Sunday, February 12
Garrett locked away hope and threw away the key to the prospect of Angelica ever being in his arms again. Then a glimmer of hope appeared when she reached out to him. She sent a brief, sterile text—just two words.
Going overseas.
He felt more than a glimmer; he saw it as the door to unexpected possibilities. Why not? The space between those simple words held an unspoken message—I haven’t forgotten you.
He had eagerly waited for another message while Angelica was traveling. He didn’t get one. He didn’t receive a postcard from London or any calls from Barcelona, Amsterdam, Rome, or wherever her plane touched down.
One week turned into two, then inched along at the pace of a tortoise into a month. Radio silence was all he heard.
Even as todays melted into yesterdays, Angelica’s spirit stirred him like a spoon stuck in a thick, steamy stew. She teased his days and taunted his sleepless hours.
A silhouette swaying down a winding path; her flickering shadow floating across a shop windowpane.
The echo of a familiar laugh playing hide-and-seek, skimming through a bustling crowd; her ghostly image in the corner booth, haunting him to the core.
Her scent weaving through the fibers of his clothes like an unbroken thread.
After hours, she lingered like a cold mist drifting through the hollows of his soul, settling in his bones, speaking a language he alone recognized. He reached for her in the dusk, only to find nothing there.
He agonized over the futility of it all. Were they back to the cat-and-mouse game, solitaire, or Russian roulette? No, this was worse. The games had come to an end. Would he die without her? It depended on how he viewed it. He didn’t like the answer.
Work proved daunting, but he pushed on. What else did he have besides lining up Coors cans on the cinder-block wall? He worked with a short temper, and sudden outbursts became the norm. He rapidly lost friends and colleagues. Just the sight of him cleared any room.
Plan A, a job in New Mexico, didn’t pan out. Plan B seemed iffy. Stuck in emotional quicksand, he wasn’t going anywhere at the moment. Or maybe he was. Then he decided he wouldn’t leave the force unless he were fired. What the hell was he waiting for?
Perhaps he’d go to the shelter and get a dog. He and his new buddy could travel the back roads of America, taking in the scenery. Or he could rent an RV. Even take his mother along. She’d never been on vacation. He quickly threw that idea out the window. That was too nerdy. No, pathetic.
He and Buster—or would the canine be Lady?—might scout for a new hometown—a place with one traffic light and no crime, needing a burned-out lawman, just in case. Alaska? Nah, the beer delivery might be too slow, depend on a bush pilot to drop it once the snow melts, or be nonexistent.
If and when he gets his head on straight, he should consider becoming an educator.
Even then, he doubted he would have the motivation to start over at his age—whether as a teacher or a trash collector.
The road ahead of him was paved with an early grave.
Garrett settled for rationalizing his existence and his premature demise.
He didn’t deserve Angelica. She deserved more than he could give her, only the best. For the man who promised to stay for the long haul—“I’m never going to leave you”—he abandoned her in her darkest hour. But beyond offering to call her husband, what else should he have done?
Garrett tried to accept that this was how it was.
He couldn’t change or undo anything. Maybe Carolyn was right.
He was only good for a short-term relationship.
Or worse, his father was right. He’d never amount to anything and would become an utter disgrace to the family name.
A name he’d never be able to pass on to a wife and kids.
As Garrett lifted the aluminum can containing all the “merry” he’d ever experience in life, his cell phone rang. Crap, another dead body, and they’re calling a man equally as dead to solve the crime.
He glanced at the phone, his eyes shot up, and as he yanked it from the end table, he spilled beer onto his lap.
“Angelica!” he cried, ignoring the cold brew dripping down his leg and wondering why she was calling his work phone. Then he remembered it was the only number she had for him. Who the hell cares how she contacted him? She could have flashed an SOS or used smoke signals.
“Hi, Garrett. Could you do me a favor?” she asked meekly.
“Absolutely. What would you like, honey?”
“Can you come to my cabin tomorrow night?”
He replied at the speed of his blink. “You bet. What time?”
“Seven, please.”
“No problem whatsoever, Angelica,” he said eagerly.
“See you then.” She vanished into the thin air of the airwaves.
Garrett stared at the dark scene. Was he hallucinating?
No. Five weeks after her first text, she called.
Angelica was still thinking about him, just as he was about her.
She didn’t sound joyful or upbeat; she seemed more subdued and cautious.
Still, she called, and thankfully, her tears stayed abroad.
Less than a minute! Less than one minute was all it took to restore hope to his heart.
* * *
Angelica placed the phone back on its base.
She walked to the fireplace, slid open the mesh screen, and tossed another split log onto the flames.
It didn’t need more fuel. The blaze was already an inferno, consuming the firewood like dry leaves.
But she had a “let it burn” mindset. Closing the screen didn’t calm her turmoil.
She sat on the sofa, her fingertips massaging her aching temples. “What am I doing?” she muttered. When Daisy didn’t answer, her faithful kitty still on vacation, Angelica repeated her distressed cry. “What am I D-O-I-N-G?!”
She picked up the small glass from the coffee table and took tiny sips. Following the doctor’s advice, she filled it only one-quarter full.
How did she end up like this? She had dreamed of a fairy-tale ending.
Allegra Angelica Philomena Maricell, AKA Angelica Whitely, Blankville’s Plain Jane, a shoe model for Heavenly Soles Footwear, married the hometown darling, handsome Nicholas Ponte, an up-and-coming used-car salesman.
In reality, Nicholas was the flashy illusionist stepping onto the stage.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the woman beside me will disappear after I place her in the box.”
Puff, she’s gone. Fret not. The Great Ponte will create another in her place, one more to his liking.
How could she have married Nicholas? Angelica received far less than the Little Golden Books promised, undoubtedly because Snow White and Cinderella weren’t plain!
Or under 5 feet tall. Or scarred. Or walking down the aisle with the wolf from Little Red Riding Hood instead of Prince Charming.
Or wearing a dress she designed herself without glass slippers.
Or holding her wedding reception at the Elks Lodge instead of a castle.
For all she knew, they might even have gone to Niagara Falls, the U.S.
side, for her honeymoon. It would’ve been a quick trip. Nicholas had to get back to work.
Making the next buck and finding success were Nicholas’s first obsessions. Since the scent of the mighty dollar drove him, did he even find time to be home with their daughter? To cuddle her, play with her, or tuck her in at night? Those questions will go unanswered.
Angelica always wanted children. What kind of mother was she? In her heart, she hoped she’d been the kind of mom who doted on her daughter, sat on the floor to play games with Sofia, and read bedtime stories. She’d ask her mother, but her mother wasn’t objective on all fronts.
“Allegra Angelica, you can’t divorce your husband! You’re both Roman Catholic, and Nicky adores you—”
“If he adores me, he should have told me we were married, Mom!” Angelica protested on the phone yesterday.
“Some men aren’t good at the romance stuff,” her mother explained. “Take your father …”
How about Nicholas isn’t good at romance; he’s lousy at it?
“—it all comes down to what truly matters: Nicky’s always been there for you, dear. He did everything for you after the accident, no matter the cost. He hired live-in nurses to care for you, a chef, and Jack to drive you around. He even put you through college. You couldn’t find a better man.”
She’ll settle for none if this is better!
“I would’ve preferred that he did less and talked to me more! More, as he told me, he was my husband!”
Mrs. Maricelli sighed sympathetically. “Okay, so he slipped up. He’s not perfect, but he’s close,” she said. “Go to church, light candles, and pray that he becomes a better husband. You’ll see. This will blow over. You two are meant for each other. A mother knows these things.”
If her mother only knew how “unperfect” her close-to-perfect son-in-law, the man meant for her, really was.
The man who forced Angelica to have an abortion at seventeen. Sharing this with her mother now would just break one more heart.
No matter what kind of mother she dreamed of being, she ultimately failed the test by not protecting Sofia that morning. Someday … someday she must go to the cemetery. Face her daughter. Plead for forgiveness. “I’m so sorry, Sofia. It was all Mommy’s fault.”
She’s not ready. May never be ready to stand before the marble headstone—the one etched with the finality of days. A crushing weight settled on her chest.
It didn’t take many sips before Angelica stared into the bottom of the glass. This was all she was allowing herself today. It wasn’t enough. The entire bottle might not be enough. She set the empty glass on the table.
Angelica went into the bathroom, grabbed the tissue box, and, sitting on the closed toilet seat, cried her overdue tears.
Amid all this heartbreak, she needs to sell her house and run away so Nicholas can’t find her. He’s been blowing up her phone; she’s turned off the ringer.
Where will she call home next? The real estate agent is coming over on Tuesday to discuss the hot market.
Because the cabin is in her name, she decided to keep the money from the sale, viewing it as compensation for the stress Nicholas caused her.
Falling in love should come with a warning label—side effects may be lethal.
One thing is clear: she must cut her expenses. No more “big brother” helping her out. The first to go will be eating out, followed by new clothes. Most importantly, she’ll make sure to move to a place with cell service. Cut the cord on the landline.
All the same, Angelica should stay away from all phones for the remainder of her days.
A fully charged phone is dangerous in her hand.
What good could come from inviting him over?
She knew that, but she needed to see him, even if only one last time.
Did Garrett remember that she told him she wanted to talk to him weeks ago?
Would he show up merely out of courtesy because she invited him?
Just one more question on her pile of unknowns.
Angelica stood, pushed her hair back behind her ears, and stared at her reflection in the mirror.
She swore she’d aged twenty years. Basically, she looked like crap.
But why not? Her world had been overturned.
Maybe she’d look better tomorrow. Tomorrow?
She must be hopeful. One of her “tomorrows” might spin the dial on her compass, guiding her to a better place—a place where she’d finally find peace.