A Girl's Guide to Moving On (30 page)

“Smart girl.”

Shawntelle rose from behind her desk. “I think that's Rocco rolling in now.”

“Thanks,” I said, and finished off the water. I tossed the plastic bottle into the recycling container and walked out of the office and into the parking lot.

Rocco must have had a premonition, because he didn't smile when he saw me. He climbed out of the tow truck and walked toward me. The wind was cold, but the chill I felt had nothing to do with the weather.

“Nichole?”

“Do you have a minute?”

“Sure.” He started toward the office, expecting me to follow.

“It would be best if we could do this privately,” I said, and already my voice had started to tremble.

“All right.”

I felt him distancing himself from me emotionally and I had yet to tell him the reason why I was here. Looking around the yard, I bit down on my lower lip. I'd lost count of the number of times Rocco had taken Owen out driving trucks. Owen sat on Rocco's lap and Rocco let my son steer while Rocco discreetly kept his hands low on the wheel. Owen was going to miss Rocco as much as I would.

Rocco led me into one of the empty garage bays.

“What's up?” His eyes bore into mine.

I couldn't look at him, so I focused on the concrete floor. “I've been doing a lot of thinking lately and I feel it might be a good idea if we didn't see each other for a while.”

My words were met with silence until I couldn't bear it any longer and looked up. Rocco didn't show any emotion one way or another. He didn't try to argue with me, didn't ask questions. He seemed completely accepting of my decision. In fact, he said nothing.

The silence between us was terrible. “I'm sorry,” I whispered, not knowing what else to say.

“Basically you're saying you want to take a break.”

I nodded.

“No.”

“No?” I asked, and blinked.

“We're done.”

The complete lack of emotion on his part shook me. I was stunned with disbelief. “That's all you have to say?”

“Did you want me to beg you to reconsider? Is that what you want?” His eyes were hard and cold.

“No,” I whispered, hardly able to get the word out.

“Do you think this surprises me?”

I didn't know how to answer.

“I have been more or less waiting for you to break it off from the beginning, but especially after last Friday.”

He thought this had to do with what I'd learned about him: his one-woman, one-night policy. That so wasn't the case, but I couldn't tell him otherwise.

I fought back the urge to argue, but he apparently didn't want to hear it anyway.

“You said what you came to say. Now go. Get out of here.”

All I could do was stare at him.

“Leave,” he said, forcefully.

The anger in him caused me to take two steps in retreat.

“Get the hell out of my life,” he blared.

I blinked. “Go,” he demanded. “Just go.”

I walked over to my car and stood there feeling bewildered, bereft, and alone. Five minutes must have passed before I found the strength to open my car door.

A terrible commotion took place behind me. I knew it had to be Rocco. He had remained in the garage. I flinched as I heard something crash. The sound was followed by another and then another. Each discordant crash made me jerk.

As I drove away the sense of loss was nearly overwhelming. Numbness had settled into my bones. I don't know how I got through the heavy traffic of Portland's downtown area or even how I managed to drive home. The next thing I knew I was in my parking space at the apartment complex with no memory of how I'd gotten there.

Again I sat in my car for several minutes while the dead feeling in my heart kept me immobile. I hadn't known what to expect from Rocco, but it hadn't been that cold, hard resolve of acceptance, as if not seeing me again was of little consequence.

Nichole told me about her meeting with Jake and I had to say I was furious. I should have guessed he was hiding something when I'd talked to him last Sunday. He knew Rocco was no threat to Nichole or Owen. To suggest otherwise was a new low for my son. I needed to cool off before I talked to Jake, but when I did, he was going to hear my opinion loud and clear. I'd done my best to stay out of affairs between the two, but this time I couldn't keep quiet.

My bigger concern was Nichole. She was heartsick, and frankly, I was worried about her. It was as if she were living in a fog. When she'd first learned about Jake's infidelity she'd been angry and smart. One of the first things she did was call a college friend who was an attorney. She found out exactly what she needed to do to protect herself financially. I admired how she'd taken control of the situation and how she'd handled herself. I'd witnessed plenty of emotion in her then. She'd been crushed, but she knew how to take care of herself.

Not so now. It was as if she was wandering waist-deep in regret. How she managed to teach and maintain her daily schedule was beyond me. I tried to talk to her several times, but she just stared into the distance. I sincerely doubted she even heard me.

Sean and I had set up a visit to the funeral home on Friday afternoon to make the arrangements for his burial. Apparently, it wasn't as simple a process as Sean had made it sound. Most likely he didn't understand everything himself.

Nikolai was still not happy about me doing this, but I promised I'd connect with him as soon as we were finished.

I called him before I headed to Lake Oswego.

“You call as soon you finish, okay?” Nikolai asked.

“I will.”

“You remember you with me now.”

“I remember,” I said, hoping that would be enough to reassure him.

“I wait to breathe till you call.”

I couldn't imagine what he thought might happen. It wasn't like I would be so overwhelmed by Sean's sad news that I'd agree to marry him again. That was so unlikely that I nearly laughed out loud.

I met Sean at the house. He'd only been back to work that week and wasn't working full days. From what he said, it was unlikely he'd ever return full-time. Sean wanted to work long enough to get his accounts in order before he handed them off to the new person assuming his position. I knew it was hard for him to talk about his lack of a future, so I avoided the subject.

Sean answered the door and I could see that the house was in disarray
again
. I'd talked to a cleaning service that came with excellent recommendations and sent them out to clean.

“Thank you for this,” he said, sounding more reserved than I could ever remember. “I can't tell you how much I appreciate you going with me, Leanne. I don't know that I could ever have managed it alone.”

I looked around the house. “The cleaning service didn't work out?”

“No, unfortunately.”

“What happened?”

He shrugged and looked chagrined with himself. “I was having a bad day. One of the workers broke my favorite coffee cup and in a fit of anger I fired them.” He looked away, as if embarrassed. “It was stupid of me. I regretted it almost right away and called the service back and apologized.”

“What did they say?”

“Just that it didn't look like I was a good fit for them. Can't say I blame them; I behaved badly.”

He impressed me with his willingness to admit he'd been wrong and the fact that he'd regretted blowing up at the work crew. I'd done my best for him. I wasn't going to look for another cleaning service. As Nikolai was quick to remind me, Sean was fully capable of finding one on his own.

“You could always ask Barbara to tidy up for you,” I teased.

A stricken look came over Sean. “You know about Barbara?”

“And Candace and Susan. Jake mentioned them.”

His face fell and he looked away. “As soon as Barbara heard about the cancer she quit taking my calls. Guess she isn't interested in dating a dying man.”

That said a lot about the women my ex chose to associate with. “I'm sorry to hear that.” I deserved a reward for not reminding him about the other women he'd paraded through his life before and after the divorce.

When it was time to go, Sean set the security code and we walked to the car. It was best that I drive. As soon as we were seated and comfortable, I asked him, “Everything okay between you and Jake?”

Once again he looked uncomfortable. “Mostly.”

“I think he's in denial about your cancer.”

Sean agreed, his eyes sad. “I got that impression. He hardly checks in on me these days. If he doesn't see or talk to me, then he won't need to face the fact that I won't be around much longer.”

I suspected Sean was right. Avoidance was something Jake had inherited from his father.

Sean had chosen a funeral home several miles from Lake Oswego. I assumed he'd want one closer to the area in which he lived. He gave me directions and explained.

“I looked at several cemeteries online and chose this one because it has a beautiful view of the water.”

I frowned, wondering why he would consider that an important criterion. To remind him he wouldn't be able to enjoy that view would have been unkind, so I didn't, although I was tempted.

We arrived in plenty of time for the appointment. The funeral director met us and led us both into his office. As we sat there discussing the details of Sean's funeral and burial I felt myself starting to get emotional. It was like the reality of it all hit me in the face. This was no joke; Sean was dying.

This man I had once loved with all my heart would soon be gone from my life in a way that brought me pain, an emotion I hadn't expected. Oh, we had our issues and had for years. I'd divorced him. I hadn't lived with him in more than two years, but I'd never wished this on him.

What surprised me most was how accepting Sean was of his demise. He chose a particular financial plan that was a little above the average, but not much. When we finished going over a number of options, flowers, music, and a dozen other minute details I'd never considered, we were led into a room where the caskets were displayed.

Sean ran his hand over the mahogany one and I noted that all the blood had drained from his face. For a moment I thought he might faint. I wrapped my arm around him and he thanked me with a weak smile. “This one is fine,” he whispered.

“Would it be all right if we finished this up at a later date?” I said. “My husband is weak. I need to get him home.”

“Of course, of course. Call when you can and we'll schedule another appointment.”

“Thank you.” I led Sean out to the car and helped him inside.

He waited until I was sitting beside him before he spoke. He reached for my hand and clenched it to the point of pain. “Thank you,” he whispered brokenly, and I knew he was thanking me for more than helping him this afternoon.

“I never deserved you,” he added, and I swear I could hear tears in his voice.

I started back to Lake Oswego and I kept a close watch on Sean. He leaned his head against the passenger window and closed his eyes. “You called me your husband,” he whispered.

“You were for thirty-five years.”

“Thirty-four.”

I found it amazing he would remember such a small detail. “All right, thirty-four years and seven months.”

When we reached the house, I helped Sean inside. He leaned heavily on me and I was afraid to leave him alone. “Can I get you anything?” I asked.

“I'm cold,” he whispered.

“I'll get you an afghan,” I said, until I remembered that I had taken the best one with me when we divorced. Sean was so rarely home he'd never used it. I found another in the hall closet. Unfolding it, I spread it over him and tucked it around his shoulders. “Better?” I asked.

He smiled and thanked me.

“When was the last time you ate?” I asked.

He looked terribly tired. “This morning.”

I was afraid of that. I went to the refrigerator and brought out the eggs I'd purchased Thanksgiving Day, along with bread and butter. I had the pan on the stove when Sean stopped me.

“Please don't.”

“You haven't eaten, Sean. You need something in your stomach. It isn't any wonder you're weak and pale.”

“Nikolai…he wouldn't want you to do this.”

The reminder caught me up short. I'd promised Nikolai that I wouldn't cook or clean for Sean again, but these were extenuating circumstances.

“He'll just have to deal with it,” I said, cracking the eggs against the side of the bowl.

“I don't want to cause trouble between you two.”

“You won't.” And he wouldn't. I'd make sure of that.

I fixed Sean an omelet and set it on a tray in front of his recliner, along with a glass of orange juice and two slices of buttered toast. Sean ate as if he was ravenous. When he finished I washed the dishes I'd used. It seemed a little ridiculous to ignore everything else in the sink.

By the time I finished loading the dishwasher there was a full load. I started it and washed by hand the pans that didn't fit inside, and then wiped down the kitchen countertops.

When I looked over at Sean he was sound asleep. I imagined his body needed the rest. I didn't want to disturb him. I knew it might be a while before he would eat again. One of his favorite meals, beef Stroganoff, was cooked in the Crock-Pot. Checking the freezer, I saw that he had the meat and I found the other ingredients in the cupboard. I assembled everything and set the Crock-Pot on low. Sean would be able to make several dinners out of this and it had been nothing for me to get it going for him.

I was about to sneak out and let him sleep when I saw that the living room wasn't so much a mess as I'd first thought. Newspapers and mail were carelessly set about, but that was mostly it. I took care of the papers and then fluffed up the pillows. Once I got started it seemed silly to stop. By the time I left the house I'd changed his sheets and cleaned the bathroom, too.

Not until I started back to Portland did I remember that I'd promised to call Nikolai. I knew he would be upset with me, but I didn't dare use my cell while driving. I'd waited this long, a few more minutes wouldn't matter.

When I arrived at my apartment building, I was shocked to see Nikolai pacing the foyer.

“Nikolai, what are you doing here?” I asked, hardly knowing what to think.

“We talk serious,” he said, his eyes dark and brooding. We rode the elevator up together. As soon as we entered my apartment, he turned to me. His eyes were like a laser beam focused directly on me. “Why you not answer your phone? I call and call and you no answer.”

I grabbed the phone out of my purse and remembered I'd put it on silent when we'd gone in to talk to the funeral director. “I'm so sorry,” I said and explained.

“What take you so long? You say two hours, maybe three. You gone almost seven.”

Had it really been that long? Apparently so. “Sean was tired and hadn't eaten, so I made him an omelet…”

“You cook for him?” Nikolai's eyes widened. “You promise you not do that again.”

“I know, but Nikolai…”

“It not take so many hours for you to cook eggs.” He grabbed hold of my hands and looked down at them. His eyes widened. “You clean, too. You become maid to this man when you promise me you not do this.”

He was right. I knew he was right. “Have a little compassion, Nikolai,” I said, not wanting to argue with him. “Sean is sick. He's growing weaker by the day.”

He glared at me as if seeing me for the first time, taking in the pleading look in my eyes. I don't know what he saw that made him retreat a step. A stricken look came over him. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. It took a second attempt before he was able to utter the words. “You still love him.”