3. Vivian
Chapter three
Vivian
Two Months Later
As I gaze into the mirror, I barely recognize the devastated woman in the reflection. When Eloise was a newborn, I remember being physically exhausted, but there was also a sense of wonder and joy that kept me going. Despite the exhaustion, the joy of having a baby made it worth the lack of sleep. The concept of joy feels foreign and elusive these days.
I don’t remember my cheeks ever looking so gaunt, nor my skin looking almost gray and lifeless. I stopped stepping on the scale; I know I’ve lost weight that I didn’t necessarily want to lose, but food is not appealing, and I easily just forget to make myself eat anything. The bags under my eyes are reminders of the heavy emotional baggage I drag around daily as I try to put one foot in front of the other. The mere effort of existing, let alone functioning every day, is exhausting and yet, at night sleep evades me.
My grief and anger are slowly drowning me. If it weren’t for my darling girl, I’m sure my current condition would be even worse. But who knew heartbreak could physically hurt so much?
I am so incredibly angry that some days it feels like it’s going to consume me. Not only am I mad at Trent for cheating on me, lying to me, and ruining our lives, but I am furious at him for having the nerve to get shot, for leaving us, and for the incredible pain he has caused our little girl. I didn’t know I could feel rage like this, and it is suffocating me. Maybe it would be easier if I could unleash these emotions on him; scream at him, throw something at him, anything to make him hurt like I’m hurting. But he’s gone, so this scorching fire just burns in my heart and soul.
From the bathroom, I walk into our study and curl up on the couch with a blanket. The clock on the mantel tells me I have ninety minutes until I need to pick up Eloise from preschool. I kept her home for a week after the funeral, but her therapist said the routine would be beneficial. Even if it was a new routine, Eloise needed consistency. I pull the blanket up to my chin as I continue my own new routine of feeling sad, incredibly pissed off, and empty all at the same time. Two months have passed, but some days it feels like it’s only been a few hours. I try to take a deep breath before another anxiety attack pulls me further under. The medication my doctor prescribed is in my purse, but I prefer to avoid taking it if at all possible.
Trent’s murder was highly publicized in our community. The police still don’t have any suspects in the shooting and unfortunately because of crime rates in Chicago, most people seem to believe it was a random shooting between rival gangs, or simply a case of him being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Instead of calling it a murder, most people referred to his passing as a tragic accident, but that doesn’t feel right to me. Trent wasn’t accidentally at the hotel; he chose to be there with another woman. He wasn’t accidentally lying to his wife of eight years; he chose to make a fool of me and our life. His death was tragic, but he was responsible for why he was in front of the hotel that day. If he had been at the hospital, or at home, none of this would have happened. My anger toward him is multifaceted, and it runs so deep—almost as deep as my pain.
Another layer of devastation from the affair was realizing my own naivete, which provided exceptionally sensational gossip for our social circle. I thought I had a decent group of friends in Chicago but it quickly dwindled until I didn’t feel like I could trust any of them. Initially, those I once considered friends pretended to be there for me, but really, they were Gossiping Karens hunting for juicy details so they could spread rumors like wildfire with the other traitorous gasbags. There were enough salacious details to give the clucking hens impressive material to exchange over mimosas at the country club, and despite how awful the actual truth was, I still heard exaggerations of what happened.
Someone said I was the one that had an affair first and he went to Bianca Fucking Bishop brokenhearted. Another concerned individual started a rumor that I found out about the affair and paid for a hitman. According to another clucking hen, Trent left our marriage years ago and didn’t even live with us when he died. The last one would have been helpful if it were true; I wouldn’t have to figure out what to do with all of his clothes and belongings if he hadn’t lived here. I’ve tried to go through his clothes a few times, but I quickly get consumed by thoughts of the unknown.
Did Trent wear this shirt with her? Did he really pick out that belt, or did she buy it for him? Did she wear his favorite Georgetown T-shirt to bed after they disrespected our marriage for the umpteenth time?
I gave those blabby witches plenty to talk about when Bianca Fucking Bishop attended Trent’s memorial service. I couldn’t believe she would ever imagine it was okay for her to be there, and then she had the audacity to try to give her condolences to my daughter. The slap across her face was worth the price of gossip at my expense. My only regret is that I wish I had hit her harder. On some level, I blame her for Trent’s death. She didn’t shoot him, but their affair is why he was in front of the Plaza Hotel. If he hadn’t been leaving their room, he wouldn’t have died. He would still be a lying, cheating bastard, but at least Eloise would still have her daddy .
My sweet baby is so innocent in this mess, and yet in a cruel twist, she’s the one hurting the most. Her nightmares started the night after his funeral when she overheard people talking about how he died. Eloise usually sleeps for an hour or two before she wakes up screaming for her daddy. Her screams break my heart all over again every single time.
I hear my sister’s footsteps as she enters the den. Savannah has been here for two days this trip, but I’ve lost count of how many times she has visited since the murder. “Will you let me help you, Vivi?”
A sigh I feel deep in my bones escapes me, chased by a sob I cannot keep inside. “And what does that look like, Savannah? How can anyone fix this massive hemorrhaging hole in my heart and in my life?” I would cry if I had any tears left but I think my body ran out of those weeks ago.
Savannah sits on the couch and places her hand on my arm. “Honey, I can’t fix the storm, but I can stand with you and keep you safe as you navigate all of this,” she says gently, as though speaking to one of her children. “I can take care of you and help while you heal, but only if you let me take you home.”
Confused, I glance over at her. “Home? I am literally home—this is my home.”
Savannah gently squeezes my arm. “No honey, it’s not. You won’t heal in this haunted museum of memories of what was lost. I know this was your home with Trent, but you can’t do this alone. You need a safe space to grieve and heal while surrounded by people that love you, and love Eloise.”
I let her words hang in the air as my eyes look around the room and settle on Trent’s slippers under his favorite chair.
“Baby! Move your damn slippers!” I holler down the hall after I stumble on his slippers for the umpteenth time. They stick out from under the bed just enough to trip me but not enough that I saw them. I pick them up and bring them out to Trent in the living room.
“I really love this game, but can you please keep these under your chair or at least somewhere I won’t trip over them?”
Trent stands and takes the slippers out of my hands with a sly grin on his face. “But you always bring them to me, so really this system seems to work for me. I get slippers and some love at the same time.” He pulls me close and slides his hand up my neck, running his thumb along my jaw. “I’ll try to remember to put them under my chair, okay?”
“Thank you. You’re lucky you’re so handsome. It’s like that old country song. Instead of wondering whose bed your boots are under, I always know whose bed your slippers are under.” I joke as I lean in for a kiss. He kisses me deeply with his hand holding my jaw before pulling back to look at me with stormy and troubled eyes I almost miss, but the fleeting moment is quickly over as he gives me one of his signature smiles and leans down to give me a kiss on my forehead.
I hadn’t noticed the slippers were still there. Trent probably kicked them off before heading to bed just days before he died. Did he wear slippers when he spent the night with his mistress? Despite my best efforts, I feel the tears slide down my cheeks once again. I must not be completely out of them; my body found a secret reservoir of tears hidden somewhere. Damn it.
“Viv, Eloise already lost one parent. She can’t lose another. She needs you, and you both need our family. Let us help you,” Savannah pleads with me. “One phone call and the Cavalry comes to bring you home.”
The Callahan Cavalry. Our brothers would be here as fast as possible if she called them. I look up at our wedding photo on the fireplace mantle and know my sister is right. Staying here in this house of lies as we try to heal has already been too much for me, let alone Eloise. She needs to be surrounded with family and as much as I hate to admit it, I’m not strong enough to do this on my own. I won’t heal surrounded by ghosts and the whispers of betrayal that now haunt what was once my peaceful home.
“You might be right,” I mumble as I sink deeper into the sofa.
Savannah looks both relieved and surprised at my confession. “Might be?”
I swipe away more tears. “Yeah, Sav. Take the win. Call the Cavalry.”
“Good. It’s time to bring y’all home. I’m sure you can stay with Daddy at the house or you’re welcome to our guest house,” Savannah says as she taps away on her phone, likely alerting the Cavalry to her victory. Shane and Savannah recently converted their pool house into a small guest house with an addition so that people, specifically Shane’s family, had a place to stay when they came to visit. “It isn’t a ton of space, but y’all will be comfortable and the entire family will be close. We just finished the renovations and haven’t picked out any furniture for it yet other than that sectional I ordered, but that’s an easy fix.”
I tilt my head as I respond, “I think there’s plenty of space in your guest house. And let’s be honest, I think that’s a better option than Daddy’s. We both know that wouldn’t end well for anyone.”
Savannah grimaces in agreement.
Our daddy is a great man … today anyway. Growing up, he made his fair share of mistakes and committed transgressions against our mother. We were ignorant of it for most of our childhood but when the dam broke, everything came to light. It was hard for all of us to reconcile our perception of our parents’ marriage with reality. Mama insisted on counseling for the entire family and Daddy changed his ways. They had a solid decade of authentic happiness before the cancer swiftly stole her from us. Daddy knows about Trent’s affair and unfortunately now feels like Trent’s cheating is so mehow his fault. The guilt he carries is heavy, and I would rather not try to navigate that daily when I have my own crisis to unpack.
“I agree. Daddy means well but he’s fighting his own ghosts with everything,” Savannah says. “But you know he is a wonderful Papa and babysitter. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he transforms one of the guest rooms into a room just for Eloise. He’ll be thrilled for y’all to be nearby. I think it’s been really hard for him to figure out the best way to help and support you after the truth about Trent came out.”
With a small, encouraging smile, Savannah walks away and I can hear her call her husband, Shane, about my decision. I know in my heart Savannah is right—she usually is, but does running home make a coward?
My stomach churns as I process what I just verbally agreed to, but I also know deep down that this is a step toward healing for both my daughter and me. It’s obvious I’m not doing a great job on my own here, and it has been exceptionally hard to be in our condo since everything happened. I can barely breathe in my bedroom, let alone rest or heal. Trent’s absence somehow took the oxygen out of the entire home, and ?his lies stole any semblance of peace. The study was once my favorite place to be, cuddled on the couch, talking about our days, our sweet girl, and our dreams for the future. It isn’t the same without Trent, like our home isn’t even mine anymore. This place no longer feels safe either, it just feels like a constant reminder of the lies I ignorantly lived with for so long.
I feel like such a fool.
I throw the blanket back and get off the couch, grabbing Trent’s hideous slippers before heading toward the kitchen. I hear Savannah on the phone discussing hiring movers and travel plans with someone, probably one of our brothers. She pauses and watches me as I walk over to the kitchen island, open the garbage, and chuck Trent’s beloved slippers into the bin. I look up and she gives me a nod before continuing her conversation. Now that there is a plan, I’m ready to get the hell out of here as fast as possible. Savannah is right: I am standing in a storm and I need shelter, but I won’t find it here in Chicago. It’s time for us to go home to Forrest Falls; there is nothing left for us here but broken promises, lies, loss, and heartache.