Sunday, January 1 #7
Garrett gazed at her for what might be the last time and saw a pale, exhausted, fragile figure—half woman, half child.
Little of her remained. He couldn’t offer her anything else, no more comfort.
It was time to go. Still, maybe he could do one last good deed for her.
But it wouldn’t lessen his remorse or pain.
Noting the obvious, Garrett asked, “Did you sleep last night?”
Angelica ran her hands through her hair, creating a messy, tumbled-in-the-sack look. “I don’t know when I last slept.”
The answer is simple—when Angelica lay in his arms two days ago. “Do you want to lie down? I’ll carry you back to bed. I don’t think you can make it on your own. You need to sleep, honey.”
“Will you hold me?” she whimpered.
Angelica hit him again. Why would this married woman want him to hold her? He didn’t have the right to do that. She belonged to someone else. His head and heart reeled.
“Do you really want me to?”
Angelica squeezed his hand and pleaded with the most emotion she had shown all night. “Please hold me, Garrett.”
Overwhelmed by opposing sentiments, Garrett slipped his arm around the woman he loved, the one he would soon leave behind.
“Okay, honey.”
Angelica leaned against his chest and did what she always did; her arms encircled him. Garrett did what he always did; he held her closer and tighter.
As he hugged the woman of his intense passion, knowing she wasn’t his, his heart throbbed. Hammered. Raced. For the few seconds he had left with Angelica in his arms, it beat double time. Tick tick … tick tick … tick tick …
Between the ticks, it went rip … rip … rip … When it wasn’t ripping, it was being stabbed relentlessly. As his heart imploded, Garrett clung to her as if there were no tomorrow, because there was none.
After she dozed off under the glow of the desk lamp, he kissed Angelica on the head. He kissed her endlessly, for this was the end. The end always has an end.
His breath might stir her hair, but it couldn’t move a mountain. What do you think when you’re holding the woman you love for the last time? Garrett’s chaotic thoughts ricocheted.
This explains her luxury car. But does it?
How did Angelica get that vehicle if she didn’t know she was the wife of the king of luxury cars?
Was it a gift? Nobody gives a gift like that without a reason.
Why would she have accepted it? They must have been in a relationship—a heated one—to receive such a gift.
Who knew? He wouldn’t have guessed. That explains all her weekend trips to Avalone.
If all of this were true, why was she living here?
Plus, she was dating Jenkins. How many guys did she have?
None of this made sense. Angelica isn’t that kind of woman.
His heart told him she wasn’t that type.
Not the “anything goes” kind. Not free-spirited that way.
Or was Garrett just hoping? Many paths led to dead ends in this labyrinth.
Could he trust his heart to tell the truth?
Given all of this, who would have thought Ponte possessed compassion? That the crazed megalomaniac could perform a selfless act? Was it really that simple? Garrett didn’t think so. There had to be more to the story.
Would Angelica ever learn the truth? He hoped not.
It’s undoubtedly nefarious. Ponte has another woman on the side, or perhaps he’s juggling several.
That would be the only motive for dumping a wife—a beautiful, provocative one.
One with a memory problem. Like many men in high places, Ponte fits the profile.
Garrett would never know. Is it really his concern?
Since he loved her, yes. But he could do nothing about it.
He went down the dead-end street in hopes of winning Angelica’s heart. There was no stop sign on a post at the end; there was a cliff. Garrett fell head over heels off that cliff. His body would survive, but he lost his heart in the fall.
He’d remember her forever—her big eyes, her captivating smile, and the way she slept in his arms. He’d remember her laughter and the way he danced in the pouring rain with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
How could he not? Your heart never lets go of a woman like Angelica.
But she’d forget him in a blink. He’s forgettable and deserves to be forgotten.
Would she be all right? She has to be. Garrett wouldn’t sleep, not that he ever would without her; still, he couldn’t if he thought Angelica wasn’t doing well.
He’d better go back to church and start praying for her.
Light some candles. Was there any recourse besides prayer?
He’d prayed for Carolyn to come back. He knows how that turned out.
Is there even a God? If not, it all seems pointless. No reason to keep going on.
And who would be a better candidate for a multi-millionaire’s wife? Elegant, refined, and classy, Angelica fit right in. She never fit in in Greenhill County—she stood out, she shone. Her allure clearly sang, I don’t belong here; I’m merely passing through.
Did Garrett have regrets? Yes. He never told Angelica how much he loved her. It was too late now. Words not spoken are words lost. Words lost to time are lost—lost to yesterday. You can never have yesterday again.