“Dad, mom must not have realized how fucked up he was, either. You said you both joked about it. That means that he hid it pretty well. You can’t feel guilty for someone else’s mental illness. There’s no way that you could have known.”
I can tell my father doesn’t believe me, though and we finish our meal in silence. To be honest, I think we both are happy to be alone with our thoughts.
After a fairly sleepless night, we go the police station first thing in the morning. The detective is more than happy to hear from us.
“This case has haunted me for years,” he admits to me, his mouth tight. “I’d never seen anything like it. I’ve never forgotten it, or the sight of your little face. Your eyes were so big and sad. You’d seen the unimaginable. I’m glad to see you’ve grown up so well.”
So well. Huh. That’s debatable.
He takes my official statement and assures us that they will be pursuing a warrant to collect DNA evidence from our old mailman as soon as they can get a name from Post Office records. I feel a feeling of intense satisfaction as we walk down the steps of the station and out into the brisk, fresh air.
Justice might finally be served. My mom might finally be vindicated. It’s only taken seventeen years.
“Where is she buried?” I ask my father as we climb into the car. He looks at me.
“Let’s stop and get some flowers, and I’ll show you.”
So we do exactly that. We stop and get two dozen roses apiece and we drive to a beautiful, silent cemetery. It is lined with trees and the ice hangs on the branches, sparkling in the winter sun. It’s serene. I decide that if you must be buried, it might as well be here in this tranquil place.
As we walk among the graves, I feel as though I’ve been here before and I know that I have. I have fleeting glimpses of her funeral, of the casket being lowered into the ground. I remember the intense feeling of sadness that I had felt watching it.
I swallow hard.
Ahead of us, I see a statue of an angel and I recognize it. It is lying across a slab, weeping into its hands and I know that it sits next to my mother’s grave. I remember it.
“Your grandfather had the statue brought in,” my father says, nodding toward it.
“It seems fitting,” I answer. And it does.
My mother’s headstone sits next to the angel, made from white marble. It’s gleaming and bright. I turn to my dad. “Someone’s been taking care of it.”
He nods. “Of course. I pay someone.”
Of course.
I stare down.
Susanna Alexander Tate
Beloved wife and mother
She walked in beauty,
She sleeps in peace.
The cold wind blows gently against my face and once again, a knot forms in my throat. I am flooded with guilt that I haven’t been here to visit her in years. I kneel to place my flowers by her name and for the first time in as long as I can remember; I feel a tear streaking my cheek. I wipe it away.
“Do you think she is? At peace?”
My father looks at me.
“Son, you were your mother’s peace. You brought her so much peace and joy from the very first time she held you, that she knew she had to name you Pax. Your mother loved you more than anything in the world. She would have gladly given her life a hundred times over to keep you safe. Whatever you do, just live a good life for her. She had so many hopes for you. But when it boils down to it, all she would want is for you to be happy.”
The tears flow freely now and my father wraps his arms around me. And just like that, two grown men stand embracing in front of a lonely headstone.
It is a few minutes before he pulls away and I see that he is crying too.
“I love you, too, Pax. I hope you know that.”
I nod, too choked up to speak. I feel as though someone has twisted my guts in their hands and shoved them back down my throat into all the wrong places. Everything hurts. But for the first time, the pain is okay. The pain feels normal, like it’s the kind I should feel. It doesn’t feel like the shameful pain that I felt as a kid, back when I couldn’t save my mom.
The old void in my heart is gone. It has been replaced with a quiet sort of acceptance. My life is what it is. My mom died a violent death and I watched it happen. I’ve got to get past it and move forward. It’s what she would want me to do.
Standing here, in front of her grave in this serene place, I know now that I couldn’t have saved her. I was seven years old. My father was right. The intruder would’ve killed her regardless. It was his plan all along or he wouldn’t have even brought the gun.
We ride back to the airport in silence.
Finally, my father speaks. “You should call Mila. She’s been very worried about you.”
I look at him in surprise. “She said that to you?”
He nods. “She’s the reason I came to your house, remember? She called me or I wouldn’t have known that things were so bad. She loves you, Pax. And if there’s anything that you should take away from this is that you need to live for today. Tomorrow is not promised to you.”
“I don’t deserve her,” I tell him honestly. “I’ve been an asshole. All I’ve done is hurt her.”
My father looks at me doubtfully. “If that were true, then she wouldn’t love you so much. She’s waiting for you. She’s checked on you a hundred times and has asked me a million questions that I don’t know the answers to. Only you do. You need to answer them for her.”
“Such as?”
“Such as, are you coming back? Are you going to be okay? How are you handling things now? Things that you don’t talk about so I don’t know. You’re going to have to get some help figuring out how to deal with uncomfortable things. You can’t keep burying things in drugs and whiskey. You know that.”
I nod. And it’s painful because it’s true.
“I’ve fucked up,” I say simply.
“Yes,” my father agrees. “But haven’t we all?”
I don’t answer. I slip away into my thoughts and continue to twirl Mila’s ring on my finger. As we make our way through the airport, dad turns to me.
“I’m going to tell your grandfather that you remember. It’s one of the reasons that he stopped talking to us. He didn’t agree with me not forcing you to think about it because he wanted your mother’s killer found. When I refused to try and force you, he couldn’t bring himself to go along with the lies that I told you, that your mother died in a car-crash. His absence isn’t his fault, it’s mine. The blame rests on my shoulders. And I’m sorry.”
I nod. To be honest, I’ll worry about that later. It’s the last thing I’m worried about right now. There’s only one face in my mind and it is beautiful and soft and has wide, green eyes.
Our plane touches down in Chicago and my father drives me home.
“I hope things will get better for us now, Pax,” he tells me in my driveway and I can see that he is sincere. I nod.
“I hope so too,” I answer. I find that I mean it. It will take a while, I’m sure. We can’t fix years of damage to our relationship in a minute. But at least it’s a start. If we keep at it, maybe someday we’ll be okay again.
He backs out and I watch until I can no longer see his red taillights before I drop into Danger and speed for town. I can only think of one thing.
Her.
I burst into the door of her shop and she looks up in surprise from the counter. She is alone and seems to be studying a portfolio. As I walk in and she recognizes me, at first her expression leaps. In joy.
But it quickly becomes guarded and I feel the sting of that all the way into the center of my heart. I did that to her. I taught her to be guarded and protective around me because I might crush her. That knowledge kills me.
I stride across the store, not stopping, not hesitating. I step around the counter and smash her to me tightly.
“Please,” I tell her. “Please forgive me. I’m so sorry that I hurt you. I’m so sorry that I’ve been an assho
le and that I shut you out. I didn’t know how to handle things without being self-destructive. Self-destruction is all I’ve ever known. Deep down, it’s what I felt like I deserved.”
I pause and look down. She’s staring up at me with her gorgeous, clear eyes and my gut clenches.
“Give me another chance,” I ask urgently. “I will do anything that you want me to do if you just tell me that we can start again. I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m asking anyway. I honestly don’t know if I can breathe without you. Please. I love you, Mila. Please tell me we can work it out.”
I stare into her eyes and she seems uncertain and I feel a moment of panic.
“I don’t want to start over again,” she says slowly. “I like what we had. I don’t want to re-do it. I love you, Pax. But I don’t know if I can handle it if you leave me like that again. You shut me out and I couldn’t help you. That’s not what people do when they love someone. You ripped my heart out and stomped on it.”
“I know,” I agree. “I know that. You have no idea how sorry I am. I’m just not that good at relationships. I haven’t had any practice. But if you stay with me, if you stay… I promise that I will never leave you again. I will never shut you out again. I’ll put in the work and I’ll fix what is broken. I promise.”
“I want to believe you,” she says slowly, her eyes still frozen on mine. “But I’m too afraid, Pax. You scared me. A lot. How do I know that you won’t shut me out like that again? How do I know that the next difficult thing we come across won’t send you into another tailspin and I’ll find you on the back yard, like we found Jill?”
She pauses, her eyes pleading, wanting me to say something, wanting me to argue that she’s wrong. But I don’t know that she is. So I can’t say anything.
“Jill’s two babies are in foster care now, Pax. Their whole lives have been shattered. I don’t know that I can trust you not to do that to me. I haven’t slept in days and when I do sleep, I have horrible nightmares. I’m a wreck, Pax. And I don’t want to go through this again. I just don’t think I can.”
Her words terrify me and I pull off the ring, holding it out with a shaking hand.
“Love never fails, Mila. That’s what your parents believed. And because of you, it’s what I believe now, too. You stuck by me and loved me when I didn’t deserve it. All I want is a chance to prove that I can be worthy of it. Your parents were sort of fucked up in their own way, like me, and they never got the help that they needed. But I will. I promise. I will put the work in. I will learn how to cope with painful things and I will never leave you again. Just tell me that you’ll stay with me.”
I stare at her, waiting, holding my breath.
“Please,” I whisper.
Finally, finally, she takes the ring from my hand and leans on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to mine, ever so softly.
“I love you so much,” she whispers. “I love you so much. But I can’t. Not right now.”
A vice-grip crushes my heart as I stare at her; at the face that is so beautiful and delicate, at the woman who has seen me at my worst but is still standing in front of me today without judgment or derision. My chest tightens and my eyes burn. I feel utterly empty.
“I know,” I tell her, honestly. “I understand.”
And I do.
It is a truth so raw and honest that it hurts. But I haven’t given her a reason to stay so there is no way that she should. There’s only one thing that I can do…give her one.
I swallow hard, willing the lump in my throat to dissipate.
“I’ll give you a reason,” I tell her, my voice raw. “I promise. If you give me the chance, I will give you a reason to be with me.”
She kisses me again and I fight the urge to inhale her, to crush her to my chest and never let go, to force her to stay.
“I’m counting on that,” Mila murmurs as she steps away. “I just need some time Pax; time for you to show that you are serious about this, about putting the work in. That’s all I need.”
I know this is as hard for her as it is for me and I hate that I did this to her. I hate that I put that hurt on her face.
I nod slowly and the movement seems painful.
“You can have all the time that you need, Mila. I’ll wait forever if I have to.”
A tear slips down her cheek and she looks away. My gut feels like a cement block as I use my thumb to wipe her tear, then to pull her chin up.
I kiss her cheek. “I love you,” I murmur into her ear.
And then I gather every ounce of my strength, because that’s what it takes to walk away from her.
Chapter Twenty Four
Mila
Nights seem very long now, very dark and cold.
I roll over in my lonely bed again, pulling my quilt up to my chin, trying to force my mind away from thoughts of Pax. As if that will happen. My heart constricts at the memory of what Pax has been through.
Ever since he walked away from me last week, ever since I watched the rejection ripple over his face, the hurt and angst, I have played that moment over and over in my mind. Regretting it, beating myself up over it. But there’s nothing else I could have done.
He has to know that every action has a consequence. And even though he says he will change, that he realizes he needs to change, I’m pretty sure he needs a reason to actually change. If I take him back like he didn’t hurt me, he won’t have a very good reason.
Except for the one where his entire life has imploded around him, you idiot, I tell myself. Pax has every reason in the world to change, reasons that don’t even include me. If only he is strong enough to see it.
Against my better judgment, I reach for my phone. It has been a week since I have seen him or spoken with him. My heart just wants to hear from him, to know that he’s okay. Maybe then I can sleep.
I’m thinking about you. I hope you’re okay.
I send the text and wait with the phone in my fingers. There is no answer. Although I probably deserve that.
I waver back and forth in my conviction. Maddy agrees that I had no other choice but to send him away when he came to my shop. But part of me, an increasingly more insistent part, doubts it. I love him. I love him more than anything. And isn’t part of love standing next to him through thick and thin?
Love never fails. I gulp.
But then again, sometimes love has to put boxing gloves on and be tough in order to survive. Sometimes, you have to do the harder thing—the thing where you let someone grow on their own.
I fall asleep with tears on my cheek and my phone in my hands. When I wake up, there is a text waiting for me.
I’m thinking about you, too. And I’m getting there.
His words make my heart smile. And it is somehow easier to get up and face my day.
********
“I think you’re losing weight,” Maddy announces, as she prances through my shop in her new boots and a take-out sack.
I look up from where I am framing a print of the night sky and roll my eyes.
“First, I thought you said we had to tighten our belts this winter?” I ask with my eyebrow raised as I stare pointedly at her boots.
She looks sheepish. “That was true. But things are perking up now that spring is rolling around.”
“February isn’t spring,” I tell her wryly. She rolls her eyes.
“A mere technicality. It’s late February. Almost spring. Now that people aren’t snowed in, business is picking up. But you’re deflecting. You haven’t been eating right. I bet you’ve lost ten pounds—and you didn’t have it to lose, Slim.”
I would say something, but I wouldn’t have a leg to stand on. She’s right. I’ve lost weight and I didn’t have it to lose.
“Did you bring me something to eat?” I ask instead. She nods, plunking the sack unceremoniously down on my picture.
“Grilled cheese and a bowl of minestrone. Tony said to eat it all and you’ll get dessert. He also said you’re getting chicken legs.”
I shak
e my head, and can’t help but smile. Tony loves us in his own gruff way. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was his idea that Maddy brought me the food.
“I saw Pax’s car parked in front of Dr. Tyler’s office,” Maddy mentions as she curls herself into a sleek red chair. “He’s been there a lot lately. Have you talked to him?”
I chew a bite of my sandwich and swallow hard to get it to go down. “No. Not in a month. Has he been in to The Hill?”
Maddy shakes her head. “No. And I haven’t seen his car at the bar, either. He’s pretty much been out of sight, except for when he’s with Dr. Tyler.”
She stares at me.
I ignore it.
“Well?” she finally demands, her ice blue gaze on mine. “He’s respecting your space and he’s putting in the effort so that he can move forward. Don’t you think it’s time that you took the initiative to speak with him?”
I almost drop my sandwich. “Who are you and what have you done with my sister?” I demand. “You don’t like Pax. You’ve never liked Pax. You’ve told me a hundred times that he’s not worth my time, that he’ll never be boyfriend material.”
I am beyond shocked at her.
Maddy has the grace to look sheepish.
“I don’t know,” she admits. “I can’t explain why I feel differently. I just do. My gut instincts are telling me that he deserves a second chance. I really think he’s trying, Mi. To be honest, not only have I not seen his car at the bar, but when I was in there the other day for a drink, I asked Mickey if he’s seen him. He hasn’t.”
She stares at me again, hard and long. I sigh.
“Madison, just because he hasn’t been in the Bear’s Den doesn’t mean that he’s stopped drinking. Or doing worse things. For all we know, he’s holed up in his house with whiskey and drugs. We don’t know what he’s doing.”
There is a pause while Madison fidgets.
“You don’t know what he’s doing,” she finally says hesitantly. “Because you haven’t talked with him. But I have.”
I do drop my sandwich this time, right into my soup.
If You Stay (Beautifully Broken) Page 20
