The Life I Now Live (20 page)

I needed to do one last thing before I talked with Patrick. I needed to say goodbye to Andy and spread my old bruised heart across the earth along with his ashes.

Miranda watched Riley while I drove around Pennsylvania to every place Andy ever spoke about. I started with the house he grew up in. Pulled along the side of the road, watched birds flutter from branch to branch, and tossed a handful of his life into the air, then drove away to the next place.

The place he had his first real kiss. The movie theatre at age fourteen. I drove behind the building with the window down and the cool air on my face. Breathing it in, I scattered another handful of him into the world he once loved.

Hand out the window, I kept going and pulled up to his favorite place to unwind. The Susquehanna River near the big old bridge that joined one county to another. I got out of my car, sat under the bridge, and imagined Andy sitting in the same spot years before. A lonely college student looking for purpose. For love. His thinking place, as he called it. Little did he know . . . his life would be cut short. Too soon. Before he had a chance to really live.

I reached my hand into the urn and stood, tossing him into the river along with my former dreams. The ashes swirled in the air and settled in the water. I wiped the rest of him from my hand, shed a single tear, and walked back to the car. Using my iPhone I turned on his favorite music. The Beatles, Elvis, and anything before 1960. I listened as I drove to the place we met, let more of him slip through my fingers, and moved on to the garden we married in.

Behind a charming Victorian bed & breakfast, we set up rows of chairs and married in a beautiful oasis filled with every color and scent imaginable. I stood in the place we said our vows, his ashes tucked under my arm, and our wedding rings in my pocket. So much hope stood in that very place years earlier. The way he looked into my eyes before he kissed his bride. The way my knees buckled with anticipation and worldly dreams. Romance, at the time, meant passionate sex, breakfast in bed, and looking at each other with longing every second of every day. I looked forward to our life together. Our life as Prince Charming and Cinderella, only to be fooled into the reality of bills and jobs and crushed dreams.

Romance meant more to me now. More than laughter and longing. I couldn’t explain it. Romance, true romance, killed my childish dreams and replaced them with something real. Something of significance. Deeper and darker and brighter all at the same time.

Faithfulness. Gentleness. Patience. Goodness. Kindness. Peace. Joy.

Love.

True love.

I dug my finger into the earth in the place I once vowed to remain faithful to the man I loved, until death parted us. Then I placed our rings inside, mingled with dirt and tears and the last of Andy’s ashes. The earth, fresh with spring mist, would soon make room for new life. Like my heart. Before I covered the ashes and rings with more dirt, I planted a tiny seed. A seed that would wrap its roots around our rings and blossom into something beautiful.

“Andy,” I said to the ground. “We’ve been through a lot. I stayed faithful to you for so long. Did everything as you wished. We were young, had difficult times. A strange life most people couldn’t fathom experiencing. Now, death has parted us, for real, and I’ve learned a lot. You’ve taught me that real love is more than good feelings and butterflies in the stomach. It’s faithfulness even when it’s painful. Joy even when you want to cry. And patience when you want to scream. It’s the opposite of everything negative and the wholeness of everything positive. You’ve taught me this, Andy. And now that death has parted us, I’m burying this old, tired heart with you, and hoping that when the life I once lived dies and this seed brings a beautiful flower into the world, that I will have a new heart to give to someone else, and that you will be happy for him.” On my knees, I sobbed, clenching the dirt with my hands. No matter how much you want to bury something from your past, it still hurts to let go of a part of you. I caught my breath and stood. “The life I now live is different than the one I lived with you, but I promise to never forget what we shared. You were good to me and I will make sure Riley never forgets that. Thank you, dear Andy.” I waited for the ground to respond, but it didn’t.

Empty urn in my hand, I walked away. Imagining a little red wagon with a little white bow. My dreams. I poured the last of them into the earth and hoped, with all of my heart, that the seed would grow and flourish into a simple, sweet flower.

I almost drove away from the county Andy grew up in, but I realized I had a few ashes left in the urn and although I’d probably regret it, I really wanted to stop by and tell his mother the truth. By the time I parked in front of their house I almost turned back around. When Andy was alive we only visited them a few times. Every visit ended in an argument and Andy and I fled the house as his father yelled from the porch. They had yet to meet Riley. His mother couldn’t bring herself to visit at my place and, I don’t know, maybe it’s wrong of me, but I felt like she needed to get over herself if she wanted to meet her grandchild.

My gaze swept over the pristine garden. Not a weed in sight. And the finely swept porch and sparkling bench on the porch. His mother prided herself on being clean. Always said “cleanliness is next to godliness,” but I didn’t see the connection. Cleanliness, to that degree, seemed more like a mental death sentence. She valued a dust-free home more than her own children, refusing to visit Andy or his brothers because their wives didn’t keep the house clean enough. I once asked her if she’d come and visit us if we stayed outside, but she refused.

I walked up to the door, stood there a few minutes, and walked back down the steps.

A man’s voice blasted through the quiet air. I turned. Saw no one at the door.

“You stupid excuse of a woman,” the man yelled. “What did I tell you? I like my dinner warm, not hot.” Something crashed and shattered. Sounded like glass against a wall. I tip-toed down the steps and the door opened.

I turned. Andy’s father. He looked me up and down, smirked, revealing half of his yellowed-teeth, then stepped out onto the porch. I inhaled, deep and slow, then started to speak. He waved his hand, quieting my attempt, and rested his hands on his belt.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” he said. “What? Do you need money?”

I handed him the urn. “This is what’s left of your son. He had a rare genetic disease which you probably have as well.”

“Don’t tell me what I have or don’t have.” He clanked his teeth together. “You and your stories. Maybe it’s time to live in reality.”

“Andy had a genetic condition which caus—”

“I haven’t cared about Andy since the day he left this house. His last words to me were enough to write him off forever.” He backed up, closer to the door. “So as you can see, I could care less about you and that deformed child of yours too.”

“She’s not deformed.”

“Sure as hell seems like it to me. Crippled. Deformed. Retarded. Which word do you prefer?”

I walked back to my car as he slammed the front door and disappeared behind angry walls. I put my keys in the ignition, but his mother showed up at my passengers window, motioning for me to open the window as she looked behind her to the house. I unlocked the door. She sat down and looked in the backseat.

“Riley’s not here,” I said. “I just spread Andy’s ashes across the county and had some leftover.” I motioned to the urn between our seats. “Thought you may want them.”

A tear settled on her nose. She tried to speak, but couldn’t.

“Andy had a genetic disease. He suffered a mental breakdown of sorts. Believed he was being chased by people and I believed it for a while too. What I said when I called you was true.”

She looked back to the house, then whispered, “He tells me what to say. He controls everything I do. I’m not allowed to like you because you are a part of Andy. He hates Andy.” She spoke so fast that every word blended into the last. I could barely understand her. “He hated Andy since the day I gave birth to him.” Her chest shook as she placed her hand over her heart. “Andy is another man’s child. I cheated on my husband and got pregnant with Andy. He knew it wasn’t his baby because he stopped having sex with me after I had the children. He liked prostitutes better.”

I thought for a minute. The air between us cold with a cryptic silence. She surveyed my face as I did the same to her. The front door opened. He stood on the porch, flushed with a poisonous madness. I cringed.

“Mrs. Chase,” I said. “I’d better get going.”

She squeezed my arm and leaned closer to my face. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you. When you live with a critical heart it’s easy to become that way yourself. I know the way I’ve been isn’t right. I hated you because you took Andy away from me. Andy was the closest thing to me. The only person I ever bared my soul to. Closer to me than my own husband.” Her hands shook as she opened the door. “Please don’t feel sorry for me. I’ve hurt a lot of people in my life. I deserve every second of the way I’m treated.”

She walked back into her home. I considered calling the cops, but feared what would happen to Riley if I meddled with their lives. I drove away as Andy’s childhood house disappeared. I tried not to cry, but the tears came anyway. I judged her so fiercely. Her hate for made me never want to be around her. For so long I believed she despised me because of my dust-bunnies and the papers scattered in my car. She ridiculed and picked me apart from the first day I met her, from my height to my occupation. Now it made sense. She had attached herself to her son, unhealthily so, because of the absent love in her marriage.

Life is never as it seems, I thought as I wiped my face with my sleeve.

Love can make people do crazy things, but the absence of love can make people do even crazier things.

I felt sorry for her.

Weeks passed. Couldn’t get Mrs. Chase out of my head, so I started writing her letters. She never responded, but I faithfully mailed one every Friday in hopes that she received at least one of them. Didn’t know what to expect, but hoped she’d be a little encouraged to know that someone knew her pain and felt sorry for her. I’m not a big fan of pitying people. Pity seems to make things worse, but sometimes a little pity can make someone feel less alone. Plus, I felt horrible about the way I judged her and wanted to do whatever I could to love her instead.

Life changes so much. One blink and you’re twenty with the world at your fingertips. The next blink and you’re almost thirty with the world falling apart around you. By the time I’m forty, I thought, maybe life will be normal.

I imagined my future life. Would I be married again? Would I have more children? Would I be happy?

A picture of Patrick’s face flashed in the back of my heart. I pulled it to the front and dwelt there, missing his eyes, his touch, his friendship. After all this time, after all I did to him, would he open his heart to me again? Could he? Was it even possible for us to start over?

I needed to see him again. One more time.

Even if he didn’t love me anymore, he deserved the truth.

Ch. 30 | Patrick

Beautiful spring afternoon. Saturday. A few friends and I had a cookout at Gavin and Ella’s. They planted an amazing garden over his grandparents graves, at the request of his late grandfather, and wanted to show it off. Really they needed an excuse to have a get together.

The girls sat in the shade under a few trees. Ella’s pregnancy was really starting to show. The very beginning. Meanwhile Lydia looked like she could barely go another day before giving birth.