“Hey, brother, I’m headed to Bayville. Kenny misses Lane, so I figured I’d drop in for the weekend, let them visit, check in at the office.”
Pushing up to a sitting position, I check the clock. It’s only nine. “You need a place to stay? You could crash here.”
“Really?” I don’t miss the shock in his voice, and I have to confess, I’m a little surprised by the offer myself. I guess losing everything has a way of softening one’s personality.
“Mariska’s back at her place. I have an extra room.”
“Yeah, I heard about that.” His voice goes quiet, and for a moment we don’t speak. I hear the sound of music and Lane’s small voice in the background. “I’m really sorry about Mariska and the baby and all.”
I wonder how long it will take for that kind sentiment to stop feeling like a sledgehammer to the guts whenever someone offers it.
“Thanks,” is all I can say.
“I’ve never experienced anything like that, but I bet it leaves you pretty raw.”
“We’re working through it.” I’m ready to change the subject. “What time do you think you’ll be in Bayville?”
“Between four and five. You know where Kenny lives?”
“Text me the address just in case.”
“Will do at my next stop.” I’m about to disconnect when I hear his last words. “Take it easy, bro.”
“You too.”
Even after our father died, Patrick and I hadn’t been able to find a common ground. I suppose it’s a good thing we’re making this step now. Signs of personal growth or something.
What I do know is I’ll be in Bayville at Kenny’s, which means I’ll also most likely see Mariska. Stopping in front of the mirror, I
decide it’s time to get a haircut, shave, pick up a new shirt. Things are changing between us as well, and I want to keep the momentum moving forward.
At four, I’m headed out of the condo on my way to the ocean. Bayville is an easy half-hour drive from Princeton, but I don’t want to be too early. I don’t want to seem overly anxious.
Walt (a.k.a., the best doorman in the world), stops me in the lobby. “Got a letter for your fiancée, Mr. Knight. It looks pretty official. I thought if you were headed to see her, she might want it.”
I pause and take the thick envelope from him. Walt is such a great guy. He hasn’t mentioned Mariska’s absence in the weeks I’ve been back. He also doesn’t allow for the fact that it might be a permanent state of affairs. He’ll wait for me to let him know.
The return address is Missouri River General, and I have to fight the temptation to rip it open myself. In any event, I’ll have to see her now. She needs to have whatever this is, and I need to be there when she opens it. I won’t let her suffer another heartbreak alone if I can help it.
Looking out at the countryside on the way to Bayville, I think about all that’s happened, where we are now, and how much we’ve changed since June. Major life crises have a way of either bringing people closer together or driving them apart. I blame myself for letting this one drive Mariska and me apart.
I couldn’t handle the guilt and the pain of what had happened. I didn’t want to be in my own head, and I could only imagine Mariska didn’t want to be around me either. I realize how wrong that type of thinking was. Bill helped me see the error of my ways.
Where does that leave us? Coming back to Princeton has convinced me more than ever it’s not where I want to stay. Still, I can’t leave without Mariska. Before I didn’t talk to her about how I felt. I didn’t let her inside the war in my mind over what I wanted and what I imagined she wanted. Again, this experience has shown me how wrong-headed that approach is.
I told her I would wait, but here I am, holding this letter on the verge of making a change. I need to talk to her. I need to lay everything on the line for her and let her tell me what she wants. I can only hope it’s the same thing as me.
22
Healing
Mariska
Lane’s little voice is the first thing I hear when I walk in the door. “Daddy tooted!” he shouts from the kitchen. Slayde’s loud laugh from the living room is the next thing I hear.
“Not Daddy. It was Mommy,” Patrick says in a very serious tone. “She has this tummy problem called lactose intolerance.”
“Patrick Knight!” Kenny’s muffled shout comes from somewhere in the back of the apartment.