Finding Eden

  "What's that?"

  "Getting you knocked up."

  I raised my eyebrows and stared over at him. He looked at me and we both started laughing at the same time. "True enough," I said.

  Calder grinned, his eyes still slightly glazed over and heavy lidded. "I'm a badass when it comes to knocking you up," he said, looking overly pleased with himself. And then he promptly fell off the bed.

  I looked over the side to see him staring up at me with a shocked look on his face and I tilted my head back and laughed so hard I thought I'd pee my pants. I fell back on the bed gripping my waist and howling with laughter, part hilarity, part hysteria. And for some reason, it felt just as good as crying. It was a release, and one I needed.

  Calder pounced on me and I laughed harder and so did he until we couldn't laugh any more. We lay on our sides, face to face, getting a hold of our breathing and letting the laughter fade. "I love you so much," he said, pushing my hair out of my face.

  "I love you, too," I said.

  "Hey, Eden," Calder mumbled after a minute.

  "Yeah?" I whispered.

  He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and worried his brow. "You remember how you said that at the end, in that cellar, there was love? And that maybe that's where God was?" I nodded.

  "Well," he continued, sadness flooding his expression. "When I was tied to that pole, when my father . . ." He sucked in a shaky breath.

  "Yes?" I whispered, putting one hand on his cheek and smoothing my thumb over his cheekbone.

  "I tried not to think about it for so long because it hurt so much. And I just wonder, in that moment, where was God then? Where was the love then?" His eyes searched mine, looking for something I wasn't sure how to name. Hope? Some type of enlightenment that would make it better?

  My gaze moved over his features, that strong jaw I loved so much, those deep brown eyes that could fill up with pain or with love in an instant. I let my mind travel back to that moment even though I had tried not to do that over the past three years either. I thought about the horror that had filled me—the helplessness, and the unfathomable grief—and I thought about Calder's promise to meet me at a spring in Elysium. I thought about how, in what he thought was going to be his very last moments, he had thought of me. He had sought to protect me in the only way he had left. Don't watch this, Eden. Turn away.

  I studied the man lying next to me, the one I had fallen in love with because he gave me the things that were in his mind as if I had every right to them, because he was decent and fair and good. I had fallen in love with him as he carried his best friend twenty miles to safety. I had fallen in love with him because he knew how to tease in a way that felt loving, because he laughed easily and loved deeply, and because he looked at me in a way that made me feel precious. Love beat through my blood. "We were the love," I whispered. "In that moment, we were the love."

  His eyes moved over my face, looking for the truth of that and seeming to find it. He smiled that same crooked, tentative smile I had loved the first time I saw it, the one that had calmed me when I was a terrified nine-year-old girl sitting in front of a temple full of strangers who expected something of me I didn't understand.

  "Will my emotions always feel like, 'one step forward, one step back?' Will I always be this unbearable mess?" he asked.

  "Probably," I answered.

  He leaned back and let out a soft laugh. I grinned at him.

  "And I'm okay with that," I whispered, going serious. "And we'll create a Bed of Healing, Version 2.0. It'll always be the place where we can be as messy as we need to be, in all sorts of ways." I winked at him.

  He laughed and so did I, leaning into each other, sinking all the way down.

  And I thought to myself, even though life could be horrifying and earth-shattering, terrible and tragic, it was also filled with moments of breathtaking beauty. And sometimes you just had to laugh.

  It was true what I'd once said about the stars—some things are seen more clearly in light . . . and some things are seen more clearly in darkness. Because somewhere in the dark of the night, Calder pulled me close to him and we agreed in ways both spoken and unspoken that the world was ugly and broken, and love was ridiculously dangerous and absurdly unsafe . . . and that we would love anyway. We would keep our fierce and tender hearts open. It felt foolish and ridiculous and right. It felt like the bravest thing we'd ever do.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Eden

  We got on the road bright and early the next morning. We were ready to leave Indiana behind. We were ready to go home. Our new life beckoned to us and we finally had everything we needed to start building it.

  As we drove, we held hands, silent in our own thoughts. Calder seemed more peaceful this morning, more himself. We stopped at Starbucks and got coffees and muffins and sat in the parking lot. I felt like the world was different today. Something had shifted. Maybe it was the fact that we had all the answers, or at least all the answers we needed. I would tear down all those papers I had pinned to the back of my closet door—the project I'd taken up in an effort to do something with my deep pain and confusion. I didn't need it anymore.

  "You know what I've been thinking about this morning, Morning Glory?" he asked.

  I tilted my head, taking a sip of my vanilla decaf latté. He stared out the front window, giving me the beauty of his profile. "Xander told me once that he believed there was a purpose to me surviving Acadia that day," he paused, "and a purpose for all the suffering."

  I nodded. "Yes, I like to believe that, too," I answered. "For all of us."

  He smiled over at me. "Do you think we'll know it when we see it? Do you think we'll understand the reason for the pain someday?"

  I thought about that for a minute, sipping sweet warmth and swallowing it. "Maybe it's not so much about one reason or one purpose. Maybe it's like this." I considered my words, looking out the window at the seemingly endless cornfields in front of us, the endless golden sky. "We all attach things to our hearts, kind of like how I pinned all those articles up on the back of my closet door, or how you covered your studio with paintings of me." I smiled a small smile at him. "We all attach things to our hearts, the things we value, the things we need, the things that make us who we are. But maybe . . . maybe it's only when our hearts are broken, that those things can fall inside. Maybe it's only then that those things truly become part of us, and it's only then we truly understand and recognize pain in others because we've experienced it, too. And we've let it make us better, more loving. Perhaps that's what real mercy is. Perhaps that's the purpose to the pain."

  Calder watched me, seeming to take in my words and turn them over in his mind. After a minute he said, "Your deep compassion. That's what makes you glow."

  I breathed out a small laugh. "That's what makes you glow."

  A look of hurt passed over Calder's face despite the small smile he gave me. "Sometimes I wish we didn't glow so brightly."

  I reached over and touched his cheek. "Me neither. But we do. We earned it. So let's make the most of it. Let's go out and find some darkness, Calder Raynes. Let's light it up."

  He laughed softly and grabbed my hand and kissed it.

  He leaned back in his seat and stared out the front window for a minute. "Hector tried to kill me." A shaky breath escaped his mouth. "But he saved my life, too. Once upon a time, regardless of his motives, he ended up saving me from a sure life of hell with the monster who was my real father."

  He stared out the window for another minute as I waited for him to organize his thoughts, his emotions.

  "I don't know what to do with that. I hate him to the depths of my soul for what he did to me, to you, to all those innocent people, and yet . . ." he shook his head and looked over at me, his whole heart in his eyes, "what fell into Hector's heart when it broke, Eden? What things did he have attached to him that became part of the fabric of who he was when he broke open?"

  I creased my brow, my eyes searching his face. "Shame, grief, rag
e," I said. "It's hard to even imagine. Add in some insanity and just a touch of charisma . . ." I took a deep breath. "We'll never know completely what was in his mind, and I have to think that's a good thing. If we understood it, it would make us like him."

  He nodded. "Yeah . . ."

  "I think . . . I think, Calder, that we have to figure out how to forgive, not for the people who wronged us, but for us. We can't keep bitterness attached to our hearts because eventually, it might become part of us—so deeply ingrained we can't work it back out. I think we have to focus on the beauty we've been given in this life, and make that the thing that defines us. Because people defined by bitterness end up destroying themselves from the inside out, and eventually they destroy everyone who tries to love them, too. That's not going to be us."

  Calder looked at me, love clear in his expression. He leaned over and gathered me in his arms. "You're so damn smart. You must have had a really good life teacher."

  I laughed and sniffled. "I did. And he was hot, too. I wanted to do dirty things to him."

  Calder smiled and nuzzled in my neck. "Maybe you can describe that to me in more detail when we get back home."

  I laughed softly and pulled away, smiling into his face and brushing my thumb over his full bottom lip. "I will." My expression went serious. "I love you, Butterscotch. You have the most beautiful heart of anyone I've ever met. And maybe you feel like a mess sometimes, and life is a mess sometimes, but the way I see it, you're the beauty that came from the mess."

  Calder let out a breath and leaned his forehead on mine. "I love you, Morning Glory. It's always been your heart that kept me alive. Your love. Your sweetness. I painted you to keep you alive, and that's what kept me breathing, too."

  I looked into his tender expression, loving him so deeply I could hardly breathe. I kissed him softly on his lips.

  We got back on the road and Calder made a phone call to the police. He asked for Detective Lowe and when he got on the phone, he took a deep breath and told him everything we'd discovered on our trip. I sat listening and squeezing his hand. Detective Lowe must have been stunned because there weren't many pauses on Calder's end where he was just listening. I heard Calder tell the detective we'd be home around three. A small, white lie. One last statement—I knew we'd be okay—but it'd be nice to have a few more hours to prepare. Plus, we needed to fill Xander in before the police. He deserved that.

  We pulled into my mom's driveway at noon.

  The sun was high in the overcast sky and the air had dropped quite a few degrees since we'd left. When we got out of the car, no cameras came toward us, no journalists came running. I breathed deeply. One lone car door opened and closed and we looked back to a young man in jeans and a brown leather jacket jogging slowly toward us.

  "Hey," he said, a friendly smile on his face. "Sorry to bother you guys." He ran a hand through his hair and looked down as if he was a little embarrassed. "I know you get harassed all the time. It must suck."

  Calder chuckled and pulled me into his side, draping his arm over my shoulder.

  "I just, uh," he held out his hand, "my name is Ryan Scott and—"

  "Daddy?" a little girl called, getting out of the back seat of the car and walking toward us."

  "Kelsey, honey," Ryan called, "I'll be there in just a sec. Get back in the car, okay?" He turned toward us. "Sorry, I was just taking my little girl to the park when I saw you pull in. My news station had me camping out here for weeks." Color moved up his neck. "I saw you and it seemed like fate or something."

  The little girl, not having listened to her father, joined him and looked up at us shyly. Her blonde hair was in braids, she wore a pink jacket, and she was holding a kite in her hands. She clearly had Down Syndrome. She blinked up at Calder, instant adoration in her expression. When I looked at her sweet face, it brought tears to my eyes. She looked so much like Maya, and her trusting smile must have melted Calder's heart, too. He gently got down to her level and looked her right in the eyes.

  "Hey there," Calder said reaching out his hand to her, "I'm Calder. This is Eden." The little girl glanced up at me, her gaze innocent and direct, and then back at Calder. She took his hand and squeezed it and I watched as Calder's eyes widened.

  She held up her kite with her other hand. "You like to fly, don't you?" she asked.

  "Yeah," he said, his voice gravelly and filled with a note of wonder. He cleared his throat. "I do." She grinned at him as if she'd known what his answer would be.

  Ryan smiled down at his daughter and said, "So we won't keep you, and I wasn't stalking you, I swear. I mean, I was stalking you for a while," he grinned an embarrassed grin, more color moving up his face, "but I wasn't today." He shook his head and I couldn't help smiling. "Anyway, I had to stop and ask if you'd be interested in doing an interview."

  Calder stood and I glanced at him, something unspoken moving between us. Calder looked back at Ryan. "Yeah, I think we'd be okay with that. I don't know how much we'll be able to talk about. Some of it is still an ongoing investigation."

  Ryan's eyes widened. "Right. Yeah, of course. People really just want to hear your story, you know?" He paused, his brow creasing. "I have to be honest with you though. We're a small station. You'll get better offers from the big ones. I wouldn't feel right if I didn't mention that. I know you're a young couple, just starting off." He ran a hand over his daughter's head. "My wife and I are in the same boat. And I'd totally understand if you needed to take a bigger deal, we—"

  "We'd like to go with you," Calder said. "You're right. Something about this feels like fate." He smiled back down at Kelsey and then over at me.

  "Yeah," I said. "I couldn't agree more."

  **********

  A few weeks later, Calder and I called my mom into her living room to tell her that we had rented a small house just ten minutes from her. She looked crestfallen, and truthfully, I was a little sad, too, because the environment in her house had been a hundred times better since we'd returned from Indiana. And I finally felt like our relationship was moving forward. Molly had told me about her conversation with my mom about embracing Calder and Xander, and it seemed she had really taken it to heart. But it was time. And soon, we'd need at least a little extra space.

  Calder stood up to retrieve something he'd been working on up in the guest room using supplies we'd gone out and purchased when we first got home.

  When he returned, he handed my mom two wrapped paintings and glanced at me nervously before sitting down.

  "What is this?" my mom asked, smiling as she opened the one on top.

  Neither one of us answered, just watched her as she tore the last of the brown paper off and brought her hand to her mouth, gazing down at the painting of me when I was fourteen, a small, secret smile on my face and a morning glory in my hand. She stared down at it, tears coursing down her cheeks. When she looked up at Calder, she opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. "Thank you," she mouthed, standing up and going toward where he sat. He stood up, too, and hugged her as she cried. I wiped the tears from my eyes as well and laughed when she pulled away, laughing and fanning her face as if that would stop the tears.

  "Open the other one," I said, nodding my head at it and biting my lip.

  "Another one? I don't know if I can handle another one." She laughed softly and stared at the one of me again, a small, joyful smile on her face. But she tore the wrapping off the second painting and sat staring down at it, confusion in her expression. It was her, holding a baby wrapped in a white blanket, his or her dark hair just barely peeking out.

  "The first one was the past . . . that one's the future," Calder said, his voice gravelly, a note of nervousness in it.

  My mom brought her head up, her eyes wide, going back and forth between the two of us. "I . . . you're . . ." she squeaked out, looking at me. "I'm going to be a grandma? You're going to have a baby?" she asked, more tears coursing down her cheeks.

  I nodded and Calder glanced at me, not saying anything. "We ho
pe you'll help us, Mom," I whispered. "We're going to need lots of it."

  My mom's face crumpled and she cried silently for a moment, but there was a smile on her face beneath the tears.

  She stood up and rushed to me, bending down and taking me in her arms. "A baby," she kept saying. "You're having a baby!" She grabbed onto Calder's shirt and pulled him toward us and wrapped her arms around both of us. "Thank you," she whispered to Calder. "Thank you for all the gifts you've given me today." We all hugged and laughed and cried, my heart bursting with relief and happiness.

  A month after that, we sat holding hands on a set in a very small studio where we told the world our story. We didn't provide every detail. Those were ours and ours alone. But we talked about growing up in Acadia and living with Hector. We talked about the religion we'd believed in and why we had started to doubt. We talked about the forbidden nature of our love story and what we'd risked to be together.

  We also talked about the day of the flood and that was the hardest. But we were together and that made it bearable. And there was healing in the fact that there were no more secrets, nothing more to hide.

  We told the world about how we'd lived without the other for three long, grief-filled years. And how miracles sometimes happen to even those of us who feel the least deserving.

  We made it clear it was the only interview we were interested in doing and, for the most part, the press left us alone after that day.

  Now that the police and the press had a real name, they delved into Hector's past, into his possible motives, his mental state, and his history. Articles and books were written about him, and he was added to the list of cult leaders who had convinced large groups of intelligent people to believe their lies. All kinds of speculation ensued about how Hector predicted the disaster that happened that day, and his role in the tragedy. I was fascinated, too, and spent more time than Calder would have liked reading case studies. He accepted it, though. Knowledge made me feel powerful and enlightened, it always had. He had given me that gift, so I knew he'd never take it away.