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“Months, maybe a year later, she showed up at one of my shows. I thought maybe we could start again, but then I quickly figured out that she was using again.” Peter’s eyes fill with remorse. “I found her…” He can’t finish the sentence. “She’d overdosed.”
I flip to another entry in Mia’s journal.
Seeing Peter today and what he told me in the parking lot about Maggie makes me pull the album from the wall. I carefully take it out of its case and flip over the sleeve. I run my finger down the list of the songs until I get to the credits. At the bottom, under the copyright, it says, Dedicated to Maggie Leone.
She’ll forever be immortalized by this album, and she never got the chance to hear it. I suppose it’s more for Peter than for her, a way for him to honor what they once had. I guess that is what I have with all of the Mogo albums. We are forever immortalized by them, like being frozen in time.
* * *
Finally reading Mia’s journal,I have realized three very important details.
First, Peter didn’t know about Sasha. He thought Maggie had an abortion.
Second, Sasha’s grandparents had to have known, or at least suspected Peter was her father, if he went through all of that with Maggie.
Third, Mia loved me. She loved me on another level, and that was all I ever wanted. Maybe Sasha’s right. It’s okay to be followed around by a ghost; the problem was that I was afraid of her… afraid that I wasn’t enough for her, that loving her was my downfall. I just needed to realize that loving her despite everything was a gift, and that gift has led me to Sasha.
Letting the journal slip through my fingers, I palm my face and cry into my hands. The emotions have slipped over my carefully erected wall, and they slowly crumble. I spent years not trusting myself because I had fallen in love with the wrong woman. It cost me time, time I can’t get back.
My back aches from sitting against the bed frame, but I can’t seem to get myself off the floor. I’ve been like this most of the night reading her journal, reliving our story from her perspective, and it’s heartbreaking.
Writing in her journal was a way for her to process everything, the band breaking up, our marriage being destroyed, the birth of her publishing company, and us finding our way back to each other. We were happy in the beginning, until fate fucked with us.
Some couples grow stronger through grief, and others fall apart. We never found our way back to each other after losing the baby and her diagnosis. We were two people drifting in and out of each other’s lives, like lost ships looking for the lighthouse that was shrouded in fog. Mia was always at the studio, and I worked longer hours at the record store. I knew it was over long before I let her go. She was never meant to be mine. A bigger part of her heart had always belonged to Jack. I just couldn’t watch it happen, and I spent so many years being angry at myself for not being enough. Regrets can rip you apart from the inside out. I thought she died in the car accident thinking I hated her, but if any good has come out of reading this, it’s that she died knowing I loved her.
Because I could never hate her.
I understand why Sasha was angry with me. Keeping this from her, even if it had only been a suspicion at the time, must have felt like a violation of trust. Secrets are never good, because they never stay secrets forever. There are a lot of them in this journal, but only one I am able to tell.
I pull my phone from my back pocket, calling the one person who could ever possibly understand. The minute he answers, I say, “Jack, I need your help.”
* * *
The waves crashonto the sand, sounding like thunder as we sit outside of Jack’s Malibu home. His patio extends out over the beach, with a black iron railing and stairs that lead down to the sand.
I can see little touches of Erin around the house, especially the patio furniture that surrounds the fire pit. Comfortable chairs, vibrant patterns, something Jack would never have picked out on his own.
“What now?” Jack turns to me with concern in his eyes.
I watch as the pages of the journal curl and twist in the fire.
“I haven’t seen or spoken to Peter in maybe fifteen years,” I answer, shaking my head.
“This is just too much,” Jack says. “Of all the fucking chicks in the world…” he doesn’t finish his sentence, thinking the same thing I did.
Running my hand through my hair, I stand up and walk over to the railing. “It’s crazy, but…” My words get stuck in my throat.
“I’m sorry,” he says as he joins me at the railing.
“You need to be more specific, Jack.” My attempt at a joke is swallowed up in the space between us.
“I shouldn’t have given you the journal,” he says. “I knew it was a fucking mistake.”
“Is that why it took you two weeks to give it to me?” I ask him, already knowing the answer.
“Didn’t think any good would come of it; that it would just stir up more shit, but her dad gave it to me and said it was for you, and I thought maybe you’d finally be able to put her to rest. Instead, little miss curtsey shows up.”
Her warm brown eyes fill my mind as I remember everything that has happened between us. I’d let her in because I’d fallen for her. I’d fallen for her, hard, even though I knew it was a bad idea.
