Closer to the Edge
Page 17
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I feel the pain begin to roll through me and I have to change the direction of my thoughts before I break down in the middle of Parker and Garrett’s living room.
It’s my own fault that Caroline and I didn’t keep in touch after Cole left. She came to visit me in the hospital and she tried in her own way to be there for me, but I didn’t want anything to do with her. Her presence was a reminder of Cole and everything I’d lost, so I pushed her away, telling her I didn’t want anything to do with her, her parents or her brother ever again. The Vargas family was to blame for the downward spiral my life took, the reason I’d lost everything, and I just didn’t have forgiveness in me at the time.
Thinking back on how overly supportive Caroline was of my relationship with Cole, I wonder if she somehow orchestrated this whole thing as a way to make up for the turmoil her family caused. Cole used to tell me stories about how Caroline wreaked havoc on her family’s good name by pulling one stunt after another and how it amused him that their mother was unable to reel her in. Caroline would almost certainly know Vivien was researching the temp agency and could easily sneak in and change things up without her mother knowing. The more I thought about it, the more the idea made perfect sense. Caroline would like nothing more than to pull the wool over her mother’s eyes and do something she knew would piss Vivien off. She got great joy out of pushing her mother’s buttons.
“It has to be Caroline,” I tell them. “Nothing else makes sense.”
Parker nods, reaching for the bottle of wine and topping off my glass. “Alright, now that we have that settled, what are you going to do?”
I don’t know how to answer that question. I’ve always believed the anger and resentment built up towards Cole would make it easy to walk away from him and never look back. Now, I’m not so sure. Seeing him again was like ripping off a Band-Aid before the cut was good and healed. Cole’s return had picked the scab off of the wound his leaving left behind. I needed to cover it back up before the blood poured out of me until there was nothing left.
Lifting my face, Garrett and I lock eyes.
“Why did he leave?” I whisper. “Why did he think he didn’t deserve what I gave him?”
Garrett leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together between them. “Hon, I can’t give you the answers you need. Even if I knew about all of the demons in that guy’s head, it’s not my story to tell. I know you didn’t want to hear this before and, believe me, I understand. You had every right to be hurt by the way he left, but I want you to listen to me right now: He had his reasons. I know they don’t make sense to you. Shit, they barely make sense to me and I’ve been where he’s been. All I’m saying is, give him a chance to explain.”
As I lie in bed later that night, a voicemail from the nursing agency left unreturned, I think about what Garrett said. I’ve been trying to let go of the anger and the resentment and finally move on, but the only way I can do that is to give Cole a chance to explain. It won’t heal the scars, but maybe it will finally stop the bleeding.
I DROVE PAST the house twice before I realized why—no more yellow door. The front porch and the shutters were still white, the siding still dark blue and the green, aluminum mailbox perched on the porch railing still had the giant dent from the time I attempted to teach Olivia how to properly swing a bat after we’d joined a softball league. She’d shuffled her feet too much when she swung and accidentally slammed the metal bat right into it, sending that damn mailbox flying ass over end into the middle of the front yard. I had never laughed so hard in my life.
“You might turn out to be our secret weapon this year. As long as the other team pitches mailboxes at you, we might actually win a few games,” I joked as Olivia came back up to the porch after retrieving the caved-in mailbox.
“Ha, ha. Very funny.”
She rested the mailbox back in its place on top of the railing and stood back, cocking her head to the side as she stared at it. “It’s not too bad. I could put a potted plant on the railing next to it and no one would even know.”
Coming up behind her, I slid my arms around her waist and rested my chin on her shoulder. “Or, I could just run to the hardware store and pick up a new one. We’ll just have to make sure batting practice takes place at least a hundred yards away from any type of solid object you could come in contact with.”
Her body shook lightly with her laughter and she turned around in my arms to face me. Sliding her hands up my chest and over my shoulders, she clasped her fingers behind my neck. “You are not replacing this mailbox. It has character now. And every time we look at it, we’ll remember this day. You’ll also be reminded to never piss me off when I have a bat in my hand.”
The bittersweet memory plays in my mind as I park at the curb and hobble up the walk on my crutches, trying not to wince in pain every time my leg is jarred. The doctor told me I shouldn’t drive for a few weeks, but it’s not like I need my bum leg to drive the car, so I assumed that was just a suggestion on his part. I’m pretty sure the warning about staying off the leg completely for a week was legit, but I can’t afford to waste any more time sitting around with my thumb up my ass. I’ve wasted enough time with Olivia as it is.
Climbing the porch steps is no easy feat, and I rest for a few seconds when I finally reach the top, leaning on my crutches to catch my breath as I stare at the front door. The bright, happy yellow has been painted over and the dark, ugly brown brings my earlier joy at finally having a plan of action down a few notches. It sounds stupid, but that yellow door represented everything about the life I was trying to lead. Every time I came home and saw that door, I forgot about the blood, the death, the rapport of assault rifles and the screams of pain. When I looked at that sunny yellow, I saw hope, happiness and a bright future. Everything I’d ever wanted and needed was behind that door.
It’s my own fault that Caroline and I didn’t keep in touch after Cole left. She came to visit me in the hospital and she tried in her own way to be there for me, but I didn’t want anything to do with her. Her presence was a reminder of Cole and everything I’d lost, so I pushed her away, telling her I didn’t want anything to do with her, her parents or her brother ever again. The Vargas family was to blame for the downward spiral my life took, the reason I’d lost everything, and I just didn’t have forgiveness in me at the time.
Thinking back on how overly supportive Caroline was of my relationship with Cole, I wonder if she somehow orchestrated this whole thing as a way to make up for the turmoil her family caused. Cole used to tell me stories about how Caroline wreaked havoc on her family’s good name by pulling one stunt after another and how it amused him that their mother was unable to reel her in. Caroline would almost certainly know Vivien was researching the temp agency and could easily sneak in and change things up without her mother knowing. The more I thought about it, the more the idea made perfect sense. Caroline would like nothing more than to pull the wool over her mother’s eyes and do something she knew would piss Vivien off. She got great joy out of pushing her mother’s buttons.
“It has to be Caroline,” I tell them. “Nothing else makes sense.”
Parker nods, reaching for the bottle of wine and topping off my glass. “Alright, now that we have that settled, what are you going to do?”
I don’t know how to answer that question. I’ve always believed the anger and resentment built up towards Cole would make it easy to walk away from him and never look back. Now, I’m not so sure. Seeing him again was like ripping off a Band-Aid before the cut was good and healed. Cole’s return had picked the scab off of the wound his leaving left behind. I needed to cover it back up before the blood poured out of me until there was nothing left.
Lifting my face, Garrett and I lock eyes.
“Why did he leave?” I whisper. “Why did he think he didn’t deserve what I gave him?”
Garrett leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together between them. “Hon, I can’t give you the answers you need. Even if I knew about all of the demons in that guy’s head, it’s not my story to tell. I know you didn’t want to hear this before and, believe me, I understand. You had every right to be hurt by the way he left, but I want you to listen to me right now: He had his reasons. I know they don’t make sense to you. Shit, they barely make sense to me and I’ve been where he’s been. All I’m saying is, give him a chance to explain.”
As I lie in bed later that night, a voicemail from the nursing agency left unreturned, I think about what Garrett said. I’ve been trying to let go of the anger and the resentment and finally move on, but the only way I can do that is to give Cole a chance to explain. It won’t heal the scars, but maybe it will finally stop the bleeding.
I DROVE PAST the house twice before I realized why—no more yellow door. The front porch and the shutters were still white, the siding still dark blue and the green, aluminum mailbox perched on the porch railing still had the giant dent from the time I attempted to teach Olivia how to properly swing a bat after we’d joined a softball league. She’d shuffled her feet too much when she swung and accidentally slammed the metal bat right into it, sending that damn mailbox flying ass over end into the middle of the front yard. I had never laughed so hard in my life.
“You might turn out to be our secret weapon this year. As long as the other team pitches mailboxes at you, we might actually win a few games,” I joked as Olivia came back up to the porch after retrieving the caved-in mailbox.
“Ha, ha. Very funny.”
She rested the mailbox back in its place on top of the railing and stood back, cocking her head to the side as she stared at it. “It’s not too bad. I could put a potted plant on the railing next to it and no one would even know.”
Coming up behind her, I slid my arms around her waist and rested my chin on her shoulder. “Or, I could just run to the hardware store and pick up a new one. We’ll just have to make sure batting practice takes place at least a hundred yards away from any type of solid object you could come in contact with.”
Her body shook lightly with her laughter and she turned around in my arms to face me. Sliding her hands up my chest and over my shoulders, she clasped her fingers behind my neck. “You are not replacing this mailbox. It has character now. And every time we look at it, we’ll remember this day. You’ll also be reminded to never piss me off when I have a bat in my hand.”
The bittersweet memory plays in my mind as I park at the curb and hobble up the walk on my crutches, trying not to wince in pain every time my leg is jarred. The doctor told me I shouldn’t drive for a few weeks, but it’s not like I need my bum leg to drive the car, so I assumed that was just a suggestion on his part. I’m pretty sure the warning about staying off the leg completely for a week was legit, but I can’t afford to waste any more time sitting around with my thumb up my ass. I’ve wasted enough time with Olivia as it is.
Climbing the porch steps is no easy feat, and I rest for a few seconds when I finally reach the top, leaning on my crutches to catch my breath as I stare at the front door. The bright, happy yellow has been painted over and the dark, ugly brown brings my earlier joy at finally having a plan of action down a few notches. It sounds stupid, but that yellow door represented everything about the life I was trying to lead. Every time I came home and saw that door, I forgot about the blood, the death, the rapport of assault rifles and the screams of pain. When I looked at that sunny yellow, I saw hope, happiness and a bright future. Everything I’d ever wanted and needed was behind that door.
