Closer to the Edge
Page 65
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I step around him, picking up my pace, afraid that if he says one more word to me I’ll turn around and run into his arms. I’m weak when it comes to Cole and I can’t afford that anymore.
It’s my turn to do what I think is best for everyone involved.
It’s my turn to walk away.
SIX MONTHS LATER…
I cross my legs in front of me and lean back on my hands on the fluffy blanket we’ve thrown down on the lawn, the warm night air and the sounds of people singing along with the woman on stage flowing all around me. A smile lights up my face as I stare at the singer behind the microphone, belting out the words to one of the first songs she’d ever written as the people surrounding us on the lawn scream her name.
“Isn’t this insane?!” Parker says next to me in awe. “I mean, she’s just Layla to me. But here, she’s freaking famous. Our friend is famous!”
I laugh and shake my head at her. I had never met Parker’s friend Layla Carlysle, but I had definitely heard a lot about her over the last few years, and not just because she was a mega superstar in the music world. She managed to get Brady Marshall, one of the members of Garrett’s SEAL team, to settle down, spending the last year on the road with her as she wrapped up her farewell tour. I’d always wanted to go to one of her concerts, but I’d never been able to find the time.
“I’m suddenly not so angry anymore that you kidnapped me and forced me to come to Napa Valley,” I tell Parker as Layla finishes her song and speaks to the crowd for a few minutes.
“No one is forced to come to Napa Valley,” Gwen Marshall-Conrad announces as she flips over onto her stomach on the other side of me and kicks her feet up behind her. “People dream of Napa Valley and then they float here on a cloud of happiness.”
Parker and Gwen clink their wine glasses together and share a laugh.
After six months of no contact with Cole, I thought I was finally doing better. After that day in the cemetery, he gave me what I asked for and never tried to call me or see me again. I was relieved, initially, realizing I needed time and space to heal. The last year of my life had been fraught with loss and sorrow, feelings I hadn’t yet dealt with, much less moved beyond. I knew I had decisions to make about my future and being anywhere near Cole would just cloud my judgment. It didn’t take long, though, before I started missing him. I couldn’t just turn off my feelings for him no matter what he’d done and one again, the absence of Cole left a huge hole in my life. It was after a particularly difficult day, one spent battling grief coupled with a nasty case of PMS-induced tears, that the first gift arrived.
Two months ago, on the seventeen of the month, marked the one-year anniversary of the day I found out I was having a boy. When I got home from work that evening, I found a small, wrapped box on my front porch and, assuming it was something from Parker, I tore into it. Inside a little black box was nestled a beautiful silver necklace, a charm of an angel boy holding my son’s birthstone dangling from the chain. When I called Parker to thank her for remembering, she had no idea what I was talking about.
A week after that, I found a gift bag in my mailbox filled with Sour Patch Kids. I always ate that candy when Cole and I curled up to watch a movie, but I still wouldn’t let myself believe he was the one responsible for sending them to me.
A few days after that, I found another box on my doorstep, wrapped in the exact same paper as the necklace. Inside this box was a custom-made, Heather B. Moore ring stamped with dates: the day we met, the date of our first kiss, the day we moved in together and the day our son was born.
It wasn’t until the final package came a few days ago that I was absolutely positive Cole was behind the gifts. Inside the package that UPS delivered was a brand new collector’s edition of Dirty Dancing with a note that simply said, Keep practicing that lift.
When the gifts started arriving, I immediately became concerned about what they meant. I was afraid Cole would try calling me again and I wasn’t sure I was strong enough yet to talk to him. I worried for nothing, though, because those presents were the only contact he’s attempted for six months. He sent me things he knew I would love to let me know he was thinking about me without expecting anything in return. I didn’t know what to make of it and I didn’t know how to respond. I knew I should thank him for his thoughtfulness, but I just wasn’t ready to hear his voice again.
I started seeing a therapist a few months ago when the flashbacks of Caroline’s death became too much for me to deal with on my own. She spent hours listening to me recount the horrors of that night, eventually suggesting I go out to that spot overlooking the cliffs where my dreams and my nightmares all rolled into one. She thought seeing the place in the daylight, with the sun shining down around me instead of dark clouds and the boom of thunder, would help put the demons to rest, giving me the closure I need and helping me heal. I figured it couldn’t hurt. I knew holding onto so much anger and so many bad memories wasn’t healthy. Finally saying good-bye to the dream I once had of a future with Cole in the spot where my nightmares came to life could only help, right?
I was doing great, too. My hands barely shook as I turned the wheel into the driveway. My steps never faltered as I walked through the skeleton of the house, banishing the memories of having a gun pointed at my head and coming to terms with the fact that I was about to die. I had no trouble letting the sun warm my skin as I walked out into the backyard and towards the cliff. Everything was fine until I got to that damn cliff.
It’s my turn to do what I think is best for everyone involved.
It’s my turn to walk away.
SIX MONTHS LATER…
I cross my legs in front of me and lean back on my hands on the fluffy blanket we’ve thrown down on the lawn, the warm night air and the sounds of people singing along with the woman on stage flowing all around me. A smile lights up my face as I stare at the singer behind the microphone, belting out the words to one of the first songs she’d ever written as the people surrounding us on the lawn scream her name.
“Isn’t this insane?!” Parker says next to me in awe. “I mean, she’s just Layla to me. But here, she’s freaking famous. Our friend is famous!”
I laugh and shake my head at her. I had never met Parker’s friend Layla Carlysle, but I had definitely heard a lot about her over the last few years, and not just because she was a mega superstar in the music world. She managed to get Brady Marshall, one of the members of Garrett’s SEAL team, to settle down, spending the last year on the road with her as she wrapped up her farewell tour. I’d always wanted to go to one of her concerts, but I’d never been able to find the time.
“I’m suddenly not so angry anymore that you kidnapped me and forced me to come to Napa Valley,” I tell Parker as Layla finishes her song and speaks to the crowd for a few minutes.
“No one is forced to come to Napa Valley,” Gwen Marshall-Conrad announces as she flips over onto her stomach on the other side of me and kicks her feet up behind her. “People dream of Napa Valley and then they float here on a cloud of happiness.”
Parker and Gwen clink their wine glasses together and share a laugh.
After six months of no contact with Cole, I thought I was finally doing better. After that day in the cemetery, he gave me what I asked for and never tried to call me or see me again. I was relieved, initially, realizing I needed time and space to heal. The last year of my life had been fraught with loss and sorrow, feelings I hadn’t yet dealt with, much less moved beyond. I knew I had decisions to make about my future and being anywhere near Cole would just cloud my judgment. It didn’t take long, though, before I started missing him. I couldn’t just turn off my feelings for him no matter what he’d done and one again, the absence of Cole left a huge hole in my life. It was after a particularly difficult day, one spent battling grief coupled with a nasty case of PMS-induced tears, that the first gift arrived.
Two months ago, on the seventeen of the month, marked the one-year anniversary of the day I found out I was having a boy. When I got home from work that evening, I found a small, wrapped box on my front porch and, assuming it was something from Parker, I tore into it. Inside a little black box was nestled a beautiful silver necklace, a charm of an angel boy holding my son’s birthstone dangling from the chain. When I called Parker to thank her for remembering, she had no idea what I was talking about.
A week after that, I found a gift bag in my mailbox filled with Sour Patch Kids. I always ate that candy when Cole and I curled up to watch a movie, but I still wouldn’t let myself believe he was the one responsible for sending them to me.
A few days after that, I found another box on my doorstep, wrapped in the exact same paper as the necklace. Inside this box was a custom-made, Heather B. Moore ring stamped with dates: the day we met, the date of our first kiss, the day we moved in together and the day our son was born.
It wasn’t until the final package came a few days ago that I was absolutely positive Cole was behind the gifts. Inside the package that UPS delivered was a brand new collector’s edition of Dirty Dancing with a note that simply said, Keep practicing that lift.
When the gifts started arriving, I immediately became concerned about what they meant. I was afraid Cole would try calling me again and I wasn’t sure I was strong enough yet to talk to him. I worried for nothing, though, because those presents were the only contact he’s attempted for six months. He sent me things he knew I would love to let me know he was thinking about me without expecting anything in return. I didn’t know what to make of it and I didn’t know how to respond. I knew I should thank him for his thoughtfulness, but I just wasn’t ready to hear his voice again.
I started seeing a therapist a few months ago when the flashbacks of Caroline’s death became too much for me to deal with on my own. She spent hours listening to me recount the horrors of that night, eventually suggesting I go out to that spot overlooking the cliffs where my dreams and my nightmares all rolled into one. She thought seeing the place in the daylight, with the sun shining down around me instead of dark clouds and the boom of thunder, would help put the demons to rest, giving me the closure I need and helping me heal. I figured it couldn’t hurt. I knew holding onto so much anger and so many bad memories wasn’t healthy. Finally saying good-bye to the dream I once had of a future with Cole in the spot where my nightmares came to life could only help, right?
I was doing great, too. My hands barely shook as I turned the wheel into the driveway. My steps never faltered as I walked through the skeleton of the house, banishing the memories of having a gun pointed at my head and coming to terms with the fact that I was about to die. I had no trouble letting the sun warm my skin as I walked out into the backyard and towards the cliff. Everything was fine until I got to that damn cliff.
