The end of September came and went without a phone call, without any contact with him. She was not going to make the first move—he could decide if they were going to see each other again. It was up to him. But it still hurt more and more with each day, each moment of worrying if he was all right…if he even missed her at all.
Her parents were happy that she was going through the motions, that she appeared to be handling his absence rather well. They had thought she would stay in her room, that her schoolwork would suffer, that she would turn into a zombie. But she smiled and laughed, she spent time with her old friends, she seemed to be able to handle the emotional tax of breaking up with a surprising amount of maturity.
It was just an act.
A few days before Halloween she was at church with the youth group discussing the party plans for the party they were going to host for the holiday. They were in charge of it this year, supervised by the youth leader to make sure it kept a kid-friendly, Christ-centered focus. Games were picked, a list was made for supplies, someone volunteered to pick up the pumpkins for decorating and carving.
She had her head together with her cousin as they pored over a page in their planning notebook.
“How many apples should we get for apple bobbing?” Marlene asked.
“Two or three bags should be enough. How many kids do you think will come?” She looked up, directing her question at the youth leader.
“We’re hoping about seventy-five to a 100.”
“Maybe four bags,” she corrected, writing a “4” over the “3”. It was mundane, mindless. It distracted her, kept her from thinking too much about what he could possibly be doing. Work would be getting out in abuot an hour. He would probably go out drinking—she had no doubt that there were several girls keeping him company at night. It made her heart ache, her head hurt, but it was reality. He had never really tried to hide that he cheated on her—he promised that it meant nothing to him, but he was usually intoxicated when it happened. She remembered yelling at him that that only made it worse—it wasn’t a comfort.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see—”
She couldn’t stifle the gasp that escaped from her lips at the sound of his voice. It seemed so alien, her ears had grown accustomed to not hearing it…
Tim, the youth minister, looked at her with raised eyebrows.
Her eyes darted away from his curious stare to where Errol stood in the church basement just past the open doors. He had always joked that the building would fall down if he ever stepped foot in it. He must have called her house and found out where she was from her parents. But what would possibly make him come here to talk to her? He could’ve called her cell…
He looked like he had lost five or ten pounds, dark circles shadowed his eyes, which were bloodshot. Dressed in black pants, a crisp black button-down and a blood-red tie, he looked like the devil himself.
Everyone was staring at her, at him, back and forth. Whispers started, no one pretended to be working on the party anymore.
He smiled then, a sharp-toothed expression that wasn’t the slightest bit happy. Not that anyone else would notice the difference—but she knew he was furious and that anger had brought him here.
“Excuse me,” she murmured to Marlene and the others. She walked away from their table and moved past him without a glance. He followed her outside to the front of the church. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, whirling around to face him with eyes blazing, fists clenched at her sides.
“You look amazing,” he said. He was giving her one of the slow once-overs that always made her shiver. She had her hair twisted up into a messy bun secured with a pen, she was wearing her glasses and dressed in a pair of old sweatpants and a t-shirt with her highschool’s name and mascot printed on the front. She looked like a high schooler, she didn’t belong with the wickedly attractive man standing in front of her with his hair slicked back, his gray eyes seeing right through her attempt to appear distant.
She crossed her arms protectively over her chest, frozen in place as he walked up to her until their toes touched, until she could feel the heat radiating from him. He smelled deliciously familiar; her eyes fluttered closed for a second at the rush of memories the scent brought with it. Her eyes flew open when she felt him grasp her chin gently, tilting her face up to him.
“Didn’t you miss me?” he asked gently, his voice sending a thrill down her spine.
“You know the answer already,” she whispered.
“Do I?”
“You still didn’t answer my question.”
He always tried to avoid giving answers—it was another way for him to try to control her. As if he needed any more advantage.
A little smile played on his lips. “I came to see you, babe. I’ve been swamped at work. It seems every time I reach for the phone to call you, I get a customer.”
Liar. She shrugged. “I’m glad you’re having a good month.”
“Better than good—it’s great. Will you have dinner with me tonight?”
Her heart began to pound at the thought. She wanted to say yes, to throw her arms around him.
“I’m planning our Halloween party and I have school in the morning.”
“Your first class isn’t until ten and I know you’re almost done here.” He was smiling bigger, catching her attempt to avoid the inevitable. “They won’t mind if you leave a little early and your mom said I just needed to make sure I got you home by one.”
Her mother was enamored with Errol. She thought he was such a gentleman, that he spoiled her daughter like every woman deserved to be. She often told her that he was like prince charming and she was so lucky to have him love her so much. What could you say to that?
He put his hands on her arms, rubbing her shoulders. She fought against the comfort his touch brought.
“Kiss me,” she suddenly commanded. Her eyes narrowed on his face. He complied, bending down to kiss her softly on the mouth, the smug look on his face telling her that he thought he’d won. When she tried to deepen the kiss he laughed and pulled away, forcing a teasing quality into his voice.
“We’re right in front of your church!” he chided.
“You’re high right now,” she gritted through her teeth.
He rolled his eyes but there was no denial. He changed the subject, “Go get your purse and say goodbye. We have reservations at Louie’s.”
“No.”
He made a tsking sound with his tongue. “Don’t be ridiculous—”
“I’m not going. Goodbye, Errol.” She walked around him, reaching for the handle on the front door of the church. He caught her by the arm, spinning her around to face him.
“Relax! I only did one bump earlier.”
She shook her head at him, laughing at how pathetic he was being. She jerked her arm free from his hold and went back inside the church.
The apartment seemed to be cut from the pages of a modern urban magazine. Sleek lines, muted earth tone walls, dark wood furniture, leather upholstery mixed with glass accents. A fire glowed in the mirror-mosaic hearth. The wood floors had a sheen like glass. The view of the city and the lake out of the wall of windows was breathtaking.
She stood in front of them, a silhouette against the skyline. He watched her for a moment, wondering what she was thinking.
“It’s a great price,” the realtor reminded him. “You can have first pick, but I have at least ten other interested renters.” They were both watching her now, probably wondering why she wasn’t studying the apartment further.
The bedroom was spacious with large walk-in closets. The bathroom was perfect with a jacuzzi bathtub and a view of the city. The kitchen was a cook’s dream, the stainless steel appliances state of the art.
He asked that they have a moment to themselves and the realtor moved into the large kitchen, out of earshot as he walked over to her still figure.
“I don’t think I’m ready,” she murmured.
He stared at her profile, at the soft line of her jaw, the curve of her cheek. The window lighting made it appear that she was glowing, her green eyes every shade possible as she looked at him, doubt turning down the corners of her lips.
It felt as if they were moving too fast. It was around Thanksgiving when he asked for forgiveness. He didn’t want to lose her, he said, and he would try to be better for her. Words meant nothing; only action would make her believe him. When he joined the family dinner table it was surprisingly natural. He made everyone laugh, he entertained the adults and played with the children. She remembered feeling very lost at sea when one of her little cousins made him read a book to her. He had settled into an armchair in a corner by the lamp, little Clara on his lap, tucked into the safety of his arm. He read the book three times over until she drifted off to sleep. Everyone teased him that he had a new admirer, another girl fallen prey to his charms. And she had not been able to look at him the same way again. The gentle softening of his features, the unveiled clarity to his eyes when he looked at Clara. It had almost been too much for her; seeing a glimpse into an unguarded Errol she had never witnessed before.
Perhaps it was all just a part of his plan to ensnare her so completely she would never find her way back to the life she knew before. Or perhaps he really would change…perhaps…
He started attending church with her family. He sat next to her in the pew, playing the part of the interested lost sheep coming back to the fold so well she wondered if he wouldn’t absorb at least some of the message in the sermons. He was polite, gregarious. The congregation adored him. Everyone he met was under his spell. And for the first time she doubted the sincerity of her own feelings. What if her love was not the kind that she thought it was? Was it simply that she was bewitched by his very nature? The high school girl wanting to show off was easy to understand; he was older, handsome, doted on her and made no attempt to hide his feelings—false or otherwise—for her in front of others. It was a heady experience to have a man that everyone was drawn to, that everyone wanted to like them, single her out. To know that other women envied her and the looks he flashed her way or how he opened doors for her, held her hand, stroked her back. Every gesture said clearly the words he never uttered: I love her, she is my everything.
For weeks she fought with the confusing ideas. That it was possible the attention she received because of him was what she liked. Because people stared at them, people wanted to be them. She was young and pretty, he was elegant and masculine. They demanded attention by the ease with which they spoke to each other, the looks they would share, the laughter that seemed to punctuate their happiness. Their connection was palpable and seemed very real.
And he had started therapy. He was committed to stopping his drug use. It was a horrible period for them, especially with the stress of the holidays. Work began slowing down. Family members were flying in from out of town, invading her parents house. It was a struggle to try to act as if nothing was wrong, that her boyfriend didn’t have the flu that was “going around” when he almost passed out at the dinner table one night. He had been pale as a sheet, covered in sweat, his eyes bloodshot and bleak. He stayed the night, shaking violently, then laying perfectly still on the couch. She slept on the floor and watched over him, making him eat and drink when all he wanted was to die—or to give in to the desperate need for cocaine. The physical withdrawal—worse than she had thought because he had not only cocaine but heroin to get out of his system—tapered off after a couple of weeks. His therapist was pleased with his progress. She met him one afternoon when she picked Errol up for a lunch date. He pulled her aside and said little more than, “He’s doing this for your sake. He loves you very much. You’re the best thing in his life.”
But even now she doubted that. He loved her love for him. He loved having her cook for him, take care of him, adore him so mindlessly.
Except he was trying so hard. He was suffering for her—she couldn’t deny that he was determined to prove that he could do what she asked of him. Maybe that was the scariest—he was changing and she couldn’t hide behind the certainty that he would never give in to her little demands. The safe little wall that had provided her with the comfort that she would never have to make the decision to commit as long as he was a junkie began to crumble stone by stone with each passing day of his sobriety.
They survived through the angry outbursts, the cravings, the mood swings. Christmas morning he came over early, cheeks rosy from the cold, a genuine smile on his face, lighting up his eyes. Everyone was smiling for more reasons than the joy of opening presents and the comfort of tradition. Still in their pajamas, with her sitting in his lap without raising a single eyebrow from anyone, the family exchanged little looks like they were in on some perfect secret.
“These are for you, Errol.” Her sister Olivia had handed him the small stack of presents wrapped in matching silver paper. He hid his shock well, but not before she saw it. She kissed his cheek and it was an effort to breathe beyond the emotion choking her, squeezing her heart. She knew from conversations, flippant comments that he was not close to his family and growing up holidays and birthdays passed uneventfully. There had been gifts, but it was not really celebrated the way her family did.
Her mother the fundamentalist gave him a beautiful leatherbound Bible with goldleaf lettering, embossed with his name.
“You said you didn’t have a bible of your own and I thought that was just a shame! Do you like it?” Her mother’s clasped hands and eager expression were almost comical.
He had thumbed through the tissue-thin pages, a strange look in his eyes—confused, a little lost, but not insulted. And then he thanked her profusely, saying he was very grateful for her remembering a detail like that. He received a few silk ties, a beautiful pair of cufflinks set with black diamonds. Those were a gift from her grandparents who had decided not to attend Christmas with the family, neither feeling up to the trip this year. She couldn’t think of anything he needed so she had knitted him a scarf, mittens and a hat. He loved them—even if they had been sloppy and ill-fitting he would have loved them.
And then there was more wrapping paper on the ground than carpet showing, the lights twinkling on the tree seemed a bit garish without the festive presents completing the picture. One small box was left. It was picture perfect—square in shape, wrapped expertly in bright red paper, tied with a white satin bow. A tag declared in his familiar neat script that it was for her. Olivia ran over with it, placing it gently in her hands while her family had stared at her with an eagerness she should have realized would not accompany anything less than what happened next.
She unwrapped the present, glancing at him every few moments. He was simply smiling, patiently waiting for her to open the box. She lifted the lid, gently pushing aside the green tissue paper to reveal what was inside.
Her gasp was punctuated by the tension felt by everyone—waiting…
He had gently pushed her off of his lap, turned her around, sitting her where he had just been before getting down on one knee in front of her. He took out the ring box and opened it to reveal the brilliant cushion cut diamond engagement ring nestled in black velvet.
There was no need for flowery words or platitudes. He didn’t mince words.
“Will you be my wife?”
Not in a thousand guesses would she have come to a marriage proposal. He had still yet to say he loved her. Sometimes actions didn’t speak louder than words.
At first she hadn’t been able to speak, and then when she was recovered enough to form coherent thoughts, she was finding it almost impossible to say yes. Had he thought that a few weeks of being clean, of performing the role of recovering drug addict would chase away her doubts?
But as she had sat there in stunned silence while her family waited on pins and needles, she had discovered a sincerity in his gray eyes that started to sweep away the uncertainty she had carried around the last months. His smile was a bit crooked, self-conscious as he left himself vulnerable to the embarrassment of rejection in front of her family. She had reached out and touched his cheek, her fingers trembling slightly as she remembered what it had been like in the summer with him. The intense attraction, the craving to always be with him, the excitement of keeping it a secret at first. She had loved him from the start—now that he would be hers in the most fundamental way, why couldn’t she accept that her love had to change along with his efforts; shifting and shaping to accommodate a different Errol than the one she had fallen for. This person was better, he was clean, he was making a commitment.
“Yes.” She spoke the little word as a reply not only to his question but to her own: Yes, she still loved him, only it had to be different than in the beginning.
Everyone had jumped out of their seats, screaming and dancing around the room, hugging them both, jostling them around. Congratulating them, her mother weeping, her sister asking if she was going to be a bridesmaid. And they had stood there, the two of them, very still in the chaos and excitement.
It was almost better than hearing “I love you”…when he leaned down, whispering in her ear, “Thank you.” It was a strange thing to say, and yet she had known everything the two words implied. For staying with him. For loving him. For the new family that would be his when they married. For a chance at a future where before he had cared only about the here and now. She had slowed him down and he stopped seeing it as a negative.
And so they had come to this place, this high rise apartment overlooking Lake Michigan and the second city. The landscape was shades of steel and white, the lake was oddly motionless, it was a distracting mix of buildings and swirling snow. The horizon was a hazy blue and green, the clouds thin and wispy.
She was turning eighteen in a few weeks. They planned a summer wedding before she started college. Even her parents had encouraged finding an apartment before the wedding so they would have somewhere to return to after the honeymoon. This apartment was one of a dozen they had looked at this month. It was beginning to wear on her nerves; there were always too many details, too many things changing all at once. She wanted a break, she wanted to stop thinking about the future for just a few days…
“There’s no hurry,” he assured her. “We don’t have to decide right now.”
The realtor was disappointed but wished them luck on their search as they parted ways on the sidewalk in front of the building.
They walked several blocks in the biting January wind, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. Louie’s was just around the corner, his favorite restaurant where they spent most of their evenings out. It was nice to know everyone that worked there, the food was very good, and it didn’t matter when they showed up, there was always a table for them.
Conversely, Errol’s friends kept her at a distance. They weren’t unfriendly but avoided conversation or addressing her directly. It had only gotten more pronounced after he had brought her by on New Year’s Eve, showing off the engagement ring. She thought that these people would have known the longest, but the surprise and thinly veiled anger in their expressions told her that they hadn’t known he was going to propose.
It was uncomfortable knowing that a liar like Errol could win over everyone in her life with a few practiced words and yet her sincerity seemed to work against her when it came to his acquaintances.
“Natalie is still mad at you.”
He glanced at the dark-haired hostess as she quickly jerked her head to the side to act as if she hadn’t been glaring at them.
“A lot of women are jealous of you,” he said with a careless shrug.
They were drinking her favorite wine—a vice that he hadn’t encouraged but had abetted during the summer—and her ring caught the light as she reached for the glass.
“Or perhaps she’s not pleased that you’re not sleeping her anymore.”
He rolled his eyes impatiently. “Are you going to start with that again?”
“Well, it would be less embarrassing for me if we didn’t seem to run into every woman you’ve ever slept with. The problem is that there seem to be so many so it’s unavoidable!”
“And yet you’re not among them,” he muttered.
“What?” she asked sharply, the wine glass stopped halfway to her lips.
He wouldn’t look at her, studying the other customers, admiring the dark wood paneling and soft lighting. “I think you’re just trying to pick a fight with me for the hell of it. I’m not going to play along.”
She ignored him, smiling tightly at the waiter as their food was set down in front of them. That gave them both an excuse to not speak to each other. She barely touched her plate, but nibbled dutifully at the pasta. He finished his to the last crumb. When he excused himself from the table it seemed as if every fear and doubt she had been keeping at bay came rushing into her thoughts.
She stared at Natalie, at the hurt behind the jealousy. It would come as no surprise that she thought she was in love with him. If she was honest with herself she would admit that she knew that he was still cheating on her. Or how she started to see the signs that he was using again. Therapy was every other week now, with no discussion of his progress. He was getting defensive again. Telling her that she was paranoid, she needed to trust him. But she couldn’t.
It was almost as if the world came to a standstill in that moment. If she didn’t act now she would never have the courage—even if she was about to be a coward.
Natalie’s suspicious brown eyes watched her as she approached, her chin lifting defensively. Then she looked almost frightened when she told her, “Even if you could have him, you wouldn’t want him.”
“What are you doing?” Natalie demanded, keeping her voice down as she followed her to the coat check.
“Tell him whatever you like, I can’t care anymore.”
She didn’t expect Natalie to follow her outside into the cold. Their breath swirled from their mouths as they stood staring at each other.
“You’re leaving?” she asked dumbly.
She nodded and willed herself not to cry. “When was the last time you two were together?”
The other girl looked away, staring at the snow. “Friday…”
“When he was working late?”
A nod was the answer she got.
Natalie shadowed her steps, grabbing her arm in a claw-like grip. “He loves you!”
“Why does everyone else say it for him?” she shouted in a rush of anger and hopelessness.
Natalie recoiled from the pain in her words, on her face. Her hand fell away and she watched as the only girl Errol had ever loved was walking away.
“But he loves you,” she heard her say with
Her footsteps never faltered. She was a block away waiting for a taxi when she heard him shouting her name. She saw him running towards her and it was horrible, the way he looked so scared and confused. It was frightening to know she was the reason for that look in his eyes—was it possible for her to do that to him?
The yellow cab slid to a stop next to the curb and she opened the door, stopping only for a second to look at him. His steps slowed, he came to a stop several yards away.
Her voice broke, her words trembling as she said the only thing she knew was the truth.
“I’m sorry. I can’t stay. Let me go.”
He just shook his head, as if he couldn’t understand what was happening.
She couldn’t watch him as the cab drove away, couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. The driver said nothing as she sobbed quietly.
When she arrived at home her face puffy and tear-stained her parents would try to ask her what went wrong, ask her if she and Errol got in a fight. She would say nothing to them, locking herself in her room for the rest of the day. When it grew dark out and dinner was ready her mother would come to her bedroom door and knock softly. She would go in and sit on the bed where her daughter lay face down in the pillows. The engagement ring sat on top of the book on her nightstand, cold and garish when it wasn’t adoring her hand.
She felt her mother stroking her waist-length hair gently, comforting her as if she was a baby. It felt blissfully right in that moment. A sob shuddered through her.
“I don’t need to know why you broke up, but I’m here to listen if you’d like to talk about it,” she murmured in her ear, brushing aside her hair to kiss her cheek. “I love you. You’re so strong, I know you’ll be okay.”
“I couldn’t fix him,” she mumbled.
“Oh honey, you can’t fix someone else…no matter how much you want to, no matter how much you love them. They have to want to change on their own. He’s just not ready. Don’t feel like you have to wait around for him to realize that. You’re young, you have lots of time…”
“But I love him…”
“Since when is love the only answer? Just because you walk away doesn’t mean you stop loving. He knows that.” She sighed and patted her back before moving to the door. “Sweetheart, dinner is ready if you want to join us, but I know you probably don’t have much of an appetite. Just keep praying for him—sometimes that’s the only way to love someone like him.”
“Mom!” her child-like cry stopped Mara from shutting the door behind her, she poked her head back in.
Mara smiled and the words she spoke would get her through the next few years whenever she stopped to wonder “what if?”
“Baby, never forget that sometimes goodbye is a second chance.”
