“Not yet. I never even made it to the airport. I’ll have to call the airline tomorrow.”
“Does this have anything to do with the McKinnon boy?” she asks.
Walking into the formal sitting room, I take a seat, answering, “Yes.”
“Heartache is difficult.”
Looking over at her sitting across from me, I give a slight nod. The day has been draining and I feel weak from what happened with Declan. With so many questions swarming in my head, I say, “Can I ask you something?” as I lean back in the chair.
“Of course.”
“Do you believe that people can change?”
She takes a moment and then gently shakes her head a couple times. “No, dear.”
I reflect on her answer as defeat looms overhead.
And then she elaborates, “I believe we are who we are and the essence of what we are built upon is unchangeable. But I believe we can change how we make choices. But just because we can change our behavior doesn’t mean we’ve changed the core of who we are. It’s like someone who’s an alcoholic. They may rehab and make better choices, but I don’t believe that inner voice and craving ever goes away. The change is solely in their choice to not drink, but they still desire it.”
“So, evil is always evil?”
“Yes. And good is always good. But I trust in my faith that we are descendants of rectitude. That each of us, no matter how bad we may think ourselves to be, the core lining of us is threaded in holy fibers.”
It’s in her words that I’m taken back to my home in Northbrook. The memories of my father and I play in clips of tea parties, nighttime songs, piggyback rides, bedtime stories, and fits of laughter. And Isla is right . . . there was a moment in time I was clothed in nothing but goodness. I was pure and free and honest. But I was just five years old when my light was snuffed out.
The day my dad was taken from me was the day nothing would ever be the same. I lost more than just my light—I lost myself. Lost it entirely. I allowed the world to decay me. But how is anyone supposed to be strong enough to fight back against something so monumental? I was just a little girl. The only person I had in my corner was Pike, but then again, he was just a boy himself. We clung to each other because we were each other’s only hope.
I thought I was making all the right choices, but as I look back in the wake of my life, it’s filled with nothing but destruction. And now, I’m the only one that remains.
Well, almost.
Declan is still here, but in a sense, he was destroyed as well. His heart still beats, but not like it used to. My choices—my decisions—they’re poisonous. I used that poison for power, but it backfired.
“Are you okay?” Isla’s voice interjects.
“I made bad choices,” I say without thought. The words simply fall from my lips before I can stop them.
“Welcome to life, my dear,” she condoles. “I could write a novel with all the mistakes and ill choices I’ve made in my years. But I’ve come to realize that’s what it’s about. Sometimes we have to fall to know how to stand back up. Sometimes we have to hurt people to recognize our flaws and to see that we need to better ourselves.”
“Did you ever find that some of your choices were so bad they were unforgivable?” I ask as regret stirs in my veins.
“Yes,” she admits with her chin held high. “But even though I knew they were unforgivable, I was still forgiven.”
“Who was it that forgave?”
She pauses, and when the corners of her mouth lift in a subtle smile, she answers, “My husband.”
“You hurt him?”
“I hurt him terribly.”
“Why did he forgive you?” I ask.
“It’s called grace. When we love, and when that love comes from the purity of your heart, you give grace. You find compassion and forgive because we’re all flawed. We all make mistakes, but love’s devotion doesn’t cast stones.”
I want to believe the love Declan once had for me did come from a pure place. That there’s still hope for forgiveness. That there’s still a shimmer inside of him that still wants me. Because for me, it’s more than a shimmer—it’s a raging fire of need and desire I have for him. But after what he did to me today, I don’t see this working out. Isla’s words are nice and flowery, but flowers eventually wilt and die no matter how much love you give in tending to their needs.
“You look like you could use a distraction,” she says before suggesting, “Why don’t you settle back into your room, and when you’re ready, how would you like to help me prepare dinner?”
“That actually sounds lovely, but unfortunately, I can’t cook.”
“Everyone can cook. All you need is someone to guide you.”