Moving past one of the twin lion statues, I walked up the steps of The Art Institute. I didn’t know the fate of the night, but what I did know was Abbie had reached out and I wasn’t going to deny her the chance to say whatever she wanted to say to me. But she’d made it clear with her silence, after my shitty attempts to talk to her, that she wanted shit to do with me. And I didn’t want her to be another casualty of my ex-wife. I wanted her as far removed as possible from the hurt I caused her with my deception. She deserved better. Kat had only just signed the divorce papers that morning. Billy had seen to the rest. I would soon be a free man.
Fuck you life.
At the ticket booth, I couldn’t help my smile as the attendant asked me if I was there for the rain exhibit. I nodded with an ironic smirk and waited as she handed my credit card along with my ticket back to me. Helpless to her pull, I looked around for any sign of long, fire-kissed hair and brilliant blue eyes. I’d missed her so much my chest screamed, and my head pounded. It was just as physical as it was mental.
She’d become so much a part of my life, without her I stumbled in my footing as if life never existed before her. Even if our night was laced with a goodbye, I had to see her again. But my fear was that she wouldn’t see the same man when she looked at me.
Water poured from the ceiling in every form as I walked through the glass door to the exhibit. My heart beats mimicking the rain trickling down the multiple installs that filled the space. A multi-colored waterfall fell at my feet as the scent of fresh water hit my nose. It was nostalgic and hurt at the same time. I wandered aimlessly around and was stopped short when I saw a large photograph with a rain install on either side and small spray cascading over the picture.
The title was “My House.”
Photo taken by Nancy Gorman.
Abbie’s mother.
I read the digital prompt.
In two thousand and four, a Tsunami stemming from a megathrust earthquake swept Thailand and thirteen other countries killing more than 230,000 people.Photographed here is a young boy bathing an elephant in the rain who was covered in the aftermath. When Nancy asked the boy where he lived, he proudly pointed to the five by five shack pictured next to the animal and said “My house.” Nancy won the Pulitzer Prize for her humanitarian efforts to raise relief funds with this photograph. This picture is also featured in the Smithsonian museum of art. Copyright 2004 Nancy Gorman.
I was speechless as I stood staring at the photograph that looked like something out of the Jungle Book. Inexplicably drawn to it as I imagined most people were when they first saw it. The boy had barely made a dent in the mud covering the elephant’s skin, as the rain thundered down on them both when the photo was captured.
It was in that moment that I felt convinced Abbie had done the same thing for me. She’d wiped years of debris away from me and cleansed me with her love and by doing so freed me from the disappointment and loss. And I rewarded her by betraying her trust.
But maybe, there was a way for us to just . . . move on. Maybe with the right perspective, we could remain free of what tainted us, of the lies we told ourselves and each other and just let it go. With Abbie, I could. I had. I knew it was possible. If she could just look at me the way she did before. And maybe, the power to do that was in an act as basic as washing it away from view. That was how we started.
For the first time in my adult life, I appreciated the rain because Abbie was my rain. She embodied hope for me.
“My mother is a genius behind the camera,” she spoke up behind me. I clenched my fists trying to keep my emotions in check.
“Somehow she managed to capture that picture with a broken leg. She was fifty and had taken that trip for her birthday. It’s ironic, isn’t it? She survived one of the worst Tsunamis in history and was there at that exact moment to take this picture and share it with the world. She told me that when she saw this boy washing this elephant it helped a lot to erase all the horrible things she’d seen as a career photo-journalist. That it renewed her sense of humanity when she needed it most. She’d almost given up. She’s insanely gifted and raised Oliver and I to believe we could be just as extraordinary as she is, but I’m not. I’m just not. Oliver’s a brilliant doctor with a sub-par bedside manner. In short, he’s a bit of a dick.”
I couldn’t agree more.
“He’s good at being a doctor. That’s true of him. But I’ve been looking for something to be good at my whole life. Cameron,” she whispered, her voice on a plea, “please look at me.”
My body flushed with a mix of nerves and emotion when he didn’t move. But I pressed on, too afraid to stop. It occurred to me then, that in all our conversations Cameron had never said a word to indicate his childhood was anything but typical, if not wholesome, and something resembling the norm. His mother was on a high pedestal, and he respected and loved his father.
We had that in common.
Never in my wildest dreams did addiction and abuse factor into the life Cameron had lived or the one we shared. It was so far removed from who we were as a couple. It was the kind of thing that happened to other people, much like what happened between Luke and me.
I felt sick as I studied his tall form and not for one second could I believe he was a battered husband, it was unfathomable. In the strength he showed, in how he cared for me, it was inconceivable. But the reality was, he was. I needed to somehow break through, to show him it was okay to be both men with me. The one who could show strength and weakness, and to let him know I would love him the same no matter what.
“I’m nothing special and I’m okay with that. It’s like with Bree and all her talents. I’ve always tried to adapt to some of her ways to make myself more interesting, to be a little more adventurous. Learn to belly dance like her or go on one of her safari’s, but that’s Bree. That’s part of her allure. Me, well I study crazy human behavior, eat dinner regularly with an eighty-six-year-old and count numbers for a living. My kind of exciting is so lame that I have a hard time explaining myself to others. But not you. I never had to explain myself to you.” He stood statue-still as I spoke to his back.
“I can count.” My voice cracked as I choked on a threatening sob. “I can tell you how many cups of coffee we’ve shared. Fifty-six. Or how many times you told me I was beautiful. Twenty-two times you’ve said that to me, twenty-two times that you’ve made me feel like heaven existed on earth. I can tell you how many times you’ve kissed me and taken my body, and I promise you, it wasn’t nearly enough. Twice you told me you loved me,” I was crying quietly at his back. “And both times I felt like I could be myself and nothing else and that was enough for you. It’s the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life.”
My tears fell freely as I stood with my heart bleeding and held it out to him. He gave me nothing, not a word or a single movement, but that didn’t keep me from fighting.
“I’ve only made one promise to you, so I had to keep it. But I wanted to make it clear about what I aspire to be, and what I’m not. What I may never be. But I know special when I see it. And you have it. Whatever it is that makes a person . . . more. I won’t win the Pulitzer and I can’t belly dance, but I can do something so much better than any woman alive. I can love you.” He flinched as my voice cracked. “And I can treat you the way you deserve to be treated. I’ll show up for you. I’ll be there every time you need me. I’ll be your best friend. I can love you, Cameron. You are the thing I’m good at. You. Being yours. And I swear to God I will never lay a hand on you in anger, ever again.”
People began to filter through the exhibit, so I took a breath and collected myself. I barely heard him when he finally spoke.
“Who told you?”
“She did.”
His shoulders fell, and he hung his head.
“You should know, she just left my house, I texted you to meet me before she came to my door. Me being here and asking you has little to do with her confession.”
“Don’t feel sorry for me, Abbie, that’s not what I want.”
“I don’t. Okay, that’s a lie, I do. But I can’t stop those feelings. Any feelings when it comes to you. And I don’t want to. Cameron, please look at me.”
His voice was a whisper. “Forgive—”
“Yes, that’s what I’m saying—”
“No,” he turned around with unshed tears in his eyes. “Forgive me. How can you forgive me for fucking up something so perfect because I selfishly let it happen between us? But how could I . . . ” he choked on his emotion.
“How could I tell you that I could be the man for you Abbie and the truth? I wasn’t enough to save my marriage. I got selfish, I gave up. I stopped loving her and I started loving you and I don’t regret it. But I let her destroy herself because I was tired of trying. I wanted to move on without her. I hated her, Abbie. I still hate her. How can you feel anything for me?”
“I feel more for you because of it. I want more for you. How can that be wrong? And if there’s a little pity involved, then I’m sorry, you’ll have to deal with being vulnerable like I have to deal with your dishonesty.”
He looked around us and lowered his voice as a couple passed by sensing our tension. “I was going to tell you everything. That night.”
“It was too late. And instead of believing the best in you, I hurt you in a way you may not be able to forgive me for. But even if some part of me thought the worst and acted, my heart won’t ever let me forget I chose you and it’s not because you’re the perfect man.”
Tumultuous oceans of green swept my face.
“But just so you know, you and me, we are absolute.”
He closed his eyes tightly and two thin tears streamed down his face and stole my breath. It was wrong, it looked all wrong on him. This wasn’t the carefree man I fell in love with who had the strength of mountains that at that moment resided on his shoulders. The need to fly to him was unbearable as I kept where I was standing.
I took a step forward as he gazed down at me with desperation. “I just want us back, Cameron. I’m choosing to believe you. If that makes me a fool or susceptible to an outsider’s eyes, then let me be those things. But I couldn’t give a damn what anyone thinks. Stupid, naïve, whatever, I don’t believe it of myself and I don’t believe the secrets you hid taint you. I do know you, Cameron, maybe not every detail of your failed marriage or trivial things that really won’t change our relationship one way or another, but I know you and I love you.”
“Abbie—” His voice was thick, agony laced and matched the ache in my chest. I was shaking with need to touch him, to fly into his arms and erase the days without him. I hated myself in that moment for missing a single minute, but I wasn’t solely responsible.
“I want us back. But I deserve the man who pursued me with good intentions and an open heart. I deserve him because that’s the man I want to love. If there’s any left of him inside you, that’s the man I’m waiting for. He didn’t want to give up and I don’t want him to either, because he makes me happy, so incredibly happy. He makes my life so much better, he knows me. You ask me how I can forgive you? Ask my heart who refuses to let me hold this grudge. I love you too much. I choose happiness over bitterness, now over then, always with you. Always. I don’t want to be without you, ever. We all die at zero, Cameron if we’re alone, we all end up at zero. There is no point in keeping score.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“I know,” I said my voice laced with ache. “Please,” I said on a whisper, “please don’t take too long.”
I walked away then because it would be far too easy to fling myself at him and beg him to love me, because he would. He would take me into him and feed my need, because he loved me enough to do so.
But I wanted him to walk into the rest of our relationship with the open heart that he was when I met him. It was my own selfish condition.
With Cameron, I was playing for keeps.