Chapter Twenty-Four Give Yourself Grace
Chapter Twenty-Four
Give Yourself Grace
I spend the next week walking around in a daze.
This heartbreak is something new and unwieldy and raw.
Impossibly painful even though I told myself all along not to fall for him.
Somewhere along the way, between sharing secrets in Napa to kissing in the Maldives to .
.. everything that happened in Aspen, I did what I swore I wouldn’t do—I fell in love with him.
And now I have no one to blame but myself.
All along his friends told me not to hurt him.
But isn’t that what I’ve done? Well, I’ve hurt myself, too, in the process.
By comparison, the heartache I felt after ending things with Sean was akin to the disappointment a child feels when dropping an ice cream cone.
Momentary regret. Slight discomfort. Not the all-consuming pain and devastation of loss that I fear will never fully heal.
The pain is like a knife, slicing deep. Leaving me raw, exposed.
I don’t know how not to hurt every time I think of him. Coupled with the fact that everything is falling apart around me, it’s been hard to get out of bed in the morning.
The new building flooded in a torrential rainstorm just as they were completing the final touches on construction.
April in Kenya means unpredictable weather, but this is on a whole other level.
My headmaster quit, and the uniforms arrived in all the wrong sizes.
If something could have gone wrong, it did. Spectacularly.
I don’t know why I ever thought I could pull this off. The heartbroken, tired part of me wants to crawl into bed and never get up.
Instead of crawling into bed in defeat, I decide to call my father.
But first, I need a shower. I spent the day mopping mud from inside the school building.
I meet my reflection in the mirror and am surprised to find I don’t even recognize myself.
The woman staring back at me has prominent cheekbones, pale skin, and a dazed look in her eyes.
I let out a long, slow, defeated sigh, frustrated about the state of my life, maybe scared by it a little too. Is this all there is for me?
After my shower, I dial my father’s cell phone, part of me hoping he doesn’t answer the call so I don’t have to admit to him all the ways I’ve messed this up.
“Lessia!” he says, sounding chipper despite the time difference. “How are things coming along over there?”
“Daddy, I don’t think I can do this. There’s too much to do. It’s too hard.”
“Tell me what’s going on, Less.” He sounds concerned, and I almost hate to trouble him with the heavy weight of my burdens, but I do anyway, unleashing all that’s happened in one long, rambling, incoherent rant.
“You’re going to get there. Remember what I said about eating an elephant ...”
“Yes, but this isn’t just an elephant. This is an entire herd of elephants.”
“You need to have faith.” He says it like it’s so simple.
“Sure. Sounds easy,” I grumble.
He laughs. “I’m afraid that’s why they call it faith. It takes some courage to believe in what you haven’t seen.” He pauses, thinking, and when he answers, his voice is steady, calm. “You have to fight for what you believe in.”
I was afraid he’d say that. I don’t know how much fight I have left in me, unfortunately.
Long after we end the call, my father’s words ring through my head.
You have to fight for what you believe in. And if I’m not willing to do that, then I’m not the woman I thought I was. I’m willing to fight for these students and their right to an education.
But what about Hart?
My brain supplies that question, to which I have no answer.
You weren’t willing to fight for him.
Because it never would have worked. It was just as much of a long shot as this school, yet I’m willing to throw everything I have toward this.
Why is that?
Is it because, like Scarlet said, as women we often put our own needs last?
I realize that just before Hart invited me to the Maldives, I’d asked God for a sign.
I had prayed for guidance, for direction.
And then Hart called and whisked me away.
And when I landed, the entire island was blanketed with red streamers, red paper lanterns.
Everywhere I looked was my favorite color. Was that my sign?
I brush it off. We often see what we want to see. I’m sure it was just a coincidence and nothing more than wishful thinking.
A text message notification on my phone pulls me out of my gloomy thoughts. It’s a link from Joslyn.
I click on it, and an article pops up. I begin reading it, confused about why Joslyn sent me this. It’s about a high school in New York. My eyes continue scanning, wondering why she thinks I’d be interested in this. When I see the connection, I almost drop my phone.
Hartford Winthrop, heir to the Winthrop family fortune, has funded the new program.
I read on, interested now, and trying to figure out what this means.
Apparently, Hart sponsored a coding class at an inner-city school in New York.
And because it was so successful, he’s now launching a series of coding clinics throughout the United States in underserved areas as a way to give inner-city kids a leg up for learning programming skills and finding good jobs.
I’m struck by a surge of emotions. Pride, first. He wanted to find his thing, and now it seems, maybe he has. Followed by the knowledge that he’s truly moved on for good, which feels like a wrecking ball to my already broken heart.
Joslyn: Isn’t this amazing! Did you already know?
I don’t bother replying.