(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)
Chapter Seven: "Alex"
One week later
"Dad, there's someone here for you."
Gregory nodded, standing slowly as he read the last two sentences of the contract. "Who is it?" he murmured as he rubbed his eyes.
"It's one of those courier guys," Evy said as he came around the desk and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
"So, has he called again today?"
"I don't want to talk about Ryan," she said sternly. He sighed and nodded, hearing Olivia's voice in his head. That stubbornness? She gets it from you. He would never admit it, not even to Olivia, but he was somewhat impressed by the teenage boy's attempts to make amends with his daughter. As they walked down the hall, he squeezed her shoulder and said, "Take it from me: hear him out."
Her head spun as she looked at him accusingly. "You mean, forgive him?" she exclaimed.
"Did I say that?" She rolled her eyes and turned to face him, her arms folded tight against her chest. By the door, the young courier shifting anxiously as he waited, but he ignored him. He gestured her closer and dropped his voice as he admitted, "The one thing I know is that it was always better when I listened to your mother and didn't just rush to shut her out." She opened her mouth in rebuttal, but then slowly closed it. While she didn't know everything – and would never know – he knew she had to know something changed between her parents a week ago. Someday. Someday wouldn't exist until he could look at Evy and not have to remind himself, She's my daughter. Mine.
"Dad-"
But, he loved his wife. Despite everything, he couldn't imagine a life without Olivia. He loved the family she gave him. But, the betrayal was still raw, a constant shadow to their lives. And, maybe it would be for the rest of their days. "Just…listen."
"Hey, man. I've got, like, nine other drops to make."
Gregory went over to the courier and took the tablet he held out. He scratched out his signature on the touchscreen and ignored the bored expression on the kid's face. "Better get to it," he said as he snatched the legal sized envelope. The kid rolled his eyes and tucked the tablet into the back pocket of his jeans as he sauntered out. He closed the door behind him and turned back, seeing Evy gazing down at her phone. "Listen," he reminded her, kissing her head as he walked back down the hall to his study.
The study was quiet as he reached for the silver letter opener and wedged it beneath the flap. He pulled out a thick piece of paper, embossed with the logo of a reputable law firm in the center at the top. But, it was the smaller fatter envelope paper clipped to the letter which stopped him cold. He gazed down at his name, Alex's unique handwriting leaping off the pale yellow envelope. He wandered back to his chair, sighing deeply as he sat. The thick envelope was an unbearable weight in his hands as his eyes danced over the letter from the law firm. The Times New Roman typeface calmly explained that Alex requested this letter be delivered to him after John's death. That could only mean one thing.
There was only one secret she would wait until after John's death to share.
He looked back down at the yellow envelope, taking the letter opener to it. A sheaf of paper unfolded neatly, his eyes scanning the words encased within the green vines of the perimeter. All the questions from the last week bubbled to the surface of his mind, simmering like a hot pot on the stove. All the anger. All the desperation. All the devastation.
Gregory,
It's so cliché to write this, but if you're reading this, then I'm dead. I always knew that my days on this earth were numbered. You can't receive the diagnosis I did and not know. But, I tried not to let that stop me. I never wanted my illness to define me. I wanted my life to define my illness and it was going to be lived to the fullest. I was going to cherish my time with my son and my grandchildren. I was going to laugh. I was going to be happy. I wasn't going to think about what lay ahead.
If you're reading this, then John is also dead. You'll say it was stupidly sentimental – and that he never deserved my sentiments – that I waited for him to die before I sent this. But, I was thinking of Casey, not John. You know how cruel John could be. If he's dead, then Casey is spared from his reaction to this. Casey suffered enough from him. Years of emotional cruelty and disinterest during his childhood and teenage years was enough hurt to last a lifetime. Sometimes, I wonder if I would've done things differently if I knew what kind of father John would be to Casey. But, then I remembered: that kind of thinking never got me anywhere.
You know what I'm talking about, don't you? Do you remember? Our night together?
It started off as a party, all of my old friends gathered together at the house. John was away. That was the only way I could have the party. My friends were "too bohemian" for his staid life. Of course, I was too bohemian for him, but I didn't realize that for another few years. Anyway, he was gone, the music was on, and laughter filled the quiet rooms of his respectable mansion. It felt so good to be surrounded by fun and happiness. I felt like myself again. How was it that you ended up being the last one there? You, who always had some glamorous girlfriend hanging on your arm, came alone and I remember being so happy to see you. You had just won some important case and it had been the first time in several weeks that we'd seen each other.
John was gone. I was free. You were victorious. We were on top of the world. We were happy. I talked to you like I used to in the old days, before John. You teased me for still listening to Pet Sounds. We drank too much. I took you into my bed – John's bed – and never looked back. Never regretted it. Not even when I found out a month later that I was pregnant with your child.
As you read this, I'm not blind to the fact that you'll be upset with me. You looked at me, asking, and I shook my head, denying you. Are you asking why? Why I shook my head? If I were you, I'd be asking that.
You loved me. I knew that. But you weren't in love with me. I knew that too.
I knew that you were my baby's father, but I never wanted anyone's pity. If you knew you were my baby's father, you would never have let him be raised by John. You would have insisted I divorce John and marry you. But, your pride would've made that decision, not your heart. And, in time, you would've come to resent it. Me. Maybe even our son. You weren't in love with me. If I was too bohemian for John, I was also too bohemian for you. We would've destroyed each other.
So, I shook my head. I let you go. I stayed with John and raised our son with him.
If you're asking yourself, "Was I really the person Alex just described?", the answer is yes. It's who you were. You were driven, headstrong, and insanely stubborn. I knew I made the right decision when Casey was nearly three. I saw you at the Fourth of July party at the country club. We hadn't seen each other much the last few years. Your career had exploded. I was busy with my toddler. I loved Casey, but I was happy for a night out without him. To be with other adults. It was nice to be dressed up, have a drink in my hand, and have a conversation that didn't involve "Mama", "baba", or endless games of patty cake. You were there with your new girlfriend, a gorgeous brunette whose side you never left. You introduced us and I watched you with Olivia. The way you looked at her. The way you smiled at her. The way she leaned back against your chest, your arms around her as the fireworks exploded above us. The way you lowered your face to her hair, nuzzling her throat.
You loved me, but you were in love with her. And, I knew I was right to shake my head.
Now, I'm dead. John's dead. And, my son – our son – is alone. He's married a lovely girl named Diana and they've got three beautiful children. Can you believe that, Gregory? We've got grandchildren. Casey has his own family. But, we're nothing without our parents. You know that better than anyone. There's something about a parent's love that is different from any other love we have. It's safe. It's comforting. It sustains us.
So, please Gregory, love him. Love him for me. Don't blame him for the decision I made. Don't blame him because I shook my head. Someday, you'll see I was right. Things don't always turn out the way we plan, but they always work out in the end. Always.
And, last…let Casey love you. Because he will. There's so much love in our boy. He has so much heart.
I think he gets that from you.
All my love,
Alex
Casey sighed, wiping his arm across his forehead. The thick Bermuda grass crunched beneath his feet as he walked from the dock up to the house. Nicola, his youngest child, skipped alongside him, her long blonde pigtails swinging merrily. "Daddy," she asked, her pink fishing pole dangling over her shoulder, "can I help clean the fish?"
He shook his head, holding the basket of the fish they caught. "Not today. Today you can just watch. But, I'll teach you when you're older." She was short for her age and he knew she would have trouble holding the heavy knives properly.
She sighed deeply and slowed down, her cheeks puffing out. "Ohhhhkay." She looked up at him, squinting, as she fiddled with the strap of her bathing suit. "Can I help grill the fish then?"
He nodded, grinning down at her. "Sure thing." They walked up to the porch and Nicola passed him her fishing pole before she ran into the house. Allie was laying on the porch swing, bopping her head in time with the music coming out of her ear buds. "Hey!" he called out, standing still as he waited for her to look over. "ALEXANDRA!"
Several moments later, she glanced up, rolled her eyes, and pulled out the right bud. "What?" she asked, staring him down.
"Being grounded means staying in the house," he pointed out.
Another eye roll. "The porch is the house. It's attached."
"Inside. Now." He ignored the way she glared before she pushed herself up and flounced into the house. "And, don't slam the door," he shouted after her, unsurprised five seconds later when she slammed her bedroom door shut.
"Allie slammed the door, Daddy."
He sighed, leaning the fishing poles and net against the door jamb with the basket as he walked into the house. The wood shutters kept out the heat from the Florida sun and the ceiling fans circulated the air throughout the hacienda-style house. "Thank you, Nicola. I heard," he said passing through the living room into the kitchen. He stood at the sink, washing his hands, as Harrison wandered over. "What's up, buddy?"
"Jesse and Tyler are coming over. Can we take the bass boat out?"
He nodded, wiping his hands on the green dishcloth. "No further than the basin," he said and the thirteen-year-old nodded. "Home by six too."
"Six! Aww, man! C'mon, Dad!"
"Six."
"Fine. Whatever," he sighed, shaking his head as he walked off.
He reached into the fridge, grabbed a beer, and leaned against the counter as he cracked it open. No one ever told him and Diana that having two unruly teenagers would make them question their decision to have children. He glanced over at Nicola, who kneeled on one of the stools as she played a game on the tablet. It was probably just a matter of time before she became as ornery as her older sister, but for now, she was still the sweet baby of the family. He sighed, listening to the silence as he gazed at the fridge. An unmatched collection of magnets held up school photos of the kids, artwork, and report cards. The gallery of their lives. His eyes moved up to the corner where a printed copy of the selfie Evy took of them hung.
She pressed against him and held out her arm, her white iPhone in her palm. "Sheesh, you're tall," she giggled as she adjusted the way she held it. But, a moment later, both their faces were captured in the screen and she touched the icon, the image frozen for all time. She looked over at him, her puffy eyes wide. She smiled bashfully and he couldn't help but return the expression.
"Email it to me."
She rolled her eyes as if it was the most pathetic thing she ever heard. "Casey, no one emails anything anymore. I'll tag you on Insta."
"Oh, hey." He looked up as Harrison stood in the doorway, poised to leave. "A package-thing came for you. Allie signed for it." He gestured with his chin to the stack of mail on the kitchen table. "Catch ya later."
"Six o'clock," he called out, choosing to ignore whatever his son swore beneath his breath. He set the bottle on the table as he collapsed into the chair, grabbing the top envelope. He took another long swig of his beer as he ripped it open and dumped the contents on the table. The pale yellow envelope landed face-up on the green table cloth and he sucked in his breath, seeing his name in Mom's handwriting.
"Here, Daddy," Nicola said, tugging on his arm as she carefully held out his ringing cell phone. Gregory's name flashed on the screen and he took the device from his daughter as his head swam. He touched the answer icon and held the phone to his ear. "Gregory," he gasped. "I- I got a letter from Mom."
Olivia brushed the tears from her eyes and looked up slowly. Gregory stood quietly at the foot of the bed, his hands deep in his pockets as he watched her read Alex's letter. With a sigh, she shook her head and forced herself to sit up. "Are you alright?" she asked softly. She patted the bed, unsure what he would do. Nothing was fixed in a week. He wouldn't forgive her betrayal in seven days. Someday. That day was not today. He sighed deeply and finally moved closer to sit next to her on the bed. She watched him closely as their eyes met. He was pale, Alex's letter no doubt jolting his world further from its axis. "Hmm?" she asked, touching his knee.
"She always knew what she was doing," he murmured, his eyes unblinking. She nodded, but said nothing. He chuckled ruefully, one that segued into a long and deep exhale. "She was right."
"Right about what?"
"That we would've destroyed each other."
She broke their stare as she bit the corner of her lip and looked back down at the letter. He ended up destroyed in the end though, didn't he? Only, she was the instrument of destruction, not Alex. The delicate stationery creased within her grip and she cleared her throat as she lay it gently between them. Her vision danced, the vines on the border of the paper blurring as she blinked back tears. "I remember when you introduced us," she whispered. It was on America's Independence Day when she finally met Alex. Though she and Gregory had only been dating for a few months, it quickly became serious. She had all but moved into his apartment at the marina club. She spent every night there. She knew it was only a matter of time before he proposed. With a bashful smile, she looked back at him. "I was afraid of meeting her."
His face turned, confusion rippling across his expression. "Why?"
She shrugged, remembering the way nerves fluttered through her body that night. "I knew she was…special. A friend, but somehow, more."
Gregory watched her for a long moment, saying nothing. Her hand trembled against his knee as his fingers slowly entwined hers. "She liked you the moment she met you," he said quietly, looking down at their clasped hands. A moment later, he chuckled shortly and slowly turned his back eyes up to her. "Said it was about time I settled down."
She inched closer to him, nodding. "She was right," she whispered. She squeezed his hand, getting his attention, as she continued, "If you knew she was pregnant, you would've married her." He sighed and shook his head, even as she nodded. That her own marriage hinged on Alex's decision was not a momentous irony lost on her. We think our decisions are our own. But, really, they are the confluence of other people's actions and decisions that present themselves before us. "Darling," she murmured, "if you knew she was pregnant, you never would've let someone else raise your child." Your son. She inhaled sharply as she continued, "Just-just as you never would've raised someone else's child."
His face fell, that too familiar pain rearing its head. Someday was still a long way from where they sat, fractured and reeling in their bedroom. He shook his head and looked away. She knew he despised predictability, though he himself was a creature of a habit. Nothing annoyed him more than someone telling him what he would've done…especially when it was an accurate prediction. She sniffed and blinked, moving away from that topic, as she asked, "What did Casey's letter say?"
He cleared his throat and she felt the way his hand quaked against hers. "It wasn't much different." He sighed, gazing vacantly at the window. "It gave him the answers he wanted."
"Closure, perhaps?"
He looked over and rolled his eyes. "Closure is a Madison Avenue word," he grunted and she bit back a smile. In that moment, it was the most like himself he sounded in the last seven days.
"Peace, then?"
"I suppose," he murmured as he reached for the letter. She watched as he folded the pages back into thirds and pushed it away. If only everything could be tidied up as neatly. A moment later, he grimaced as he leaned forward slightly, his hand pressed to his lower back. She frowned, hearing the bones of his spine crack and pop. Stress always manifested in his back.
Slowly – with a hint of hesitation – she moved against him as she pressed the heel of her palm into his lower back. She heard him inhale sharply and her lips danced against his left ear as she whispered, "Your back has been killing you for days." He said nothing as he looked over and winced, her hand hitting a tender spot. "Sorry," she said quickly, easing up on the pressure. "Try to relax."
Several seconds went by before he acquiesced. His head came forward before he turned slightly to her. Her left arm was wrapped around the front of his body, holding herself steady, as her right hand fought to soothe the tension flaming through his back. "Do you know that Caity, Sean, and Evy talk to Casey every day?"
He half-glanced up, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. "No."
She nodded, hugging him closer. "Text messages," she explained, her left hand molding to his right shoulder. The setting sunlight caught the diamond of her engagement ring, sending a rainbow of light across the walls and ceiling. "The four of them are on a group chat." He nodded, but said nothing else. It really wasn't that surprising. Caitlin, Sean, and Evy were extraordinarily close. It was only natural they would immediately seek to include Casey. "I suppose he does want a relationship with them after all," she said softly, remembering Caitlin's question from a week ago. "And you."
He sighed and winced. Of course, this was agony for him. The newness of it. The fact that he didn't plan any of this. That it forced him to open up about what he was feeling. Her hand came to a slow stop before she wrapped her right arm around him. That he didn't flinch within her embrace was cause for an internal sigh of relief. She rested her head against his, her lips brushing against his ear. "Time," she whispered. "You just need time." Time to recover from me. Time to come to terms with Casey.
"We need to get away," he murmured, shocking her.
"Away?"
He nodded, reaching up to rub his face as he turned to her. "You and I." Her head went back, stunned into silence. Things were different between them now. They still shared a bed. They still spoke. But, an invisible shift opened between them a week ago. A still moving fault line that caused tension and, more terrifying, pain to flare up at a moment's notice. She began to slowly shake her head, when he reached for her shoulders, squeezing them gently. "We need time."
I do love you. But, I can't- She didn't think she'd ever forget the sound of his broken voice in that moment. Not as long as she lived. She watched him carefully, the thicker grey in his hair giving her pause. Hadn't time away always been the fix for them when they were younger and mutually destructive to each other and their marriage? The boat, Carmel, Palm Springs, the Caribbean... He always whisked her away, refusing to share themselves with anyone, not even the children. She instantly remembered the night she told him she was pregnant with Evy. I won't – I can't – keep talking about this. Not this weekend. Not ever. I just want…a fresh start. How he could will himself into putting all of the pain her affair with Del caused behind him. Behind them. Couldn't her current betrayal be put behind them too? Someday? She nodded slowly and when he smiled back, it reminded her so forcefully of the way he looked when she accepted his marriage proposal that her heart skipped. "Where?" she asked, swallowing hard as his hands traveled down her arms to find her own hands. She laced her fingers through his, squeezing firmly.
"Where do you want to go?"
She didn't even need a moment to think. It was their city. The place where they started their life as husband and wife. The only place that ever meant anything to them. "Florence," she whispered over the crack in her own voice. A moment later, she reached out, wrapping her arms around him. Her eyes closed a moment later when his arms enfolded her as he hugged her back.
Just over ten years ago
Alex sighed and looked down, the end of the pen caught thoughtfully between her teeth. If it wasn't her life, she might have said this was taking the chicken shit way out. Not saying anything face-to-face to either of them. Letting them wonder. Answering the obvious questions – the how, the why. But, if they had other less obvious questions to ask, they'd be waiting for the rest of their lives to get answers. She's not sure she believes in an afterlife. But, if her Catholic mother's stories were right, she hopes to be there at St. Peter's side when Gregory and Casey pass through the heavenly gates. Then, she'll answer all their questions until the end of time.
She folded Casey's letter and slipped it into its envelope. The pen nib scratched against the thick envelope as she wrote out his name, the tail of the Y extended to underline his name. Her lawyer knows when to send them to Gregory and their son. It's for the best this way. Her conscience, which has at time weighed her down at times when she thought of them, finally feels at peace. Time isn't on her side and her body is failing. She doesn't think she'll make it to summer. She'd like to die with the clearest conscience possible.
She pushed both sealed envelopes aside and stood, grimacing as she braced the desk. The pain nearly knocked her over and she closed her eyes, waiting for it to pass. Narcotics only did so much. It wouldn't be long before she'd be attached to an I.V., morphine pulsing through her veins on a regular basis to numb the pain. When the roar in her ears subsided, she opened her eyes and sighed. The Left Bank lay before her, glittering in the afternoon sun. Spring time in Paris was her favorite time of the year. Maybe later, if she could manage it, she would walk along the Boulevard Saint-Germain in the shade of the budding trees.
Casey wanted her to come home, arguing something ridiculous about not trusting French doctors. He wanted her to check herself into a hospital in Miami, where he, Diana, and the children could be close. But, she's not ready. She will be soon, but not yet.
She sighed and reached for her red wine. With these letters written and sealed, her affairs were now in order. There was nothing else to worry about. There was nothing else to fret over. It was like Piaf sang: Mes chagrins, mes plaisirs, je n'ai plus besoin d'eux. She raised the glass to her lips and sighed as she watched herself in the window's reflection. "My troubles, my pleasures, I don't need them anymore," she murmured, her voice nowhere near as lush as Piaf's.
They would have each other.
Her son would still have a parent.
That gave her peace.
A/N: The lyrics – in French and English - are from "Non, je ne regrette rien" (composed by Charles Dumont, lyrics by Michel Vaucaire).
