Chapter Fourteen

THE WORLD DOESN’T STOP for anyone’s grief, certainly not for mine.

It doesn’t stop to catch the tears that you shed or to wipe them away.

The world absorbs them and keeps moving.

As Jasmine and I sit on a bench at the park just around the corner from the B&B, watching people walk, run, and jog past us, I find myself angry at the world for its ability to recover and move on from all the pain, grief, and tears its seen. I’m angry, too, at all the walkers, joggers, and all the people who get to go about their day so carefree.

And right about now, I’ll do anything to stop the crying.

I’m sick of it.

“In a way, I guess it’s good that Chicago was the last stop on your book tour. By the way, I let your publisher know that you’ll be taking a break for a few months. Of course, they offered their condolences and said to take as much time as you need,” Jasmine says as we both stare at a duck splashing in the small lake a few feet away, reveling in cleaning its feathers.

I sigh as I look over at her, seeing the concern on her face. We’ve been friends for a long time, and while the tears that make their way down my face are nothing new to her, they’ve never been from a situation like this.

“To date, I’ve written nine books. When my third book came out, James took me to Paris. He said that researching Paris and actually breathing it in were two different things. He was right. In Paris, I felt like I found my being. It felt so right to be there. I hated to come back. To be honest, I just wish I could have stayed. Maybe I should go back there.”

“Maybe. In one of your books, you wrote that Paris was the antidote to a heart poisoned against love. Do you think that’s you, Raine? Has this poisoned you against love?”

“I don’t know. But anyway, I don’t even want the antidote for a heart poisoned against love. I need the antidote for tears. Something that will make them stop. I keep making a fool of myself.”

“No, you really don’t. People come to parks to cry all the time. It’s what parks were invented for! Going to Paris isn’t going to instantly take the tears away. Only time can do that.”

She hands me a few Kleenexes from out of her purse. I wipe my face as we watch a mother duck swim by with her little ones closely behind her.

“I think that’s why he did it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I think James cheated on me and our marriage because I couldn’t have one of those,” I say, pointing to the ducklings.

“A duck?”

“You know what I mean.”

“James didn’t cheat on you because you couldn’t have a baby, Raine.”

“How do you know?”

Jasmine takes a deep breath, and when she exhales, the familiar touch of anxiety begins tapping me on the shoulders.

“I said that I was going to take it to my grave.”

I gasp, though it’s silent.

My eyes search her face as the anxiety moves from my shoulders down to my fingers. “Tell me,” I say, placing my shaking hands in my lap.

“You ever wonder why I didn’t come to your wedding?”

My voice cracks as I respond, “I assumed it was because we didn’t plan one. James and I just went down to the courthouse. When I called you to tell you about it, I never exactly expected you to jump on a plane and come to Atlanta that fast. I mean, that’d have been insensitive.”

“Raine, of course, I would’ve wanted to come no matter what. You’re my best friend. You know that I would have paid for a plane ticket or driven if I had to, without hesitation. I wouldn’t have missed that day. Not a chance. Not for all the tea in China.”

I can feel my face shifting as the confusion pushes through me. “So why didn’t you?”

She glances at the mama duck and her babies as they make their way over to the other side of the lake.

“Eight months after you and James started dating,” she begins, looking just as pained and troubled as I am, “I came back to Atlanta to see my parents for a few days.”

“Yes, I know. I remember that. I remember being mad because I was going to be out of town for a company event and wouldn’t get a chance to see you.”

“Right. Well, I didn’t get a chance to see you because of that, but I did see James.”

“Where?” There is fear gripping my belly.

“My parents and I had gone downtown for lunch. You know my mother, a sucker for seafood, wanted to eat at this new sushi restaurant. The place was busy when we arrived, so I went in to see how long the wait was and to use the restroom.

“On my way there, I had to do a double take; there was your James, sitting in a booth next to a woman. I was getting myself ready to head over to say hi, thinking she was a client, but then stopped in my tracks. James leaned across the little table, brazen as anything, and kissed her.”

“On the cheek…right?”

She looks at my ever-hopeful face, but we both know the answer is obvious.

“No. Not on the cheek,” she says anyway.

My mind is in a whirl of turmoil as I struggle to stop myself from vividly imagining the scene.

“He didn’t see me,” she says, after a moment or two. “And to be honest, after that, I no longer wanted to go to the restroom, so I hauled it out of there as fast as I could and made an excuse to my parents. I can’t remember exactly what I said, but it involved work or something.”

I place my hands over my mouth to keep all the questions and anger from bursting out.

At her.

And James.

“That evening, I called him and asked if he and I could meet. I told him I had a surprise for you and wanted to leave it with him. We agreed to meet at that coffee shop that used to be around the corner from the apartment you lived at then.”

The anxiety that was in my fingers travels onward, down to my toes.

“At first, he tried denying it, but he knew I’d caught him when I was able to describe the woman in detail, even what they both had on. I told him about seeing the kiss and that it looked passionate between them. And yeah, his demeanor changed to one of guilt.

“I never told you because he swore that what I saw was him ending something that he should have put an end to right after you started dating him, when he realized he was in love with you. The passion, he said it was the emotion of the ending of what they’d had. That he just knew they would never see one another again. That he’d hurt her. It made sense and can you believe, I even apologized. I hate myself for that now. I really let you down and I’m sorry.”

An uncomfortable silence sits between us, and I know I should say something, but honestly, I can’t find the words. Finally, I say, “James was obviously a great liar, but, you should have just told me. I mean, I wish you had.”

She nods a couple of times.

“In hindsight, I probably should have told you, yes, but he swore to me that he’d ended it, you know?”

“But you obviously didn’t believe him, and that’s why you didn’t come to the wedding.”

“No, it’s not quite like that. I didn’t come because I knew that if I saw you, I’d feel disloyal and would have told you. Please trust that it took everything I had in me not to tell you. You were so happy when you called to say that you and James were getting married, and honestly, wrecking a relationship—a good one by all accounts and appearances—wasn’t something on my list of wishes. I wanted to save you from worrying about a goodbye kiss and a relationship that was now over and done with, so why hurt you with the news of it? Plus, I really thought he loved you, so I took his word, which wasn’t my greatest choice and is one I will live to regret. I just wanted to save you from—”

What? Save me? Her words inflame me.

“I didn’t need ‘saving,’ Jasmine! I needed the truth, and you did have almost four months to tell me the truth. Best friends, remember?”

“I’ve never forgotten that, and I have been that for you as long as we’ve known each other. But let’s be real here, Raine, it wasn’t my responsibility to tell you about her; that belonged to James.

“You know, lots of best friends tell the other about their man cheating, and it breaks the friendship. Lots of women in your position don’t want to hear it.”

I can’t say I agree with her and can’t say that I disagree. All I know is that I feel betrayed by the two people that I loved the most.

“Did he tell you what her name was? What did she look like?”

“Oh, come on, Raine. It was fifteen years ago. You want me to draw a sketch or something? I can hardly remember what I looked like myself that long ago.”

“Stop trying to save me, Jasmine. I know you. It’s all over your face.”

Our eyes meet. She exhales loudly, lips pressing into a fine line.

“Her name was Monica. They went to law school together.”