Desperately Seeking Epic

by B. N. Toler

  She wouldn’t answer her door when I knocked. After knocking for the fourth time, I tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. I marched in, determined. I would fix this. Somehow. I made my way to the kitchen and found her sitting at the table, a cup of coffee beside her and a folded piece of paper in front of her.

  “Guess you didn’t hear me knocking,” I jested. She didn’t find it amusing. Pulling out a chair, I took a seat beside her as she sipped her coffee.

  “I’m terrible at apologies,” I began.

  “I don’t need your apology,” she quipped. “I need nothing from you.”

  Ouch. That didn’t feel good. Her armor was on now and I hated it. I’d gotten to see the softness that laid beneath the hard exterior and now she was hiding it from me.

  “I’m sorry,” I continued. Maybe she didn’t want my apology, but she’d get it anyway. “I was thrown.”

  She huffed with annoyance. “I’m going to tell you why he left me the business. Then I want you to leave.”

  My brows furrowed. She wanted me to leave. Shit. This was bad.

  She slid the piece of paper in front of her toward me. “Read that. It explains everything.”

  I unfolded it, having absolutely no idea what this paper would reveal. It was my uncle’s handwriting. I recognized it immediately.

  Dear Clara,

  My name is Dennis Falco. I’m sure you’ve heard my name. I’m sure in your mind, I’m a monster; an evil person.

  When I was twenty-two, I was living in Florida. I worked as a mechanic, changing oil at some dinky shop. I was wasting time. And life. I was my father’s greatest disappointment.

  On a Friday, I’d had a particularly bad day. I can’t even remember why. I went to my favorite bar, found a stool, and drank my bad day away. I closed the bar down that night. They had to kick me out. When I got in my car, I turned up my stereo, rolled my windows down, and lit a cigarette for the drive home.

  Ten minutes later, I hit another car head-on going sixty miles an hour. Somehow, unfairly, I survived. I broke my arm, nose, and cracked some ribs. I actually lost a few teeth.

  Your mother and father, however, lost much more. They were killed on impact.

  The judge took it easy on me. Times were different then. I went to rehab and had community service. I was on probation for five years.

  That day changed my life. I never drank another drop. I volunteered with underprivileged kids, trying to provide a good mentor for them, hoping maybe I’d save some kid from making the same mistakes I did. I got a new job and saved up money before moving to Virginia and starting a skydiving business. It’s done well.

  You were just a baby when I took your parents from you. And I know, deep down, I didn’t just take two lives that night. I took three. I took yours. I took years of love, and hugs, and memories. I know nothing I will ever do or say will make what I did that night okay. But I hope you know, I have thought about your parents every single day of my life. I have thought of you, too.

  So I give you what I have. Half of a skydiving business may not sound very exciting, but I hope you see it one of two ways. In time, either you can sell it to my nephew, whom I plan to leave my business to, or keep the money and spend it on something you desire. Maybe you’ll see this as a chance. A chance to try something different. A chance to start over . . . if that’s what you need.

  Whatever you decide, Clara, please know . . . I’m sorry. From the deepest part of my soul . . . I am sorry.

  Sincerely,

  Dennis Falco

  I stared at the floor as I lay the letter on the table. I was speechless. How did I not know about this? I lifted my gaze to meet Clara’s and found she was watching me. She was angry. And hurt. Rightfully so. Never in a million years would I have thought that this was why my uncle left her half the business.

  She took the letter and folded it, placing it in front of her.

  “The keychain? They’re your parents’ initials?”

  She nodded yes.

  “Clara, I—”

  “Just go, Paul,” she interrupted me.

  I stayed in my seat and observed her. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t force myself to leave like this. She stood and took her mug to the sink. I had to do something, anything. My uncle killed her parents. I felt so betrayed and angry. He was my hero, my idol in so many ways. How could he have kept this from me?

  Standing, I met her at the kitchen sink and tried to hug her, but she pushed me away. “Don’t,” she growled. But I didn’t listen. I pulled her to me and hugged her even when she struggled to push me off. “Don’t fucking touch me,” she seethed.

  I released her and let her back away. Her eyes were glossed over with angry tears as she breathed heavily, glaring at me. Fuck. I hated seeing her like this. I rushed her before she had a chance to stop me. I picked her up and sat her on the counter. Her hands pressed against my shoulders, attempting to push me away, but I was stronger. I kissed her neck and shoulders, burying my face in her chest, and pleaded with her.

  “Please forgive me. I’m sorry. I’m an asshole. Please, Clara.” I couldn’t stop apologizing. We struggled together, her pushing me away, me trying to hold on. Finally, she seemed to give in, to succumb to my lips on her skin. She let her head lull back for a moment before remembering her anger and fought me again. “Shh,” I whispered. “Just let me hold you. Let me make it up to you.”

  Her body seemed to sag with my words as tears streamed down her face. I picked her up and carried her upstairs to her bed. I spent the next three hours telling her how sorry I was without words. I worshipped her. I rubbed her body from head to toe. I kissed every inch of her soft skin. I made love to her.

  And when we were done, she closed her eyes, her mind and body sated. I watched her sleep for a while before climbing out of bed and dressing. I was restless, my mind moving a thousand miles a minute. Quietly, I made my way down her ancient, creaky stairs and went to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I stared at the emptiness and snorted. She didn’t have shit in it. Maybe I would go pick up a few things and cook her something nice for dinner. I needed to make a list. I began opening drawers, searching for a notepad when I found a piece of paper that looked like a journal entry made by Clara. I recognized her handwriting from the many papers we’d completed together in the office. I stared at the paper again. I shouldn’t have read it. It wasn’t my place to . . . not without her permission. But I took it from the drawer and let my eyes scan it line by line.

  Today has been a bad day.

  Today, my parents died twenty-five years ago.

  Today, Marcus acted like a gigantic dick face.

  Today, Kurt took another step away from me, from our life together.

  I think I miss him.

  I shouldn’t.

  Maybe I just miss us—who I thought we were.

  He’s a bad person. I know this. Maybe not entirely bad, but mostly bad. He tossed me aside. Don’t I deserve better? Did I not love hard enough? Did I not give enough? I think I did. I really do.

  I’ve made peace with my parents passing. Being that I was so young makes it a little easier to bear.

  But Kurt is a fresh wound.

  I need to let him go. But hearts don’t work like light switches; they don’t just flick on and off. They swell rapidly with love and bleed out slowly with pain.

  I should be stronger. I should be able to shut myself down to his memory. But I’m not strong enough yet.

  They say the opposite of love isn’t hate, but indifference. I hate him. I hate him so much I feel it seeping out of my pores, toxifying everything around me.

  I don’t want him back. I don’t. Not who he is now. I want my life back. I want the safety I felt in my marriage back. I want the days where we held hands and dreamed a millions dreams together back when I believed him when he said I was his forever. When he told me no one could take my place. I want that man back. I want that type of love in my life.

  But he’s gone.

  And now, given his cru
elty and seemingly unfeeling actions, I have to wonder . . . was he ever really there? Was it all a façade? Was I a fool the whole time seeing only what I wanted to see?

  I want to be happy.

  I want forever.

  I want . . .

  I want a baby.

  I dropped the paper on the counter and backed away from it.

  Forever.

  Baby.

  They were two words that defied everything I wanted. They were two potent words that I wasn’t sure, no matter how much I loved Clara, I could give her. I needed freedom and adventure. Thoughts of not having either was suffocating. I needed to be able to hop a plane on a whim and not owe any explanations. I couldn’t have that and her. And I couldn’t promise her something I couldn’t give. I wasn’t built that way. I just wasn’t. Maybe with her, the idea was easier to swallow, but I wasn’t ready for even the idea of it. But the most hurtful confirmation was she didn’t love me. I wasn’t even in her thought process when she poured her heart out. She wanted him. She still loved the memory of him. She missed her husband. She wanted the house with a white picket fence and a baby with him.

  I was such a chump. To think, I was ready to tell her I loved her. Clearly, that was a mistake. I was a fucking fill-in. I had to get out of there. All I could think was to flee.

  I snuck out quietly as to not wake her and drove off. It was still dark, only four in the morning. I had to end it with her. I had to. But if I did, I couldn’t stay. Even if I traveled in and out, she’d hate me. I wasn’t strong enough to fix what Kurt had done wrong. Our work relationship would be awful. If I left . . . I had to go for good. There would be no looking back.

  I went home and packed a suitcase. At eight in the morning, I made my way downtown to Richard Mateo’s office. He wasn’t happy with me showing up unannounced, but he saw me. I signed over a limited power of attorney, giving him permission to represent me in regard to the business and the sale of my house. I didn’t care if Clara bought the business. I told him we could remain partners if she paid me a reduced salary, which Mateo would put into an account for me.

  “Just do your best,” I told him. “I’m not trying to screw her over. I just need enough to get by.” When the papers were signed, I went straight to the airport. And I left. For good.

  “You were wrong. You do know that now, right?” Ashley states.

  I cock my head. “About what?”

  “She wasn’t in love with Kurt. He represented another broken promise. That’s all. She loved you.”

  I nod my head in understanding. “I get that now.”

  She gives a sad smile and gets back to business. “So . . . You didn’t come back to the states for thirteen years?” Ashley continues with a speculative brow.

  “Once,” I admit. “Florida. Four years ago when my mother passed away. I checked in with her once a week. I didn’t find out she had passed until three days after. She was buried by the time I made it home.” I frown at the thought. I hate that I missed her funeral. That I wasn’t there for her.

  Ashley produces another sympathetic smile. “We meet with Clara one more time. Then we should be set to put this thing together.”

  I nod, feeling shitty. It’s not easy to remember what an asshole I was. And how much time was wasted over a misunderstanding. “Please remember this is for our kid.”

  “I will, Paul. Neena will love it.”

  “What did you think that morning when you woke up and he wasn’t there?” Ashley questions, the end of her pen between her teeth.

  Inhaling deeply, I release it slowly.

  It was ten in the morning when I woke up. I hadn’t slept like that in ages. I stretched and sat up, listening for him in the house. When I heard nothing, I figured he must’ve gone in to the office and let me sleep in. I smiled thinking about how sweet it was. I took my time showering, naively relishing in the soreness I felt from the night we spent together. It felt good to finally tell him what my affiliation with Dennis was. I felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of my shoulders.

  When I made it into work, Paul’s truck wasn’t in the parking lot. Marcus was in the front, restocking waivers. He turned and met my gaze as I entered. There was a moment of silence between us, neither of us knowing what to say. We seemed to agree not to say anything for the time being. With a nod, I went back to my office and turned my computer on. Around noon, I tried calling Paul at home, but his line was disconnected. I thought maybe he’d forgotten to pay the bill.

  But when his three o’clock clients showed up and we still hadn’t seen him, I started to get worried. When we couldn’t reach him, Marcus called Bowman and had him come in to cover Paul’s jumps. We discounted the clients for the inconvenience.

  No police had showed up notifying us of an accident so I finished the day out. I went to his house after I left the office, but his truck wasn’t there. When he didn’t show up again the next day, I wondered if he’d taken off again for an adventure. But why now? After the night we shared. Couldn’t he see now was a bad time to run away for a month? And what about our business? He had scheduled jumps. It was unacceptable.

  “We should probably just schedule the other guys to take his jumps for the next month or so,” Marcus suggested. “No point in us killing ourselves every day to cover for him.”

  I nodded, letting out an uneasy breath. But my expression said everything.

  “He’ll come back, Clara,” Marcus assured me. “He always does.” What he said seemed as if he were trying to comfort me. I was shocked. I nodded and he went back to his work.

  Two weeks went by, and not a word from Paul. I was so hurt. I tried not to be, but I was. I couldn’t help it. I had fallen for him. Why was he always leaving after having a moment with me? How could he just leave and not contact me at all? It was a Wednesday when Marcus placed an envelope on my desk. It was thick. That alone told me it couldn’t have been anything good in there.

  “From Richard Mateo,” he pointed out.

  I opened it, not minding that Marcus was watching me. I read one sheet and then the next. I dropped them in my lap, furrowing my brows in confusion and shock.

  “What is it?” Marcus asked.

  I handed him the papers, blinking quickly to keep my tears at bay. It couldn’t be what I thought it was. It couldn’t.

  Marcus’ shoulders sagged as he read. “That asshole,” he grumbled.

  My heart was pounding, the sound whooshing in my ears. Paul wanted me to buy the business from him, his portion anyway, or keep him as a partner and pay him a reduced salary. He wasn’t coming back.

  Why did everyone I loved leave me? But I wasn’t the only one that felt betrayed. Marcus looked like he wanted to hit something. He tossed the papers on the desk and marched out of my office without another word. My hands shook as I shoved the papers in the drawer of my desk. I was so overwhelmed with emotion I could hardly stand. But I did. I had to leave.

  This was bullshit. He was bullshit. Grabbing my keys. I darted out to my car and screeched out of the parking lot. I needed to see something. I needed to know if Paul was gone for good or not. This couldn’t be happening to me . . . again. I drove to his house. The gravel of his driveway crackled under my tires as I slowly drove by the For Sale sign. I stared at it for a long moment before lowering my head to the steering wheel and crying like I’ve never cried before.

  He left.

  He left just like everyone else.

  When I calmed down, I drove home and crawled in bed, and cried myself to sleep. I woke up in the middle of the night, my entire lower body aching I had to pee so badly. Flipping the light on in my bathroom, I stared at the box I’d left there the day before. Now was as good a time as any. I tore open the box, pulled out the little white stick, and peed on it.

  Three minutes later, my world changed forever.

  Ashley sports a sad smile as she watches me wipe under my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I croak out. “It’s hard when you remember one of the best times in your life as one of the
most painful.”

  Leaning over, she pulls a small pack of tissues from her backpack and hands them to me.

  “Thanks.”

  “Did you hate him?” she asks after I’ve cleaned myself up.

  “At first,” I admit. “I decided to keep him as a business partner. I wasn’t sure I could tell him I was pregnant, not then anyway. I was too . . . hurt. When I thought of him, it was too much. But I wanted to make sure I could get to him, if I needed to.”

  “Did you try to contact him?”

  “A few times. I emailed him. I told him I needed to talk to him, but I didn’t say what about.”

  “Did it surprise you when he didn’t respond?”

  I shrug. “Yes. No.”

  “What happened with Marcus after that?”

  It had been two days since I’d received the letter from Mateo on Paul’s behalf. I called Marcus into my office and asked him to sit with me.

  I intended to explain my plans to him with regard to the business, but he spoke first.

  “I’m giving you my resignation.”

  The blood drained from my face. There was no doubt we hated each other. I, for one, couldn’t stand him. But with Paul disappearing, and a baby on the way, I wasn’t sure I could make the business function without Marcus. He knew the ins and outs. And he had a great rapport with the employees.

  I slumped back in my chair, utterly deflated. The universe was against me.

  “We both know Paul, while not the best mediator, was the only reason we’ve managed to coexist this long,” he explained. “I just don’t think we can have a healthy work environment.”

  “And if I asked you to stay?” I questioned cautiously.

  He tilted his head, a deep wrinkle forming between his brows. “Why would you ask me to stay?” he snorted.

  I hated having to be vulnerable in front of him. I was afraid he’d use it as a weapon to belittle me more. But I had no choice.