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I smile. “You never stop loving someone,” I tell him. “You can hate the decisions they make or the actions they take, but not the person.”
“I wish I had your faith,” he says quietly as he smiles at me.
“Trust me.” What I want more than anything is for Cash and Jack to be friends again. I think I could die happy knowing they had each other.
“I always have,” he says. I can see the remorse and the love in his eyes. I never doubted he loved me, I just didn’t trust the decisions he made because of it.
I look towards the house and see the curtains flutter in the front window. They are expecting me, and I should go inside soon. The longer I sit in this car with Jack, the harder it will be to leave him.
“I should go in,” I sigh. “Are you going to be okay to drive back?”
“Yeah,” he nods. “That coffee this morning hasn’t worn off yet.”
I take his hand in mine and squeeze, because I can’t seem to find the words to say goodbye to him.
“Thank you,” Jack says, sincerely.
I lean over the console and kiss him on the cheek, my lips lingering for a heartbeat.
“Please, take care of yourself,” I ask as I exit the car, unable to look back at him because if I do, I might do something I will regret.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Forever In My Heart
I SIT ON my bed in my childhood bedroom, the comforter the same pink with white flowers I always hated. It’s as if nothing has changed, and my room is a shrine to what should have been. There are no posters on the wall, only a framed picture of Monet’s, The Gardens at Giverny. It was the only thing my mother would let me hang.
I would lie in my bed and stare up at it. All of the colors blended together magically, and I wished I could sit in that garden and smell those flowers. I wanted to be anywhere but here. My mother suffocated me, and even the things I actually liked, I would never give her the satisfaction of letting her know, especially if she liked them too, because if I did, then she would win. None of that seems to matter now.
There is a knock at my door before it opens hesitantly. My mother stands in the doorway, looking at me thoughtfully as if I am the prodigal daughter returning. Her shiny, dark hair sits at her shoulders, and she doesn’t look older like I thought she would. She has the same almond-shaped eyes like me, the hazel hues that change color depending on our mood.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
When I called her earlier to ask if I could come and stay with them for a few days, she was delighted, until I told her that Cash and I were separated. I don’t think she was particularly fond of Cash either, but compared to Jack, he was a saint. I know she was hurt and angry when she found out we got married and she wasn’t there for my wedding.
If she had known Cash and I were getting married, she would have insisted on making it a circus. I chose to ask for forgiveness rather than get permission. Denying her the opportunity to give her daughter a wedding was one more thing that pulled us further apart from one another.
“No,” I answer her honestly, “I’m not okay.” I decide to tell her about my miscarriage and diagnosis of Huntington’s disease. She listens with a pained expression, and I can visibly see her crumble before me. When her expression changes to defiance, I know she wants to fix it, insisting that we go to other specialists, seek out more opinions.
“No,” I tell her definitively. “You sound just like Cash.”
“Well, that’s one thing we have in common,” she says sternly as she sits on the edge of my bed.
She takes my hand in hers. “Your father will be devastated.”
I shake my head, already feeling the tears well up in my eyes. My father always took my mother’s side when we argued. At the time I resented him for it, but now I understand that he was just trying to be a loyal husband, because that’s what you do for the person you love. Whenever I got in trouble, he would sneak me little gifts to try and make me feel better, whether it was a bowl of ice cream or giving me back my confiscated Walkman. I loved him for it.
I will always be his little girl, and I can understand why it hurt him so much when I left. Now, I will hurt him all over again.
“I know,” I reply, shaking my head.
“I don’t understand how Cash could leave you knowing you’re sick.” She shakes her head in disgust. “What kind of man does that?”
I take her hand in mine. “You don’t understand,” I try to explain to her but I doubt she will ever understand. “He loves me. That’s why we’re separated.”
“That’s ridiculous. If you love someone, you don’t leave them.”
It’s okay if she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t need to. “It’s between Cash and me.”
