Beloved (33 page)

“You made him leave.” Her voice is soft and nonjudgmental. She understands, but I can sense her disapproval.

“I had to.”

She lets out a sad sigh, shaking her head. “No, honey, you didn’t have to. Not every man is going to leave you. You need to take a few days and really think about how you feel about Jackson. Remember what you felt when you were with him. Then think about whether you can let go of the past and find a chance at a future. If it’s not Jackson, it’ll be the next man. You’ve always questioned if you were good enough, never considering that they weren’t good enough for you. But Jackson? Well, that’s for you to decide.”

“What if he wrecks me? What I feel for him is so intense. I’ve fallen for him so fast. It scares me.”

Ashton gets up without answering my question. She grabs something off my dresser and places it on my pillow. Before I can grab it, she puts her hand over it and looks at me.

“I don’t think you’re the only one that’s fallen.” Her brow rises and she places a kiss on my forehead. “Now, it’s up to you. Is he worth the fall and possible heartbreak, or is he strong enough to catch you?”

Without another word she leaves my room. I look over at the small, torn paper, curious as to what’s on it. Lifting and turning it over, I see Jackson’s handwriting.

I spend the weekend pretending nothing happened, trying to come to grips with my emotions. Ashton leaves me alone most of the time, giving me space to sort it through. There are so many times I almost cave, call Jackson, and beg him to come back, but I know I’m not ready. His shutting me out really hurt, but more than that I’m terrified of how much I care for him. I fear the way he stormed into my life and churned up my emotions.

When I wake from my second nap on Sunday, there are multiple text messages from Neil threating his lawyer, but not one from Jackson. I’m not sure whether I should be relieved or disappointed. His message was clear when he left—I have to choose him, fight for him. Instead I’ve been fighting against it. Fear grips my soul. It smothers me, and I’m not sure how to get past it. I would rather be alone than go through another devastating loss.

Much to my chagrin, I call out of work on Monday. My eyes are swollen and I want a day to wallow—alone. Ashton rolls her eyes, giving me an earful before leaving for work.

“So you’re going to stay home and mope?”

“No, I’m staying home because I have a migraine,” I retort.

She huffs and narrows her eyes. “I know you better than that. Funny, you didn’t miss work after Neil. In fact, you became almost obsessed with your job. What gives?”

“Well it didn’t hurt this bad. And my staying home has nothing to do with Jackson.” I grab my coffee and try to leave the kitchen.

Ashton follows behind me. “Then what does it have to do with?”

“Everything! It has to do with everything, dammit. I’m so tired of it all. That letter … I don’t even know what to do with it.”

Ashton continues, unfazed by my outburst. “Why don’t you sit down and reread it? You’ve had a few days to digest it now. But I don’t think that’s really the issue.” Her brow rises. “I think it has to do with a certain sexy SEAL who you’re in love with.”

“Jesus!” I throw my hands up. “This has nothing to do with him. Do I miss Jackson? Yes. Are you happy now?”

“Are you?” she fires back with a calm voice.

“Do I look happy?” Again with the damn tears!

She leans against the wall, casually sipping her coffee. “No, but one phone call would fix it. So what else is making you skip work?”

“I … ugh!” I grip the sides of my head, irritated with her.

“I think you’re making yourself live a lie. You need to look deep down and figure out what you’re willing to walk away from. If you can look me in the eye and tell me that you don’t have some serious feelings for him and he doesn’t make you happy, then fine. Good riddance. But from the look on your face right now, I don’t think that’s how you feel. Fear is going to drive away the one man who’s strong enough to walk through this with you.”

Without a word I head to my room, slam the door, and lock it. I’m batting a thousand right now. Is there anyone in my life I’m not pissed at? Why does she always push me so damn much?

I hear my phone ringing, but the number isn’t one I know. I hesitate and calm myself before deciding to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Pope. This is Avi Goldstein.”

“Hi, Mr. Goldstein. Is there a problem?”

“No, nothing serious. Sorry to bother you, but I received a call regarding the property in Scotch Plains,” he says, seeming distracted.

“Scotch Plains?” I ask, confused.

“Yes, it’s the house you inherited. I’m afraid I didn’t give you the address when you were in my office. Anyway, I received a call stating there was a door open in the back of the house. Nothing has been damaged, but you might want to go secure it until you decide what to do with the property.”

“Oh. Ummm, okay. Can you give me the address?”

“It’s 198 Mueller Court. I’m sorry, I have to go. I’m due in court in ten minutes, but please don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything, Ms. Pope,” Avi says before the line disconnects.

I guess my day of wallowing in self-pity just went down the drain. Scotch Plains is about an hour away. Determined to avoid rush hour traffic, I grab my keys and head out the door. All I want is to shut my brain off. I think it’s time for some chic rock music. Blaring my radio, I get lost in the sounds of angry, scorned girls singing about how much they don’t need a man.

As I get closer to the house, I start to feel a familiar pang of nerves. The last few days I’ve realized how strong I am. During all the tears and pain, I’ve held it together for the most part. I ate, I showered—which Ashton was impressed with—and I functioned. Even so, the aching was still there, hovering behind the bravado.

I contemplate why I called out of work and if there’s any validity to Ashton’s claim that it’s because of Jackson. If I’m being completely honest, yes, it has a lot to do with him. I miss him. I haven’t spoken to him in three days and every time my phone beeps, I pray his number will show. Even if it makes no sense—since he’s doing exactly what I asked—the emotions are still there.

Pulling up to the address, my heart starts beating faster. The street is adorable. It’s filled with cute little Cape Cod style homes with plush green lawns. Exiting the car, I look at number 198 and sigh. It’s a muted yellow with white shutters. There’s a large oak tree and some overgrown bushes against the house. As I approach the door, I stop myself from dreaming of what it could’ve been like living here. It could’ve been worse than what I grew up with.

“Hello? Can I help you?” A quiet old voice stops me before I can put the key in the lock.

“Hi,” I respond.

“I’m Mary. I live in the house right over there.” She points to the house on the left and then takes an unsteady step toward me. Mary is beautiful even in her old age. She must be around eighty, but you can see the youth in her eyes. She has an aura around her that makes you want to smile.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Catherine. I guess I own the house now. I received a call I needed to check on things.”

Mary clasps her hands together as if she’s praying. Her smile is bright and warm. “Oh! I’m just … Catherine.” She walks a little faster to reach me. “Let me see you.”

My eyes widen. Somehow she seems to know who I am. “I’m sorry, do we know each other?”

Her smile doesn’t fade when she reaches me. “No, dear. I knew Hunter—your father—for a very long time. I always hoped I’d get to meet you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, of course. Come. Let’s go inside and you can tell me all about yourself.” Her grip is surprisingly firm as she takes my hand and pulls me inside.

When I enter I try to take it all in. It’s nothing like the home I grew up in. The rooms are large, but everything is stark—bare white walls, hardwood floors. It lacks any warmth. Everything is … cold. There’s a small television in the corner with a recliner and a small sofa situated in front of it.

I continue on as Mary walks through the hall into another room. The outdated kitchen has a card table with four chairs around it. On the wall there’s a calendar and a phone list. I look through the names, most of which are doctors.

“Would you like some tea, dear?” Mary asks while filling the kettle with water.

“Sure,” I say with a smile. I don’t drink tea, but she seems so kind and she knew my father, so maybe she can answer my questions. “So how long did you know my father?”

“I’ve lived in that house since the day I got married. It was my late husband’s wedding gift to me.” You can hear the smile in her voice as she places the kettle on the stove. “My husband, Ray, was a wonderful man. He served in the Army,” she says with pride.

“He sounds wonderful. You’re a very lucky woman.”

“I was,” she says, holding out the chair for me to sit. “We were married for sixty-two years and we were blessed with four boys. They’ve all grown and now I have beautiful grandchildren that I get to spoil. But enough about me.” Mary places her hand on mine. “You want to know about your father, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I look around the room at the house he lived in. If I were to judge how he lived based on what I’ve seen so far, the one word I can think of is
empty
. There are no photos, nothing adorning the walls, it’s merely a house.

“Well, he moved here around fifteen years ago. It took him about a year until he warmed up to us. Ray was good at forcing him to come out of his house by asking him to help fix things.” Mary looks away wistfully. “Ray could’ve done the things he asked for help with, but Hunter couldn’t say no to an old man.” She chuckles. “Eventually, he opened up little by little.”

The kettle whistles and Mary and I get up to make the tea. She already set out the cups and tea bags. Listening to how she knows him breaks my heart. I’m jealous of the woman who knew the man I so desperately needed. However, I’m grateful in a sense for people like her and Ray, who were there for him. He wasn’t completely alone. And neither was I—I had Ashton, Gretchen, and my mother.

Once we have our drinks, we sit back down. “Thank you.” She takes a sip before beginning again. “I came to learn about you from your father. He was very sad in the beginning. At times he would talk about a girl named Catherine, but didn’t tell us you were his daughter. Anyway, one day I asked him to tell me about her. He sat with me for quite some time, telling me all about you.”

“He left when I was nine.” My voice is tiny and I’m not sure that Mary heard me.

“He told me. He wasn’t proud of what he’d done. I think as the years went on he convinced himself that it was for the best. But then he’d show us a photo or tell us about something you did. There was always such pride in his eyes when he spoke about you, dear.”

My eyes lift to hers and I read the truth behind them. He said he’d followed me. I guess he’d shared what he learned with Mary. I’m conflicted by the years of hate and anger now turning to sympathy. He said he stayed away because he wanted to protect me, and initially I thought it was a cop-out. Now I’m confused. Maybe everything he wrote in the letter wasn’t a lie.

“He wrote me a letter while he was sick. Did you know that?”

“No, he never mentioned a letter.” Her gray brow rises. “When he found out he was sick, he changed a lot of things. He didn’t suffer for long. It was very late in the disease when he was diagnosed. He talked a lot more about you and what he gave up toward the end, though.” Mary pats my hand, giving me a warm smile. “You know, when we know our time is running out, we think more about the choices we made. I’m sure his letter was sincere.” She gets up from the table and washes the cups before she returns to sit with me.

“I don’t know what to think anymore. It feels like everything I knew was a lie.” A tear drops as the sadness returns. “I blamed myself all my life. I always felt like I’d done something as a kid to make him leave. Then I get this letter saying it wasn’t me, it was him. My entire life I’ve believed I wasn’t good enough for him to come back for.”

Mary places her hand on my arm. “The heart knows the truth. When times are hard, we have to rely on the voice in our hearts. Trust yourself, Catherine. I do know the Hunter I knew would’ve never left because of you.”