“What’s wrong, Mommy? What happened? I’m sorry you’re losing.”
I take her in my arms. “It’s not that,” I tell her, my sobs drenching her tiny pink t-shirt. “It’s the news.” I don’t have the heart to tell her Weston was in accident.
“We will return with this coverage after the break,” the woman in the grey suit says, her voice unaffected. And just like that, a commercial for a sports drink pops on the screen — just another day, the world has not crumbled.
And suddenly, the truth dawns on me.
This is my fault.
I like to drive to clear my mind, blow off some steam.
He was upset because of me.
My whole body seems to ache when I think back to our last moments. He didn’t seem too upset. He pulled himself away and told me we should probably go. I sat beside him as he drove me back home. He seemed calm, and he drove carefully, safely. He seemed in complete control and relaxed, but almost too relaxed. There was something off about his calmness. I should have known he wasn’t fine.
I hug my knees and curl myself into a ball. I’m still wearing the same jeans, same pony tail. The olive tree is still tucked under the cotton of my t-shirt. “I should have known.”
I had kissed him on the cheek and said a soft goodbye. He had smiled and said goodbye too. “I promise I won’t come after you,” he had said, his last words to me.
I had smiled, not understanding.
As I shut the car door, I waved bye. And when I turned to face my house, my eyes were filled with tears, and I couldn’t look back as he pulled out of my driveway and drove off.
Gabe kneels by my side. “Should have known what?”
I can’t quite believe it. I can’t believe he would do such a thing. He would never leave his children. It doesn’t make sense. I’m sure it wasn’t intentional. I’m positive it was reckless driving. Perhaps it was a moment of madness. I refuse to believe he planned it.
He would never be that selfish.
I hold Gabe tightly. I can’t say the words. “I want to see him. I need to talk to him.”
“Yes,” he says, holding me still. “We will. If…”
If… He’s still alive.
Chloe and Claire know something is very wrong. Obviously, we’ve abandoned our game of Monopoly. They sit next to me on the sofa and I tell them our friend Weston was in a car accident.
Claire sits up straight, her eyes as big as saucers. “Weston? The nice man who got me my giraffe? Is he okay?”
I can’t seem to string two words together to answer her. Because I just don’t know.
I hold her tight. She starts to sob and I squeeze her tighter in my arms. I’m not completely surprised by her reaction, she and Weston forged quite the connection in New York. Every now and then, she and her sister ask about him. When will we see him again? Will we see Lizzie again? I usually answer with a ‘dunno’ and a shrug of the shoulders, trying way too hard to appear casual.
The phone buzzes, the shrill ringtone is earsplitting. I throw myself at it, hoping it’s Bridget with some news. But unfortunately, it’s not her.
“Hi, Mirella,” Gwen says, her voice a little shaky.
I sniff and wipe my nose. “Hi, Gwen,” I reply, still in tears.
“You’ve heard,” she says softly.
My chin trembles as I say. “Yes.” I can feel another wave of sobs about to hit. “I saw on the news.”
“Is he in bad shape?” she asks, “Do you know anything more?”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t know any more than you do, or any more than anyone else knows,” I hiss, not meaning to take it out on her. “I-I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Mirella. I can only imagine what you must be feeling.”
No, she can’t. She can’t imagine.
She knows I like him. She knows I’m obsessed with him. But she doesn’t really know how much I love him. And she has no clue this is all my fault.
I don’t quite know what to say. “I’m waiting for Bridget’s call. I’m not sure what hospital he’s at. I’m hoping she’ll call.”
My shoulders fall as I utter the words. Why on earth would she call me? I am the woman behind the dissolution of her marriage. I am the little home-wrecker, the one who seduced her husband and made him fall in love with her. And she must know I had something