Point of No Return

by Olivia Luck

  So I change the subject.

  “Hey. I have this list of things I want to do in my life. And the next one up is leaving the state. Do you want to come with me? A friend lives in this beach town. New Point, Michigan. It’s only an hour from Chicago. I’m going to go on Friday. What do you think?”

  Iris’s deep blue eyes light with interest. “Really—you want me to go?”

  I grin. “You’re going to have a hard time getting rid of me.”

  When I get back to Chicago later that evening, I draw a decisive line through the first item on my new to-do list.

  Get my sister back

  Instead of reading all of the points, I focus on the next one.

  Leave the state

  A few days later, Felix sits in the driver’s seat of Blake’s SUV with Stella in the adjacent seat. Blake insisted that we take his car, saying it’s the most reliable one. To that, Stella rolled her eyes but took the keys. She picks her battles with that one.

  The car idles outside Chicago’s Union Station. We’re waiting for Iris, who told our parents that she was spending the weekend with a friend. True, but not so true that it would make my father simmer with rage.

  Felix blows a drawn out whistle. “Wow. Hottie with a body.”

  My innocent sister has a duffle back on her shoulder. She glances around the sidewalk nervously. She has the little-fish-in-an-ocean look on her face. Reminds me of how I felt when I got to Chicago all those years ago.

  “That’s her!” I cry, pushing out of the car and dashing across the sidewalk to take her into my arms.

  “You weren’t lying when you said the city is overwhelming,” she says breathlessly.

  “Well, we’re escaping the city now. It will be here when we get back and it will be here when you’re ready to move.” I link her arm through mine and pull her toward the car where Stella and Felix are standing outside the SUV.

  “It’s just so beautiful,” Stella says with a watery voice.

  “Stella, Felix, this is my Iris.”

  She catches both Iris and me in a hug and then Felix makes it a group hug, squeezing us all to him.

  “Okay, okay.” I untangle myself and wipe at the tear snaking down my cheek. “We have a mission.” After quick introductions, we shuttle into the car. Felix and Stella pepper Iris with questions the entire hour drive, though we make time to stop at the border between Illinois and Michigan to pop a bottle of champagne and drink. Even though it’s silly to highlight such a small milestone, the effort my friends have put into this trip touches me. When we arrive at the lake house Zoe shares with her boyfriend, Miles, there’s a handmade sign welcoming us to their home. Miles is mysteriously out of the house, leaving the five of us to hang out.

  Eventually, everyone heads to the bedrooms to sleep except for Iris and me. We snuggle together on the couch underneath a quilt, her head resting on my shoulder.

  “I’m glad I did this with you,” she says softly.

  “Whenever you want to move, I’ll be there to support you every step of the way. You know, I might even have a lead on a job for you.”

  “Really—what kind of job?” She sits up straight and shifts on the couch to face me.

  “Expertly Planned is growing. One of the Scrapers players wants me to do his wedding, and his fiancée called me earlier in the week. It’s only the beginning. The Chicago Wind contacted me, too. You could start with me while you figure out what you want to do with your life. You know? Working together would give us more time to get to know each other. Think about it.”

  “Oh, Violet . . .” Iris’s lips tremble. “You really are the best sister.”

  Swinging my arm around her shoulder, I pull her close again. “Not yet. But I’m trying.”

  Violet

  Visit the condo, make decisions

  Those five little words never seemed scarier than when I’m waiting for the elevator, waiting for the car to take me to my home with Max. With a nondescript ding, the elevator doors whisk open, revealing an empty car. Noticing the uptick in my pulse, I staunchly ignore it. The prickling sensation at the back of my neck is distracting, but I shrug it off.

  This is a stress-inducing activity. Of course, I’m nervous because I’ve been putting off visiting the condo for a long time.

  Internal pep talk complete, I make my way down the long, beige hallways. With a shaky hand, I retract the keys from my coat pocket and push one into the lock. One deep breath later, I push the door open.

  Exposed brick walls greet me as they once did. A canvas print of one of our wedding pictures hangs in the hallway, a reminder of better times. Maybe the best time Max and I shared in our time together. On its own accord, my hand lifts, my fingertip stroking a line down Max’s chest.

  “You were a good man, Max Baccino,” I whisper.

  Drifting through the hallway, I drag my hand along the wall. I feel it; the love that filled the walls while we lived here, the soothing heartbeat of our home. But there’s a difference now to the way I lived in this place. All of those emotions are a fond memory, not a present reality.

  Then I’m in the galley kitchen. Neither Max nor I could cook very well. This place mostly held takeout and microwavable pizzas. We promised ourselves we would learn to cook, but we didn’t have time . . .

  Tears track down my cheeks like rain pouring from the sky. My knees buckle and I melt to the ground. Wrapping my arms around my knees, I hug them to my chest and slowly rock myself into the emotion.

  It’s over.

  Max is gone.

  I knew that already. I knew I wouldn’t have him back. I knew I became a widow. I knew he wasn’t there when I went to bed at night and wasn’t there when I woke up in the morning. I knew he wouldn’t make me watch scary movies the entire month of October or he wouldn’t insist I try Carpaccio, even though the raw meat made my stomach turn. Logically. And now, here in a place that once made me safe and cozy and content, I recognize the emotional truth: I am a widow figuring out how to move on with my life. The life I lived with my Max will never come back.

  It’s an ugly cry; body-wracking sobs that are, in an odd way, cleansing. All the emotion I bottled up escapes in one massive torrent. I have to wipe my wet face on my coat sleeve, reminding me that I still haven’t taken the thing off. The zipper unlatches with a swift tug and I toss the garment around one of the barstools.

  A housekeeper visits this place every other week to keep it clean and Felix makes frequent visits to ensure the pipes aren’t frozen and it doesn’t get too musty. There’s no food in the refrigerator and the cable’s long been shut off. When I made the decision to move into Stella’s condo, most of my things were moved there like clothing, shoes, and jewelry. When I moved into Max’s condo, I forfeited my material possessions for his. I fit myself into his life. Most of my things were junk, second- or third-hand items were all I could afford. Walking through the condo now reminds me a lot of Max’s life before I ever joined it. Minus the pictures of me, this place is mostly a bachelor pad. Somehow that makes what I’m about to do easier.

  Trekking into the bedroom, purse in hand, I sit on the corner of the mattress. I pull a notebook from my purse and start a new list. Writing the necessary steps to selling the condo is cathartic and somehow lightens my mood slightly. Saying good-bye to Violet Harper, wife of Max Baccino, begins with releasing the condo. Someone else can fill these walls with familial warmth.

  Satisfied with what I’ve documented, I drop the notebook and move to the side of the bed that was once mine. The top drawer of the bedside table slides open without a problem and I find the velvet ring box exactly where I left it. Perched on a yellow-gold band, the round diamond winks at me when I pop the box open, as if to say, “I know why you’re here.” I took it off after the funeral because it physically hurt to look at the diamond, remembering all of the good times that came along with it on my finger.

  I don’t put the ring on my finger. I don’t even take it out of the box. Instead, I study it with fondness.
On the night Max proposed, I forgot to look at the ring because he was all I wanted. Ring aside, I was getting the best reward by becoming his wife. First, Dominic and Max’s parents will come over to decide what they want to keep then I’m going to donate everything in this apartment to Goodwill. As for what I want, I’m only going to keep this ring and perhaps some of the art hanging on the walls. Holding on to my past with Max through his clothing or bedding won’t take me where I want to be—the next stage of my life without Max. This ring, though, I’ll never give away.

  Even though I’m moving away from being Max’s wife, I’ll always hold the gift of this man’s love dear.

  With a sigh, I shut the drawer and place the ring in my purse. This was enough time spent in the condo today. This weekend I’m coming back with Max’s family to see if they’d like to take anything.

  Because I’m strong enough to be here. And I’m ready to let Max go.

  Back in my car, the muscles in my back are still tense. The first mountain to climb today was a challenge but not insurmountable. There’s one more stop on my tour of the past.

  The drive to the fire station is only a few blocks, but that gives my palms plenty of time to get sweaty. I find a spot half a block away and grab the large white pastry box in the passenger seat. They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, right? I hope that’s true because I brought sweets from Baccino’s to butter up the guys Max used to work with. I haven’t seen any of them, except Felix, since the funeral. I’ve been running scared because, well, it was too painful to be with the men who watched Max die. This is all part of my plan, painful or not.

  It’s one of those abnormally warm February days. For Chicago standards, that means mid-thirties and sunny enough that the sludgy snow melts along the street edges. A day made for Solsbury Hill blasting on the stereo. Admittedly, I’m feeling nostalgic.

  I balance the box carefully; it’s extra big to accommodate all of the cookies and biscotti inside. Sometimes I would stop by the restaurant and pick up food for the guys when Max was working overnights. My movements are well-choreographed when I push my way inside the administrative entrance with my hip.

  “The lady returns.” Brett, a seasoned firefighter grins when I walk inside like it hasn’t been a year since I’ve visited. Some of my nerves slip away. “And she comes bearing gifts. Come here, girl, and give me some sugar.”

  “Hi, Brett,” I say. He stands from behind the desk, walking around to take the box from my hands and envelop me into his warm smoky smell. The scent reminds me of Max and my throat gets tight. Nothing a firm clearing won’t fix. I stand to my full height and smile back at Brett’s dancing eyes.

  “Pick something out while it’s still here. I don’t want to get blamed if you go without.”

  A press of a button and a sharp buzz unlocks the door leading into the living quarters and super-secret fire station stuff. I make my way to the second floor, voices leading me to the living space where three guys sit on a sofa with the TV blasting in the background. Felix’s in the kitchen, mixing something on the stove and one of the female EMTs mixes a salad in a large wood bowl.

  I make a noise in the back of my throat to announce my presence. “Need anything for dessert?”

  There’s a welcoming chorus of greetings. Meredith, the EMT, drops her mixing spoons as her jaw drops open. “You came to visit?” she drawls in her thick Midwestern accent.

  “Well, yeah. It’s been too long, and for some odd reason, I missed all of you knuckleheads.” I place the box on the kitchen countertop and wink at Felix.

  “Still not cursing, huh? It’s okay to call them shitheads. That’s what they are,” Meredith jokes.

  “There are alternatives that work,” I tease. “Using knucklehead is surprisingly cathartic. You should try it some time.”

  “What are you doing here, girl?” A deep voice booms from behind me and I jump around to find Max’s lieutenant, Will, staring rigidly. His arms are crossed over his chest, a frown beneath his mustache. “Been a long time since we saw you here.”

  Timidly, I smile at him. “Italian cookie?”

  He grumbles something unintelligible then approaches me for a bear hug. “Don’t you be a stranger anymore, Violet.” Will smells likes cigarettes and stale coffee, and I’m glad he hasn’t changed in my absence.

  “I won’t,” I say firmly.

  Felix and Meredith finish making the meal and I join the firefighters around the dinner table. A sense of calm trickles through me while I watch the group joke just like every other time I’ve joined them for a meal. I end up staying there for over an hour; no calls come through to the station to interrupt our meal or conversation. Eventually, Will walks me downstairs. When we get to the door, I pause.

  “Listen, there is another reason I’m here, other than wanting to see your ugly mugs,” I say. “I’ve started my own event planning business. If the station wants to do a fundraiser, I would be more than happy to help plan it. Free of charge, of course. If you think it’s something the higher-ups would want, I’m available.”

  Will links an arm around my neck and kisses my forehead roughly. “I’ll do that, girl. But that won’t happen if you keep hiding from us.”

  “It wasn’t just you I was hiding from,” I tell him. “Losing Max wasn’t something I wanted to face, but now I’m ready. And I won’t go so long without visiting. Ever. You still have my best bud here, after all.”

  Satisfied with my response, Will releases me. “Okay. I’ll give you a call once I talk to them.”

  “Please do,” I say earnestly. There’s a similar feeling of peace when I walk out of the fire station. No sadness haunts me. Instead, things are right because I know that this is what I must do.

  Later that night, I’m back at Stella’s condo, curled on the couch. There’s a Scrapers game on tonight and I’m watching Cameron block the puck from every angle. Longing fills me as I watch him protect the goal. He’s fierce, unyielding, and unafraid of large men skating toward him at full force.

  After a day full of memories of Max, I can’t help but appreciate Cameron’s strength. It would be easy to turn into his arms while I make these strides to turn my past into pleasant memories. But I know being with Cameron will make my goals that much harder to achieve.

  At the end of the game, my fingers twitch with a desire to text him and congratulate him on the win, but I force myself to go to bed without contacting him. If I’m going to set my feelings for Max to peace, I need to do this right, with the proper respect to my fallen husband. That means no talking to Cameron until I’m ready. No matter how much the distance makes me yearn to see him, laugh with him, and look at him, I won’t stray from my plan.

  Cameron

  “Are you possessed or something?” my friend asks.

  The trainer taps my leg to let me know we’re finished and mock salutes me on his way to his next victim. Blake’s standing at the door to the physical therapist’s room, grinning wickedly at me.

  “That’s what you pay me for,” I grumble. Lately, I’m perpetually in a bad mood. Even kicking Detroit’s ass didn’t lift my spirits. Frowning, I stare back at him. “Something funny?”

  “It wasn’t too long ago that you were giving me shit for being depressed over Stella. Look at yourself, all pissed off and bitter because your girl took some time off,” Blake smirks. I have to remind myself that even though he’s my friend, he’s still my boss and I can’t punch him in the face.

  “Your point?” I ask tersely.

  “Violet and Stella are at my house. They just finished watching the game. According to Stella, Violet watches every Scrapers game. That is when she’s not working or preparing to sell her condo.”

  Every muscle in my body tightens. She watches every game. How pathetic have I become over this woman? It’s March. Two months have gone by without a word from Violet. I miss her. The way she laughs, truly laughs, when she’s not busy being sad. The way she gives sass as good as she gets it. I miss watching mov
ies that I’ve seen a dozen times through her eyes. I miss my dog’s reaction when he gets sight of her. I miss texting her. What I would do to run my fingers through her silky hair. It seems like the worst kind of torture, having her for one night and having to let her go. I haven’t had sex since she left that morning (unless you count with my own hand, but that is complete shit compared to Violet). The thought of being with anyone else holds zero interest.

  I try to play it cool when I look back at my friend, but I’m fucking smiling like a loser. “Yeah?”

  He slaps his palm on my back when I start walking toward him. “You’re a dead man if you ever tell anyone I told you this. I’m not one to gossip, but you look like you’re in pain and I can’t have that hanging over my shoulders.”

  My eyebrows hit my hairline. This is not the hardass Blake I know. Stella’s huge heart must be getting to him again. Not that I’m complaining. “Okay. No problem.”

  We walk through the locker room, ignoring the rest of the guys talking to reporters and in various stages of getting dressed. “I heard V talking to Stella the other day. Saying something about almost being ready.” My heart lifts. “I see a difference in her, Cam. She doesn’t get lost in a memory and fall out of the conversation. She’s a shark out there, getting new business and building her company. Focused. Possessed. Kind of like you. Isn’t that cute?”

  With a growl, I stalk away from him and toward the showers. A blast of warm water sluices across my body. Dropping my head toward the stream, I allow the water to roll down my face. I keep reminding myself that I need to be patient. All of this angst will pay off when Violet’s ready. Time is my friend here. No matter how many days drag past without a word from Violet, they’re bringing me one step closer to her.

  It’s only in the past few days that I’ve come to realize the truth of the situation. I’ve fallen for Violet Harper. Fallen deeply enough to never swim out of her ocean-blue eyes. Fallen deeply enough to drown in her smile. Fallen deeply enough to know that this is love, the kind of love that doesn’t die.