Chapter Eight
Two weeks later, Finn and Marissa were on their way to dinner. They had just parked the car in the beach’s public parking lot and were walking toward Finn’s favorite seafood restaurant when Marissa finally found the nerve she had been searching for.
“Finn,” she sighed, stopping on the sidewalk and steeling herself for what she had to do. “There is something I have to tell you.”
“What is it, Mo stór?”
“Um... Ok…. all I can do is just say it, so….I am forty-six years old, Finn.” There. She said it out loud, finally. She watched his face for a reaction.
There was no reaction. He waited.
“Are you tryin’ to tell me it’s your birthday, then?” he finally asked.
“No. It’s not my birthday. I just wanted you to know I am forty-six years old.”
“Okay, then. Anything else you’re wantin’ me to know?”
“Why are you not reacting to this? Are you in shock? Are you worried about hurting my feelings?” Why was this break-up not going as planned?
“Well, darlin’, you’re not telling me anything I didn’t already know.”
“What? How did you know? When?”
“I heard your friend Fred mention it the night we met, at the restaurant. He told you ‘Mars, you’re forty-six, not dead.’ And then you rolled your pretty eyes at him.”
She stopped, trying to remember the exact conversation. Had Finn been there when Fred said that? Apparently so, because he was quoting Fred word-for-word. She shook her head. It didn’t matter. This was de-railing her from her primary objective.
“Finn, I don’t think you understand me. I am too old for you.” There. That was clear, right?
Finn laughed. “Don’t be daft, woman. Whatever gave you that idea? So what? You are forty-six, I am thirty-eight. Who cares? They are only numbers.”
“You are thirty-eight?” Wait, did the extra eight years make a difference? There were only eight years between their ages. Was there hope after all? Her heart seized on a fragment of hope, but she quickly realized: No, nothing changed the fact that she could not give him children.
“Marissa, what has gotten ahold of you? Why are you worryin’ about this now?” Finn was beginning to get concerned.
She took a deep breath. Stay the course, Mars, be strong, she scolded herself. “I am trying to tell you that we cannot be together. We have to stop this now before it goes any farther. You can’t keep talking about a future that can never happen…”
“Wait a minute now,” he interrupted her, realizing that she was serious. His smile and his amused tone were gone. “You are talking a lot of nonsense. Let’s just stop and go get some food before one of us says something we could regret.”
“No, Finn.” She rooted herself in that spot on the sidewalk. “No. I have to say this, and you have to hear me. We cannot see each other anymore. This is over.”
“It is not over. I love you.” He stated it as a simple fact.
“You only believe you love me because you are infatuated. It is not love,” she said.
“Ná dare tú…” he began in Irish as his anger mounted, then he stopped and switched to English, “Don’t you dare tell me how I feel. Do you think I am some boy-een who doesn’t know my own heart? If I say I love ye, it is because I do. I don’t know what your problem is today. Why are you goading a fight? Why are ye trying to break up with me?”
She watched the emotions play across his face as he spoke. Amusement, confusion, anger, fear, denial, and back to confusion. Well, it was up to her to do the right thing. Even if he couldn’t see it now, he would thank her one day when he was happily married and holding his first-born son. She would take the heat today, knowing that.
“I am not trying to break up with you. I am breaking up with you. I don’t know how else to say it.” Tears were threatening, and with them a giant lump in her throat.
He looked at her, perplexed. He started to say something, and stopped. He took a deep breath, and tried again, more calmly this time, “Marissa, Mo stór, whatever it is that’s botherin’ ye, we can work it out. As long as we love each other, anything can be overcome…”
“I never said I loved you.” She almost choked on the words.
He looked as though he had just been punched in the face. He stood there for a moment, then said weakly, “You…you don’t love me?”
Oh, sweet Mary and Joseph, let a hole open up in this sidewalk and swallow me dead. I don’t know if I can do this! Somewhere, deep in the recesses of her mind, someone found it funny that she had adopted some of Jack McKenna’s phrases, and they would surface at a time like this.
“Finn, I’m sorry. Please believe me, I never meant to hurt you. I thought that we were just having a fling, ya’ know, while you were in town. You were leaving in June, so I thought we were just having a good time, ya’ know? I had no idea that your feelings had become so strong. I swear.” Filthy liar! Her mind screamed at her.
“Just having a fling?” he said. Anger and fury edged his voice and his eyes and he was trembling. “Just having fun? You were playing with me? With my heart? The way you kissed me. The way you made love to me. You touched my soul--” his voice broke. He took a deep, ragged breath to steady himself.
No one spoke. By sheer force of will and miracle, Marissa remained standing, tears running freely down her face.
Finally, Finn said in a voice devoid of all emotion, “Do you have cab fare to get home? I can’t bear the sight of ye, but I won’t see ye stranded.”
“I can get myself home,” she managed through a constricted throat.
He nodded once. “Goodbye then, Marissa.” He turned and walked away, never once looking back.
She stood there, still rooted to the sidewalk. She watched him leave. She was an empty husk. If the wind had touched her, she would have flown apart in millions of pieces, like the dandelions that she made wishes on as a child. But there was no wind, and no point in wishing. It was as if the Earth herself were holding her breath in horror of the blasphemy she had just committed.
* * *
She stood there, hoping to catch a glimpse of Finn’s car when he left the parking lot. Just one last glimpse. But she didn’t see him.
Eventually she became aware of the people around her. Couples walking hand in hand down the sidewalk, some teenagers skateboarding, and others window-shopping, children laughing gleefully and their parents scurrying to catch up with them. She stood at the center of a maelstrom of activity, but none of it touched her. It was as if she was seeing it from a distance that she couldn’t bridge. She knew she needed to move, but wasn’t sure she knew how. Her legs were made of lead. Where could she possibly go? She needed to get away from all these people.
The Casa Marina Hotel was only three blocks away. She started walking, and eventually made it to the hotel entrance. The beauty of the building was lost on her. It was a large historical building with Spanish architecture, decorated in a blend of art nouveau and Spanish Colonial. Each of the twenty-three guest rooms were decorated with elements of a different style that reflected the history of the building.
The lobby was an airy Mediterranean design, with a soft-hued tile floor and wrought iron decorating the walls. But Marissa didn’t see any of this. She made her way to the front desk and asked if there were any rooms available.
“Yes, ma’am. We have one room available for tonight.” The hostess at the check-in counter smiled pleasantly.
“I’ll take it,” Marissa said, pushing her debit card toward the woman without even looking at her. Why was that woman smiling? How could anyone manage to smile when the world just blew up? She just wanted to get into a room and away from humanity. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, didn’t want to have to make herself function.
“Room nineteen, Ms. Byrne. It is just up those stairs and to the left. Do you need a porter to help with your luggage?” the girl asked.
“No,” Marissa accepted the room key and the return of her debit card and turned toward the sweeping staircase on her left.
“If there is anything else you need, please don’t hesitate to ring the front desk. I hope you enjoy your stay…” the clerk called to her as she slowly ascended the curved staircase. Marissa forced herself to put one foot in front of the other.
Her room was an homage to the Edwardian era, with blending shades of cream and accents in deep brown. It’s as good a place as any to have a nervous breakdown, she thought. She walked to the large picture window that showed a beautiful view of the sand dunes only a few yards away, and the breaking waves beyond them. The hotel was built in the early nineteen-twenties and did not have any balconies, which was just as well. In her current condition, she wasn’t entirely sure she might not be tempted to jump.
She was still numb, still in shock, she surmised. Her brain was beginning to work, but the rest of her had yet to catch up. She didn’t feel anything, neither literally nor figuratively. She felt as if she were someone else traveling around in a stranger’s body, unattached to the outside world. Was it warm in the room, or cool? She didn’t know. Was there a breeze carrying the scent of the ocean? She smelled nothing, she felt nothing. The sky and the water outside the window appeared a muted color to her, their normal vibrancy missing.
She found the mini-bar and opened the first bottle she saw, not even noticing the label.
She had always known it would come to this. She knew it from the very beginning. She knew that she couldn’t stop herself from falling in love with Finn, and she knew that he was falling in love with her. For the life of her, she didn’t know why, but she could tell he loved her.
An image swam to the surface unbidden: Finn’s smiling face as he stood on the deck of Jack’s boat, looking out over an expansive ocean. She banished the memory, pushed it as far down as she could. She didn’t deserve to relive those memories. She didn’t want to tarnish them with the reality of the lonely white room.
She opened the second bottle from the minibar and drained it in one swallow, still not tasting the alcohol, and still not registering the familiar burn as it went down her throat.
In some deep recess of her mind, far down where the alcohol could not reach, she was worried about herself. She had no idea how she would pull herself out of this. She was worried because she didn’t want to. Would this pain last forever? Maybe she should call Fred? No, she didn’t think she could even verbalize the way she felt right now, and the last thing she wanted was a well-meaning friend offering her advice, or worse — platitudes. She rolled over and sobbed into her pillow until she slipped into sweet oblivion.