Chapter Eighteen
“The first thing to know about business, Hughes, is that a pen can be as lethal as a gun when you sign your name to something. Always remember that.”
Slade Bishop
He called Isadora several times only to have quiet conversations over the phone. The passing hours made things worse. She couldn’t intrude on the Bishops and ask about arrangements and had to resume the position of a silent secret in the background of someone else’s life.
“Maybe you should confess the truth to your family so they understand your grief,” Parker suggested during one of their quiet calls.
“No. They’ll never understand.”
He suspected she was lumping him in with those who could never grasp her pain. “You don’t have to go through this alone, Isa. I’m here. Whatever you need.”
“I don’t know what I need right now.” It was disturbing how little her voice sounded compared to the normal confidence it carried. “I have to go.”
The call ended and he debated giving her space, but what would that do to help her? She shouldn’t have to feel ashamed for loving someone. That wasn’t supposed to be how love worked. But it seemed, even in death, the shame she linked to Sawyer survived.
He drove to her house later that day and found her in wrinkled, mismatched clothes, looking like she had the flu. “You shouldn’t be here.” She didn’t invite him in.
“Why?” he wouldn’t argue with her, but he would try to reason with her. “I don’t care what did this to you, only that it’s happening. Let me at least try to help you, Isa. Please.”
Defeated or lacking the energy to convince him otherwise, she left the door open and walked into the den. Tissues littered the floor and a blanket was tossed on the arm of the sofa.
She curled into a ball on the far end of the couch and he hesitated. Was he making this about him? No. It was definitely about her.
He silently sat beside her. A quiet presence, there if she needed him. But she was so stoic in her pain, she didn’t utter a word to help him understand what she might need to make this better. She never once asked for him to hold her. She didn’t try to unburden her private thoughts. She simply suffered in silence as if she’d had more practice doing that than anything else in her life.
His inability to help her was infuriating, but he would be patient and promised himself, with a little time, she’d come back to him.
The funeral was set for Wednesday and he, being a former employee of Leningrad, donned a suit and drove to the parlor orchestrating the viewing. Isadora had not answered her phone since he left her that morning, but he knew she’d be among the first to arrive.
He wasn’t great with death, having seen too much of it too early in his life. At some point, he sort of started breaking down things into scientific facts. They were there. They were fragile. And when their time was up, it was over.
He wasn’t the most comforting person when it came to trying to justify the mysteries of life. Realizing this, made him hope that maybe one of her relatives would step in and say the right words, because for all his love of the English language, he was utterly inept at consoling her to the degree she needed comfort.
The line at the funeral parlor slithered through the colonial entryway at a snail’s pace. He stood behind a woman wearing potent perfume and a man who coughed every two minutes. These were the tedious norms he’d never adjusted to when he returned to polite society. His gaze scoured the crowd for any sign of Isadora.
As he made it through the front door, he spotted Lucian walking at a brisk pace, cutting straight to the head of the line. Of course everyone deferred, as he begged pardon and marched right to the front.
Parker frowned and stepped out of line, following his lead. He stilled at the hall to the viewing room as he saw Isadora.
She looked exhausted, as if she hadn’t slept for months. As Lucian took his place beside her she stiffened. Parker noted how much effort it took her to simply remain standing. Taken aback by how much she truly loved Bishop, he numbly drifted into the crowd. Maybe this moment should be hers. He didn’t want to intrude on her chance to say goodbye.
It became clear how much Sawyer represented, how wide the gaping void left in his absence would be. Could it ever be filled?
Isadora abruptly pivoted and pushed against the crowd trapping her at the front of the room. Parker’s gaze alertly followed her brisk pace as he wondered where she was going.
As the line progressed, the chatter slowed in respect for the mourning family. Her attention appeared riveted on the entrance he occupied, but she looked right past him, her red-rimmed eyes frantic, and she appeared desperate to escape.
As she approached, he tried to catch her attention, but she wasn’t looking at him. She reached the hallway and a gasp from her lips drew the attention of onlookers as her hand caught the wall.
“Pardon me,” he whispered, rushing to help her as she weaved through the guests.
Though she was barely moving at a staggering pace, there were too many people obscuring his way to catch up to her. He wanted to call out her name, but that would only draw more unwanted attention.
Suddenly, when faced with a mob of mourners clogging the front entrance, she turned again. Parker stilled, silently begging her to see him, but her attention was on the discreet door she’d just passed.
She slid it open and disappeared inside, shutting him and everyone else out. What was behind that door?
The house was old, so he turned the corner, not surprised to find another discreet door leading into the same room. Turning the metal knob, he quietly stepped inside what appeared to be a sitting area and froze at the wretched sound of her whimpered sobs.
She stood by the door, her shoulders quaking as she softly wept, pressing her cheek to the dark wood. He moved deeper into the room, keeping his presence as unobtrusive as possible.
Her whimpers sliced through his chest, each quiet sob knocking his heart. Her eyes were closed, her face pinched tight as she pressed her cheek to the wood and gasped in broken breaths. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and she sucked in a startled breath, her hands covering her face to hide.
A floor board creaked as he moved closer. “Isadora,” he murmured gently and her body tensed.
Slowly, her hands fell away and she silently turned away from the door to face him. She looked up at him in disbelief, her bloodshot eyes full of anguish, her composure destroyed. Her wet lashes flicked as her lips parted and her chin trembled.
It was unbearable seeing her so distraught. His hand was unsteady as he reached for her face and delicately brushed away a tear. There were too many, and each one was a dagger to his heart. He pulled her into his arms and a piece of his heart broke away as she came to him willingly.
He buried his face in her shoulder, breathing a sigh of relief. “I’ve got you.”
All he’d ever known of love had brought him pain. Until he’d found her. But now, her pain was his, because she was his.
“I’m here. Hold onto me, baby. I’m here.”
“Parker…” He heard her fear that this all-consuming pain might never wane and his heart broke.
The man was gone, but he’d taken something from her she’d never have back. “He left knowing you loved him. Do you know what a gift that is?”
Her shoulders shook as she cried, her tears seeping through his clothes and burning his chest. “This hurts…”
“I know.” Her pain was his. “Let me take you home,” he begged, gently pressing his lips to her hair.
Her shoulders quaked and he tightened his arms. This whole time he’d been focused on getting her over Sawyer when he should have been trying to help her find the closure she deserved.
She drew back and looked up at him with such sadness flooding her eyes. “I’m dying inside.”
“No, baby. It only feels like that right now. I know it hurts, but you have to believe it will get better.”
“I can’t face them. All those people… I couldn’t even pay my condolences. I couldn’t…”
“Shh.” His hand rubbed over her back. “Don’t worry about that. Let’s get you out of here.”
“I don’t want anyone to see me like this,” she wept, shaking her head as if he would let anyone see or judge her like this.
He kissed her temple. “They won’t.”
Much like he’d done the first night they met, he ushered her through the side door and away from the crowd. His body became her shelter as he walked her down a private hall, away from the other guests.
A back entrance led to the side of the house and he kept his arm around her as he slowly escorted her to his car. He buckled her safely inside and focused on getting her away from that place as calmly and quickly as possible. The moment they were off the property there seemed a shift in the atmosphere, like she could breathe again.
Once they were a few miles away her phone rang. She sluggishly pulled it out and placed it against her ear, her voice low. “Lucian.”
She waited as her brother spoke. “I had to leave. No, nothing’s wrong.” Her voice seized. “I’ll call you later.”
She slipped the phone back into her purse and rested her head on the window, her gaze on the world rushing by as tears trickled down her cheeks.
Once they reached her house, she took a shower and he made lunch, but again she wouldn’t eat. She was quiet, but he didn’t need her words. He only needed her nearness, however she had to be.
He sat on the couch, as she rested against his side. They didn’t speak and she barely moved for over an hour.
Eventually, she broke the silence and whispered, “He never loved me.”
Parker turned his body to face her. Voice gentle, he lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “Isadora, that man absolutely loved you.”
Her mouth compressed as she struggled to keep her emotions bottled up and failed. “He didn’t. He never once told me. For years, I asked him and… Nothing.” More tears fell. “And now he’s gone.”
But he did love her. He’d told Parker, only Parker wasn’t sure if telling her that would help. It might upset her more that Bishop confessed his feelings to him, but never admitted them to her.
She had nothing more to say after that and he imagined that was because the words she shared were deepest thoughts ricocheting through her mind. A torturous loop she couldn’t discredit or silence. She didn’t object when he followed her to bed and he was glad she let him hold her in the dark.
The next morning he decided to let her sleep. Maybe she needed some time to decompress alone. Though his gut told him to stay, he needed to give her a fair balance of space and closeness so she could process all that had happened.
His house felt cold and empty. Sitting in the den, he stared at the wall of books, his mind recalling the characters from each story, comparing them to the characters of his life. He wanted to be every hero, but he didn’t know how to save his lady now, when her heart was so clearly shattered.
Unsure where to go or what to do, he grabbed his keys and left. He drove for a while, circling familiar city streets and visiting desolate corners he hadn’t seen in years.
When his car turned onto a vacant lot, the pavement pockmarked with caved in cement, he shut off the engine. Sitting in the comfort of his luxury car, smooth leather at his back, he looked at a place he used to call home.
The mill was large with gaping windows and a soulless presence that seeped into the air. Even the clouds overhead seemed dingier than the soft ones in the distance. Abandoned tracks, too rotted for trains to ride, cut through the overgrown field with long rusted rails.
The hole in the chain link fence still was there. A doorway to hell.
As he sat in his car, his mind rolled over all the places he had been and the people who had come and gone from his life. Some were there for only a flash. Some were there too long. The ones he lost that hurt the most… the pain never truly subsided. His mother. Scout.
He refused to lose Isadora. What would be the point of waking if she wasn’t a part of his day? So many things needed to change.
This thing with her brother… It had to end. He wouldn’t be another sacrifice she had to make. For as much as Lucian got under his skin, he would put all his emotions aside if it made her life better. The man was her brother and Parker wanted to be her husband some day. It was enough. The tension between them had to end.
And Scout… He missed his friend. She was having a child. The thought of not knowing her children—of her maybe not knowing his—drove the issue home. It wasn’t right for them to be outside of each other’s lives. They’d been a team for too long.
His gaze traveled to the cracked gate on the far side of the mill. Every day he and Scout used to scurry through that narrow opening and find home on the other side.
There had been no security. No guarantees. Very little joy or pleasure. But they had each other and somehow that made the hell they were living in a little more bearable each dreary day.
He sat there for a long time, his mind going over the fundamental moments of his early life and turning to the happier events of the last few months. He had regrets, lots of them. Some scars never healed. The human heart was indeed an irrational thing.
He thought of the regret Isadora might be feeling now. If she didn’t find a way through that pain it would fester and grow into something uglier than it was today. Sometimes the mind played tricks to make the heart hurt a little less. But sometimes the mind was the most dangerous villain of all, brutal and relentless in its karmic repetition of repentance. He didn’t want Isa to fall into that spiraling pit.
Despite his knowledge that his mother loved him very much, after she died, he’d convinced himself she didn’t. It was the only way the young boy in him could justify her leaving this world—leaving him—with hardly a fight.
Anger was a heavy burden to bear, but considerably easier to carry than sadness. It masked a lot for him over the years, but it didn’t necessarily help him. Anger took work. Sadness was easy, an effortless surrender that took the reins the moment you gave in. But it all stemmed from resentment.
There was just so much resentment, so much anger, so much sadness he still struggled to understand. That struggle could have been eased with only a few words from his mother, but his earlier life was an accumulation of missed comforts and, deep down, he always believed she’d known she was going to die, leaving him in a terrifying world, alone, with a wide open wound on his heart.
Sawyer could have eased Isa’s pain. It would have taken three simple words. He’d never understand why he withheld such a simple gift. Loving her was the easiest thing Parker had ever done.
It was a twisted truth, but Sawyer had been a guiding light in Isadora’s life. Her mother had passed and her father had abandoned her. His and Isadora’s adolescence were abnormal, but compared to each other, they were the same.
Perhaps Sawyer was the only figure she had to tell her she was doing okay. Right or wrong, the man might have saved her in moments she’d felt utterly alone, just as Scout had occasionally saved him.
Sawyer’s passing might have happened sooner than expected, if he had any warning at all, but now Parker truly believed jealousy wasn’t the trigger of the man’s desperate attempt to reconcile with Isa. Maybe the man wanted to leave this world knowing he’d given the one person who meant anything to him something to remember him by. What if he’d been trying to right a wrong?
Parker absolutely hated that she never got the proof she deserved. She should at least know the man loved her.
Turning the key in the ignition, he backed out of the abandoned lot and left his past where it belonged—behind him. Life was too short to dwell on missed opportunities and the heartache of yesterday. They all needed to look forward to better things. That meant saying proper goodbyes.
When he got home he went straight to the living room and rummaged around for something to write on. He reached into the coffee table drawer and found a tablet. Ripping off his scribbled notes, he crumpled them in his hand and tossed them into the wastepaper basket.
Finding a pen, he sat back and did something he promised her he’d never do, but the only thing he could think of that might make this easier on her. He started a lie.
My Dearest Isadora…