Fears and Scars (21 page)

P
acking everything isn’t easy
. This has been my life for almost five years, and pain jabs me with every closing of a box and zipping of suitcases.

Saying goodbye to Nina—my dearest friend, the sister I never had, a person who has been there for me for the last four years—sucks big time. At the airport, we both look like complete messes, hugging, crying, laughing, and promising the distance won’t affect our friendship. I know it won’t be long before I see her again. Nina plans to visit her father next month, and I secretly hope she’ll move to L.A. for good sometime soon. With Mr. I-am-a-master-at-fulfilling-any-secret-plan aka, Ryan Price on my side, I’m sure we’ll come up with something.

The fifteen hour flight I take alone from Moscow to Seattle isn’t easy. I grip the armrests, close my eyes, and imagine my future in New York.

Sitting in a cab in front of my childhood home makes me realize that the hardest part is still ahead of me.

Once upon a time, this place wasn’t empty; it was full of love and laughter.

The cab driver clears his throat, sensing my hesitation. “Is this the right address?” he asks over his shoulder.

My eyes meet his in the mirror. “Yes. I just need a moment.”

“I can step outside to make a call. Is that what you need?”

“That would be perfect. Thank you.” I smile at him, thankful for the privacy.

“No problem, sunshine. We’re on your dime.”

As soon as he’s out of the car, I dial Ryan; he answers on the first ring.

“Hey, baby.” His husky voice slides into my ear.

“Hey.”

“Are you in the house already?”

“I’m still in the cab.” I don’t offer any explanation, because I know he understands everything perfectly.

“It must be tough. I should have come with you.”

“I need to do this alone. For me. For us.”

“Look, I get it, but it’s hard for me. I’m your … man, and it’s my responsibility to protect you.”

I smile at his sweetness, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by me that he doesn’t call himself my husband like he did before the breakup. He hasn’t done it once since we got back together and it hurts a little.

“You can’t protect me from something that already happened, Ryan, and I know if you were here, you’d have done everything you could to make it all better. But I need this. I need closure, to turn this page of my life and be done with it.”

“You make it sound easy, Liz, but it isn’t.”

“It
is
easy. I’ll visit my parents’ graves tomorrow, then decide what to do with their things, and try to find some peace while doing all that.”

“I do hope everything will go as planned, but what if you don’t find what you came for?” His voice holds the slightest undercurrent of desperation.

“Ryan, I’m coming to you no matter what,” I answer with complete confidence. He has nothing to worry about. “We won’t be apart for long this time. It’ll take just a couple of days. I promise.”

“Okay. And if you need me, just call or text.”

“I should go inside now.”

“Are you sure?” he asks sensing my hesitation.

“I … I was just thinking. I’m such a fool. Deep down I hope Mom and Dad will be there when I step inside. Sometimes I close my eyes and wish I was seventeen again.”

I listen to his deep exhale. “I wish it was just a nightmare with all my heart, baby.”

“But we wouldn’t have met then.”

“Oh, we would.” I hear the smile in his voice. “You are mine, Liz. We’d have met no matter what. I’d be in Seattle on business and you’d be at college, running late for class, and you’d bump into me. The gentleman I am, I’d help you gather your books and notes, and you’d fall in love with me as soon as you’d look into my eyes.”

I can’t stifle the sarcastic chuckle that escapes my lips. “God, Ryan. You’re so hilariously full of yourself. You need to spend less time with Mark. He’s rubbing off on you.”

“But you love my eyes,” he protests with seriousness.

“I love your forest eyes, but there’re so many holes in your story, mister,” I answer him, laughing. “What would you be doing on a college campus in Seattle? Why would I stop to stare into your eyes if I were in a hurry? I have eyes too, you know, and I’m not clumsy, which means I wouldn’t even bump into you in the first place.”

“Oh, baby, it would happen. It’s romantic.”

“Our first meeting wasn’t romantic at all,” I protest.

“I’m just trying to make you laugh, to distract you, Liz. I can only imagine how difficult it must be for you to go back to your childhood home.”

“It is. It’s so damn hard. My driver must think I’m losing my mind.”

“I should have sent a car for you.”

“I don’t need a car, Ryan. I’m okay. I’m ready to go inside now.”

“I’m so glad you called me, baby. I’m here. You can talk to me while you—”

“No, Ryan.” I stop him. “I can do it. You’re the best, you know that, right?” I say, meaning every word.

“Just come to me whether you find your peace or not.”

“I will,” I vow. “Love you and talk to you later.”

It takes me another ten minutes to gather the courage to get out of the car. The driver hands me my suitcase and shuts the door before hopping back in the car.

The tidy sidewalks, huge ancient trees that line the road, kids on bikes, and the brick exterior of my two-story childhood home are all so familiar, yet foreign. I know I thought I needed to do this alone, but I really wish Ryan was here right now.

With one deep breath after another, I slowly walk up the sidewalk and climb the stairs. My palms sweat as I unlock the front door.

Holy shit. It’s like being transported back to when I was seventeen.

Everything is exactly the way I left it. My parents’ stuff is untouched like they are expected home at any minute. The only difference is the smell. There is no delicious aroma from Mom’s cooking. No trace of the lavender candles she liked so much.

I wander farther into the house, and memories bombard me with every step. Dad helping me with homework. Mom teaching me to cook. Our movie and ice cream nights.

My gaze travels over the family pictures splashed across the walls, and a flash of wild grief grips me. There will be no new photos with Mom and Dad, no new memories. Nothing can soothe the pain of living without them. Nothing.

God, their death feels like it happened yesterday. The pain, the sorrow, the sadness is swallowing me.

I lean against the nearest wall and shut my eyes, holding back the tears.

I need to get out of here. I can’t be here. It’s too much.

All those therapy sessions I had may have helped me deal with the grief—to accept it—but being here opens my old wounds all over again. The loss is new and raw and seems so real.

Dad’s words come to my mind, ‘You’re the toughest cookie I know.’

“I’m so not,” I say out loud.

Besides, if he really thought that, why did he hide the truth about the adoption from me?

Needing to feel closer to him, I wander into his study and stare at his diplomas displayed proudly on the walls next to rows of books. The photograph of me and Mom sits front and center of Dad’s mahogany desk. I run my palms over the armrest of the worn black leather chair and plop myself on it, feeling exhausted.

The chair still makes the same squeaking sound when I swivel it. I can’t help but smile. A memory flickers in my mind—I was six or so when Mom bought the chair as a present for Dad. In my childish opinion it was a monstrosity that lacked color and personality. Secretly, I made three dozen red and pink paper flowers and glued them to the chair. Scratch that; I tried to glue them. The end result was awful. The glue didn’t want to stick to the leather, and in the end, the whole chair was a mess of glue and smashed paper flowers. I still remember the horror in Mom’s eyes when she walked into the study. But Dad was cool. He smiled and told me the chair looked really
progressive
, but unfortunately couldn’t stay that way since it’s more of a princess theme, and I was too little for such a big chair. His argument seemed reasonable to a six-year-old. A fairy must have worked at the upholsterers in order to reverse the mess I made.

Feeling a little lighter from the memory, I think it may be the time to take a shower and a little nap. The long flight whipped me.

I send Ryan a message telling him I’m okay, but I’m interrupted by the doorbell. Strange. It must be my man trying to surprise me. Nobody else knows I am here.

When I open the front door, Caroline Young’s deep blue eyes meet mine.

She looks just as I remember—petite with a great complexion and a big smile. Her brown hair is curled in the same shoulder-length bob that she’s worn since they moved next door. Even though I notice the lines are more pronounced around her eyes and mouth, Caroline is the kind of woman who doesn’t show any sign of the passing years.

“Ellie,” she says, stepping forward and pulling me into her arms. “I can’t believe my eyes. You’re really here. I saw the lights and wanted to check on the place.” Overcome with joy, she squeezes me so tight I can barely breathe. “I’m so glad to see you, honey.”

“Me too,” I murmur, trying my best to keep all my emotions at bay. I’m so happy to see her, but sorrow and sadness seem to fill me to the brim, and I don’t know how to contain all of them.

Caroline keeps her hands on my shoulders when she steps back. “Why didn’t you stop by?”

“I just arrived and wasn’t sure you were home.”

“Come on, it looks like you need a break. Let’s have some tea. There may be some pie if Samuel hasn’t eaten it all. I swear that man’s hungry all the time. And the older he gets, the weirder his eating habits are.”

My grin spreads from ear to ear as I listen to Caroline. I remember David’s stories how his father was a night owl and liked to work at night. David’s mom always seemed to wake up when her husband was having his midnight snack.

“Samuel’s working late tonight,” Caroline informs me as we make our way to their house next door. “And David’s in D.C. on a business trip. He has his own apartment close to the firm now, but he probably told you when he was in Moscow, right?”

“Yeah, he did,” I answer her as she ushers me inside her house and into the kitchen.

“Okay, come sit. Make yourself comfortable and tell me all about your life in Moscow.”

I lower myself into one of the chairs as Caroline busies herself preparing tea.

For the next half an hour or so, I savor her delicious apple pie and fill her in on the last four years of my life minus the drama and my problems with grief. Telling her about Ryan is a bit uncomfortable since she’s my ex-fiancé’s mother, but I don’t want to hide things either. She was one of my mother’s closest friends, after all.

“Wow. Seems like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Yeah,” I admit, mindlessly tracing the rim of my mug. It feels like I lived in Seattle a lifetime ago.

“So what are your plans now? How’s your grandmother?”

Fresh grieve climbs up my spine. “Granny passed away in September.”

“Oh, Ellie. I’m so sorry. I had no idea, honey. My condolences.”

“Thank you. It’s okay. I should have called David,” I say but don’t mean it. I still blame him for a lot of things, mostly for how I found out about my parents. If it weren’t for him, Ryan might have made different choices, and I wouldn’t have been heartbroken all those months without him.

“I understand you had a lot on your plate. So you decided to return?”

“No. I’m here to pack Mom and Dad’s things. I’m selling the house. Then, my plan is to go to New York. I’ve been taking some on-line and off-line courses. Hopefully, one of the local colleges will accept my transcripts.”

“Looks like you have it all figured out.”

It warms my heart to see real happiness for me shining in Caroline’s eyes.

“I wish I did. Looks can be deceiving. I just wish Mom and Dad were here.”

“Oh, Ellie. They may be gone, but they’ll always live in our hearts, in our memories, but most of all, they’ll live in you, sweetie. Your parents loved and cherished you so much. They planted the seeds of themselves in your heart. I see so much of them in the woman you’ve become. I see your mom’s kindness and sweetness, and your dad’s strength and wisdom. And your parents’ openness. I’m so glad you didn’t lose the ability to wear your heart on your sleeve.”

“I miss them so much, Caroline,” I admit. My eyes sting as tears threaten to spill, my throat tight with emotion.

“I miss them too, honey. You can’t imagine how many times I remember something random about them. Like how your mom would ask me for the same recipes a thousand times, and it drove me crazy. Or how she would always tell me to change the color of these curtains.” She points to the beige curtains behind us. “That’s the reason I still keep them. It made me sad at first, but then Samuel helped me realize it’s something I should treasure. Your mom and dad weren’t only the best friends we could wish for. To me, Lily was the sister I never had, and for Samuel, Garret was a brother. So don’t let sadness cloud those memories. And when you remember them, smile. I’m sure you still ask your parents for advice, don’t you? You ask yourself ‘What Mom or Dad would say?’” When I nod, she goes on, “Let them live inside you the way they deserve.”

Tears well in my eyes with her words. She’s so right. Suddenly, I realize I need to ask her the question that won’t leave me alone.

“Why didn’t they tell me about the adoption?” As soon as this one leaves me mouth, others follow. “Did they think I was too weak to know the truth? That I would love them less or something? I have so many questions, Caroline.”

“Oh, honey … I’ll try to answer the ones I can,” she reassures me, leaning back in her chair. “Your mom … She wanted to be a mother so very much. Your parents tried and tried. And a bit of hope left them each time. Before we moved here, Lily and I weren’t as close as our husbands, but I remember how your parents visited us in Washington. When your mom saw me pregnant with David, Ellie, I’ve never seen so much longing before.” Her eyes glossy, she reaches out and clasps my hand in hers. “Anyway, your parents decided to adopt, and Samuel was going to help them. The agency they used found a pair who was willing to give them their child.”