CHAPTER TWENTY: THE WALLPAPER
The Town
After
I am nervous and sober. It's a terrible yet proudly familiar combination.
I drive out to the beach to pass the time. I drive. Lately I can't get enough and I drive until the gas tank is empty and the day is gone. Today is different.
The rain starts to fall, blurring my windshield, just as I pull into the nearly empty beach parking lot. It's cold, the kind of cold that reminds me I'm alone.
I try not to worry about Wren but it's impossible. All I want to do is worry.
Bella always loved the beach. I used to tell myself I hated it. For the reasons that people hate beaches: the sand and the salt and the sweat. But I was afraid of this place. Because it felt like the end of the earth. And the ocean is more all-consuming than anything I could ever swallow.
A narrow trail leads to the sand dunes that look out at the sea. I take my shoes off, walking barefoot down the winding path. The sand is surprisingly warm despite the gray clouds.
The shore is abandoned, covered with driftwood and broken shells. The waves crash high and loud.
There's nothing quite like watching the sun go down through the cover of storm clouds, overlooking the ocean. The rain hits the waves and immediately disappears into the deep.
Wind and rain in my face, I stare out at sea until it's dark, I'm soaking wet, and I have to go.
I leave with just enough time to get back to the house and get everything ready.
Sitting in my wet clothes, the drive back takes forever. I feel sick, but I can do this. It's a long time coming.
The storm has reached town by the time I get back. Everyone on the road is acting like fucking idiots. Like they've never seen rain before.
I sit in the driveway. Bella loves the way the whole house shakes during a storm. At least she used to.
I want dinner to be ready when she gets here, and I'm running out of time. I make a run for the front porch even though I'm already soaked. The door is unlocked. It's always unlocked.
Dinner in the oven and the table set the best I know how, I shower in the old claw foot tub. I can almost feel her naked body next to me. I don't usually let myself remember, but today is about honesty and I can't help it. I don't want to.
That's not what tonight is going to be. I know that. But I still want her. Like that. And every other way you can want someone who walked away.
And now I'm hard. I can't answer the door that way, so I rub one out in the shower. And I imagine her naked skin like I'm eighteen and living in the country. It feels so fucking good. Until it's over and it's not enough.
I'm dressed. In clothes that should have been ironed. Bella will probably laugh when I answer the door. Our wedding day was the only time she saw me in anything but jeans or work coveralls.
She was supposed to be here five minutes ago. I force myself not to wait by the window. While it's not the same, I think I understand what it felt like for Wren when she waited, nose pressed to the glass. The difference is, Bella is not a junkie. Five minutes late doesn't mean she won't show.
I imagine Wren now, her face pressed to a window somewhere. But I can't think about her. Or I'll lose it.
Thinking about Bella isn't much better. My nerves are my own fear of rejection. For what I'm about to do.
And so I pace.
Jasper says I'm postponing the inevitable. He calls me a coward. He's wrong. He also says that an apology is meaningless unless it's specific. That part, he might be right about. At least I hope he's right. I can't remember the number of times I'm sorry came from my own mouth before I betrayed Bella's trust again and again.
She never once asked me what I was sorry for and it's a good thing because I didn't know.
I don't allow myself to count the seconds. When I hear her tires on the gravel driveway, I feel simultaneous relief and anxiety. But I have to do this.
I open the door before she rings the bell. I don't care if it makes me look over-eager.
"Hi," we say at the same time.
"Nice car," she says, motioning to the hatchback in the driveway.
"Thank you," I tell her, laughing nervously.
"Come in." Inviting her in is strange. This house was always more hers than mine.
We don't hug, even though we do sometimes. This isn't one of those times.
She hasn't stepped foot on these old wood floors since she walked straight out that door three years ago.
She scans the walls, like she's looking for something. Like she knows.
We eat dinner. In the dining room.
"You okay?" she asks.
The truth and the lie both rest on the tip of my tongue. "I want to be."
We drink sparkling water and it feels like we're teenagers on our first date.
"What did you do today?" she asks.
"I, well, I drove out to the beach."
"You hate the beach."
"I know."
She keeps smiling at me. Like I'm funny. I don't know what to say, so I smile back. I want to tell her that she has a beautiful smile, but I don't know how.
I say it anyway. "Your smile is pretty."
Her face turns red and she looks away, but she doesn't stop smiling. A laugh escapes before she covers her mouth.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing is funny."
"Something is funny," I argue, smiling right along with her.
She looks over my shoulder and just when I think she's going to ignore the question, she speaks. "It looks amazing in here. It really does. I just can't believe after all of that work taking down the old wallpaper, you put up more wallpaper."
I'm no longer smiling. Within seconds her expression matches mine.
"I have something to show you."
"Alright," she nods.
She watches me stand from the table and press my palm to the wallpaper.
"Come here?"
She doesn't stand, she just stares at me, and I knew this was a stupid idea. "Please," I ask, my tone softer.
But when she does stand, when she's by my side, I no longer have anything to say.
"There's a loose end you missed," she tells me quietly, motioning to the wall, her expression serious.
"I didn't miss it."
She studies the peeling edge. She's more beautiful than is fair. She'll always be beautiful. She also looks tired. And she has lines at the corner of her eyes when she smiles that never used to be there.
She wears different clothes now. Her hair isn't quite as long as she always had it. She wears no jewelry. None.
I don't know what I would do if I ever saw another man's ring on her finger. I'd like to think I could take it, but I'm not that kind of man. Clean or not, I don't know that I could ever be that kind of man.
"I'm here," Bella exhales as she speaks. And I forgot what we were doing.
I tap the loose edge of wallpaper. "Go ahead, peel it off."
"Edward, it's beautiful. I'm not ripping it down."
"Please."
"Edward..."
I can feel myself unraveling. "You said that the wallpaper was the best part of old houses and you always wanted to peel it off to see what's underneath. You said." I'm too worked up to be embarrassed by my desperation.
She looks like she might cry and that's not what this was supposed to be. "This is different, Edward."
I start picking compulsively at the seam. She probably thinks I'm insane. But I have to do this.
"Okay, okay I'll do it," she concedes.
I exhale, heart racing, as she reaches for the paper. I watch her hands instead of her face. I watch her hands because they don't tell the story of her life. It's only when those hands stop moving, when fingertips press to her lips, that I am brave enough to look at her eyes.
"What is this?" she murmurs, her eyes wide as ever.
"It's a letter."
"Dear Bella?"
"Yeah. Dear Bella."
"Dear Bella, I'm sorry for walking in the middle of the street. I'm sorry..." Her voice catches in her throat.
"You don't have to read it out loud."
I know it by heart. It's all I know anymore.
Dear Bella,
I'm sorry for walking in the middle of the street.
I'm sorry for smoking when I told you I'd quit.
I'm sorry for drinking when I promised I wouldn't.
I'm sorry for the pills you knew nothing about.
I'm sorry for every night I said I'd be home for dinner.
I'm sorry for never taking you to the beach.
I'm sorry for letting you sleep alone in an unlocked house.
I'm sorry for the biggest lie and every one that came before it.
I'm sorry for being a selfish coward.
I'm sorry for refusing to be the man you saw in me.
Most of all, I'm sorry for signing over my parental rights, for missing out on her life and for leaving you to raise your daughter alone.
I haven't figured out how to redeem myself. I'm not asking for you tell me, only to know that I'm trying.
Love,
Edward
I keep my eyes on her even though my instinct is to look away. To hide.
She wipes a tear from her cheek and I don't know if it's good or bad, but it's honest. I can see it in her face.
"You didn't call her our daughter."
No. I didn't. I'm breaking the rules by talking about her at all. But I'm not sorry.
"I don't... You made it very clear that I had no right to."
She bites her lip and looks away. I wish I knew what she was thinking.
"Is that everything?" she wants to know, refusing to look at me.
That's not the response I was expecting. Or the one I was hoping for.
"Yes, I think so. Yes."
"Edward, I..."
"It's a lot to take in." It is. I know it is. I hope she knows that.
I take a step closer without meaning to. I need her proximity. Instead of backing away like I would expect her to, she studies me.
I can remember the way her hair smells and the way her cheek feels against my own.
"You don't have anything else to say to me?" she whispers. I can't stop staring at her mouth. I can remember the way she tastes and the way her lips feel against my pulse.
"I don't know what you want, Bella."
It would be so easy to lean in and kiss her right now. Easy and the most difficult thing I've ever done.
"I want to know if you regret our life."
Of all of the things that I regret, our life is not one of them.
"I am sorry for all that I took, but I won't apologize for loving you, if that's what you're asking."
Her cheeks flush, but she doesn't look away. "Then I won't apologize for that either. I loved every part of you that you gave me." She blinks away a tear. "I used to think that made me weak, but all it really made me was human."
She starts to cry, to really cry, and I act on instinct, pulling her to me.
She holds onto the front of my shirt as I wrap her in my arms, my lips pressed to her hair. It's so easy. And it doesn't feel wrong or contrived or manipulative.
"Tell me what you're thinking, Bella."
"I was protecting her. But now... I'm not sure."
"You're not sure about what?"
"I'm not sure what I'm protecting her from."
It's too much. I know she can feel my body tense.
"Close your eyes," she tells me.
I do as she says.
Just when I think she might kiss me, she speaks. "Edward, what do you see?"
I leave my eyes closed. "I see you."
"Who am I?"
"You're a good mom, Bella." I know it's true. Even without seeing her. I don't let myself think of her as a mother very often.
"Who am I?" I ask even though I'm not sure I want to know how she sees me.
"I don't know."
That's fair.
"I used to be a man who destroyed everything good in his life. I was afraid I had destroyed you too. But I didn't. You didn't let me. You walked away. You were brave. I will always carry that. But I don't have to be that man anymore."
She nods. I want her words. I want her insight and her brilliance. "Tell me what you're thinking, Bella."
"I think that life doesn't have to be such an uphill battle."
"I'm losing the house." I don't know why I say it.
"What?"
"I have to be out by the end of the month."
She shakes her head. Like that will someone make it false. "You put your blood and sweat into this house, Edward." Her face twists as if she's in pain. "Our house..." she trails off.
It's easier to discuss the house than ourselves. I know exactly what I'm doing.
"I know. But Bella?"
"Yeah?"
"I have lost far, far more important things than this house."
She looks at me like she understands, but I'm not sure she could ever understand.
"Losing you and the chance to be in her life is by far my biggest regret."
She takes a step closer. She still makes my heart race and my palms sweat. She makes me want to be someone I never thought I could be.
"It feels like someone else's life when I let myself remember it. Us," she says, almost like it's a plea.
"I know."
"Do you think we can ever let it go? Do you think you can?"
"I'm trying, but it feels like..."
"Like what?"
I press my forehead to hers. It's so familiar. And so new.
"What does it feel like?" she whispers.
There was a time when I would refuse to tell her. There was a time when I had no way of explaining it.
"It feels like rain on the sea."