When I wake up, I roll over and hold back a yelp when I realize someone is in my bed. For a moment I allow myself a sliver of hope that Jackson came back, but when I see the deep crimson hair, I know it’s Ash. She must have come home and crawled into bed with me knowing something happened.
“Ash,” my voice croaks as I wake her.
She groans and turns over, facing me and opening one eye. “Morning, lover.”
It’s as if I’m back to how I felt five months ago all over again. My lip quivers as the agony of last night returns full force. “Ash …”
She pulls me into her arms and rubs my back. “Shhh, Cat. It’ll be okay. Tell me what happened.”
We sit and talk, going over the previous day’s events. She listens and offers support, never saying more than a few words or pulling me back into a hug. I show her the letter and Ashton sobs as she reads the words my father wrote. Her pain is my pain and my pain is hers. We’re like sisters—she knows how much this means to me. There are no secrets between us. She’s fully aware of how hard my childhood was.
“How do you feel about what he wrote?” she asks, swiping tears away.
His words heal, but hurt a little more. I’ve longed to hear them from him, but they’ve come after so much damage has been done. Growing up, feeling unloved and alone for years, and then having another man I loved abandon me … For the longest time, I truly believed I was unworthy. I still believe that. “I’m not sure. It’s all a little late, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. It’s obvious he thought of you and felt a lot of remorse.”
“But why not come and find me? Why not make amends before he died?”
“He was scared, Cat. I can’t imagine how he would have just shown up after twenty years. Would you have given him a chance if he did?” she asks.
I sigh and think about whether I would have been able to. A part of me wants to say, “Yes, of course,” but I was angry for so long. I was furious to the point that I would have probably slapped him and told him to leave. His absence hurt, which caused my mother to lash out at me in turn. She would always say things about how we weren’t good enough for him.
“It would have depended, but he never tried.” I shrug.
I continue recounting the rest of the night and Ashton grows more and more furious. She stands and then sits several times when I tell her what Neil did. She doesn’t hide her anger easily. I start to shake as I recall his rage.
“I’ll fucking kill him!” Her eyes narrow into slits as I show her the bruises.
“I think Jackson threatened the same thing.”
“Well, good. He’s at least trained and could probably get rid of the body. No one would miss that piece of shit.” She stands and starts to pace. “I swear to God, Cat, he’s going to pay for this. We need a plan.”
I can see the wheels in her head turning. “Ashton,” I warn.
“Don’t Ashton me! He comes here and assaults you over his ring? No! I wish I majored in biochem. Then I’d have access to the good stuff in the lab.” She continues to pace, formulating her revenge.
“Seriously, he’s not worth it.” I try to break through her plotting.
Ashton continues as if I haven’t even spoken. “Maybe we can …”
I stretch, lifting my arms over my head as I arch my back. Ashton’s eyes go wide and she gasps.
“What?” I ask.
She rushes over and holds my arm up. “Look.”
When I look down, I can’t believe what I see. I have huge bruises on my arms where Neil grabbed me.
She sits on the bed, takes out her phone, and starts snapping pictures of my arms. “You need photos in case this gets ugly.”
I nod, wishing I’d thought about that. Whatever brought Neil to talk to me in the first place hasn’t been addressed. Now there’s the fact that he got his ass kicked, knows who Jackson is, and is angry—not good.
“It’s already there, Ash.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I got tied up at the lab. When I finally got home, I came right in here when you didn’t answer my text.” She softly rubs my back.
“I understand. You couldn’t have known this was going to happen.”
Ashton lifts my chin. “Now tell me why Jackson’s not here.”
I rehash the entire argument with tears forming, but somehow I manage to keep them at bay. She doesn’t comment on my fight with Jackson, she just shakes her head. When I tell her how I threw him out, however, her blue eyes grow darker. She’s pissed but is choosing to keep her thoughts to herself, which definitely surprises me. I sit there and wait for it, but she looks off.
“What? You can’t tell me you have nothing to say,” I say after her silence drives me insane.
She smiles as she places her hand on mine. “I don’t know what to say, Cat. I think you were on emotional overload. You’d had one of the worst days of your life. Do I think you made a mistake? Maybe.” She shrugs before she goes on. “Jackson may have been a little distant, but I don’t think he did anything wrong. I think Neil has some serious issues and Jackson protected you.”
“He’s going to leave me,” I choke out and wrap my arms around my center, trying to hold myself together.
“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.”
“I wish I’d known him.” I sigh and look away. That’s the bottom line. I know nothing about him. I don’t know how he lived, if he was sad or happy, if he wished things were different—although his letter says he did.
“There’s an office down the hall on the left. He spent a lot of time in there. There are probably some things that might give you some peace.” She wipes the tear from my cheek. “Sometimes the heart and mind don’t work together, but a child is never to blame for the errors of the parent. We all make mistakes, but forgiveness sets the soul free.” Mary rises from her seat and I stand as well. “I’m going to lie down for a bit and give you some time alone, but promise you’ll come back and visit soon.”
“I promise,” I say as she walks out the door, giving me time to absorb everything.
I walk through the rooms, looking around and trying to figure out who he really was when I come across the office she spoke of. There’s a small desk and a bookshelf inside. I gasp and my hands cover my heart when I see the top shelf. It’s lined with photos of me. Every picture is in chronological order, from my infant photo at the hospital all the way through third grade. There are even some where I’m older. My high school graduation picture and my newspaper engagement announcement are framed. He has little bits of my life all around the room.
I make my way to his desk and look around. He was so alone. It has papers and bills, but the photo sitting on top causes a sob to break free. It’s a photo of us on my birthday. He’s standing behind me right as I’m inhaling to blow out the candles on my cake. The love in his eyes shines as bright as the flames.
Overloaded with varying degrees of heartache, I rush out of the room, gasping for air. Nothing makes any sense. The world seems to be shifting, but I’m not shifting with it. I can’t wrap my mind around why he chose to keep that door closed. He could have come to me and talked to me, tried to explain. I might have been mad, but we could’ve had a chance at some kind of relationship. So much wasted time, so many tears that didn’t need to be shed. He was there for parts of my life even though I never knew.
Is this the life I’m heading toward?
I lock up the house and make sure everything is secure. I need to decide what to do with the house, but not today. I feel a sense of peace settle around me. I’ve gained some answers or at least some insight. Getting into my car, I allow the silence to surround me as the sun shines upon on my face.