That’s what the next two days were like for me. A montage of sunlight and moonlight, of tears and vomiting and trays of food being taken away untouched.
The moments in that space between wakefulness and slumber were the hardest. When I’d start to believe it was all some horrible nightmare conjured from watching too many 90210 reruns. I’d feel a pillow against my back and swear it was Drew behind me. He gives the best wake-up calls-it’s our own little tradition. Every morning he presses up against me and whispers in my ear, worshipping me with his words and with his hands.
But then I would open my eyes and see that the pillow was just a pillow. And it felt like a newly formed scab being torn off-I bled a little more each time.
There just aren’t words to describe how I missed him. None that could even come close.
I physically ached for his smile, his scent, his voice.
Imagine a car’s going sixty miles an hour down a country road and a tree falls and the car hits it. Boom-instant stoppage. But if the person in the driver’s seat isn’t wearing a seat belt? They’re still going sixty.
And that’s what love is like.
It doesn’t just stop. No matter how hurt or wronged or angry you are-the love’s still there.
Sending you right through the windshield.
On the evening of the second day, I open my eyes and stare out the window. It’s drizzling.
Fitting-what with the black cloud over my head and everything.
Then I hear my bedroom door open. I roll over. “Mom, could you . . .”
Only it’s not my mother standing there. My voice is quiet, softly surprised. “Oh-hey, George.”
You remember George Reinhart, don’t you? Steven’s widower father? He and my mom are together. They hooked up at Matthew and Delores’s wedding.
Don’t worry-I’ve tried to block that part out too.
But they’ve been going strong about a year now. In spite of George’s best efforts, my mother refuses to move to New York. She says Greenville is her home, that she likes her independence. So George comes down here pretty often to visit-weeks at a time. And my mom reciprocates when she can.
George is a good guy. He’s kind of like Jimmy Stewart in It’s a Wonderful Life-a little on the dorky side, sure, but decent. The kind of man you’d want looking after your mom.
His glasses sit crookedly on his face as he holds up a tray. “Your mother’s swamped downstairs, but she thought you might like a cup of tea.”
Running your own business isn’t as easy as it looks. Yeah, you’re your own boss-but that means no calling out sick, no playing hooky. And if an employee doesn’t show up? You’re the one who has to pick up the slack.
George tries hard to help out with the diner. Last week my mom had to drive our cook to the hospital after he sliced his hand open chopping potatoes. And George tried to fill in for him.
No one was injured-but the fire department had to come to put out flames, and the diner closed early because of the smoke.
Still, I guess it’s the thought that counts.
I sit up and adjust the pillows behind me. “Tea would be great. Thank you.”
He puts the tray on my nightstand and hands me a warm cup. Then he wipes his hands on his pants nervously.
“May I sit?”
I take a sip and nod. And George plops down in the beanbag chair beside my bed. He adjusts his glasses and wiggles around to get comfy.
I almost smile.
Then he looks at me for a few seconds, trying to find a way to start. I save him the trouble. “Mom told you, didn’t she?”
He nods solemnly. “Don’t be upset with her. She’s worried about you, Kate. She needed to vent. I would never divulge your personal information to anyone.” He taps his temple with one finger. “It’s in the vault.”
I actually manage to chuckle, because he reminds me so much of his son, Steven.
And then my smile fades, because he reminds me so much of Steven.
“John called me. Asking about you. I told him you were here.”
My eyes rise sharply. Questioning.
“I didn’t tell him why you were here-not exactly. I told him you were worn out. Burnt-out. It’s not uncommon in our field.”
I don’t have a plan regarding the Evans. Technically, I’m carrying their grandchild, a part of their family. And even if their son feels otherwise, I have no doubt that Anne and John will want to be a part of its life.
But I can’t think about that. Not yet.
George continues. “He’d like you to call him when you’re feeling up to it. And he wanted me to tell you that he unequivocally rejects your resignation.”
My brow furrows. “Can he do that?”
George shrugs. “John does what John wants.”
Boy, does that sound familiar.
“He said he can’t afford to lose both of his best investment bankers.”
Wait-both?
“What does that mean? Has Drew not been going to work?”
A small, wishful flame flickers in my stomach. Maybe Drew is just as devastated as I am. Maybe he’s gone into hibernation again-like he did the last time.
George quickly douses my poor little flame. “No, no, he’s been there . . .”
Damn it.
“. . . twice, actually. And drunker than a longshoreman on leave, from what I heard. When John asked him about your resignation letter, Drew told him to mind his own business-in his own colorful way, of course. Needless to say, his future at the firm is . . . fluid . . . at the moment.”
I interpret this information the only way I can, considering who Drew was keeping company with the last time I saw him. “Wow. He must be having a really good time if he’s still drunk the morning after.”
George tilts his head to the side. “I wouldn’t quite look at it that way, Kate.”
I clench my jaw stubbornly. And lie. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care anymore.”
There’s a moment of silence, and George stares at the pattern on the teacup. Then he purses his lips. And his voice is hushed-reverent-like talking in church. “I don’t know how much Drew told you about my Janey.”
Quite a lot, actually. Janey Reinhart was a wonderful woman-kind, bright, warm.
She was diagnosed with breast cancer when Drew was ten and fought it for four years. Drew told me the day she passed away was the day he realized that bad things really happen-and not just to people you read about in the newspaper.
“When she died . . . I wanted to die too. And I would have, if it wasn’t for Steven. Because that’s what children are, Kate. Life renewed.”
I know he means well. Really I do. But I can’t handle this. I’m not ready to deal with the speech about how lucky I am to be pregnant.
And alone.
“Still . . . it was . . . awful. For a long time, it was just one terrible moment after the next. You know, Steven has his mother’s eyes. Looking at him is like looking at Janey. And there were some days-really bad days-that I almost hated him for it.”
I suck in a quick breath. This isn’t the pep talk I was expecting.
“But still, time marched on. And things became . . . bearable. I gained a daughter-in-law and a beautiful granddaughter. And eventually, it didn’t hurt to breathe.”
Tears creep into my eyes. Because I know what he’s saying. I know that pain.
“But it wasn’t until I met your mother that the part of me that died with Janey came back to life. That I was whole again.”
I rub my eyes dry and scoff, “So what are you telling me, George? I’ll find another Drew again? It may just take fifteen years or so?”
Bitterness? Not attractive. Yeah-I know.
George’s shakes his head slowly. “No, Kate. You’ll never find another Drew. Just like I’ll never have another Janey, and your mother will never have another Nate. But . . . what I’m trying to tell you is . . . the heart heals. And life goes on . . . and brings you with it . . . even if you don’t want to go.”
I bite my bottom lip. And nod my head. I put the cup back on the tray, ending the conversation. George pulls himself out of the beanbag chair and picks up the tray. He walks to the door, but he turns back to me before he goes through it.
“I know you probably don’t want to hear this right now, but . . . I’ve known Drew his whole life. I watched him grow up with Matthew and Steven and Alexandra. I’m not defending him; I have no idea why he’s made the choices he has. But . . . I can’t help but feel sorry for him. Because one day he’s going to open his eyes and realize that he’s made the biggest mistake of his life. And because I love him like a son . . . the pain he’s going to feel that day . . . well . . . it breaks my heart.”
He’s right.
I don’t want to hear this. I don’t have the patience to feel sorry for Drew.
But I appreciate his effort. “I’m really glad you’re with my mom, George. I’m . . . grateful that she has you. Thank you.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.