The Color of Hope (The Color of Heaven Series) (15 page)

Eventually, after about three days, Diana finally responded to one of my emails. It arrived in my inbox while I was at work.

Dear Nadia,

Please stop calling and sending emails. I understand that you’re sorry and you regret what happened, but I can’t tell you it’s okay, because it’s not.

Please, just leave me alone.

Diana

The words devastated me. I buried my face in my hands. I wanted to let out a gut-wrenching sob, but there were clients in the waiting area. Somehow I managed to keep it together by tugging a tissue out of the Kleenex box and blowing my nose.

I placed my hand on the mouse at my computer and clicked through to Diana’s Facebook page, just to see a picture of her smiling face, but she had unfriended and blocked me.

There was a part of me that hated her in that moment. Beautiful Diana, who had everything. She had no qualms about punishing me. Shutting me out of her perfect world.

I felt a little queasy, but willed myself not to hate her, and not to lose hope. Maybe someday, she would be able to forgive me. Maybe I just needed to be patient, and give her time to heal, and she would invite me back in. But how long would it take? How many more lost years would there be?

A
MONTH WENT
by, and the holiday season loomed. It was not my favorite time of year, as I had no family to visit, or any nieces or nephews to spoil. I had a few cousins who lived in Arizona – from my adoptive father’s side – but I’d only met them a few times when I was very young. We lost touch after he left us.

Though I did my best to honor Diana’s wishes to be left alone, I secretly hoped she might contact me at Christmas time. Maybe she would send a card. It would have been the most cherished gift I could receive, but we hadn’t spoken since Vegas, and I knew that was unlikely.

I did send a text to Rick after Thanksgiving, to ask if he’d heard from Diana, or if he knew when she planned to return to her job in LA. He texted me back and told me that she’d arranged to have all her things from the apartment shipped home to Bar Harbor, and as far as he knew, she had taken an extended leave of absence from work.

I prayed she was okay. It killed me to think that I had ruined her life, and that she despised me. Sometimes my regret was so agonising, I would curl up in a ball, as if someone had plunged a knife into my stomach.

In those dark moments, I struggled to remember what Rick said to me one night – that I was a survivor – and I clung to that belief. I also clung to the hope that something good would happen –
anything
– and my future would eventually take on a brighter hue.

I wasn’t certain what my future held, but it seemed impossible that I could be dealt any more luckless, crappy hands. There had to be some balance in the universe. Surely.

A week before Christmas, while I was at work, waiting to go on lunch break, a well-dressed gentleman in a black wool overcoat entered the reception area and approached the desk. It took me a few seconds to recognize him, but as soon as I did, my hands clenched into fists.

“Hi Nadia,” he said with a smile.

“What do you want?” I quietly asked, because I wasn’t proud of the nature of our acquaintance.

Richard – the blind date who had taken me out to dinner and attacked me in a dark alley – set a glittery Christmas gift bag on the high granite counter that stood between us. “I brought you something.”

“Whatever it is,” I replied, “I don’t want it.

He nodded, as if he’d been expecting me to say that. “I can’t blame you. But that’s why I’m here – to apologize for how I behaved when I took you out.”

“Apology accepted,” I said flatly. “Now you can leave, and take the gift with you.”

“Please...” He tilted his head to the side. “It’s just a Christmas cookie from the bakery down the street. I’m not trying to cause trouble. I just want to tell you how sorry I am. I was a jerk that night, and you didn’t deserve to be treated that way.”

I felt my brow furrow suspiciously as I stared at him across the countertop.

When I still made no move to accept his gift, he buried his hands in his pockets. “I’ve been going to AA,” he explained. “After what happened with you that night, I knew I had to make some changes. I didn’t want to end up like my dad.”

“Oh.” My shoulders relaxed slightly, and I felt obligated to at least give him
some
encouragement, because I couldn’t forget how many times my mother begged my father to get help – but he always refused. She told me that if he had gone to AA, we probably would have stayed together as a family. But it was too much for my father. He didn’t want anything to get in the way of his drinking, not even his wife and daughter.

“That was a wise decision,” I said to Richard. “How is it going?”

He cocked his head from side to side. “Some days are easier than others, but I’m determined. I haven’t had a drink since that night I took you out, so I’m also here to thank you – and your friend – for knocking some sense into me.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “He did do quite a number on you.”

“So did
you,”
Richard said. “What was it you said to me? Oh yes... ‘I hope the rats eat you.’”

I grinned sheepishly, then took the gift bag from the counter, pulled out the red and green tissue paper, and withdrew a giant frosted sugar cookie wrapped in clear cellophane. It was a Victorian styled Santa Clause.

“This is a work of art,” I said, in awe of the detail in the frosting. “I couldn’t possibly bite into it.”

“Sure you could,” Richard replied. “The baker would want you to enjoy it.”

I gave him a doubtful look and carefully placed the cookie back in the bag. “Thank you.”

Ida, the office manager, came through the door just then. “Sorry I’m late. I got stuck at the photocopier, but please take your full hour.”

“Are you going to lunch?” Richard asked me, as I bent to grab my purse from under the desk.

“Yes.”

“Can I treat you? I was just going to grab a sandwich myself.”

I wasn’t sure about this. Just because he was going to AA didn’t mean he could be trusted.

“I’m just going to the deli downstairs,” I told him. “Then I have some errands to run.”

“Oh, no problem,” he replied with disappointment. “Could we at least ride the elevator together?”

As we walked out of the office lobby, I made an effort to sound cheerful. “Sure.”

Boston

Diana

“
T
HANKS FOR COMING
in, Jackie,” I said as I escorted my client out of my office. “Since this is uncontested, everything should move through the system fairly quickly.”

I wished all divorces were as cordial as Jackie’s. She and her husband had agreed to split everything straight down the middle, including the proceeds from the house, which they had recently sold. There were no children involved, therefore no custody issues to fight about.

But still... It was the breakdown of a five-year marriage, and not without its share of pain.

As I returned to my desk and sat down, I tried to remember why I’d specialized in this area of the law. In the beginning – when I was fresh out of law school – I’d wanted to help people through a difficult time as quickly and smoothly as possible, be their advocate, and share with them my hope and optimism about the future.

Unfortunately, the longer I practiced, the more jaded I became. Conflict and bitterness surrounded me on a daily basis, and after what happened to me in LA, I suddenly understood that a messy divorce could happen to anyone, even me. My parents might enjoy a happy, successful marriage, but that didn’t make me immune to disappointment, or safe from disaster. Anything could fall apart, unexpectedly, at any time.

Nevertheless, since returning to the east coast and leaving my high-paying job in LA, I made a sincere effort not to fixate on the ugly events of my recent past.

Not that I didn’t suffer, moan, and complain when I landed there. Oh, I did plenty of
that
in the first four weeks. I had retreated to my childhood home in Bar Harbor – which belonged to my parents, who spent most of their time in Washington, DC. I did nothing but go to yoga class, eat ice cream, and laze around in sweat pants. Then, I woke up one morning, looked at my pathetic reflection in the mirror, and said, “Diana, get a grip.”

A few days later, I contacted a college friend who had recently opened her own law practice in Boston, and she invited me to join her as an associate until I figured out what to do with the rest of my life. So off I went. I packed my things and found a red brick, colonial revival townhouse to rent in Beacon Hill. I also hired an experienced executive assistant to work with me at the practice. Her name was Marion and she was a lovely, compassionate woman, happily married for forty years.

Marion entered my office and placed a file on my desk. “Do you need anything else before I go?” she asked.

I checked my watch. “Is it 5:00 already?”

“Sure is,” she replied. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

I smiled. “See you tomorrow, Marion.”

A few minutes later, I heard the outer door close, and it grew quiet in the office. Kicking off my heels under the desk, I lounged back and swiveled around in my big leather chair to look out the window at the boats in Boston Harbor.

“No regrets,” I said to myself, pleased to be home.

Then my cell phone vibrated on my desk, and I swiveled back around to answer it.

“
H
I
B
ECKY
,” I said. “What’s up?”

Becky called often to chat, even when I was at work, but on that particular day, the hesitation in her voice alerted me to the fact that something was wrong.

“Have you been talking to Adam?” she asked.

My stomach turned over with dread. “No, why? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” she said.

There was a long pause, and I couldn’t take the suspense. “What is it? Tell me.”

She took a deep breath. “We weren’t sure if we should tell you this, but in the end, we thought it best if you knew.”

“Knew what?” By this time, my heart was pounding like a drum.

“Nadia’s pregnant.”

All the air sailed out of my lungs, and I leaned back in my chair. “Oh God. Is it Rick’s?”

“Yes.”

The walls felt like they were closing in around me. “How did you find out?”

She cleared her throat, and I knew it wasn’t easy for her to deliver this news to me. Nevertheless, she forged ahead.

“Believe it or not, Nadia and I are still Facebook friends,” Becky explained. “She doesn’t post on my wall or anything, and I certainly don’t send her messages, but I assume she creeps my page just like I creep hers. Every once in a while, I check to see what she’s up to.”

“I didn’t think they were even together,” I said, still reeling with shock. “The last time I looked at Rick’s page – and that was about a month after Vegas – he was dating a bunch of different women. It looked to me like he was enjoying the single life.”

“I’m sure he was,” Becky replied, “but apparently, he and Nadia hooked up again last spring.”

I shut my eyes and covered my forehead with my palm.

Becky continued to explain what she knew. “I only saw it a few days ago – the status update where she announced she was pregnant. A bunch of friends congratulated her.”

“I didn’t think she had any friends.” It was a nasty remark, definitely below the belt, but I was still so angry with her.

“Well,” Becky replied, “keep in mind these are Facebook friends. She has thirty-two of them. Anyway, when I saw that, I nearly had a coronary. Her relationship status said single, so I didn’t know who the heck the father was. I knew she had been dating some other guy for a while, but then she ended up back with Rick.”

“How can you be sure it’s Rick’s baby?” I asked. “Maybe it’s the other guy’s.”

Becky paused. “I was curious about that too, so I called Adam. As soon as we hung up, he picked up the phone and called Rick, and got the full scoop, every last detail, from start to finish.”