I would detach myself. Not think of how much I love him and how awesome his voice sounds. Not miss the protective way he had of wrapping his arms around me.
With trembling fingers, I scrolled down to find his cell phone number, even though I knew it by heart. Any excuse to delay the inevitable. I found it and before I could dilly dally further, I hit call. I held my breath but the phone was silent and then a voice said that the number was no longer in service.
Relief swathed me before I realized how stupid that was. One way or another, I needed to find Alex. I went back to my contacts list and scrolled until I found the house telephone number.
The phone rang and just when I thought no one was going to pick it up, Mrs. Turner’s distinct voice came on the phone.
“Hello,” she said, her voice cold as ice.
Hearing her voice and knowing that she disliked me, made me freeze. I moved my mouth and no words came out.
“Is there anyone there?” she asked.
I gripped my cell phone and cleared my throat. “Hello, Mrs. Turner, this is Charlotte. I tried to call Alex’s cell phone, but it says the number is no longer in service.”
Then a horrible thought sprouted in my mind. What if something had happened to him? Like an accident, and all along I’d assumed that he was well?
She did not answer for the longest time and I thought that she was going to disconnect the call. “Yes, he changed his numbers and anything that had a connection to you.” Her voice was colder than ice.
I swallowed hard and told myself that was to be expected. I’d wanted him to hate me and I had succeeded. “I understand but something important has come up and I need to get in touch with him.”
“You’ve hurt him enough. He’s finally starting to live and is even dating. Let him move on with his life.”
I didn’t hear the rest of it. Two months and he had already found someone? My chest felt as if it had been ripped open and someone was poking my heart with the tip of a sword, going deeper each time.
I had so many questions that I could not ask because they were none of my business. When I left Alex and divorced him, I had forfeited the right to ask any questions.
But I wondered internally. Did he miss me? Did he think of me at all or had he moved on immediately? Had he suffered as I had or was he thinking that divorce was the best thing that had happened to us? Was he happy to have his old life back?
“There’s something I really need to talk to him about. Our marriage is over. This is not what this is about.”
Her sharp inhale sounded over the phone. “How do I know that? You’ve turned out to be a cheat, Charlotte. I think you’re just saying that because you’ve realized what a good deal you had with Alex. Well it’s over now. You can’t heap whatever issues you have onto Alex. Deal with them yourself.”
“Please. It’s important,” I insisted, tears flooding my face.
“I don’t believe you and neither will he,” she said.
“Can you just tell him and let him decide,” I said, clinging to the belief that I knew Alex. He was a fair person and even though as his mother said, he did not want to hear from me, he would listen.
“I will. If he doesn’t get back to you, fill in the blanks for yourself,” she said and disconnected the call.
I felt as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders after making that call. I got up and proceeded to my small kitchen to prepare dinner. I even whistled as I cooked.
Having Alex in my life, even as my baby’s daddy and nothing else would be enough. It would give me the security of knowing that if anything happened to me my baby would have a home.
I allowed myself to dream about the future. About Alex coming to pick up our baby to spend a weekend with him. A little boy who looked exactly like him. And suddenly, what lay ahead did not seem as frightening. Not with Alex in our baby’s life.
Alex
Two Years Later
* * *
I stood at the periphery of my own party, thrown for me by my father to celebrate the fact that I had officially become a partner. I should have been pleased and proud that my hard work had paid off.
But I hadn’t worked for sixteen hours every day including weekends to make partner. I’d done it to exorcise my demons. To forget. It had worked. Now, I could think about Charlotte without bursting into tears like a child. I could revisit the past and search for clues while remaining emotionally detached.