24. Chapter 24
Chapter 24
Two Weeks Later
Melanie
The soft knock at my door startles me from my dozing. Before I can fully shake off my afternoon haze, another knock follows.
Peering at the clock, I see it's noon, time for David to be home from his half-day of school. I push myself up from my chair to go answer the door.
“Well, how did the science project go?” I ask cheerfully, throwing open the door. The words die in my throat. Standing there, perfectly put together in one of her signature sweater sets, is my ex-future mother-in-law, Evelyn Whitaker.
Time stops and my mouth hangs open as I stare at her. A thousand thoughts race through my mind at the same time. Should I slam the door? Invite her in? Throw myself into her arms and sob? My heart can't settle on which emotion to feel first.
“Hello Melanie.”
“Mrs. Whitaker,” I manage, dropping my gaze to her sensible shoes. A familiar “tsk” sound makes me look up. There it is, the look her boys often referrer to. One eyebrow raised, eyes wide, head tilted just so, lips pressed together. The expression that could make three grown men confess to crimes they hadn't even committed yet. Another disapproving “tsk.”
“Evelyn,” I tried. Another “tsk.”
“Mom?” The word comes out barely above a whisper, fear making my voice small.
“That's better.” With the authority of someone who has raised three sons, she walks past me into the apartment.
I close my eyes, still gripping the doorknob, trying to process what's happening. How did she find me? What do I do now that she's here? The time for hiding seems to be over. Taking a deep breath, I close the door and turn to face her. She's already seated at my dining room table, her presence somehow making my modest apartment feel both smaller and warmer at the same time.
Back against the door, my knees give out and I land in a heap on the floor. Tears flowing, I'm struggling to breathe. I don't know what to do - Michael's going to know she's here. She's going to ruin everything, and yet I'm so happy to see her. Face down on the carpet, I sob. I'm not sure when she came to me, but when I finally came to my senses, mom was on the floor next to me, rocking me back and forth. Telling me it's going to be okay; everything would be okay. But would it? Really?
“Come on, let's sit and talk.” She says as she stands. “I'm too old to be sitting on the floor. Let's go to the table.” She holds out her hand and helps me stand.
Consciously steadying my breathing, I eye her sitting across from me. Our relationship had always been special, growing even closer after Cameron and I got engaged. With my own mom across the country battling Alzheimer's, Evelyn became more than a future mother-in-law. She, along with Cameron, became my rock.
“Would you like some coffee or tea?” I offer with a shaky breath, partly to be hospitable, partly to buy time before what promises to be the single hardest conversation of my life.
“Coffee, thank you.” Her smile is gentle, understanding. It's like she knows I need these few minutes to gather my thoughts.
I busy myself in the kitchen, selecting her favorite pod for the coffee maker, gathering creamers and sugar. My hands tremble slightly as I arrange everything on a tray. I have to stop to take a deep breath. As she inspects the creamer label, I return to start my own coffee brewing.
The soft whir of the machine covers my racing thoughts:
How did she find me?
What does she know?
Can I trust her?
How's the family?
How's Cameron?
Should I tell her everything?
Can I trust anyone anymore?
What do I do?
The coffee maker's shrill beep causes me to jump, yanking me back to reality. I grab a package of Oreos, double stuff, of course, my comfort food for the inevitable doom that's about to come. As I doctor my coffee, I wait for her to speak first.
“Melanie,” Her voice carries such genuine concern that my head snaps up. “Mel, are you okay?”
“That's what you want to know first? How am I?” The words tumble out before I can stop them. I'd expected accusations, anger over me leaving Cameron on our wedding day. But she wants to know how I am? I was prepared for an attack, not this maternal worry.
“Yes, dear, that's what I want to know first.”
“I'm...” The truth, my truth, is that I'm lonely, terrified, missing you all desperately, catches in my throat. “I'm okay. How are you?”
“I'm fine. Better now that I've found you.” She sips her coffee carefully. “I hope to be even better after we talk. I'm relieved you're safe.”
I stare at her, thrown by her kindness. The sight of her is so familiar, so much like Cameron around the eyes. Seeing her brings everything I'm missing rushing back. Memories of family dinners, shopping trips, late night talks. She was everything I wanted to be - smart, capable, loving, a good mom. The perfect mixture of strength and warmth.
Suddenly again, it's all too much. The weight of everything all the endless nights of sobbing, the bone-deep terror every time I leave the apartment, the crushing loss of my whole life. And now her concern at my well being, crashes over me like a tidal wave. I try to hold back the tears but they come anyway, harsh sobs that shake my whole body. I place my head in my hands on the table, unable to stop myself.
I feel her hand on my back, making those small soothing circles she used to make when I was upset about my mom's declining health. She doesn't speak; just offers that maternal comfort I've missed so desperately. When I finally raise my head, she hands me a napkin and opens the Oreos, placing one in front of me like she used to do with her boys. Her own eyes are wet with tears.
“I know this must be hard to talk about,” she says softly, returning to her chair. “But I'm not here to yell or point fingers. I just want us to talk, woman to woman. Do you understand?”
I nod, not trusting my voice yet.
“How about this? Let's take turns asking each other questions. There must be things we both want to know.” When I nod again, she continues. “Whatever is asked must be answered honestly. Agreed?”
I pause for a moment, thinking this option over. Then nod my agreement.
“I'll go first, to get things started.” She softens her voice. “Melanie, was there an emergency?”
“An emergency?”
“Something that forced you to leave so suddenly?”
“No.” The word comes out barely above a whisper, then I change my answer to, “yes, kind of.”
“Alright, your turn.”
“But that wasn't much of an answer,” I protested, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Was it honest?”
“Yes.” I meet her eyes directly.
“Then it's a perfectly good answer. Your turn.”
“Is Cameron okay?” The question bursts from me before I can stop it.
She pauses, choosing her words carefully. “He's better than he was. I wouldn't say he's okay, but he's not struggling as much.” Her sad smile mirrors my own.
I blink rapidly, fighting back fresh tears.
“My turn,” she says. “What did our family do to cause you to leave?”
“What? Is that what you thought? Is that what you think?” When she just waits expectantly, I continue. “No, never. I love our family. Your family, all I wanted, was to be part of it. To be one of you. It wasn't anything anyone in the family did or caused.”
“We wondered about a thousand different things. Your turn.”
Taking a deep breath, I ask the question that's been nagging at me. “How did you find me?” I hold up my hands quickly. “Not because I mind that you did, but... for,” I look at the door, making sure it's locked, “for another reason.”
She gives me that knowing look, but I keep quiet. I'm not ready yet. “Cameron saw you at the New Year's Eve party. He even checked the ladies' room trying to find you. After the bartender confirmed it was you, I called an old friend's son. He has special talents. Runs a bounty hunter business.” She stares into her coffee cup. “Through his advice and your love of ordering the same Chinese food for lunch, I called the restaurants in the surrounding towns saying I couldn’t remember where I had placed this order before. I followed you home from the restaurant yesterday.”
I can't help but laugh softly. “The one time I forgot my padded coat. I debated ordering, but I hadn't restocked my refrigerator and the delivery didn't start for two hours. Brought down by shrimp and chicken moo goo gai pan with extra sauce and mushrooms.”
She chuckles too, reaching for another cookie. “Why do you need a disguise?”
“So, I won't be recognized.”
“From us?”
“That's another question. You'll have to wait your turn.” I manage a small smile.
“Touché.”
“Is Cameron dating anyone?” I whisper, my heart in my throat.
“No of course not, he loves you. Plus, he says he never wants to date again. Women are wretched, that sort of thing. He's a tad bitter.”
I look down quickly, trying to hide the mixture of relief and pain that brings.
“My turn, and I'm done dancing around what I really want to know.” She places both hands flat on the table. “Why did you run? I know you loved Cameron; you can't tell me otherwise. So why leave? Why not just tell us? You planned it, but why?”
I stand and start pacing, struggling with where to begin. How much can I tell her? How much should I tell her?
“I can see this is difficult. Just start at the beginning,” she encourages.
Still pacing, I wring my hands. The weight of the past month threatens to choke me. I must take a deep breath. She waits for me to exhale.
“In your letter you said-”
“Letter?” I freeze mid-step, spinning to face her.
“What do you mean?”
“What letter are you talking about?”
“The one you left at the wedding. The boys found it under your bouquet when they searched the ready room after Cameron spoke to you.”
As if the room had been cast in blinding light, I realize Michael played everyone. “That bastard. That fucking asshole!” I resume pacing, faster now, anger fueling each step. “Of course,” I fling my arms out. “Of course, that stupidly brilliant prick left a note. Why didn't I think of that? That fucking bastard wrote something and claimed it was from me.” I grip the back of a chair. “Let me guess, it was typed?”
“Yes, it was typed.” Confusion clouds her face.
“You ass! Typed so no one could verify my handwriting. He thought of everything!” I throw my hands up, continuing to pace. “What did it say? No, don't tell me, let me guess." I make air quotes. "Dear Cameron, I can't go through with the wedding. My heart isn't in it. I don't love you like I thought. Don't try to find me.“
“Close. You, or rather, the note, said you needed time alone, that you didn't want to be tied to someone you didn't love.”
“Son of a bitch! That piece of shit told Cameron I didn't love him! Oh, that fucking little-” I catch Evelyn's throat clear and I stop abruptly, suddenly remembering her presence.
“I can see you're angry at someone. Perhaps, let's set aside your colorful language for a moment.” Her eyes narrow. “Who is he? Who are you talking about?”
I close my eyes, take the deepest breath I can hold and hold it as long as I can, then let it out slowly. When I look at her again, I see all the pieces starting to click into place behind her eyes.