My face contorts a little and new tears spill onto my cheeks. “I—I can’t,” I make a weak effort at explaining myself but find that I fall short where words are concerned.
“For God’s sake, Sadie, are you really going to stand here and deny me the one thing that I know I was born to do? To be? Is that what this is?” he asks, waving the note in front of my face. “Because if you are—if you insist on closing that door—I’ll be forced to tell you that facing a future without you in it is a future I want no part of. I’ll be forced to tell you that I’ll wake up every day searching for you beside me. I’ll be forced to tell you that I’ll be ruined for any other woman. Maybe I already am.”
Zander’s eyes are tender and pleading, which rips and claws at my already shredded heart. He lifts a hand, placing it against my cheek. He’s trembling and it kills me. I reflexively lean into his touch. It’s magnetic. It pulls at me every time I’m near and there never has been much resisting it.
“What is it that you were born to do, Zander?” I ask, knowing that what he has to say is going to hurt, but it may give me the strength to go through with what I know I have to do. It may give me the strength that it’s going to take for me to close Jake’s door so that I can walk through Zander’s open one.
“To mend you when the world breaks you. To keep you safe. To tell you when you’re wrong but scream to the world that you’re right. To stand beside you no matter what comes our way. To wager my next breath, against all odds if I have to, just to see you happy. To love you.” He explains it simply, but the intensity burning in those sapphire eyes speaks to me the loudest of all.
I see so much in those eyes. I have since they met with mine on the beach. Zander, more often than not, doesn’t require words where I’m concerned. He looks my direction and even with my back to him, I feel the weight of his gaze. My body has always turned to him involuntarily and responded to the summons that his dark blue eyes issue.
“Zander…” I’m too weak to speak. I’m too weak to even stand here in front of him. I want so badly to be courageous and tell him that I want the exact same thing as him and that I wish I could be the same for him. I wish for so much that may never come to fruition. I’ll keep wishing, nonetheless.
“Shush, baby. Come here.” He holds out his hand, inviting me to my favorite and most dreaded place on the planet.
I put my hand in his and step into him, resting my ear against his chest. Listening. Absorbing. Feeling that familiar thump coming from within Zander’s muscle-planed chest. I absorb what I can so that the coming days, weeks, months, however long it takes, without him maybe be a little more bearable.
“You have to let me do what I have to do. I can’t let you in here,” I say, stepping back from him and holding my hand to my chest, “…until I let Jake out.”
Zander’s face contorts with the understanding of what I’m asking him to do.
“Wait for me. Please just wait for me.”
“I’ve been waiting for twenty-nine years, Sadie. What’s a little longer, right?” His sad smile nearly breaks me. “See ya, Slim,” Zander whispers, his voice tight with emotion. He plants a tender kiss on my forehead and then turns to walk away.
I watch as the Lincoln drives away. If Zander looked back, I wouldn’t even know it, because I can’t see through the windows. He’s done what I asked him to do. He’s left me to do what I have to. So why the fuck does it hurt so much?
***
May 1, 2013…
I glance over to Mom, knowing that she’s ready to push and squeeze and corner me. I know that she loves me. I know that she wants the best for me. I know that she wants me to stop fighting against the current of my grief, but I can’t. I just don’t know how.
“Sadie, it’s time to stop this.” She motions to my room, which has become a shrine to the love that was ripped from me. I don’t have to look around to see what she’s talking about. I know what she means. His laundry, his knick knacks, his shoes. It’s all here right where he left it.
“Mom, please don’t start. Not now.” I shake my head, my hands held up.
“If not now, then when, Sadie?” she snaps as she stomps further into my room, cornering me. “You sent that man away so that you can finally let go and yet here you are, still fighting! Still hanging on to the past!” she crows in a high-pitched voice. “When. Are. You. Going. To. Let. Go?” she whispers, her words a staccato.
Pushed. Squeezed. Cornered.
“When you’re seventy years old and your life has passed right by you? When your chance at love and children and any semblance of happiness has gone by?”
“You just can’t give me an inch, can you?” I hiss.