I was seething, I couldn’t even look at her. The words I was so desperate to hear before fell flat. Useless. Hollow. A means toan end. But something started to sink in, started to make me doubt myself even now.
“I see what I see. And what I’ve heard around town,” I said.
She frowned. “I asked them not to tell you. I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“I’m surprised.” I didn’t drag Pace into this. She didn’t need to have him in her sights next.
“You aren’t listening. I see I’m too late.” She closed up her laptop and slid it into her shoulder bag. Her eyes were glistening as she spoke. “I’m not sure what I did that made it so easy for you to see me as this awful person. But I’m sorry if my reaction to your offer to stay hurt you. But the story is for you. I wanted you to have a proper memorial of your mother. I wanted you to be able to see her as the world saw her and not as the victim of your father. She chose you. She chose love. She was the winner in all ways. She got you. I just wanted you to see that, so hopefully, you could finally mourn her. I wanted you to see yourself the way she saw you and not as some huge cost she had to pay.”
I shook but couldn’t speak. The fears and the pain caught up with me. I was frozen.
She walked to the door, her laptop bag over her shoulder. Her smile was sad and brittle. The pain in her eyes palpable, the first tear falling and quickly wiped away by her hand, like she didn’t want me to see her hurt. She glanced back toward the room, then fleetingly at the scattered papers, before her watery gaze fell back to me.
“I wrote that for you, Levi. It’s not for any paper or magazine.Just for you. That’s the only copy outside my computer. I would never publish a story like that without your consent. I know that sometimes my morals come at a cost, but I wouldn’t do that. I would never hurt somebody I love so intentionally.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I do think you should read it. I wanted you to have a story about your mother that was beautiful to replace the one in your head.”
She walked out. I didn’t stop her. I couldn’t think when she was near me. She made me doubt everything.
For a long time, long after her car rumbled away, long after Ripley came out of her hiding spot to lick my hand, I stood there immobile.
Had I really fucked up?
The sun had set. The house was dark.
I listened for her voice. Here I was, in the space that was so hard to be in, the space I avoided so long, and suddenly, Lily Carmichael’s voice was nowhere to be heard.
“Have I disappointed you?” I asked the quiet and dark house.
I didn’t need to know her answer. I felt it in my entire being. Claire wouldn’t do the awful things that I accused her of. I felt hurt and rejected and wanted any reason to think she wasn’t the woman I fell in love with, so maybe her leaving wouldn’t hurt as much.
Eventually, I grabbed the story and Ripley and walked out.
I locked the front door, not sure I would ever open it again.
I had tried to open my heart to someone like I had tried to open the house to her.
And it was pointless.
I stomped back up to the main cabin.
I paced. I made a fire. I glared at the story, wrinkling in my damp grip.
“I don’t want to read anything about that man. I don’t want to give him any more of my attention.” I spoke out loud to Ripley. She whined at my side, licking my hand even more. “I’ve already wasted so much time thinking about justice and his happy life.”
I held the paper to the fire. The heat of the flames started to curl the edges of the sheets.
Ripley barked. With her ears pressed back, crouched down on her hind quarters, her little backside sliding as she whined, tail smacking the hardwood floor.
“Fine. I’ll read until I see his name. Then I’m throwing it in the fire.”
Ripley barked.
I sat down with a sigh. She was instantly in my lap.
With my shoulders tensed and jaw clenched, I read the first page … then the second and third, until I finished.
I immediately started it from the beginning to read again without being blurred by tears.
Then I read it again.
