Chapter Thirty-Eight
Evelyn awoke with a start.
Sunlight crept through the blinds in her living room.
Her take-out dinner, still on the coffee table from last evening, had gone completely cold.
David was gone. It was no longer Hanukkah, and the television that had been playing A Christmas Carol had gone dark, but it felt like she was standing on the precipice of a miracle.
There was no more time to waste. She raced to her closet, threw on a sweater and boots.
Then back to the living room, where she gathered up her winter jacket, keys and purse.
She was just about to take off, out into the snow that was now blanketing Manhattan, when her eyes landed on April’s tiny box of ashes, sitting on a table.
Quickly, she grabbed them, putting them in her purse.
And then, she took off . . . to find David.
It was not a grand gesture.
Evelyn exited the car and, thanking her driver with a sizable tip, found herself back on David’s farm.
Having gone to Vikram’s apartment first and finding it empty, she had made her way to Danielle’s brownstone on the Upper East Side, only to learn that David had returned to his farm early that same morning.
Two subways, a metro and one uber ride later, she arrived just around lunch.
Unfortunately, her nerves were getting the better of her. She was debating crawling back into the car when she saw Leila coming around the corner, holding a stack of firewood.
“Evelyn,” she said, surprised. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Evelyn shifted. “Yeah, I . . . I . . .”
She didn’t know what she wanted to say.
“Well, come on,” Leila said, waving for her to follow. “I’ll let David know you’re here.”
She nodded and followed the woman inside.
Moments later, her very confused-looking ex-husband came down the stairs.
Stopping halfway, one hand on the banister as if needing to steady himself, he blinked, confused.
This was it. She needed to be strong. She needed to prove that, for once in her life, she could show up for him.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and quickly began rambling.
“I’m sorry I never saw you. I’m sorry that I used work to avoid difficult conversations, that I never went to therapy, that I couldn’t make time for us, or vacations, or frankly .
. . anything. I’m sorry that I used work as a way to avoid our problems, as a way to avoid you.
But most of all, I’m sorry that I never saw your grief when we lost April. ”
The tears began coming to her eyes. The feelings, all the loss, but also, wrapped up in that pain, some strange sense of hope.
There was still life in her yet. Perhaps there could be life in them.
“And the whole time, David, the whole time .
. . I thought that the heartbreaks of Hanukkah were showing me my heartbreaks, my struggles, my pain.
I thought that these were the wrongs of my life that made me the person I am, for good or bad.
But what I came to learn is that the heartbreaks were yours.
They were yours, too, David. Because when someone loves you, when someone is a part of you, a husband, a partner . . . they feel your injuries, too.
“And I know you loved me,” she continued, all the words coming out.
“I know you loved me so much, from the beginning, and I never saw it. I know that’s why you gave me a menorah when I was a little kid whose parents were always fighting.
I know that you had a crush on me in high school, and that I hurt you when I went off with Jackson Fields.
I know that when my father died, you showed up to the funeral with your entire family, not just because you were Jewish and it was the right thing to do, but because you cared about me.
You care about me when I hurt. Because you hurt, too. ”
She kept right on going, spewing every damn thing she had learned about David from her heartbreaks of Hanukkah.
“And I know that during our wedding, you cried with me.
You cried because my dad died, and I was sad .
. . just like it broke your heart when I never took your own dreams seriously.
When I put my goals, and myself, and my vision, ahead of us.
Of you. Of nurturing this beautiful, wonderful thing we had.
“But most of all—” she choked on tears “—I’m so sorry we lost April.
I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m so sorry that you were in pain, and you needed me, and I was so damn broken .
. . so damn sad, that I didn’t know how to give you what you needed.
And you’re right. I should have gone to therapy.
We should have gone to couples’ counseling.
But I was afraid. I didn’t know how to deal with all the grief, all the pain, sitting in my heart. ”
“Evelyn,” he said, trying to interrupt.
She wouldn’t allow it. This was her chance, and she was going to say the things, speak the words, she had buried all her life.
“I’m sorry for being so selfish. I’m sorry for being afraid.
Because I was afraid, David. I loved you so much.
I still love you, actually . . . and I know now that it was never about my job.
You always wanted me to have my career. And we couldn’t save April.
I know that. And it hurts to admit that aloud.
I loved her so damn much. I wanted her, too.
But even if we couldn’t save April . . . maybe we can save us.”
She kept going. All the words she had hidden in her heart, all the words she had been too afraid, too broken down by grief to say aloud, came pouring from her lips.
“And so, I want you to know that I’m willing to go to therapy.
I’m willing to do anything it takes to save this marriage.
I’m willing to compromise. Because I value you, David.
I love you. You’ve been my best friend, my safe place, the man who rubbed my head when I had migraines.
My best friend, riding shotgun with me on a road trip, wherever life takes us, two cowboys on an adventure together.
And so, if that means something to you, then let’s work to fix this, to make a beautiful life together.
Because I want a life with you. Not a half-life.
Not a life that’s two people avoiding each other because they can’t deal with their heartbreaks. But a life as husband and wife.”
David stood frozen on the step. Evelyn began to get nervous.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and found herself teetering backward, wondering if she should just head for the exit. “I had a whole speech memorized on the way here, but once I started going it all just went right out the window.”
“It’s okay,” he said, shaking his head a little. “I’m just . . . a little bit in shock.”
“Yeah?”
“I guess I’m trying to figure out if this is real.”
“I know the feeling.”
He smiled. Thank God, he was smiling. She took it as a good sign. David came all the way down the stairs, meeting her in the foyer. They were so close to each other now. Chests nearly touching. Hearts racing.
“You’re so frustrating, you know that?”
“I know!” she cried.
“But I love you, Evelyn. I’ve always loved you. You’re my world.”
Tears filled her eyes. “I love you, too.”
There were still so many things that needed to be talked about, needed to be worked through, but there would be time for that later.
It didn’t matter that Hanukkah was over.
Every morning was a miracle. Every minute, a new opportunity to change and grow from the past. She would never squander it again.
“Oh,” Evelyn said, reaching into her pocket. “I brought April.”
David stared down at the box. “How ’bout we put her someplace safe?”
She nodded. David began to look for a place, and Evelyn followed.
She found the perfect spot to rest the ashes, on the mantel of a fireplace, with the view of David’s farm—all the newborn and old animals visible from the window.
“I think she would like it here,” Evelyn said.
“I bet she would have loved the alpacas, especially.”
“Me, too.”
A peaceful stillness floated between them. For once, the quiet didn’t bother her.
Her heart had found its way home.
“So, what do we do now?” David asked.
Evelyn raised one eyebrow, mischievously, in David’s direction.
He laughed, and then, taking her by the waist with firm hands, pulled her in for a kiss.
The memory of all their heated nights together returned, causing her knees to buckle and her heart to ache.
She could see her husband now for the man he was, the man he had always been, and thanks to the heartbreaks of Hanukkah, she was willing to fight for forever.
For love was a power greater than heartbreaks, and it would see them all through.