-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Fifty:
-------------------------------------------------
… It’s never too late …
… It’s never too late …
My father died and I cried.
Max married me and I smiled again.
My heart hurt and I fell.
The balcony became heaven.
My husband became distant.
Did I push him away?
It wasn’t his fault. It was never his fault.
I’m broken. But I don’t know how to be whole again.
I’m broken and he doesn’t know how to fix me.
… So he left.
Sunday teas. Coffee Mondays. Fridays with Laurie. Jogs in the park.
Where was Max?
Business trips. Expensive suits. Late night phone calls. New York.
Did I push him away?
He used to hold my hand.
He used to kiss me in the mornings.
He used to hold me through the night.
He used to love me.
Does he still? When I’m broken?
… Beep … beep … beep …
How do I fix this?
The blinds are closed.
The room is cold.
My husband hates the cold.
… It’s never too late …
“Lunch time.” It’s a chippery voice. She wears scrubs, walking in with a tray.
I don’t need food. I need my husband.
She puts it beside me. She smiles. “Do you want me to cut it up for you?”
I don’t need food. I need-
“I’ll do it.”
My breath catches and I turn to him.
He’s seated in a corner, sitting still.
Like he’s been there all along.
The nurse says something and leaves. I didn’t pay attention.
He stays seated in the corner, away from me. His eyes stare at the floor.
Has he been here all along?
Is it too late?
He looks composed. But he’s not.
Expensive business suit, shiny shoes, and a briefcase. My husband.
He stands and walks to the other side of the bed. He picks up a plastic fork and knife.
He couldn’t be more out of place.
He won’t look at me, but I can’t stop looking at him.
He’s pale. He’s tired. He goes through the motions. He’s dead inside.
Did I do this?
The fork breaks. He curses. He turns. He won’t look at me.
Words mumbled, “I’ll go get another one.”
He’s leaving me. Panic. Airport. Blackness.
My throat hurts. “Max!”
He turns slowly. He looks at me … like he hasn’t for an eternity.
Emotions run deep.
… It’s never too late …
My heart hurts. “Don’t leave me.”
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Empty (AU, ML, MATURE) (Complete)
Moderators: Itzstacie, Forum Moderators
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Fifty One:
-------------------------------------------------
He holds the straw out for me to sip my tea.
Food isn’t what I need right now, but he makes me eat.
He doesn’t speak.
I need to say something. But I can’t think. I can’t reach him.
He’s right beside me, and yet he’s miles away.
My throat closes. “Max, I …”
“I’m not divorcing you now.” He says it through clenched teeth. He’s focused on the red jell-o. He won’t look at me.
I take it from him. I put it down. No more distractions to busy himself with. No more barriers to hide behind.
It’s not too late … is it?
He looks out the window. He looks at the flowers. He looks anywhere but at me.
Did I make him this way?
I reach for him.
He moves away. He leans against the radiator. He needs to put space between us. He needs to distance himself.
But distance isn’t what I need right now.
“You’re staring,” he says. He’s smiling a sad smile. He still won’t look at me.
My voice is soft. “I’m losing you.” It’s the truth. And it’s my fault.
He’s shaking his head. “I won’t divorce you now.”
Emotions run deep.
But he’s still pulling away.
Is that what I did?
Pull myself away from him? Push him away from me?
He digs in his jacket. He pulls out a flask. He drinks.
It kills me.
Of all people, I should understand. I had my balcony to drown in. He has this.
He breathes hard. He stares at the bed. He drinks again.
Words enter my mind.
You’re killing him, Lizzie.
My husband, the charmer. My husband, who can talk to anyone. My husband, who can have any life he wants.
Upscale and too good-looking for his own good. Those were my mother’s words. A playboy, was her warning, before I married him. He looked the part.
But now … his jacket off, his tie undone, one shirttail out. He’s tired and broken, standing in a dull hospital room, with a distant wife and a damaged marriage. He’s dying inside … He’ll be empty soon.
I did this to him …
You’re killing him, Lizzie.
… But I don’t want that.
I hold my hand out.
He knows what I want.
His eyes finally look at me. They hold no life. Nothingness.
I did this to him.
“I’ll trade you,” he says with a sad smile. He holds onto the flask like a lifeline. “I give you this, my personal key to hell, you give me something back.”
Anything. I’d give anything to stop this. To take back two years. To undamage him. To make the emptiness go away. “Anything.”
“My heart.”
The flask drops to the ground. His hands rake his face. It kills me. “I can’t forget you. I can’t. And I can’t live without you.”
He looks up and he sees me. No barriers. No distractions. And for the first time, I see him too.
Emotions run deep in his eyes. “I can lose you at any moment. And it’s scaring me shitless, the thought of being without you.”
Sobs escape me. Hope glimmers.
… It’s never too late …
I beg. I plead. “Don’t leave me, Max.”
Purposeful strides. No more distance. No more hiding. He reaches out. And I hold on for dear life. His words a promising threat, “Didn’t you hear me? I’m not going anywhere.”
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Fifty One:
-------------------------------------------------
He holds the straw out for me to sip my tea.
Food isn’t what I need right now, but he makes me eat.
He doesn’t speak.
I need to say something. But I can’t think. I can’t reach him.
He’s right beside me, and yet he’s miles away.
My throat closes. “Max, I …”
“I’m not divorcing you now.” He says it through clenched teeth. He’s focused on the red jell-o. He won’t look at me.
I take it from him. I put it down. No more distractions to busy himself with. No more barriers to hide behind.
It’s not too late … is it?
He looks out the window. He looks at the flowers. He looks anywhere but at me.
Did I make him this way?
I reach for him.
He moves away. He leans against the radiator. He needs to put space between us. He needs to distance himself.
But distance isn’t what I need right now.
“You’re staring,” he says. He’s smiling a sad smile. He still won’t look at me.
My voice is soft. “I’m losing you.” It’s the truth. And it’s my fault.
He’s shaking his head. “I won’t divorce you now.”
Emotions run deep.
But he’s still pulling away.
Is that what I did?
Pull myself away from him? Push him away from me?
He digs in his jacket. He pulls out a flask. He drinks.
It kills me.
Of all people, I should understand. I had my balcony to drown in. He has this.
He breathes hard. He stares at the bed. He drinks again.
Words enter my mind.
You’re killing him, Lizzie.
My husband, the charmer. My husband, who can talk to anyone. My husband, who can have any life he wants.
Upscale and too good-looking for his own good. Those were my mother’s words. A playboy, was her warning, before I married him. He looked the part.
But now … his jacket off, his tie undone, one shirttail out. He’s tired and broken, standing in a dull hospital room, with a distant wife and a damaged marriage. He’s dying inside … He’ll be empty soon.
I did this to him …
You’re killing him, Lizzie.
… But I don’t want that.
I hold my hand out.
He knows what I want.
His eyes finally look at me. They hold no life. Nothingness.
I did this to him.
“I’ll trade you,” he says with a sad smile. He holds onto the flask like a lifeline. “I give you this, my personal key to hell, you give me something back.”
Anything. I’d give anything to stop this. To take back two years. To undamage him. To make the emptiness go away. “Anything.”
“My heart.”
The flask drops to the ground. His hands rake his face. It kills me. “I can’t forget you. I can’t. And I can’t live without you.”
He looks up and he sees me. No barriers. No distractions. And for the first time, I see him too.
Emotions run deep in his eyes. “I can lose you at any moment. And it’s scaring me shitless, the thought of being without you.”
Sobs escape me. Hope glimmers.
… It’s never too late …
I beg. I plead. “Don’t leave me, Max.”
Purposeful strides. No more distance. No more hiding. He reaches out. And I hold on for dear life. His words a promising threat, “Didn’t you hear me? I’m not going anywhere.”
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Fifty Two:
-------------------------------------------------
I was released from the hospital this morning.
My husband drove us home, the backseat filled with flowers.
I sit on the sofa.
He’s out on the balcony, talking to Eddie.
Our apartment is warm.
A fire is burning. My husband loves the fireplace. And I love him.
It’s why we talked to Doctor Davis. It’s why we went over our options. It’s why I’m home, preparing myself for surgery in two weeks.
It’s why I’m scared.
He comes back in, a smile on his face, a box in his hand.
He puts it down on the coffee table. “Eddie baked you cookies. He says he’s sorry they’re a little burnt.” He’s laughing and shaking his head.
It warms my heart.
The barriers are gone, but the tension remains.
He’s cautious. He’s wary.
So am I.
He stares into the fire. He looks back at me. “So are you hungry?”
I shake my head. Food isn’t what I need right now.
“You want to go see a movie?” He sits on the coffee table before me.
I stay on the sofa. A movie isn’t what I need right now.
He’s smiling. ”What do you want?” he asks.
I don’t hesitate. “You.” It’s the truth.
He laughs softly. “Well, I know that.” He’s flirting with me.
It warms my heart.
My husband could charm a king cobra.
He holds my hand in his. He’s careful.
Because I’m still broken. But we’re trying to fix that.
He speaks softly, “You know what I realized? In all the excitement,” he smiles at his word choice. I smile with him. “We missed Christmas.”
My mind tumbles. Did we?
His eyes sparkle. “Let’s have a redo. I’ll go get a tree. You wrap some presents.”
He’s crazy. “But-”
“No buts. No more distractions. No more waiting.” He leans forward. He brings my hand to his lips. “It’s you and me. And we’re going to make it work.”
I see him.
For all his charm, for all his sophistication, he’s a twenty nine year old boy, unsure and asking me to love him. To let him love me.
“Okay.”
--------------
Max strings up lights on a three foot plastic tree that he bought at the store. It was the last one left, he said. And he laughed. But it was cheap. And he laughed again.
The ugliest ornaments hang from it. It was all the store had left. Two of them were cracked. Max taped them back together.
He lets me make dinner.
Restrict yourself to light activity, the doctor had said.
I check on our small turkey cooking in the oven.
I open up a can of cranberry sauce. A pumpkin pie sits on the counter.
I look up and he’s staring at me.
He says nothing.
He smiles. And it speaks more than any words can say.
He helps me set the table. He helps me plate the food. He hands me my medication.
A small turkey and cranberry sauce. Carrots and potatoes. A pumpkin pie. It’s not much. But it’s all we need.
Limit your alcohol intake, the doctor had said.
But we share a glass of wine.
My husband doesn’t take risks, where I’m concerned.
But we’re celebrating, Max tells me. It’s a redo Christmas, after all.
Six presents sit under our tacky tree, some wrapped in old newspapers, because it was all I could find.
Max starts first. We sit by the fire. A half empty bottle of cologne. A stuffed bear that I’ve had for years. And my father’s pocket watch.
He smiles at me. He feigns shock and excitement with each gift.
He makes me laugh.
He hands me my presents. He did better than I did. His presents are wrapped in cartoon gift wrap paper. It was all they had left, he pouts.
I smile. A bottle of sherry. An I.O.U. for a foot massage. And a framed photo booth picture.
We sit by the fire. He holds me. Like he never stopped. Like before. Like it’s always been this way.
Even though we’re still unsure of each other. Even though I’m still broken. But we’re trying to fix that.
“Liz, I like this,” he breaks the silence, his head on my shoulder. He whispers softly, “I don’t want to go back to how things were. I don’t think I can go back.”
I nod. I know. “I can’t either, Max.”
“I have one more present for you,” he pulls back, takes a folded envelope from his pocket. He hands it to me.
I stare at it. I stare at him.
His smile is hesitant.
I open it slowly …
… It’s a plane ticket.
New York. Multi-million dollar shipping company. Charm and sophistication.
“It’s one-way,” he speaks quietly.
Two sisters and one brother. Maxwell Evans. A life I don’t understand.
Will he help me understand?
“We don’t have to,” he’s talking hurriedly. He’s shaking his head. “We can stay here.”
… Fear can’t rule you, Lizzie …
I see my husband. My mind made up, “I’ll go.”
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Fifty Two:
-------------------------------------------------
I was released from the hospital this morning.
My husband drove us home, the backseat filled with flowers.
I sit on the sofa.
He’s out on the balcony, talking to Eddie.
Our apartment is warm.
A fire is burning. My husband loves the fireplace. And I love him.
It’s why we talked to Doctor Davis. It’s why we went over our options. It’s why I’m home, preparing myself for surgery in two weeks.
It’s why I’m scared.
He comes back in, a smile on his face, a box in his hand.
He puts it down on the coffee table. “Eddie baked you cookies. He says he’s sorry they’re a little burnt.” He’s laughing and shaking his head.
It warms my heart.
The barriers are gone, but the tension remains.
He’s cautious. He’s wary.
So am I.
He stares into the fire. He looks back at me. “So are you hungry?”
I shake my head. Food isn’t what I need right now.
“You want to go see a movie?” He sits on the coffee table before me.
I stay on the sofa. A movie isn’t what I need right now.
He’s smiling. ”What do you want?” he asks.
I don’t hesitate. “You.” It’s the truth.
He laughs softly. “Well, I know that.” He’s flirting with me.
It warms my heart.
My husband could charm a king cobra.
He holds my hand in his. He’s careful.
Because I’m still broken. But we’re trying to fix that.
He speaks softly, “You know what I realized? In all the excitement,” he smiles at his word choice. I smile with him. “We missed Christmas.”
My mind tumbles. Did we?
His eyes sparkle. “Let’s have a redo. I’ll go get a tree. You wrap some presents.”
He’s crazy. “But-”
“No buts. No more distractions. No more waiting.” He leans forward. He brings my hand to his lips. “It’s you and me. And we’re going to make it work.”
I see him.
For all his charm, for all his sophistication, he’s a twenty nine year old boy, unsure and asking me to love him. To let him love me.
“Okay.”
--------------
Max strings up lights on a three foot plastic tree that he bought at the store. It was the last one left, he said. And he laughed. But it was cheap. And he laughed again.
The ugliest ornaments hang from it. It was all the store had left. Two of them were cracked. Max taped them back together.
He lets me make dinner.
Restrict yourself to light activity, the doctor had said.
I check on our small turkey cooking in the oven.
I open up a can of cranberry sauce. A pumpkin pie sits on the counter.
I look up and he’s staring at me.
He says nothing.
He smiles. And it speaks more than any words can say.
He helps me set the table. He helps me plate the food. He hands me my medication.
A small turkey and cranberry sauce. Carrots and potatoes. A pumpkin pie. It’s not much. But it’s all we need.
Limit your alcohol intake, the doctor had said.
But we share a glass of wine.
My husband doesn’t take risks, where I’m concerned.
But we’re celebrating, Max tells me. It’s a redo Christmas, after all.
Six presents sit under our tacky tree, some wrapped in old newspapers, because it was all I could find.
Max starts first. We sit by the fire. A half empty bottle of cologne. A stuffed bear that I’ve had for years. And my father’s pocket watch.
He smiles at me. He feigns shock and excitement with each gift.
He makes me laugh.
He hands me my presents. He did better than I did. His presents are wrapped in cartoon gift wrap paper. It was all they had left, he pouts.
I smile. A bottle of sherry. An I.O.U. for a foot massage. And a framed photo booth picture.
We sit by the fire. He holds me. Like he never stopped. Like before. Like it’s always been this way.
Even though we’re still unsure of each other. Even though I’m still broken. But we’re trying to fix that.
“Liz, I like this,” he breaks the silence, his head on my shoulder. He whispers softly, “I don’t want to go back to how things were. I don’t think I can go back.”
I nod. I know. “I can’t either, Max.”
“I have one more present for you,” he pulls back, takes a folded envelope from his pocket. He hands it to me.
I stare at it. I stare at him.
His smile is hesitant.
I open it slowly …
… It’s a plane ticket.
New York. Multi-million dollar shipping company. Charm and sophistication.
“It’s one-way,” he speaks quietly.
Two sisters and one brother. Maxwell Evans. A life I don’t understand.
Will he help me understand?
“We don’t have to,” he’s talking hurriedly. He’s shaking his head. “We can stay here.”
… Fear can’t rule you, Lizzie …
I see my husband. My mind made up, “I’ll go.”
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Last edited by Evelynn on Fri Feb 16, 2007 10:15 pm, edited 1 time in total.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Fifty Three:
-------------------------------------------------
“Good morning, sunshine,” my husband smiles a secret smile at me.
“G’morning,” I say and walk past him. He can still make me blush after over two years.
Maria sits at the kitchen table.
She eyes me over her coffee.
I say nothing.
It’s been two weeks, one visit to Doctor Davis and three visits to Doctor Sanchez to prepare me for this.
No nail polish or make-up, Doctor Davis had said.
No eating, drinking, or chewing after midnight, Doctor Davis had said.
Bring a list of your current medication, Doctor Davis had said.
Wear comfortable clothing, Doctor Davis had said.
Prepare yourself mentally for surgery, Doctor Sanchez advised.
Remember you have people that care for and love you, Doctor Sanchez advised.
And relax, Doctor Sanchez advised.
I got hungry at twelve-o-eight last night.
It upset me, staring at the refrigerator door.
Max smiled. He called me silly and pulled me from the kitchen.
He dragged me through our bedroom door.
He was tender. He was loving.
My husband doesn’t take risks, where I’m concerned.
But last night he made an exception.
I’m so proud of you, he had said, his lips against mine.
He trailed along my skin, his breath warm.
He burned my body, like always, like never before.
I love you, I told him. Before he asked. Before he expected to hear the words.
He stopped. He looked into me. And he smiled.
His kisses were filled with longing. His caresses teased my senses.
He touched my very soul at his slow and agonizing pace.
My husband promised me forever with his eyes. Promised me an eternity with his body.
He loved me long into the night and held me long after.
Until morning, when I woke with a smile on my lips, and the smells of breakfast in the air.
Maria stares at me from across the table.
I look away.
She seems happier than she was two weeks ago.
She’s an emotional rollercoaster ride. It’s a teenage thing.
Max sets a plate down before her. He glances at me, a smile on my lips, a smirk on his.
“Maria, go check the mailbox,” he says.
“Are you kidding me?” Her eyes wide, her mouth full.
“No.” He throws the key at her.
“But …” Her mouth hangs open. “This isn’t even my apartment.”
He eyes her. She stands.
“Fine,” she huffs.
He grabs me when she’s out the door. His lips find mine, all the emotion and yearning from last night resurfacing.
The front door opens again and I sit back down.
Even after over two years …
“Eww …” Maria makes a face. “Did you two just make out?”
Max just shrugs and walks back into the kitchen.
“Gross …” she rolls her eyes at me.
I just smile.
She drops the mail on the table. “You are grown adults. Not horny teenagers.” She cringes. “Whatever, I’m going to work.”
She makes another face on her way out. “Remind me to never have breakfast here again.” I think she’s amused. She pops her head back in. “Good luck today, Liz.”
No eating, drinking, or chewing after midnight, Doctor Davis had said.
I wonder if kisses count.
“I think Doctor Davis will forgive me,” he reads my mind.
Max leans against the doorframe, in his jeans and college t-shirt, his arms crossed, not looking his twenty nine years.
I smile at him, my husband.
These past two weeks weren’t easy.
Frustration and fear filled them.
But with my family’s support, and Max holding my hand, it made it easier.
“Did you shower?” he asks.
I nod my head.
“With that antibacterial soap?” he asks.
I nod my head again.
He stands. He asks. “Are you scared?”
And I nod my head.
“At least you’re honest.” My husband tries to lighten the mood. He teases and taunts away at my fear and tension.
But I’ve spent the last two weeks preparing myself.
He spent the last two weeks helping me, encouraging me, loving me.
I glance at the clock.
I stand.
“Ready?” he asks. He smiles and grabs his jacket.
He stops me, brings up my left hand. He kisses my finger before he slides the ring off slowly, and wears it on his pinky finger. “For safe keeping.”
I nod my head.
No jewelry, Doctor Davis had said.
I grab my coat. I try to smile.
… Fear can’t rule you, Lizzie …
I try smile again.
Outside our front door Max stops me once more. He holds me tight. He kisses my forehead and closes his eyes with a deep breath.
It’s the first I’ve seen of his uncertainty in two weeks. My husband has held strong for two weeks, for my sake.
And I love him more for it.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Fifty Three:
-------------------------------------------------
“Good morning, sunshine,” my husband smiles a secret smile at me.
“G’morning,” I say and walk past him. He can still make me blush after over two years.
Maria sits at the kitchen table.
She eyes me over her coffee.
I say nothing.
It’s been two weeks, one visit to Doctor Davis and three visits to Doctor Sanchez to prepare me for this.
No nail polish or make-up, Doctor Davis had said.
No eating, drinking, or chewing after midnight, Doctor Davis had said.
Bring a list of your current medication, Doctor Davis had said.
Wear comfortable clothing, Doctor Davis had said.
Prepare yourself mentally for surgery, Doctor Sanchez advised.
Remember you have people that care for and love you, Doctor Sanchez advised.
And relax, Doctor Sanchez advised.
I got hungry at twelve-o-eight last night.
It upset me, staring at the refrigerator door.
Max smiled. He called me silly and pulled me from the kitchen.
He dragged me through our bedroom door.
He was tender. He was loving.
My husband doesn’t take risks, where I’m concerned.
But last night he made an exception.
I’m so proud of you, he had said, his lips against mine.
He trailed along my skin, his breath warm.
He burned my body, like always, like never before.
I love you, I told him. Before he asked. Before he expected to hear the words.
He stopped. He looked into me. And he smiled.
His kisses were filled with longing. His caresses teased my senses.
He touched my very soul at his slow and agonizing pace.
My husband promised me forever with his eyes. Promised me an eternity with his body.
He loved me long into the night and held me long after.
Until morning, when I woke with a smile on my lips, and the smells of breakfast in the air.
Maria stares at me from across the table.
I look away.
She seems happier than she was two weeks ago.
She’s an emotional rollercoaster ride. It’s a teenage thing.
Max sets a plate down before her. He glances at me, a smile on my lips, a smirk on his.
“Maria, go check the mailbox,” he says.
“Are you kidding me?” Her eyes wide, her mouth full.
“No.” He throws the key at her.
“But …” Her mouth hangs open. “This isn’t even my apartment.”
He eyes her. She stands.
“Fine,” she huffs.
He grabs me when she’s out the door. His lips find mine, all the emotion and yearning from last night resurfacing.
The front door opens again and I sit back down.
Even after over two years …
“Eww …” Maria makes a face. “Did you two just make out?”
Max just shrugs and walks back into the kitchen.
“Gross …” she rolls her eyes at me.
I just smile.
She drops the mail on the table. “You are grown adults. Not horny teenagers.” She cringes. “Whatever, I’m going to work.”
She makes another face on her way out. “Remind me to never have breakfast here again.” I think she’s amused. She pops her head back in. “Good luck today, Liz.”
No eating, drinking, or chewing after midnight, Doctor Davis had said.
I wonder if kisses count.
“I think Doctor Davis will forgive me,” he reads my mind.
Max leans against the doorframe, in his jeans and college t-shirt, his arms crossed, not looking his twenty nine years.
I smile at him, my husband.
These past two weeks weren’t easy.
Frustration and fear filled them.
But with my family’s support, and Max holding my hand, it made it easier.
“Did you shower?” he asks.
I nod my head.
“With that antibacterial soap?” he asks.
I nod my head again.
He stands. He asks. “Are you scared?”
And I nod my head.
“At least you’re honest.” My husband tries to lighten the mood. He teases and taunts away at my fear and tension.
But I’ve spent the last two weeks preparing myself.
He spent the last two weeks helping me, encouraging me, loving me.
I glance at the clock.
I stand.
“Ready?” he asks. He smiles and grabs his jacket.
He stops me, brings up my left hand. He kisses my finger before he slides the ring off slowly, and wears it on his pinky finger. “For safe keeping.”
I nod my head.
No jewelry, Doctor Davis had said.
I grab my coat. I try to smile.
… Fear can’t rule you, Lizzie …
I try smile again.
Outside our front door Max stops me once more. He holds me tight. He kisses my forehead and closes his eyes with a deep breath.
It’s the first I’ve seen of his uncertainty in two weeks. My husband has held strong for two weeks, for my sake.
And I love him more for it.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Fifty Four:
-------------------------------------------------
I sit on a paper covered examination table.
The room is cold.
The doctor wants to go over procedures with me. He wants to prepare me.
I’ve been preparing for two weeks now.
With Max beside me.
Nine or so people will be in the room, the doctor says.
The surgeon, two assistant surgeons, a cardiologist, a surgical nurse, a perfusionist, an anesthesiologist, a scrub tech nurse, and a scribe.
Max looks calm. He’s smiling. He’s faking it.
I can tell. I am his wife, after all.
The doctor wants to make sure I’m make-up free, polish free, jewelry free.
Max holds onto my ring. And I nod.
The doctor wants to make sure I washed with the antibacterial soap.
Max smiles at me. And I nod.
The doctor wants to make sure I haven’t eaten, drank, or chewed on anything since after midnight last night.
Max winks at me and I blush. I nod.
The doctor leaves the room for me to change.
The comfortable clothes come off. The gown goes on me, my hair and feet covered in light blue paper cloth.
They’ll come in to get me, the doctor had said.
Mr. Evans should wait in the waiting room, the doctor had said.
“Are you ready for this?” my husband asks. No more smiles on his face.
I shake my head.
They made me turn off and hand Max my cell phone. But my mother called. Michael called. Alex called. Laurie called. Eddie called. Even Max’s sister called. It was awkward.
“I’d hold you, honey,” he says to comfort me. “But I don’t want to contaminate you,” he jokes.
I try to laugh. For his sake.
“Everything will be fine,” he says to reassure me. “I’m here.”
And I try to smile. For his sake.
My heart pounds. I hear it in my ears.
“Mr. Evans,” the door opens, “We’re going to need you to wait in the waiting room now.”
He nods to them. He turns to me.
Panic, and I try to breathe.
“We’ll get through this,” he’s nodding at me.
“I love you,” I say. For his sake. And for mine.
“I love you too, darling,” his eyes tell me more than his words.
“I’ll be right here the whole time,” he points softly at my chest, my heart.
I try to smile. I try to stay strong.
A quick kiss and he leaves.
And I’m alone.
Think of all the people who care for and love you, Doctor Sanchez had told me.
Think of all you have to live for, Doctor Sanchez had told me.
And most importantly, take deep breaths and relax, Doctor Sanchez laughed when he told me the last one.
I try … and I try … and I try …
But alone in the cold, sterile hospital room, panic and fear fills me.
… Fear can’t rule you, Lizzie …
I know, daddy. I know.
Is this what my father went through?
Was he scared too?
The seconds tick loud.
The words Doctor Sanchez made me write down play in my head:
My mother loves me. My mother wants me to live.
I have to be the maid of honor at her wedding.
My father loves me. My father wants me to live.
I have to live the life he always wanted for me.
Maria loves me. Maria wants me to live.
I have to help guide her as she grows and help her learn from her mistakes.
Michael loves me. Michael wants me to live.
I have to stick around so he can keep calling me doll and drive his drunk ass home.
Laurie loves me. Laurie wants me to live.
I have to have coffee with her on Fridays and play mediator between her and Maria. I’m the closest thing she has to a best friend.
Eddie loves me. Eddie wants me to live.
I have to sit and chat with him on our balconies and teach him to bake cookies without burning them.
Max loves me. Max wants me to live.
I have to love him and let him love me. I have to support and care for him. I have to grow old with him. I have to live life beside him.
I have to give him lots of babies, he wrote that last part in himself.
I smile.
There’s a knock on the door.
Doctor Davis enters, wearing scrubs instead of a lab coat.
“Are you ready, Liz?” he asks. He’s smiling.
Deep breath.
I’ve waited two weeks for this surgery.
I’ve waited two years to finally live again.
I nod my head. “I’m ready.”
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Fifty Four:
-------------------------------------------------
I sit on a paper covered examination table.
The room is cold.
The doctor wants to go over procedures with me. He wants to prepare me.
I’ve been preparing for two weeks now.
With Max beside me.
Nine or so people will be in the room, the doctor says.
The surgeon, two assistant surgeons, a cardiologist, a surgical nurse, a perfusionist, an anesthesiologist, a scrub tech nurse, and a scribe.
Max looks calm. He’s smiling. He’s faking it.
I can tell. I am his wife, after all.
The doctor wants to make sure I’m make-up free, polish free, jewelry free.
Max holds onto my ring. And I nod.
The doctor wants to make sure I washed with the antibacterial soap.
Max smiles at me. And I nod.
The doctor wants to make sure I haven’t eaten, drank, or chewed on anything since after midnight last night.
Max winks at me and I blush. I nod.
The doctor leaves the room for me to change.
The comfortable clothes come off. The gown goes on me, my hair and feet covered in light blue paper cloth.
They’ll come in to get me, the doctor had said.
Mr. Evans should wait in the waiting room, the doctor had said.
“Are you ready for this?” my husband asks. No more smiles on his face.
I shake my head.
They made me turn off and hand Max my cell phone. But my mother called. Michael called. Alex called. Laurie called. Eddie called. Even Max’s sister called. It was awkward.
“I’d hold you, honey,” he says to comfort me. “But I don’t want to contaminate you,” he jokes.
I try to laugh. For his sake.
“Everything will be fine,” he says to reassure me. “I’m here.”
And I try to smile. For his sake.
My heart pounds. I hear it in my ears.
“Mr. Evans,” the door opens, “We’re going to need you to wait in the waiting room now.”
He nods to them. He turns to me.
Panic, and I try to breathe.
“We’ll get through this,” he’s nodding at me.
“I love you,” I say. For his sake. And for mine.
“I love you too, darling,” his eyes tell me more than his words.
“I’ll be right here the whole time,” he points softly at my chest, my heart.
I try to smile. I try to stay strong.
A quick kiss and he leaves.
And I’m alone.
Think of all the people who care for and love you, Doctor Sanchez had told me.
Think of all you have to live for, Doctor Sanchez had told me.
And most importantly, take deep breaths and relax, Doctor Sanchez laughed when he told me the last one.
I try … and I try … and I try …
But alone in the cold, sterile hospital room, panic and fear fills me.
… Fear can’t rule you, Lizzie …
I know, daddy. I know.
Is this what my father went through?
Was he scared too?
The seconds tick loud.
The words Doctor Sanchez made me write down play in my head:
My mother loves me. My mother wants me to live.
I have to be the maid of honor at her wedding.
My father loves me. My father wants me to live.
I have to live the life he always wanted for me.
Maria loves me. Maria wants me to live.
I have to help guide her as she grows and help her learn from her mistakes.
Michael loves me. Michael wants me to live.
I have to stick around so he can keep calling me doll and drive his drunk ass home.
Laurie loves me. Laurie wants me to live.
I have to have coffee with her on Fridays and play mediator between her and Maria. I’m the closest thing she has to a best friend.
Eddie loves me. Eddie wants me to live.
I have to sit and chat with him on our balconies and teach him to bake cookies without burning them.
Max loves me. Max wants me to live.
I have to love him and let him love me. I have to support and care for him. I have to grow old with him. I have to live life beside him.
I have to give him lots of babies, he wrote that last part in himself.
I smile.
There’s a knock on the door.
Doctor Davis enters, wearing scrubs instead of a lab coat.
“Are you ready, Liz?” he asks. He’s smiling.
Deep breath.
I’ve waited two weeks for this surgery.
I’ve waited two years to finally live again.
I nod my head. “I’m ready.”
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Last edited by Evelynn on Sat Mar 03, 2007 6:09 am, edited 2 times in total.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Fifty Five:
-------------------------------------------------
… Beep … beep … beep …
I hear it again and it scares me.
Even though I should be used to it now.
Even though it’s been four days.
Inpatient cardiac rehabilitation. Portable EKGs. Coumadin. Prothrombin time. Assisted physical therapy. A deep cut running down the front of my chest.
My heart still hurts. My chest still hurts. My body still hurts.
I still feel weak.
But I’m alive.
On the first day, I was moved to the Cardiac Surgery Intensive Care Unit.
They made me practice getting out of bed and sitting in a chair.
On the second day, I was moved to the Cardiac Step Down Unit.
They made me practice walking slowly from my room to halfway down the hall with someone to help me.
On the third day, they let me walk and bathe on my own. But Max helped anyway.
“Liz? Are you awake?”
I turn my head to him.
Richard smiles at me. “Nancy went to get us some coffee. She’ll be back in a bit.”
I nod at my mother’s future husband.
He smiles at me again.
We’re being polite. We’re being pleasant. The tension is thick.
“I hope you don’t mind me being here,” his smiles are tight.
It’s awkward, the situation.
We’re being pleasant.
We’re being polite.
Where’s Max?
“Look,” he sighs. He drops his act. “I know you aren’t very fond of me. But I just want you to know something …”
I’ve never said anything mean to him.
I’ve never said anything at all to him.
Pleasant. Polite.
“I’m not trying to take your father’s place,” he’s talking fast. He’s shaking his head. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I know Nancy loved him a lot. And I know you loved him a lot too. But that’s not what I’m trying to do by marrying your mother. I love Nancy. I really, really do.”
Sleazy, good for nothing bastard. Those were my mother’s words.
“I know I wasn’t exactly … loyal … at first. But I’ve changed … for her. All I want is to just be with her.”
He stands from his seat. He stares down at me, desperation in his eyes.
“You and I, we’re all she has left,” his voice is quiet, but his stance holds volume. “Let me take care of her, Liz. Please give me this.”
“What’s going on?” My mother walks in with two coffees.
Richard looks at her. Richard looks at me. Richard walks out of the room.
My mother stares after him. My mother sighs. “I’m sorry for Richard. He’s just … upset.”
I look up at her. My surgery, my fear, my pain forgotten. My mother needs me.
Another sigh and she tells me. “I called off the wedding. Well, not called of, I just … pushed it back. I guess it’s just cold feet.”
She’s lying. It’s not just cold feet.
Short breaths and watery eyes. “It’s just … when I married your father, I thought I’d be married to him for the rest of my life.”
She stares off, her emotions strong, her resolve weak.
“Is it wrong to love someone else?” she whispers.
I sit up. My fears, my pains forgotten.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t marry again.”
She’s doubting herself. She’s scared.
Fear can’t rule you, Lizzie.
I know, daddy. But there’s no one to tell her that.
I reach out. I tell her, “Don’t be scared, mother.”
She looks at me, her tears falling.
She needs this. Comfort. Support.
“Marry him,” I say. Because it’s what she wants to hear. Because it’s what she needs me to say. “Be happy again.”
She stares with tear stained cheeks and a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
“What did I walk in on?” My husband smiles at us, flowers in his hand.
“Nothing,” my mother laughs.
She brushes away her tears.
I wipe at mine.
“I saw Richard in the hallway,” Max says. He makes a face.
She nods. She turns to me. She holds my chin like she used to when I was little. “I’ll see you on Sunday.” She smiles at me. “You can help me pick out bridesmaid dresses.”
I nod and she leaves.
My husband gives me a look, but he doesn’t question.
“I’ve got something for you.” There’s a gleam in his eyes.
He grabs my hand and slides my ring back on my finger, like he did the first time, over two years ago. “Something old, and something new.” He puts the flowers down beside me.
He thinks he’s clever.
I roll my eyes.
But I smile.
His phone rings. He looks at the number. He ignores it.
He sits in the chair beside my bed. “The doctor said it’ll take you about twelve weeks to recover. So I’m taking a four month sabbatical from the company.”
I nod and he smiles at me.
His phone rings again. He looks at the number. He turns it off.
New York. Business trips. Late night phone calls.
I look at him and he smiles at me.
Frustration has been constant these past few days.
Frustration and fear.
Twelve weeks to recover. A year to adjust to life again.
It’s what the doctor told me. It’s what’s making this so hard.
But my husband sits beside me with his unwavering support and his forced smiles.
I don’t think he realized it was going to be like this.
I don’t think he realized that they had to break me more before I can be whole again.
I can’t stand without pain.
I can’t walk without pain.
I can’t breathe without pain.
It hurts all over and Max tries to smile through my tears.
A deep scar disfigures my body and Max can’t look at it when he helps me change.
My husband sits beside me with his constant support, but it’ll be twelve weeks of frustrated pain.
Can he handle it?
Can I?
I look at my husband, he stares at me. “I love you, Liz,” he says.
And I laugh through my pain and tears.
It hurts, but they had to break me before I can heal.
It hurts, but Max is here to support me, to care for me, to love me through the pain.
He can’t go back to how we were and I can’t either.
We have to wade through pain, frustration, blood and guts, before we can fill the emptiness.
It hurts, but my husband will support me through this … won’t he?
Fear can’t rule you, Lizzie.
Doctor Sanchez would tell me to voice my concerns.
Doctor Sanchez would tell me that communication is an intricate part of life and miscommunication is uncertainty that is the root of many problems.
Doctor Sanchez would tell me to say the first things that come to mind and to not over-think my words.
So when my husband looks at me and asks me what I’m thinking, I tell him.
“I’m worried and I’m scared,” I say and I swallow hard.
“About what?” he breathes out, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Life,” I say, because I’m supposed to talk, not think. “Twelve weeks is a long time.”
Max stands. He stares down at me, his mind working.
He sees my frustration. He sees my fear.
He holds my hand and he kisses away my tears. “I know it’s going to be hard. And I know it’s going to take a lot of work. But we’ll get through this … one day at a time.”
My eyes close and I breathe deep. All I can think is, thank God for Max.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Fifty Five:
-------------------------------------------------
… Beep … beep … beep …
I hear it again and it scares me.
Even though I should be used to it now.
Even though it’s been four days.
Inpatient cardiac rehabilitation. Portable EKGs. Coumadin. Prothrombin time. Assisted physical therapy. A deep cut running down the front of my chest.
My heart still hurts. My chest still hurts. My body still hurts.
I still feel weak.
But I’m alive.
On the first day, I was moved to the Cardiac Surgery Intensive Care Unit.
They made me practice getting out of bed and sitting in a chair.
On the second day, I was moved to the Cardiac Step Down Unit.
They made me practice walking slowly from my room to halfway down the hall with someone to help me.
On the third day, they let me walk and bathe on my own. But Max helped anyway.
“Liz? Are you awake?”
I turn my head to him.
Richard smiles at me. “Nancy went to get us some coffee. She’ll be back in a bit.”
I nod at my mother’s future husband.
He smiles at me again.
We’re being polite. We’re being pleasant. The tension is thick.
“I hope you don’t mind me being here,” his smiles are tight.
It’s awkward, the situation.
We’re being pleasant.
We’re being polite.
Where’s Max?
“Look,” he sighs. He drops his act. “I know you aren’t very fond of me. But I just want you to know something …”
I’ve never said anything mean to him.
I’ve never said anything at all to him.
Pleasant. Polite.
“I’m not trying to take your father’s place,” he’s talking fast. He’s shaking his head. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I know Nancy loved him a lot. And I know you loved him a lot too. But that’s not what I’m trying to do by marrying your mother. I love Nancy. I really, really do.”
Sleazy, good for nothing bastard. Those were my mother’s words.
“I know I wasn’t exactly … loyal … at first. But I’ve changed … for her. All I want is to just be with her.”
He stands from his seat. He stares down at me, desperation in his eyes.
“You and I, we’re all she has left,” his voice is quiet, but his stance holds volume. “Let me take care of her, Liz. Please give me this.”
“What’s going on?” My mother walks in with two coffees.
Richard looks at her. Richard looks at me. Richard walks out of the room.
My mother stares after him. My mother sighs. “I’m sorry for Richard. He’s just … upset.”
I look up at her. My surgery, my fear, my pain forgotten. My mother needs me.
Another sigh and she tells me. “I called off the wedding. Well, not called of, I just … pushed it back. I guess it’s just cold feet.”
She’s lying. It’s not just cold feet.
Short breaths and watery eyes. “It’s just … when I married your father, I thought I’d be married to him for the rest of my life.”
She stares off, her emotions strong, her resolve weak.
“Is it wrong to love someone else?” she whispers.
I sit up. My fears, my pains forgotten.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t marry again.”
She’s doubting herself. She’s scared.
Fear can’t rule you, Lizzie.
I know, daddy. But there’s no one to tell her that.
I reach out. I tell her, “Don’t be scared, mother.”
She looks at me, her tears falling.
She needs this. Comfort. Support.
“Marry him,” I say. Because it’s what she wants to hear. Because it’s what she needs me to say. “Be happy again.”
She stares with tear stained cheeks and a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
“What did I walk in on?” My husband smiles at us, flowers in his hand.
“Nothing,” my mother laughs.
She brushes away her tears.
I wipe at mine.
“I saw Richard in the hallway,” Max says. He makes a face.
She nods. She turns to me. She holds my chin like she used to when I was little. “I’ll see you on Sunday.” She smiles at me. “You can help me pick out bridesmaid dresses.”
I nod and she leaves.
My husband gives me a look, but he doesn’t question.
“I’ve got something for you.” There’s a gleam in his eyes.
He grabs my hand and slides my ring back on my finger, like he did the first time, over two years ago. “Something old, and something new.” He puts the flowers down beside me.
He thinks he’s clever.
I roll my eyes.
But I smile.
His phone rings. He looks at the number. He ignores it.
He sits in the chair beside my bed. “The doctor said it’ll take you about twelve weeks to recover. So I’m taking a four month sabbatical from the company.”
I nod and he smiles at me.
His phone rings again. He looks at the number. He turns it off.
New York. Business trips. Late night phone calls.
I look at him and he smiles at me.
Frustration has been constant these past few days.
Frustration and fear.
Twelve weeks to recover. A year to adjust to life again.
It’s what the doctor told me. It’s what’s making this so hard.
But my husband sits beside me with his unwavering support and his forced smiles.
I don’t think he realized it was going to be like this.
I don’t think he realized that they had to break me more before I can be whole again.
I can’t stand without pain.
I can’t walk without pain.
I can’t breathe without pain.
It hurts all over and Max tries to smile through my tears.
A deep scar disfigures my body and Max can’t look at it when he helps me change.
My husband sits beside me with his constant support, but it’ll be twelve weeks of frustrated pain.
Can he handle it?
Can I?
I look at my husband, he stares at me. “I love you, Liz,” he says.
And I laugh through my pain and tears.
It hurts, but they had to break me before I can heal.
It hurts, but Max is here to support me, to care for me, to love me through the pain.
He can’t go back to how we were and I can’t either.
We have to wade through pain, frustration, blood and guts, before we can fill the emptiness.
It hurts, but my husband will support me through this … won’t he?
Fear can’t rule you, Lizzie.
Doctor Sanchez would tell me to voice my concerns.
Doctor Sanchez would tell me that communication is an intricate part of life and miscommunication is uncertainty that is the root of many problems.
Doctor Sanchez would tell me to say the first things that come to mind and to not over-think my words.
So when my husband looks at me and asks me what I’m thinking, I tell him.
“I’m worried and I’m scared,” I say and I swallow hard.
“About what?” he breathes out, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Life,” I say, because I’m supposed to talk, not think. “Twelve weeks is a long time.”
Max stands. He stares down at me, his mind working.
He sees my frustration. He sees my fear.
He holds my hand and he kisses away my tears. “I know it’s going to be hard. And I know it’s going to take a lot of work. But we’ll get through this … one day at a time.”
My eyes close and I breathe deep. All I can think is, thank God for Max.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Last edited by Evelynn on Sat Mar 03, 2007 6:10 am, edited 1 time in total.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Fifty Six:
-------------------------------------------------
“If you can climb one or two flights of stairs without being short of breath, you can resume sex if you feel well rested,” the doctor says and I blush.
He’s giving us his doctor’s orders about sex. Because Max asked him to.
Avoid sex if you’re tired or tense, or after eating a large meal, the doctor tells me.
Use positions that are comfortable, that don’t pull in your chest or cause discomfort, the doctor tells me.
Foreplay helps prepare the heart slowly for sex, so allow plenty of time for intercourse, the doctor tells me.
Cuddling and kissing can be very satisfying, the doctor tells me.
I look at Max.
My husband is amused at my embarrassment.
I can tell. I am his wife, after all.
“Keep monitoring your heart like we taught you, Liz,” Doctor Davis tells me. “If anything irregular comes up, give us a call immediately. We’re going to keep you on the Coumadin and have you come back in a month for a check up. But other than that, you’re free to go.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s the words I’ve been waiting to hear for six days now.
The doctor writes a prescription and hands it to my husband.
He leaves the room and Max smiles at me.
“Let’s go home,” he says and I smile back.
He shoves my things into my overnight bag and I change in the bathroom on my own.
I sit alone and I wait while Max goes to fill out the release forms.
Two people enter the room, a nurse to wish me well, and a blonde woman, who stands uncomfortably, staring.
“Are you Maxwell’s wife?” she asks in an unsteady voice.
I look at her.
Maxwell … the only people who call him that …
My husband enters with a wheelchair and a bright smile on his face.
It falls when he sees her.
“Courtney?” He blinks. He stares. “What are you doing here?”
“Hello, Maxwell,” she says, a forced smile on her face. “You aren’t answering my calls.”
New York. Late night phone calls. Maxwell.
“Isabel said I could find you here,” she answers his unspoken question.
He turns to me. Uncertainty in his eyes. Confusion in mine.
“Courtney, this is my wife, Liz,” his introductions fill the tension. “Liz, this is Courtney … an old friend.”
Ex-fiancé.
He doesn’t say it, but I know.
She looks at me, remorse in her eyes, “I’m sorry to have to do this in front of you.”
She turns to my husband, tears welling, “I just … I need to close this chapter in my life, Maxwell. It’s been five years. And I need closure.”
She holds out a ring to him.
Max looks at it, his voice low, “Let’s talk in the hallway.”
She walks out the door, nodding her head.
He stands there, staring at me, licking his lips. “Liz, honey, I’ll be right back.”
And I sit on the bed, alone, waiting for my husband.
A thousand thoughts run through my mind.
Doctor Sanchez would say to breathe and relax.
Doctor Sanchez would say that communication is an important part of life.
Doctor Sanchez would say that assumptions are a form of miscommunication.
And miscommunication is the root of a lot of problems.
Doctor Sanchez would tell me to give Max the chance to explain.
So I sit there. And I wait. With a million thoughts running through my mind.
He walks back in slowly, his hand in his pocket.
He stops a foot away from me. “Liz? Darling? I’m sorry you had to-”
“What secrets do you have?” I say because I don’t think. Because too many thoughts are running through my head and I just need to speak.
He talks softly. He shakes his head. “No secrets.”
And I look away. My husband is lying.
New York. Late night phone calls. A life I know nothing about. A life I don’t understand.
He reaches out gently. He makes me look at him.
“I’ve told you.” His eyes are filled with worry. “Courtney’s just … someone from my past.”
Omissions and half-truths.
He won’t tell me because I’m broken.
He won’t tell me because he’s scared.
He won’t tell because he doesn’t want to go back to how we were.
Omissions and half-truths.
“Those are secrets, Max.”
“Okay.” He breathes. Apprehension in the air between us. “Okay. What do you want to hear?”
“Everything.”
--------------
“What are you doing out here? It’s cold,” he says to me.
We came home to our apartment ten minutes ago. Max carried me up the stairs and into the living room.
He put me down on the sofa to carry in my bags.
I had to use my walker to reach the balcony.
Cold air and a metal folding chair.
This is where I closed myself off and let my marriage fall apart.
This is where I let the emptiness seep in and the coldness fill my veins.
But I won’t repeat my mistakes.
I look back at him, my husband. His hands grip the doorframe. His features fill with worry.
I try to smile to ease his fears. “Sit with me?”
He tries to smile through his uncertainty. “You have to ask?”
Another metal folding chair is put beside me and my husband sits, staring forward.
“I think you’ll love New York,” he says to fill the void. “And our house there. It’s beautiful. It’s a good place to raise a family. Great schools. It even has a balcony.”
He’s trying to joke. He’s trying to lessen the tension. Because he’s worried. Because I’m worried.
Because he has things to say, things to tell me, things to help me understand.
New York. Multi-million dollar shipping company. An ex-fiancé.
He sighs and he speaks, thoughts abundant in his eyes, “I know I never really talk about it. It’s just that, that’s my past. And you’re my future.”
He takes a deep breath. He’s preparing himself for this.
Am I worried?
Should I be?
Doctor Sanchez would tell me to listen before I jump to conclusions. Because miscommunication is the root to many problems.
So I sit.
And I let him speak, “When I was twelve, my mother died. And immediately afterwards, my father gets with this … tramp … who is after nothing but his money. My father knew it. But he didn’t care. After my mother was gone, he didn’t care about anything anymore. She already had another son, two years older than me. And before you know it, Maria is born.” He smiles. He’s remembering. “Maria is the best thing that Amy ever did."
He takes another breath and I try to soak everything in, without jumping to conclusions, without making assumptions, without shutting myself off.
I think Doctor Sanchez would be proud.
His voice gets softer, “I’ve known Courtney since we were teens. I proposed to her when I was twenty one. Because that’s what everyone expected. It’s what my father wanted.”
He pauses.
And I try my best not to picture my husband with that woman. I try not to picture him down on one knee before her. I try not to picture him kissing her. I try not to picture him holding her.
… But it’s hard not to.
“But then my father died three years later,” Max keeps talking. “Heart attack. Amy got everything. She gave her son the business that I was supposed to inherit, that I was groomed to take over.”
Multi-million dollar shipping company. Rightful heir.
“So I left,” he shrugs while he feigns nonchalance. But I know better. I’m his wife, after all. “I left because there was nothing for me there anymore. I just left … and I found myself here.”
I sit there beside him while he replays forgotten memories. I don’t push. Because it’s not what he needs right now.
“Did you love her?” I ask, my voice a whisper.
“I thought I loved her … I did. And then, I just saw you,” his eyebrows scrunch together. He shakes his head. “And that was it for me.”
His words sound unbelievable. My husband, the charmer. But he proposed after just two weeks.
And I said yes.
A quickie marriage and a broken wife. Twelve weeks to make me whole again. A year for me to adjust.
“Why did you leave?” I ask.
New York. Multi-million dollar shipping company. People to love him.
“Ego,” he cringes at his answer. “Because I was selfish and bitter. I left Maria in the hands of an unfit mother. I left Isabel with no one to lean on. Because I had too much pride. In the five years I was gone, Sean ran down the company and ran off with the money. Amy left on a cruise to the Mediterranean. Isabel was forced to struggle to run a business she didn’t know the first thing about. And provide for a kid sister she couldn’t see eye to eye with. All the responsibility hardened her. It’s made her cold. I’m sorry for that.”
“Do you regret?” I ask.
He thinks the question over before he says, “I wish I would have at least tried to take care of my family better. But, no,” he shakes his head, looking right at me, “I don’t regret it. Because then I wouldn’t have found you. I wouldn’t have married you. I wouldn’t be sitting here with you right now.”
He holds my hand. He tries to make me see. He tries to help me understand. “I’m sorry I never told you any of this sooner. I’m sorry I make you doubt me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
I nod my head. I sit there. And I try to soak it all in.
He’s sorry he never told me this sooner.
But did I ever bother to know?
My husband, with the weight of the world on his shoulders. My husband, with his guilty conscience for his past.
Two abandoned sisters. A forgotten fiancé.
Silence takes over while thoughts run rampant through his head.
My husband sits beside me, uncertainty still on his face, worry still in his mind. Until he speaks, his voice soft, “Are you still coming with me to New York?”
I squeeze his hand and I smile at him, echoing his words, “You have to ask?”
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Fifty Six:
-------------------------------------------------
“If you can climb one or two flights of stairs without being short of breath, you can resume sex if you feel well rested,” the doctor says and I blush.
He’s giving us his doctor’s orders about sex. Because Max asked him to.
Avoid sex if you’re tired or tense, or after eating a large meal, the doctor tells me.
Use positions that are comfortable, that don’t pull in your chest or cause discomfort, the doctor tells me.
Foreplay helps prepare the heart slowly for sex, so allow plenty of time for intercourse, the doctor tells me.
Cuddling and kissing can be very satisfying, the doctor tells me.
I look at Max.
My husband is amused at my embarrassment.
I can tell. I am his wife, after all.
“Keep monitoring your heart like we taught you, Liz,” Doctor Davis tells me. “If anything irregular comes up, give us a call immediately. We’re going to keep you on the Coumadin and have you come back in a month for a check up. But other than that, you’re free to go.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s the words I’ve been waiting to hear for six days now.
The doctor writes a prescription and hands it to my husband.
He leaves the room and Max smiles at me.
“Let’s go home,” he says and I smile back.
He shoves my things into my overnight bag and I change in the bathroom on my own.
I sit alone and I wait while Max goes to fill out the release forms.
Two people enter the room, a nurse to wish me well, and a blonde woman, who stands uncomfortably, staring.
“Are you Maxwell’s wife?” she asks in an unsteady voice.
I look at her.
Maxwell … the only people who call him that …
My husband enters with a wheelchair and a bright smile on his face.
It falls when he sees her.
“Courtney?” He blinks. He stares. “What are you doing here?”
“Hello, Maxwell,” she says, a forced smile on her face. “You aren’t answering my calls.”
New York. Late night phone calls. Maxwell.
“Isabel said I could find you here,” she answers his unspoken question.
He turns to me. Uncertainty in his eyes. Confusion in mine.
“Courtney, this is my wife, Liz,” his introductions fill the tension. “Liz, this is Courtney … an old friend.”
Ex-fiancé.
He doesn’t say it, but I know.
She looks at me, remorse in her eyes, “I’m sorry to have to do this in front of you.”
She turns to my husband, tears welling, “I just … I need to close this chapter in my life, Maxwell. It’s been five years. And I need closure.”
She holds out a ring to him.
Max looks at it, his voice low, “Let’s talk in the hallway.”
She walks out the door, nodding her head.
He stands there, staring at me, licking his lips. “Liz, honey, I’ll be right back.”
And I sit on the bed, alone, waiting for my husband.
A thousand thoughts run through my mind.
Doctor Sanchez would say to breathe and relax.
Doctor Sanchez would say that communication is an important part of life.
Doctor Sanchez would say that assumptions are a form of miscommunication.
And miscommunication is the root of a lot of problems.
Doctor Sanchez would tell me to give Max the chance to explain.
So I sit there. And I wait. With a million thoughts running through my mind.
He walks back in slowly, his hand in his pocket.
He stops a foot away from me. “Liz? Darling? I’m sorry you had to-”
“What secrets do you have?” I say because I don’t think. Because too many thoughts are running through my head and I just need to speak.
He talks softly. He shakes his head. “No secrets.”
And I look away. My husband is lying.
New York. Late night phone calls. A life I know nothing about. A life I don’t understand.
He reaches out gently. He makes me look at him.
“I’ve told you.” His eyes are filled with worry. “Courtney’s just … someone from my past.”
Omissions and half-truths.
He won’t tell me because I’m broken.
He won’t tell me because he’s scared.
He won’t tell because he doesn’t want to go back to how we were.
Omissions and half-truths.
“Those are secrets, Max.”
“Okay.” He breathes. Apprehension in the air between us. “Okay. What do you want to hear?”
“Everything.”
--------------
“What are you doing out here? It’s cold,” he says to me.
We came home to our apartment ten minutes ago. Max carried me up the stairs and into the living room.
He put me down on the sofa to carry in my bags.
I had to use my walker to reach the balcony.
Cold air and a metal folding chair.
This is where I closed myself off and let my marriage fall apart.
This is where I let the emptiness seep in and the coldness fill my veins.
But I won’t repeat my mistakes.
I look back at him, my husband. His hands grip the doorframe. His features fill with worry.
I try to smile to ease his fears. “Sit with me?”
He tries to smile through his uncertainty. “You have to ask?”
Another metal folding chair is put beside me and my husband sits, staring forward.
“I think you’ll love New York,” he says to fill the void. “And our house there. It’s beautiful. It’s a good place to raise a family. Great schools. It even has a balcony.”
He’s trying to joke. He’s trying to lessen the tension. Because he’s worried. Because I’m worried.
Because he has things to say, things to tell me, things to help me understand.
New York. Multi-million dollar shipping company. An ex-fiancé.
He sighs and he speaks, thoughts abundant in his eyes, “I know I never really talk about it. It’s just that, that’s my past. And you’re my future.”
He takes a deep breath. He’s preparing himself for this.
Am I worried?
Should I be?
Doctor Sanchez would tell me to listen before I jump to conclusions. Because miscommunication is the root to many problems.
So I sit.
And I let him speak, “When I was twelve, my mother died. And immediately afterwards, my father gets with this … tramp … who is after nothing but his money. My father knew it. But he didn’t care. After my mother was gone, he didn’t care about anything anymore. She already had another son, two years older than me. And before you know it, Maria is born.” He smiles. He’s remembering. “Maria is the best thing that Amy ever did."
He takes another breath and I try to soak everything in, without jumping to conclusions, without making assumptions, without shutting myself off.
I think Doctor Sanchez would be proud.
His voice gets softer, “I’ve known Courtney since we were teens. I proposed to her when I was twenty one. Because that’s what everyone expected. It’s what my father wanted.”
He pauses.
And I try my best not to picture my husband with that woman. I try not to picture him down on one knee before her. I try not to picture him kissing her. I try not to picture him holding her.
… But it’s hard not to.
“But then my father died three years later,” Max keeps talking. “Heart attack. Amy got everything. She gave her son the business that I was supposed to inherit, that I was groomed to take over.”
Multi-million dollar shipping company. Rightful heir.
“So I left,” he shrugs while he feigns nonchalance. But I know better. I’m his wife, after all. “I left because there was nothing for me there anymore. I just left … and I found myself here.”
I sit there beside him while he replays forgotten memories. I don’t push. Because it’s not what he needs right now.
“Did you love her?” I ask, my voice a whisper.
“I thought I loved her … I did. And then, I just saw you,” his eyebrows scrunch together. He shakes his head. “And that was it for me.”
His words sound unbelievable. My husband, the charmer. But he proposed after just two weeks.
And I said yes.
A quickie marriage and a broken wife. Twelve weeks to make me whole again. A year for me to adjust.
“Why did you leave?” I ask.
New York. Multi-million dollar shipping company. People to love him.
“Ego,” he cringes at his answer. “Because I was selfish and bitter. I left Maria in the hands of an unfit mother. I left Isabel with no one to lean on. Because I had too much pride. In the five years I was gone, Sean ran down the company and ran off with the money. Amy left on a cruise to the Mediterranean. Isabel was forced to struggle to run a business she didn’t know the first thing about. And provide for a kid sister she couldn’t see eye to eye with. All the responsibility hardened her. It’s made her cold. I’m sorry for that.”
“Do you regret?” I ask.
He thinks the question over before he says, “I wish I would have at least tried to take care of my family better. But, no,” he shakes his head, looking right at me, “I don’t regret it. Because then I wouldn’t have found you. I wouldn’t have married you. I wouldn’t be sitting here with you right now.”
He holds my hand. He tries to make me see. He tries to help me understand. “I’m sorry I never told you any of this sooner. I’m sorry I make you doubt me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
I nod my head. I sit there. And I try to soak it all in.
He’s sorry he never told me this sooner.
But did I ever bother to know?
My husband, with the weight of the world on his shoulders. My husband, with his guilty conscience for his past.
Two abandoned sisters. A forgotten fiancé.
Silence takes over while thoughts run rampant through his head.
My husband sits beside me, uncertainty still on his face, worry still in his mind. Until he speaks, his voice soft, “Are you still coming with me to New York?”
I squeeze his hand and I smile at him, echoing his words, “You have to ask?”
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Fifty Seven:
-------------------------------------------------
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony."
A priest stands at the front of a filled church.
Richard stands to one side in an expensive tuxedo.
My mother stands beside him in an expensive off-white gown.
And after fourteen long weeks of struggling frustration, I stand behind her in a lavender bridesmaid dress with Maria beside me.
My husband sits in the front pew, watching me like a hawk.
He wanted me use my walker, crutches, a cane … anything.
But I need to do this, to be here, to stand behind my mother.
He said he understands, but it doesn’t ease his worry.
"I do," Richard answers the priest, smiling and gazing down at my mother.
I look at Max and he winks back.
"Nancy Parker, do you take this man to be your husband? To love, honor, and cherish him, to keep him, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?"
I smile at the words, the same question put to me over two years ago.
“I do,” she whispers her answer.
Doctor Sanchez would tell her to relax and to breathe.
I smile.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce to you Mr. and Mrs. Richard Pierce.”
The couple turns and faces the crowd of cheering formal-attired guests.
Maria wipes away tears and I let her lean on me while we follow the beautiful bride and her groom back down the aisle.
--------------
The reception is held in the formal area of a large hotel, lavender and lights everywhere.
Richard spared no expense.
After all the guests arrived, after all the food is served, after all the announcements are made and the first dance underway, I sit at the bridal table, a smile on my face as a short blonde walks up to me.
“I just wanted to say thank you, Liz,” she says as she sits beside me. “You didn’t have to pay for our first month’s rent.”
She laughs and I just shrug my shoulders.
It was my husband’s gift to Maria.
She wants to stay here.
She is going to stay here and share an apartment with Tess, Maria was adamant.
But she didn’t need to yell. My husband just shrugged his shoulders at her and said okay.
It’s a good place to find yourself, he had told her.
And I understand his words.
“They make a cute couple,” Tess mutters, staring off onto the dance floor, her eyes going past the bride and groom and focusing on my husband’s little sister in the arms of my former co-worker.
“I know, I know, the age gap,” she’s rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “But, I’m a firm believer in that you don’t choose who you fall in love with. I know Maria loves him. I think Michael loves her too. If he doesn’t, well, let’s just say he’s going to be getting a little something extra in his coffee from now on.”
I smile at her, Tess, the coffee shop girl. She’ll be good for Maria.
My focus on the dancing couples, I don’t see him walking up until he stands before me, his hand out, asking me to dance.
I smile up at him, excuse myself to Tess, and allow him to lead me onto the dance floor.
He holds me firmly in his arms and I feel comfortable and relaxed.
After all, I was with him for two years before he proposed, before I said no.
“You look gorgeous,” Alex says down to me.
“Thank you.” I smile up at him.
“I’m sorry,” he gushes. “I just want to apologize for … everything. Trying to break up your marriage.” He laughs. “I was just really hurt when our relationship ended, you know? I thought we had something really good going there.”
“We did, Alex,” I speak honestly. Because it’s the truth.
“But you and Max …” he smiles sadly, “I guess it’s that soul mate kind of love?”
“It’s the forever kind of love,” I tell him. Because it’s the truth.
He nods his head and I smile again. Two years of togetherness where he made me smile, made me laugh, helped me grow. “I just want you to be happy, Alex.”
He glances back over to his table. He smiles at his date. She sticks her tongue out at him with a smile. It makes him laugh.
“I think I’m learning,” he says to me but keeps his eyes locked on her.
“Can I cut in?” his voice doesn’t surprise me.
Alex steps back, smiling. “She’s all yours, man.”
He holds me close, my head on his shoulder, and his arms around me.
He says nothing and we dance in comfortable silence.
After a while, I glance up at him and I follow my husband’s eyes to look upon his baby sister and his former colleague, standing close, whispering down at each other, in their own world.
“Michael knows. If he hurts her, I’ll kill him,” he only half-jokes.
There’s a two week limit with Michael and his dolls.
But something tells me Maria is different.
It’s the way he looks at her, the way he holds her, the way he whispers in her ear and makes her laugh.
Max sighs and his gaze turns. He asks, “You think they’ll enjoy their honeymoon?”
Two weeks in the Caribbean. It was my husband’s idea, a wedding gift to his mother in law.
And I say honestly, “They’ll love it.”
A short distance away, the bride and groom dance. She’s smiling up at him. He’s gazing down at her. Unspoken words and longing glances.
“What are you thinking?” he whispers to me. And I see my husband, always caring, always cautious, always generous, patient, and kind.
I think the rest of my life is just not enough time to spend loving him, appreciating him, being with him.
I stare up at him and he smiles down at me. I think he can read my thoughts. After all, he is my husband.
“This is really beautiful,” I say, glancing around the room. “I think she’ll be really happy.”
“So …” his hold on me tightens, his gaze more intent. “You want a big wedding like this?”
I stare at him, my mind going back two and a half years.
An unexpected proposal. A whirlwind romance. A midnight flight to Vegas. An Elvis chapel and a smiling Max. A photograph that sits on my bedside table. A dance that never ended.
“No.” I smile up at him, my husband, the man who will forever be the love of my life. “I wouldn’t trade ours for the world.”
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Fifty Seven:
-------------------------------------------------
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony."
A priest stands at the front of a filled church.
Richard stands to one side in an expensive tuxedo.
My mother stands beside him in an expensive off-white gown.
And after fourteen long weeks of struggling frustration, I stand behind her in a lavender bridesmaid dress with Maria beside me.
My husband sits in the front pew, watching me like a hawk.
He wanted me use my walker, crutches, a cane … anything.
But I need to do this, to be here, to stand behind my mother.
He said he understands, but it doesn’t ease his worry.
"I do," Richard answers the priest, smiling and gazing down at my mother.
I look at Max and he winks back.
"Nancy Parker, do you take this man to be your husband? To love, honor, and cherish him, to keep him, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?"
I smile at the words, the same question put to me over two years ago.
“I do,” she whispers her answer.
Doctor Sanchez would tell her to relax and to breathe.
I smile.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce to you Mr. and Mrs. Richard Pierce.”
The couple turns and faces the crowd of cheering formal-attired guests.
Maria wipes away tears and I let her lean on me while we follow the beautiful bride and her groom back down the aisle.
--------------
The reception is held in the formal area of a large hotel, lavender and lights everywhere.
Richard spared no expense.
After all the guests arrived, after all the food is served, after all the announcements are made and the first dance underway, I sit at the bridal table, a smile on my face as a short blonde walks up to me.
“I just wanted to say thank you, Liz,” she says as she sits beside me. “You didn’t have to pay for our first month’s rent.”
She laughs and I just shrug my shoulders.
It was my husband’s gift to Maria.
She wants to stay here.
She is going to stay here and share an apartment with Tess, Maria was adamant.
But she didn’t need to yell. My husband just shrugged his shoulders at her and said okay.
It’s a good place to find yourself, he had told her.
And I understand his words.
“They make a cute couple,” Tess mutters, staring off onto the dance floor, her eyes going past the bride and groom and focusing on my husband’s little sister in the arms of my former co-worker.
“I know, I know, the age gap,” she’s rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “But, I’m a firm believer in that you don’t choose who you fall in love with. I know Maria loves him. I think Michael loves her too. If he doesn’t, well, let’s just say he’s going to be getting a little something extra in his coffee from now on.”
I smile at her, Tess, the coffee shop girl. She’ll be good for Maria.
My focus on the dancing couples, I don’t see him walking up until he stands before me, his hand out, asking me to dance.
I smile up at him, excuse myself to Tess, and allow him to lead me onto the dance floor.
He holds me firmly in his arms and I feel comfortable and relaxed.
After all, I was with him for two years before he proposed, before I said no.
“You look gorgeous,” Alex says down to me.
“Thank you.” I smile up at him.
“I’m sorry,” he gushes. “I just want to apologize for … everything. Trying to break up your marriage.” He laughs. “I was just really hurt when our relationship ended, you know? I thought we had something really good going there.”
“We did, Alex,” I speak honestly. Because it’s the truth.
“But you and Max …” he smiles sadly, “I guess it’s that soul mate kind of love?”
“It’s the forever kind of love,” I tell him. Because it’s the truth.
He nods his head and I smile again. Two years of togetherness where he made me smile, made me laugh, helped me grow. “I just want you to be happy, Alex.”
He glances back over to his table. He smiles at his date. She sticks her tongue out at him with a smile. It makes him laugh.
“I think I’m learning,” he says to me but keeps his eyes locked on her.
“Can I cut in?” his voice doesn’t surprise me.
Alex steps back, smiling. “She’s all yours, man.”
He holds me close, my head on his shoulder, and his arms around me.
He says nothing and we dance in comfortable silence.
After a while, I glance up at him and I follow my husband’s eyes to look upon his baby sister and his former colleague, standing close, whispering down at each other, in their own world.
“Michael knows. If he hurts her, I’ll kill him,” he only half-jokes.
There’s a two week limit with Michael and his dolls.
But something tells me Maria is different.
It’s the way he looks at her, the way he holds her, the way he whispers in her ear and makes her laugh.
Max sighs and his gaze turns. He asks, “You think they’ll enjoy their honeymoon?”
Two weeks in the Caribbean. It was my husband’s idea, a wedding gift to his mother in law.
And I say honestly, “They’ll love it.”
A short distance away, the bride and groom dance. She’s smiling up at him. He’s gazing down at her. Unspoken words and longing glances.
“What are you thinking?” he whispers to me. And I see my husband, always caring, always cautious, always generous, patient, and kind.
I think the rest of my life is just not enough time to spend loving him, appreciating him, being with him.
I stare up at him and he smiles down at me. I think he can read my thoughts. After all, he is my husband.
“This is really beautiful,” I say, glancing around the room. “I think she’ll be really happy.”
“So …” his hold on me tightens, his gaze more intent. “You want a big wedding like this?”
I stare at him, my mind going back two and a half years.
An unexpected proposal. A whirlwind romance. A midnight flight to Vegas. An Elvis chapel and a smiling Max. A photograph that sits on my bedside table. A dance that never ended.
“No.” I smile up at him, my husband, the man who will forever be the love of my life. “I wouldn’t trade ours for the world.”
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Last edited by Evelynn on Fri Mar 02, 2007 11:36 pm, edited 1 time in total.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Epilogue:
-------------------------------------------------
“Are you ready?” Max asks me.
I glance around the apartment.
No furniture, not knick knacks, no nothing.
Empty.
Our bags are packed, a taxi waiting below.
Memories replay through my mind.
Late nights by the fire, long evenings on the balcony, dinner cooking in the kitchen, warmth in bed with my husband.
Sunday teas. Monday coffees. Fridays with Laurie. Saturdays in the park.
I’ve said my goodbyes to my father, to my mother and Richard, to Michael and Maria, to Eddie, to Tess, and to Laurie. Only one thing left.
Goodbye fireplace. My husband loved you.
Goodbye balcony. I loved you.
Goodbye one bedroom apartment. And all the memories you hold.
Max squeezes my hand. Max kisses me softly.
“We’ll make new memories … together,” he says to me. It’s exactly what I need to hear.
I look around the room again.
It’s empty.
But my life isn’t.
There will always be ups and downs. There will always be unexpected twists and turns and hurdles to jump along the way. But I’ll be there, living it, loving it, cherishing it with the ones who matter most.
“Are you ready?” he asks again.
I smile at him, my husband, before I move to stand beside him, holding onto him tight. “I’ve never been more ready in my life.”
My demons at rest, my future bright, we walk out of our one bedroom apartment, hand in hand.
-------------------------------------------------
The End.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Epilogue:
-------------------------------------------------
“Are you ready?” Max asks me.
I glance around the apartment.
No furniture, not knick knacks, no nothing.
Empty.
Our bags are packed, a taxi waiting below.
Memories replay through my mind.
Late nights by the fire, long evenings on the balcony, dinner cooking in the kitchen, warmth in bed with my husband.
Sunday teas. Monday coffees. Fridays with Laurie. Saturdays in the park.
I’ve said my goodbyes to my father, to my mother and Richard, to Michael and Maria, to Eddie, to Tess, and to Laurie. Only one thing left.
Goodbye fireplace. My husband loved you.
Goodbye balcony. I loved you.
Goodbye one bedroom apartment. And all the memories you hold.
Max squeezes my hand. Max kisses me softly.
“We’ll make new memories … together,” he says to me. It’s exactly what I need to hear.
I look around the room again.
It’s empty.
But my life isn’t.
There will always be ups and downs. There will always be unexpected twists and turns and hurdles to jump along the way. But I’ll be there, living it, loving it, cherishing it with the ones who matter most.
“Are you ready?” he asks again.
I smile at him, my husband, before I move to stand beside him, holding onto him tight. “I’ve never been more ready in my life.”
My demons at rest, my future bright, we walk out of our one bedroom apartment, hand in hand.
-------------------------------------------------
The End.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------