Chapter 18
Colin Young: I'm sorry I called you a fool.
Three days have passed since he left me standing in the doorway and went out on his stupid date. In the message he sent the next day he asked me to give Vivian his love and wrote that he would come over in a few days. He seemed to want to give both of us time to quell the rage.
Elizabeth Heart: Whatever.
I still can't forgive him. Maybe I never will.
Colin Young: I just want us to get along. We have a child, and that's what matters.
Elizabeth Heart: I don't care about your apology, and you can keep playing the good father till the cows come home. We both know you might disappear as quickly as you came.
Colin Young: I'm not leaving, so you can stop waiting for that moment. I heard your layoffs went into effect.
Mr. Blunt's store was closed yesterday and I have become officially unemployed. A great addition to my daily worries.
Elizabeth Heart: I'll find a new job.
Colin Young: Doing what?
Elizabeth Heart: I’ll be an atomic scientist, Colin.
Colin Young: Don't blame me for you not going to school. You made that stupid decision yourself, completely.
Elizabeth Heart: If you say so.
Colin Young: You can't blame me for that.
Elizabeth Heart: What would you have done if I had gone to medical school, sat and waited? Held a grudge because I'm smarter than you and could get somewhere with my life?
Colin Young: Is this the story? That you are smarter than me?
Elizabeth Heart: Isn't that why you left? Because you thought you had nothing to give me?
I know that's not why he left.
Colin Young: I knew you hated me, but I didn't imagine you'd become a bitch.
Elizabeth Heart: A fool and a bitch. Wow. You are full of compliments. What next, Colin, fat, ugly? You sobered up and realized that you prefer the dumb cheerleaders to me? Maybe that's why you left?
Colin Young: Sure, I left 'cause you weren't pretty enough.
Elizabeth Heart: Why don't you leave again? We were good without you.
Colin Young: If it weren’t for me, you wouldn't have the money to feed our child. Look at yourself, living in a one-bedroom house, solitary, judgmental. I may not be the boy I was, but you're definitely not the girl I fell in love with.
Elizabeth Heart: She's dead! And you killed her!
Colin Young: I'm done. I can't talk to you. I'll let the lawyers solve this.
Elizabeth Heart: Don't threaten me!
Colin Young: It's not a threat. Can you even afford a lawyer?
Elizabeth Heart: Don't do that.
Colin Young: You're leaving me no choice.
My mom sips her coffee as we sit together on the swing on her front porch. The two of us can't take our eyes off my father's car that has been parked across the street for half an hour. Vivian is playing at a friend's house, which leaves me time to pour my heart out to my mom and hope for the best.
"So that's what he does?" I motion my head toward my father, who is behind the wheel.
"From the moment he finishes work until I go to bed," she replies indifferently.
"Where does he live?"
"Rumor has it he rented a hotel room." I'm sure my mom knows exactly where he lives. Her gang of gossips must make sure she stays up to date.
"Are you not going to forgive him?"
"Not soon." She doesn't seem impressed by her husband's stubbornness.
"You asked him where he had the money to pay the bullies?" I'm interested.
"An old savings plan that I didn't bother to check." She shrugs. "He was the one that handled our funds. I really don't care about the money, I would pay them myself if I knew Colin was in trouble. "
"Colin's father was in trouble," I correct her.
"And his problems have become a problem for all of us. I heard he's dead."
"Four months ago," I nod, "Colin is not talking about it."
"His liver decided it was fed up." She knows more than I do, in a way that doesn't really surprise me. "Do you know they asked Colin for an organ donation?"
"I had no idea."
"He wasn't a match." She shrugs again. It seems that ever since she threw my father out the door, she's been more indifferent. Her feelings have been dulled overnight. Like me, she must feel that she doesn't know who to trust. I'm surprised that Colin agreed to be tested. I would think he would just wait for his father to parish, but he tried to save him despite everything he did to him. Maybe he didn't change after all. Maybe deep inside he is still the same man I loved?
"He's going to lawyer up," I update her with the last correspondence. "He'll try to portray me as an incompetent mom."
"He won't." She sounds much more confident than I do.
"You should have heard him, he's aggressive, he's—"
"Desperate?" She chooses the word I didn't mean. "Elizabeth, you forget who he is, what he's been through, Vivian is all he has left."
"He didn't have to leave." This mantra is beginning to wear thin.
"He's fighting, pleading for his life, for his family, and you keep pushing him away, slamming the past in his face."
"Only thing I'm slamming is the truth."
"It's not the whole truth. He knows he was wrong and he's ready to make up for it for the rest his life, but he won't be your punching bag, he's not the only culprit. He was faced with an impossible situation, and both of you will have to learn to live with what happened. He's changed and you know it."
"What I know is that he took a break from his life, made tons of money and came back here as if he were some knight in shining armor come to save me."
"He was willing to die in Afghanistan to be worthy of you." Once again her words make me think of the desert and the boy I loved, lying on some field bed or imprisoned in some bunker under bombardment.
"Don't side with him," I lower my voice and struggle with my imagination.
"Don't be blind. He risked his life to become the man he is today." She leans forward and sets the coffee cup on the table. She strokes my forearm with her fingers and adds in a soft, compassionate voice, "He didn't have to leave, but that child suffered loss after loss, and now you want to take away the only thing he has left. You do not have to love him, but you have to let him be a father."
I don't have to love him. Since when do we choose whom to love, who to hate? Where is the line, where does hatred end and make room for something else, for forgiveness? And what if the one we once loved, wasn't really forgotten, wasn't really out of our hearts and is still there, hiding and waiting for the right moment to emerge? The thought frightens me. I pull my hand from under her fingers and get up quickly from the swing.
"I have to move."
"You're running away," she sighs as I gather my bag urgently, "and you'll find yourself facing a pack of lawyers instead of solving the matter between the two of you."
I don't stay to listen to her anymore. I go down the stairs to the driveway, take a last look at my father, who hasn't moved, get into my car and get out of the driveway.
Never.
Is he going to fight me with everything he has? And for what? The right to be part of Viv's life, mine? He would forever be an inseparable part of them. He's a part of my heart, and I can't do anything to change it. No one took his place, no one filled the space he left. Everything was waiting for him.
His leaving wasn't his fault, he ran away because of the man who sits in front of my mom's house in his car and watches life continuing without him. He left because the thought of someone chasing me was too frightening, threatening. He never stopped loving me.
The line is blurring, fading, and I'm not able to notice it anymore. I don't know if I hate or love him, want him to leave or stay forever and in another moment he could hold me hostage again, captivated by his charm.
"Please don't take me to court," I sob on the phone, standing on the balcony praying that Vivian will stay in front of the TV and not go looking for me.
"Where's Viv?"
"Inside." I sniff. "She'll see that I cried, and I don't want to explain to her, I don't know what to say."
"Let me get her out of the house," I hear a door slam, "I can be at yours in a few minutes, I'm not far away."
"I don't want lawyers," I whimper.
"Elizabeth, please, I plead, declare a cease-fire, I don't want to fight anymore, I can't fight you."
"I'm terrified, can you understand that at all?" I confess in a burst of emotion that washes over me in a surge.
"Yes, I can understand."
"You broke me to pieces, there was nothing left of me. I gave up my dreams, for you."
"Let me help, dammit."
"I don't know what I need." I need stability, confidence and a new job. I need someone to lean on when my world crumbles. Could he give it to me, the guy who made me like that?
"I'll take Vivian to the movies and bring her back at eight," he goes on, "and I'll come back tomorrow morning, and we'll talk about it. Okay?"
I don't know what to say and I can't even say a word through the tears anyway.
"Elizabeth, I'll come over tomorrow morning, we'll have some coffee and talk."
"Okay," I give in and hang up the phone.
A few minutes later, his jeep stops in front of the house with a screech of tires. He leaps out of the car and advances quickly toward the house. One look at him, and I fall to my knees, dropping my head in defeat.
"Lizzie," he kneels in front of me, "look at me."
I shake my head. He called me Lizzie. Probably without paying any attention, probably without meaning to. He called me Lizzie and closed his fingers on my heart.
"Raise your head."
"Why?" I whisper in frustration, hating the fact he sees me in my despair. "So you can see how miserable I am, how weak?"
"Don't be silly," he puts his hand on my knee, which only makes me cry harder, "we both know you're the strongest of the two of us."
"I'm so angry!"
"I know." His hand climbs to my hair and he caresses my head, reminding me of things that have long been forgotten. Reminding me of other days and nights, good and happy and full of laughter. "I'll fix this without lawyers, okay? I'll fix it, I promise."
"Don't let her see me like this," I cry softly.
"Don't worry, go for a walk and come back in five minutes, we'll be gone."
"Thank you."
"Go." He stands up slowly and holds out his hand. I hesitate for a moment and then put my hand in his and use it to rise, and in a second I'm too close. His breathing accelerates, his huge chest rises and falls in front of me, and I want to put my head on it and close my eyes and delude myself that he is protecting me. I feel his fingers caressing my palm, refusing to leave. I don't raise my eyes, dare not meet his for fear that I will discover that there are no more lies. Only exposed truth, worry and love that haven't been forgotten.
"Go," he whispers breathlessly. I don't linger any longer, running away from him into the driveway, into the empty street that gives me a hiding place for a few moments of grace.