“You okay?” Wyatt asks when he sees me come inside.
“Yes. I’m okay. I’m going to run upstairs for a moment.”
“Okay. I’m going to walk my parents to the car. I’ll be right back.”
I nod and continue on upstairs. I sit on the bed for a minute and, finally, I can catch my breath. My heart is still beating uncontrollably fast like I’d just ran a nonstop mile. I don’t really know how to feel. I mean, how do you get over something like this? How do I truly forgive and forget what his mother did to us? How could I look at her without thinking about that one time…?
I hear Wyatt jogging upstairs and when he opens the door, I turn to look at him. Our eyes connect.
He walks over, lowers himself to his knees in front of me and with sad eyes, he says, “You’ve been keeping that secret for ten years?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Geneva? Why? As close as we were, you should’ve come to me?”
“I know, Wyatt. I was young. I didn’t know what to do and I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“And you thought leaving me was a better solution? Geneva, when you left, it nearly destroyed me. You don’t know how many times I questioned why, wondering if I did something to make you leave...wondering if I hurt you when we made love, or if something bad had happened to you. Gosh, you don’t know the anguish I went through.”
He drops his head in my lap and I dab my eyes with the backside of my hand. Then I stroke his soft hair. “Wyatt.” I call out to him softly.
He looks up at me. He’s a mess. He looks like he’s about to simply lose it all together. His eyes are sad, his face remains flushed. His lips begin to quiver. He opens them just slightly as if he’s going to say something but nothing comes out. Then, after trying again, he says, “We lost ten years, angel.” His voice is sad. Broken. “We lost ten years. How do we get that back, Geneva? ”
I wrap my arms tight around his neck, hold him close to me and respond, “We can only move forward Wyatt. We have each other now, and I promise that I’ll never leave you again.”
He doesn’t respond. I want to make sure he hears me – make sure he knows that I mean what I say. So I loosen my arms from around his neck and take a good look at him, holding his face in my hands. He’s still sad. Broken.
“Wyatt?”
“Yes, baby?”
“I will never leave you again.”
Like the sun that suddenly peeps out on a cloudy day, he smiles. That offers me a little relief. Then he stands, tells me that he needs some time to think and that he’ll be back in a short while. I don’t want him to go. I need him to stay, but I know he needs this time to process everything.
* * *
While he’s away, I stand in the shower, replaying his mother’s apology over and over again. I never thought I’d get an apology from her, not after the way she came at me in the mall that day. And after talking with her, I realize that she never told Wyatt’s dad any of it. He was completely in the dark about everything.
When I’m out of the shower, I slip into a comfortable pair of sea green, silk pajamas with the matching top, then re-watch the DVD that my father recorded for me. The events of the day – breaking up with my fiancé, telling Wyatt what his mother did to me and then having her apologize to me – it all seems like it was a part of a plan. And then I begin to think that, if my father never died, none of this would’ve happened. I would still be in Atlanta, in a loveless relationship, struggling to make ends meet, while trying to run a failing business.
Everything happens for a reason...
Was my father’s death the reason my life was finally coming together for me? I hate to think about it that way, but it feels like his death has triggered subsequent events in my life to make me a happier person. Events that actually jump-started my life in a positive way.
Feeling reminiscent, I run upstairs, slide socks onto my feet, step into my bedroom slippers and grab a jacket. Once I zip it up, I take a blanket, my thick comforter and a pillow then I head outside, to the stables. Climbing the ladder, I finally reach the loft, then spread out the comforter, folding it over me while my head rests on a pillow.
It’s quiet. Cold.
I never thought I’d do this again. Even though I came up here with Wyatt a while ago, this is the first time I’ve made the trip up here alone. I lie here and think...wonder if I will feel all those same feelings I felt when I was using this spot as a hideaway from my father. But strangely, I don’t feel anything, well besides a draft of cold air against my face. Other than that, I feel okay. That does not mean that I forgot everything that has happened to me – everything that my father did to me. It just means that I’m okay – that I survived it. It was a storm in my life and I weathered it. I’m the lucky one.