Chapter Sixteen

Another Façade

After Jimmy revealed he was the man who rescued Chris from the twin towers, I went through a series of different emotions. It was very similar to the way I felt after Chris died. I was angry, sad and heartbroken. One minute I wanted to punch something, the next I wanted to crawl into my bed and cry. The difference was, back when Chris passed away, I wasn’t a mother yet. Well, I was pregnant—but I didn’t know that until a month afterward and the moment I found out, I snapped out of it. It wasn’t just me anymore. I needed to be strong for the baby I was carrying.

The baby who would never know his daddy. Now, that baby has grown into an impressionable young boy with wide eyes and a knack for feeling out his mama’s pain. It’s a proven fact that children feed off their mother’s energy and I’ve been trying my hardest to brave a smile and act as if the ground hasn’t been swiped out from under me.

I was never more anxious to send my son to school than I was this morning and after I dropped him off, I called out sick myself. I needed time to process what I was feeling, and I couldn’t do that with my son around. When I got home, I headed straight to my bedroom and pulled out the box of Chris’ belongings. I didn’t keep much, just enough to fit in one of those plastic shoe box containers you get at the dollar store.

There was his wallet, a watch—I figured I’d pass down to our son when he got older, some photos and little mementos he kept through the years. One of those keepsakes was a prayer card. Chris wasn’t very religious and when I asked him why he kept that card in his wallet, he told he obtained it on September 11th, after a fireman rescued him from the towers and brought him to a church. A priest found him in that church and prayed with him. He then shoved the prayer card in the inside pocket of Chris’ suit jacket.

In all the times we spoke of that day, he never once mentioned Jimmy by name and I never asked. Thinking about it now, it seems odd. It’s not like it was one single conversation. Chris was personally impacted by the attack. If Jimmy hadn’t rescued him from the elevator, he would’ve died. He would’ve been buried alive when those buildings came crashing down. His name would be etched with thousands of others on the 9/11 memorial. I never would’ve met him, and I wouldn’t have my son.

While that’s a heavy realization to come to terms with, so are Jimmy’s lies. How could he keep that from me and more importantly why would he keep that from me?

Why would he break my fragile heart after so patiently piecing it together?

Taking the prayer card, I give into the first emotion and tear it in half.

“Fuck you, Chris.”

Why didn’t you tell me his name?

“He was so fucking important to you and you never mentioned his name!” I shout, my voice vibrating off the walls of the empty bedroom.

Why didn’t I ask?

Guilt washes over me and I let the pieces of the destroyed prayer card slide between my fingers, falling to the floor. I reach for the box and sift through the photographs, finding two tiny black velvet boxes which contain what would’ve been our wedding bands.

I used to take these rings out every night before I went to bed. I’d slip them both on my left hand before crawling into bed. Sometimes I cried myself to sleep, other times I talked to Chris. I stopped taking the rings out of the box after I met Jimmy at the diner and made the conscious effort to move forward with my life.

Isn’t that funny?

You think you find the one man worth your future, bury your past and it turns out he’s nothing but a liar. I don’t know what bothers me more, the fact I trusted so easily and feel like a fool or that the bastard broke my heart and despite everything, if I had to do it all over again, I would. I’d open my heart to Jimmy knowing I shouldn’t because for two months I didn’t feel so alone. For two months I was happy. I wasn’t the sad girl who got left at the altar because her fiancé died on the way to their wedding. I wasn’t the single mom struggling to get it all done. I was Melissa Moscato, mother of an amazing little boy and in a loving relationship with Jimmy Casale.

What a facade.

Maybe everlasting love isn’t for everyone.

Opening one ring box at a time, I stare at the two gold bands, each an infinite circle. They have no beginning and no end.

Another facade.

Every beginning has an end in my world.

And not every ending is another beginning.

Snapping the boxes closed, I shove everything back inside the shoebox. Suddenly, the anger fades from me and the loneliness consumes me. Tears well in my eyes and I lift my hands to my face. Giving into my sorrows, my shoulders shake as a sob erupts from the back of my throat.

“Damn you, Chris and damn you too, Jimmy Casale,” I shriek, pulling my hands away from my face. As the tears continue to spill, I climb further onto my bed and bury my head under the pillow, muffling the sounds of my sobs.

My phone rings, startling me for a moment but I decide to ignore it. It rings again, and I remember I can’t ignore anything because I’m someone’s mother and father. I’m everything.

Tossing the pillow aside, I reach for my phone on the nightstand.

It’s not the school calling.

It’s Jimmy.

Denying the call, I drop the phone back on top of the nightstand. Part of me is curious to hear what he has to say; the other part doesn’t trust my gullible heart. My phone chimes, alerting me of a text and I stare at it like it's an offensive object.

A moment later, I weakly reach for it and swipe at the screen, opening Jimmy’s text.

 

Melissa, I’m not giving up on us. I love you and if I have to text you every day, reminding you love burns brighter than lies, I will.

 

Another facade.

Burn in hell, Jimmy.

You, your lies and your love.