Christopher was sleeping and all three times, she left me standing on her stoop.
“Where the fuck is he?”
A familiar voice shouts causing me to round the rig I was inspecting.
“You’re going to have to be a little more specific,” Frankie croons.
“Jimmy the dick Casale,” Melissa’s sister hisses. “I know he’s here. I let the air out of the tires on his truck.”
Fuck.
I guess I had that one coming.
“Jesus, Casale,” Gary hisses. “Is every woman in your life this hot-headed?”
Ignoring him, I make my way to the front of the house and find Frankie blocking Amber, who, I should point out, is holding a baseball bat.
“Now, listen, babe, why don’t you—”
“Who the fuck are you calling babe?” Amber sneers, lifting the bat over her head.
“For fucks sake, calm down,” Frankie growls.
As amusing as it might be to watch these two stand-off against one another, I intercept, pulling Frankie away from Melissa’s raging sister.
“You bastard,” she seethes as her eyes meet mine.
“Nice to see you too, Amber,” I mutter, reaching above her head for the baseball bat. Her grip only tightens, forcing me to tediously pry each finger away until I’m the one possessing it. Some might view Amber as a pain in the ass and say she should learn when to mind her business. Me, on the other hand, admires her spunk. I wish Melissa was as bold and passionate, maybe then she’d fight for us, instead of pretending I never existed.
“You’re a creep,” Amber hisses. “A real fucking creep that deserves to have his tongue cut…amongst other things.”
Okay, maybe she is annoying, and a filter wouldn’t be the worst idea.
“You got something you want to get off your chest, Amber, by all means, go ahead but not here. I’m working,” I say, turning slightly to hand off the bat to Frankie.
“Oh,” she begins, arching an eyebrow. “You’re working. Where the fuck are my manners,” she says, glaring at Frankie who takes a practice swing with her Louisville. “Break it and you buy it, pretty boy,” she says to him before slicing her eyes to me.
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