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“I can’t. I can’t get off work, and I can’t leave Morgan.”
Her ten-month-old. Of course. She can’t take off with me. She has responsibilities.
A few knocks on the door interrupt us. The natives are getting restless as they wait for some kind of explanation.
They won’t be getting one. Even if I felt so inclined, I wouldn’t know where to begin.
Kira hands me the letter and I stuff it in my purse. I need to read it again, try to understand Blu.
I palm the keys. I guess I’m doing this. Escaping. Running away. Just like Blu. But not together. We’ll never be together again.
I’m in a nightmare. My feet are sluggish, like I’m trudging through water. Every part of me is screaming to escape, but my body won’t move.
“Go, Marin. Reclaim your heart. You need this time. All the arrangements have already been made for you to be out of town. Grab this time while it’s yours. You don’t need to face any of the guests. Let me do this for you.”
I nod, gaining a semblance of control. I don’t take the time to change. Escape is the only thing on my mind. We sneak out the back entrance, and Kira helps me into the honeymoon car, pushing my dress inside and draping it over the passenger seat. She pulls several of the decorations off the car. There isn’t much she can do about theJust Marriedwriting covering the exterior.
After plopping my honeymoon suitcase in the trunk, Kira says, “Don’t look back, Marin. My mom always used to say,‘You won’t find happiness in the same place you lost it.’ It’s true. Don’t even try. Call me lots. I’m here for you always. I think the world of you. Don’t forget how very loved you are. Now go.”
“Kira, thank you. I…” There are no words. I can’t express how much she means to me.
“I know,” she says. “I know.”
With that, I take off into the great big world on a Saturday in early June with no idea where I’m going.
There’s only one thing I know for sure. I’m all alone. Pain hits me, my body one big ache, like I’ve just lost a boxing match.
It’s only me now.
Lifetime for one, and I’m done. How’s that for a rhyme?
chapter three
IRIP OFFmy veil, ignoring the way I’m wrecking my perfect updo. I’m beyond caring about the state of my hair.
I don’t want my veil flying in the wind behind me the way Blu wanted it to. He no longer has the right to such satisfaction. I’d also prefernotto be strangled by it. The thought has always been a slight worry in the recesses of my mind. Why didn’t I express my concerns to Blu? What does it say about our relationship?
Never mind. The canceled wedding says it all.
After numbly driving for about twenty minutes, I’m so overcome with emotion I’m forced to pull over. I find a private spot to burst into tears. I knew it was coming. The shock finally wore off, allowing the dam to burst. Blu is no longer a part of my life. It feels akin to having a limb brutally ripped from my body. He was everything to me. Blu was my best friend, my confidant, the person I laughed and cried with.
And now it’s over in one blinding moment. It hurts so much, I can’t catch my breath.
My mind wanders back to last night, the night before our wedding. The scene plays out in my head as though I’m a fly on a wall, observing my downfall. Too bad I didn’t realize it at the time.
“Tomorrow’s our big day.”Blu held me close to his chest, sounding thrilled, excited.
Now I know he wasn’t. Not even close.
“We’re finally getting hitched.About time you made an honest woman out of me.”I cringe at the memory, wishing I could take those words back. So trite.
Blu was wearing one of his signature rib-knit sweaters along with a scarf artfully tied around his neck—his wardrobe of choice for the never-ending rainy Oregon days.
“You’re the most honest woman I know,Marin. You don’t need me to make you one.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls.”Cringing again. Me and flirting are like vinegar and oil. We don’t mix.
In my mind, Blu always looked ready to cuddle up by a roaring fire. My imagination has conjured up some crazy scenarios. The most common was of Blu sitting in a wingback chair with a bestseller in one hand and a steaming mug of herb tea in the other—while music drifts through the air. Not from a playlist on his phone. Oh no. From a turntable, the record carefully chosen from his classical vinyl collection.
