So Much It Hurts (30 page)

Tearfully, I folded the letters up and stuffed them all back into the hat box. A million thoughts ran through my mind at once. Was I angry? Yes. Was I hurt? Yes. Did I understand why my mom felt the need to protect me? Maybe. Would I do the same for Eli if it came down to it? Probably. Was I planning to say anything to her about it? Nope, not single a word.

I’d made my mind up not to mention it to her. I stuffed the box back into the corner, and once again closed that chapter of my life. Wiping my tears on my sleeves, I stood back up and made my way across the wooden plank floor toward the attic door.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” My mom asked me over her newest Better Homes magazine. She eyed me suspiciously. Assuming my cheeks were streaked with tears, and my eyes were red and puffy, I didn’t really feel like stopping to chat.

“Nah,” I said as I briskly walked toward the front door. “It’s no big deal, though. I’ve probably overlooked it in our garage at home. Thanks anyway, mom.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you later, then,” she said as I stepped out the front door and practically ran to the safety of my car before the waterworks started again.

“Mommy!” Eli cried when I walked in the door. He ran up to me and hugged my legs. “I missed you!” he shouted.

“Awww, sweetie, I missed you too,” I said as I knelt down to return a hug.

“Hey, honey,” Michael kissed me quickly as he grabbed for my suitcase. “We both missed you,” he added.

Michael carried my suitcase to our bedroom while Eli ran around the room, stringing sentences together as quickly as he could, giving me the rundown of his weekend.

“Son,” Michael called from down the hall, “why don’t we let Mommy get fully into the house and give her a minute to breathe first.”

“Okay, Daddy,” Eli said happily and bounded down the hall toward his room. He stopped when he reached his door. “Mommy!” he called to me.

“What, baby?”

“I’m really glad you’re home,” he grinned and then bounced into his room.

My sweet little boy. My reason for breathing.

“So, how was your trip?” Michael asked as he heaved the suitcase onto the bed to be sorted through later.

“It was good,” I said, trying my best to disguise my guilt.

“What did you do?”

“Oh, we just hung out by the pool and the ocean all day, and headed to the bar at night.”

“Do you feel refreshed?” he asked.

“I guess.”

But, I was too late in trying to gulp back the audible sigh that escaped my mouth because Michael asked, “Is something wrong?”

“No, why?”

“I don’t know. You’re just not usually such a woman of few words.”

“I guess I’m just tired. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Are you sure you’re all right?” He seemed genuinely concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lied. “Really. I’ll be fine.” Tears threatened me, but I choked them back and dared them to fall.
Not now! There are too many questions he could ask that I’m not prepared to answer!

I had to let Chris go—move on. My life was here now with Michael and Eli. My chance with Chris had come and gone, and there was nothing I could do to change that. I just had to pick up the pieces of my broken heart and try to live the life I had created with my family. I knew, with a little time and separation, my moments spent with Chris would be another faded memory.

Later that evening while I was unpacking, I found a plastic bag buried deep inside my purse. Curiously, I pulled the bag out to inspect it more closely.

Affliction.

I opened the bag and the black Henley fell out into my hands. Immediately, I held the shirt up to my face and took a deep staggering breath of that familiar musky cologne. Chris must have hidden it there while I was sleeping. I looked down at a CD and the note attached to it that had fallen out of the bag along with the shirt.

Tears streamed down my face as I held the shirt up to my cheek. I inhaled the wonderfully cool and refreshing scent that still lingered on the soft cotton. Swaying back and forth, I remembered the feeling of my cheek as it pressed against the shirt while he wore it, with his warm arms wrapped around me as he hummed softly and gently ran his fingers through my hair. I desperately clung to the loose shirt, refusing to let the sound of his beating heart fade from my memory. Instinctively, I dug through my pockets, searching for a scrap of paper with his phone number written on it. That scrap of paper that had always been there when I needed it in high school. The scrap of paper that always kept me linked to Chris. My hands grappled with my vacant pockets and emerged empty. There was no scrap of paper—no phone number, and no link to Chris. That deep, sinking feeling felt heavy in the pit of my stomach. The knot tightened in my chest.
So, I guess that’s it. He’s gone. I don’t think I can do this!

Michael’s footsteps creaked the hardwood floor as he walked down the hall toward our bedroom and immediately snapped me back to reality. Quickly, I stuffed the shirt, CD, and note back into the bag and hid it at the bottom of my purse again.

Michael poked his head into the doorway. “Honey, I got Eli ready for bed, but he wants you to read him a story.”

Wiping tears and trying to look busy, I said, “Okay, I’ll be there in just a minute.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” I lied. “I’m just tired. You know how emotional I get when I’m tired.”

“Okay,” he said hesitantly. “I’ll go tell Eli you’ll read to him in a minute.”

When Michael was out of the room and down the hall, I rummaged through my purse and pulled the CD out of the bag. The shiny disk reflected two distorted red, tearful eyes. Written on it with a permanent marker were the words:

Carefully, I placed it into the CD player and pressed
play
. The first few chords of the same song he had played for me at the bar began, and immediately the tears spilled out again. Chris’s smooth and hypnotic voice poured softly through the speakers. Hearing his voice again sent shivers down my spine. Oh, how my heart ached for him!

“Mommy!” Eli’s voice jolted me back to reality. “I’m ready for stories and kisses.”

I stopped the music and dried my tears with the back of my sleeve. “Okay, sweetheart!” I answered, my voice wavering with suppressed sobs.

Stuffing the CD along with the note, and his shirt back into the plastic bag, I hid them deep in my closet behind a stack of clothes I hadn’t worn in more than three years. I flipped the light switch and shut the door.
Talk about skeletons in my closet.

“Guess what, Mommy? I picked your favorite book tonight.”

“Yay!” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic as I stepped into Eli’s room. Snuggling up next to him in his bed and reading to him was the best medicine I needed to clear my head.

I knew I needed to shake my weekend with Chris off and get back to reality; my family needed me. A quote from Eli’s favorite movie resonated in my mind about the past being called history and the gift of today being named the
present
.

I looked down at my precious gift lying beside me in his bed. His sweet little face smiled at me, anticipating my hugs and kisses. His adorable blue eyes peeked out beneath the blond curls I had been reluctant to cut. No matter the cost, nothing was worth losing my little family. I wrapped my arm around Eli as he looked at the pictures and told his own make-believe story.

“What’s wrong, Mommy? Why are you crying?”

I smiled at him through my tears. “I just love you so much it hurts.”

“I love you too, Mommy. You’re the bestest mommy ever!”

I looked at him earnestly and spoke with conviction. “You’re the best
present
I could ask for.”

A month and a half had passed since my weekend at the beach with Chris. The more numb my heart became to the raw emotions I had felt the day I said goodbye to him, the more angry I became with myself and what I had done.

I applied my mascara and slammed the tube back down on the counter.

“You slut,” I seethed at my reflection in the mirror. “You’re no better than a two-bit whore. You harlot. You may as well tattoo ‘adulterer’ across your forehead.”

Every day I cooked and cleaned and managed to live with the guilt as if nothing happened, but inside my conscience churned itself into an angry, depressed, guilt-ridden pulp.

“Mommy,” Eli knocked on the bathroom door. “Are you almost done? I need to go potty!”

“I’ll be right out, sweetheart,” I called to him as I turned off my flat iron and put away my make-up bag. “You don’t deserve this family,” I growled at myself in the mirror. The taste of bile burned the back of my throat. I gagged at the thought of it. Turning around just at the nick of time, I retched the contents of my stomach into the toilet.

Three days later I stood in the same bathroom in front of a tiny plastic bathroom cup I had placed in front of me on the counter.

“Oh no. Oh god, no!” I focused on the two lines blazing up at me from the stick I held in my hand. “This can’t be happening.” Pulling another one out of the box, I tried again. “No, no, no, no,” I repeated over and over as if the more I said it would help change the outcome. “This can’t be happening.”