Chapter 39
The hero’shomecoming doesn’t last. I guess beating death (yes, yes … knock on wood) isn’t as heroic as risking one’s life for one”s country.
Astrid’s life goes on as it should.
Dance.
Flute.
Swimming.
Golf.
Amelia volunteers at the school and works twenty hours a week with the advertising agency, mostly from home.
And I exist.
“Have you thought about visiting the oncologist?” Amelia asks from the bathroom, curling her hair after school drop-off while I read a book in bed.
“I have not.” I keep my eyes on the page.
“Don’t you want to know if you’re really better?”
“According to the doctors, I should be dead by now. But I’m not. I think it’s fair to say I’m better or at least going in the right direction. Maybe it’s borrowed time, but I’ll take it.”
She sighs. Lately, I’ve been the lucky recipient of so many heavy sighs. “I’m going to call Rob. Since he was your refuge, maybe he can convince you to see your doctor.”
“I was with Rob until January. He’s not convincing me of anything. I went to stay with him because I knew he’d let me live or die in peace.”
She cranes her neck past the doorway to give me a narrow-eyed look before unplugging the curling iron. “Then where were you the rest of the time?”
I mark my page and close the book, setting it on my outstretched legs. “Austin.”
“Texas?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” She adjusts her belt and leans her shoulder against the doorway between the bedroom and bathroom.
Can I phone a friend? Maybe Koen can reassure my wife that my relationship with Scottie is nothing to worry about. I’ve been avoiding this conversation because I don’t know how to explain it in a way that will make sense to my wife, who doesn’t understand how I’m still alive.
“Do you have work to do?”
She nods. “I have a call at ten.”
I glance at the alarm clock.
“That’s not for a half hour,” she adds. “We have time to talk.”
“No. I don’t think thirty minutes is enough time to explain this.”
“Explain what?”
I chuckle. “I’ll explain it later.”
She frowns. “Tell me.”
“Later.” I open my book again.
“Did you have a hot affair?” Her eyebrows lift.
I don’t look at her. That’s my first mistake. No, that’s my second mistake. Telling her I was in Austin when she has a call in thirty minutes was my first mistake.
“Jesus, Price, look at me.”
I do. And I have no idea what my face looks like, but I fear it’s bleeding guilt when I have no reason to feel guilty.
“What were you doing in Austin?” She curls her hair behind her ear, her voice a little shaky.
“Amelia, who makes you feel like you don’t have a care in the world? Do you have someone who inspires you to live in the moment?”
“You.”
I shake my head. “No. That’s not true, not even a little. I’m not asking you who you love. I’m asking if you’ve ever known someone who has an energy about them that’s calming. Someone who makes you feel like you’re overthinking life, working too hard, and focused on things that don’t matter in the big picture.”
With a downcast gaze, she squints, lips twisted. “I don’t think so.” Her eyes find mine. “Do you?”
I pause for a second before slowly nodding.
She swallows hard. “Please don’t tell me it’s a woman.”
Setting the book on the nightstand, I slide to the side, letting my legs dangle off the side of the bed, hands folded. “Let’s talk after your call.”
She snags her phone from the bathroom vanity. “I’m canceling the call.” Setting her phone back on the vanity, she pads her bare feet toward the gray chair by the window. It’s where she likes to read, listen to music, or watch the birds build their nests.
“Can we take a moment to acknowledge a few things?” I ask.
After a few seconds, she relinquishes a nod, tucks her feet under her, and hugs the yellow floral pillow to her chest.
“If I would have stayed here, I would be dead or very close to it. Or I would have done the chemo, and maybe that would have given me a few extra months, albeit miserable months. But either way, I think we can agree that by this Thanksgiving, I would be dead.”
She flinches.
“And I’m not saying this to make you feel guilty for wanting me to stay or wanting me to do the chemo. I’m saying this for perspective. There is a bigger picture than why I went to Austin or who I saw there, which brings me to something else we need to establish. When we started dating, you told me you had been in a three-year relationship with a guy you met in college. That’s it. I know nothing else about him because you didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t ask—because it didn’t matter.”
Pressing her lips together, she holds my gaze.
“And I told you I’d been in a relationship with someone over the summer between my junior and senior years of college. Like you, I didn’t elaborate. And, like me, you didn’t ask for more information. But now I’m going to tell you.”
Again, she swallows.
“Her name is Scottie.”
Amelia blinks, releasing tears just from hearing Scottie’s name. She knows I’m on the verge of telling her things that will hurt. It’s hard to hear that the person you love has given away pieces of themselves to someone else. And it doesn’t matter how tiny the pieces are; Amelia and I share an all-consuming love. I selfishly want her whole heart as she wants the same of mine.
Over the next hour, I tell her everything from falling in love with Scottie to the last conversation I had with her before I returned home. With as much tenderness and consideration as I can offer, I tell her why Scottie’s part of the reason I should live to see another Thanksgiving. I tell her about the apothecary I bought, the lost child I never knew about, the job I took at the general store, and my new friend who’s marrying Scottie.
I hate that it’s heartbreaking for my wife, but I must live in the light of my truth.
She sets the pillow aside and stands, combing her hands through her hair while gazing out the window. “Do you still love her?”
“I love my parents. I love your parents. I love my sister?—”
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
“Then ask it differently.”
“Are you in love with her?”
“No.”
“How can I believe you?”
“Because I’m here.”
She turns, hugging herself. “She’s engaged. But what if she weren’t?”
“She wasn’t engaged when I got to Austin. She hadn’t even met Koen.”
“And what if she wouldn’t have met him?”
I stand, holding out my arms. “I would still be here.”
“Because of Astrid.”
“Because of you.”
She shakes her head.
“No.” I close in on her, holding her tear-stained face. “We can’t do this. I didn’t leave you and Astrid for anyone but you and Astrid. I didn’t go to Austin to get Scottie back. I went to Austin so I could get better for you and Astrid. I didn’t go see Scottie to remember why I loved her. I knew she’d let me?—”
“Die?”
“No. I needed to remember what it felt like to live in the moment, not fear death, honor my body’s intuition, and nurture my spirit. And Scottie’s the epitome of those things. I didn’t need her. I needed her light.”
Amelia closes her eyes, more tears breaking free. “I w-want to be h-her. I want to b-be the person w-who helps you live.”
“No, sweetheart.” I kiss her head. “You don’t want to be Scottie. She tragically lost a baby, and she nearly died. You gave us Astrid. And you are the reason I want to live. That. Is. Everything.”
She takes a step back, wiping her face. “I need time.”
After a sigh of surrender, I retrieve my notebook from the closet and hand it to her. “This is what I did every day in Austin. I figured out I could draw. And all I wanted to sketch were things that made me think of you. And the words I wanted to write … well, they were all about you too.” I slide my hands in my pockets. “I’ll give you whatever you need. Time. Space. Anything.”
With a blank expression, she flips through the pages. It hurts that she won’t look at me. Love does that. It hurts. I’m unsure why humans are so obsessed with it, but we are.