Stroking her daughter’s face, she said, “I love you, too, Michelle. Why don’t you go play in the back yard while Sarah and I talk, okay?”
“’Kay.” She gave her mother one last squeeze and slipped away, leaving Nicole staring at the coffee pot as though doing so would somehow make it work faster.
“So how did you get these photos?” Sarah asked as the coffee finally started flowing into the pot.
“I hired a private investigator.” She tried to keep her tone even, knowing that another emotional meltdown wasn’t going to do anyone any good.
Sarah flipped the pile of pictures back over and finished going through them, the whole time shaking her head in disbelief. “Well, not that this is going to make you feel any better, but you definitely got your money’s worth.”
“Yeah, there’s that,” Nicole said in a distracted tone as she rubbed at one of her temples, trying to still the throbbing within.
“So what are you going to do now?” Sarah asked, walking over to the counter to peer out at Michelle, who was busy playing on the swing set out back. It had been a pointed question, she knew, one Nicole had managed to avoid earlier, but right now, in a kitchen filled with too many memories of Michael and a marriage which had just shattered into a thousand pieces, Nicole had to think about the future. It didn’t just involve her and Michael. They had two beautiful children to think about.
“I don’t know,” Nicole said softly, grateful the coffee pot had finally filled so she could top off two mugs and hand one to Sarah. Perhaps this would finally make her be quiet.
“Surely you can’t be thinking about staying with him, Nic.”
Nicole’s hands trembled, and she worried about spilling the coffee. Still, she refused to put it down because she needed to keep her hands occupied. “I don’t think that’s an option, if you want the truth. He tells me he’s in love with her.”
Sarah sputtered on the coffee and whirled to face her best friend. “In love with her? I don’t think the man knows the first thing about being in love with anyone. Except himself.” She made a sort of growling noise and shook her head. “He has some kind of nerve.”
Sarah wordlessly walked over to the table, set down her mug and sank into a chair. As she looked at the table in front of her, she spied her wedding ring. She inhaled sharply and jerked it from her hand before casting it across the room.
“So where is the loser?”
Nicole shrugged. “Who knows? I told him to leave. He could always be with Kelsey, which is what I think he really wanted.” A chill swept through her as she put the name to the girl in the picture--blonde, petite, and nothing like Nicole. Gritting her teeth, she felt anger coursing through her body.
Sarah joined her at the table. “What about the kids?”
A huge lump seemed to block Nicole’s throat, and no matter what she did to swallow it, it refused to budge. Tears burned her eyes as they pooled and overflowed. “I don’t know what’s going to happen with the kids or anything else. I’m not even sure I know my own name anymore.”
For a moment, Sarah just sat there, unsure of what to do to help. Was there anything she could do? Then she thought of Michelle, and she knew that Nicole needed some time to get her head wrapped around this situation, and she wasn’t going to be able to do that with the kids around.
“Hey, why don’t I take the munchkins to the movies and keep them over at my place for the night? I think you probably need some time to unwind, and if Michael comes back tonight, it’s probably not going to be pretty.”
Nicole opened her mouth to argue, but she knew her best friend was right, especially the part about things turning ugly if Michael came back. “Are you sure? Nick can be such a handful.”
Sarah set her hand on her Nicole's shoulder. “I think I can handle him, Nic. Really.”
An understanding look passed between them, and Nicole finally nodded. Sarah stood. “I’ll go tell the munchkin about our play date.”
* * *
Hours later, as night hedged in, Nicole tried everything she knew to distract herself, from watching television in the recliner to reading a book at the kitchen table. She even went about the task of making dinner, only to realize there was way too much food and that she really had no appetite.
Part of her thought Michael might return. She wanted him to tell her it had all been some elaborate practical joke even the private investigator had been in on, that none of it was real and capable of breaking her heart. Thinking it wasn’t real was so much better because the last thing she wanted was a life alone. That thought haunted her like nothing else.
Still, as the day pressed, she realized her husband wasn’t coming back even to get some of his things—well, at least not tonight, anyway. He’d probably pick a time he knew Nicole wouldn’t be there as a way to minimize his guilt. Of course, that assumed Michael even had any feelings of guilt.
When none of the distractions worked, she paced the room. The house felt as though it were closing in around her, and she couldn’t breathe. She needed to talk to someone. Sarah was out of the question, as she was distracting Nick and Michelle. There was no way in hell she was calling her mother. She could just imagine what a catastrophe that would be, considering just how much her mother loved Michael. She hadn’t really even believed Michael could cheat on Nicole. It was unthinkable. Now if her father were still alive, he would have believed Nicole.
Of course, if her father were here, she would have him to talk to, and he would know what to do. Since he wasn’t, she felt she had only one choice left—Jordan.
Jordan sat on the couch at his parents' house, sipping a beer. Although his mom had already gone up to her room to read before bed, his dad sat in the recliner nursing his own beer. Kimmie, his slightly younger sister, had curled up reading Cosmopolitan. They’d watched a football game between OU and Baylor a few hours ago and the television had filled all the awkward silences that might have made things difficult. Now the two men sat, both staring off into space. David Carroway was the first to break the silence.
“Have you been dating at all, Jordan?”
Kimmie looked up, cocking her head to one side as she, too, waited for the answer. In fact, she rested the magazine against her chest and gave her brother her full attention.
A flush crept across Jordan’s face, and he felt his whole body tighten. “That’s a no, Dad, and considering the way things went with Alyssa, I’m not sure I really want to think about a relationship this soon.”
“This soon?” Kimmie said, shaking her head. “You’ve been divorced for years, bro--or hasn’t that sunk in yet?”
“I know,” Jordan snapped. “Thanks for your concern there, Kimmie.”
She lifted the magazine from her chest and began reading again. “Anytime, Jordan. You can always count on me.”
David drained the rest of his beer and thumbed toward the kitchen. “I’m going to get a refill.” He nodded at Jordan. “You want another?”
Jordan shook his head. “No. I’m going to get on the road early in the morning. The last thing I need is another beer.”
“Okay.” David started to get up. A grimace transformed his expression, and he groaned softly.
“Dad? You okay?” Jordan leaned toward him, concerned by his father’s sudden change of expression.
David started to say something, but all that came out was a gurgling sound. Jordan watched in horror as his father slowly tumbled to the floor, striking his head on the table as he fell.
“Dad!” Jordan jumped up and raced to his father. In the distance, he heard his cell ringing, but all he could think about was getting to his dad, who was unconscious, probably from hitting his head on the table. Jordan could see the blood, and it should have alarmed him. It would have had David been breathing.
In that instant everything seemed to freeze. Jordan heard the hammering of his heart and felt himself shift his father’s body so he could start CPR. He even heard his sister answer his phone, repeatedly saying, “hello” before
she hung up.
“Call 911!” he shouted before leaning over and breathing for his dad. His voice sounded stretched and deep, slowed like everything else.
Chapter Seventeen
Jordan sat on the beach, staring out at the tide, watching it slowly roll in and recede. He’d been sitting there for hours, and even though his hands and ears were so cold, he couldn’t seem to force himself to move. The strong north wind blew his hair back, yet he sat unmoved by the sound of the ocean and the feel of the world around him.
He’d been staring at the water for so long he could’ve closed his eyes and still would have seen it, yet it would be better than replaying the last moments of his father’s life. He kept telling himself he should have realized sooner his father was having a heart attack. He should have seen the signs before his father had collapsed. If he had, there might've been time to change the course things had taken.
There were so many times he wanted to undo the past--to unburden himself from this pain--but there was nothing that could take it from him. Although he'd hated making this trip by himself, he'd known that Kimmie really needed to stay with his mother—she hadn’t taken the David’s death particularly well.
Looking around at the empty beach, Jordan frowned in puzzlement. He’d thought he’d known his father well, but his last wishes in the will had come as a surprise to everyone in the family. Cremation and a scattering of the ashes along a beach. He’d always thought of his father as reliable and constant—someone who’d want a grave, not this impulse to be one with a listless ocean and beach where gulls circled lazily overhead, crying out to one another.
It didn’t so much bother Jordan that this last request had seemed to come from out of the blue. No, what had unsettled him was the idea that perhaps David’s love of the beach had been far from the last unknown Jordan would run across. Still, there would be no more opportunities to find out about the hidden sides of his father and to understand who David Carroway had truly been besides his father. Perhaps there were details only his mother knew, but she’d said so little, and the last thing Jordan wanted to do was remind her of a past which could bring neither joy nor relief.
A pair of gulls swooped low and landed on the shore not far from where Jordan sat. He watched them peck at a piece of paper half-buried in the sand, the edge of which waved in the breeze. His father, had he been there, would've laughed and pointed at them. “Look at those birds,” he would have said, shaking his head. “Just like two women fighting over a sweater during a sale.”
Jordan smiled in spite of the lump in his throat and the enormous weight that had settled on his shoulders, threatening to bury him. He wished his father were here--how he wished that. Gritting his teeth, Jordan shifted his feet, making a ridge in the sand, some of which spilled across his feet, speckling his shoes.
He raked his fingers through his hair, trying to resettle it against the cold breeze that smelled of ocean tang. He wondered whether his father had had any regrets. Surely he had. Didn’t everyone? Sighing, Jordan stood and ambled toward the water’s edge, peering at the ground. At the sight of a flat, smooth stone, he bent and picked it up then stretched out his arm and tossed it out over the water. The stone skipped three times before sinking, and as Jordan bent to grab another stone, it occurred to him what his own biggest regret was.
Nicole.
That thought caused him to falter in his throw, and the stone ended up plinking into the shallows not far from his shoes instead of sailing out. He took a couple of steps back, trying to wrap his mind around that thought, but still not sure what to do with it. He’d known he’d had feelings for her for a long time. He’d just assumed they would die at some point, considering a future with her wasn’t possible, not so long as she was married, anyway.
His frown suddenly shifted to a scowl as he thought of her husband, and he wished things had turned out better for her. She had definitely deserved better, not that Dweeb, who had been too busy cheating on her to even to deign to come to her father’s funeral or appear at the hospital when his children were born.
Jordan forced himself to take a deep breath and not react. Reacting wasn’t going to fix anything for anyone, least of all himself or Nicole, unfortunately.
He tried to imagine what his life might have been with her by his side, yet all he could seem to think about was that it felt empty without her. Losing his father was probably one of the most important moments in his life, and the only person he wanted to share it with was a woman he’d met during a chance encounter years ago--a woman he’d never been able to forget or stop measuring others against--and if he really wanted to be truthful, she'd been the reason he hadn’t tried dating again. There was no point in dating when someone already possessed your heart. He was smart enough to know that.
He was in the process of picking up a third stone when he felt someone watching. He turned just in time to find a couple starting onto the beach. The woman had long, flowing hair, much like Nicole’s, and if he tried hard enough, he could probably morph her features to match. That wouldn’t do him much good, and the last thing Nicole needed was some guy telling her after all this time he'd finally realized he was madly in love with her.
The couple strolled down the beach, holding hands as they walked. Jordan waiting until their figures were small blots on the horizon before taking one last breath and heading back to his Jeep. There was no point in putting off the inevitable. While he might love the beach, there was a reason he’d come here, and it had nothing to do with taking a cold swim.
He opened the back of the Jeep and pulled a thick bag of ashes from the floorboard. As he hefted it into his arms, he wondered again how a human being could be reduced to this; it just didn’t seem possible. Nonetheless, this was all that was left of his father, and fulfilling his father’s last request had fallen on his shoulders.
“All right, Dad,” he half-whispered. “I guess it’s showtime.”
Carrying the bag out onto the beach, Jordan tried to find a perfect place, one he felt would be tranquil enough for his father. It was a stupid idea, he knew. Considering the reckless wind toying with his hair, Jordan recognized his father’s aches would be quickly scattered and that would be the last Jordan saw of David Carroway.
Part of him wanted to just drive away and keep the ashes in some kind of urn. It didn’t have to be fancy or anything, but the idea of casting what was left of his father out unsettled him, as though parts of him, too, would be forever riding the wind. His mother must have felt something similar because she, too, had been against this final wish. It had broken Jordan’s heart to have to go against her, but he'd respected his father’s wishes, no matter how hard they might end up being.
For a few seconds, Jordan just stood there, holding the bag. He knew what he needed to do, and he kept telling himself to just do it, but no matter where he looked, it didn’t appear to be the right place. Then again, he wasn’t sure he knew what the right place would look like; nothing had felt right since his father had died.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the seam which sealed the bag. Every muscle in his body ached--had had been aching since he’d driven up here, as though this small bag carried the weight of the world. Gritting his teeth, Jordan finally forced himself to jerk the bag upwards so that some of the ashes fluttered through the air and dissipated. He repeated the motion until the bag was almost empty, then he turned it over and let the final remnants cascade from the bag into the wind, which carried them away quickly. Although he kept staring ahead, thinking his vision should still be hazy due to the ashes, he could see the bright glare of sunlight on the ocean. Still, he didn’t want to close his eyes, not until he had to. He wanted to memorize the moment for what it was: the instant his whole life suddenly seemed to change, to tighten around a single truth he would never be able to deny.
He’d never worried about wasting his life. He’d always just assumed it would go on as it had, and that there would be more until suddenly it was over. Now he couldn’t shake the ove
r part. What if he died tomorrow? What had he left behind that mattered? A failed marriage? A career that really didn’t matter besides the income it provided?
Jordan crumpled the bag and shook his head, dazed by the life he'd realized he'd slipped into without intention. He’d taken the path of least resistance, and now it haunted him because he kept thinking about what did matter, and all he could think about was the missed opportunity with Nicole and the fool he’d been to assume such a chance came every day.
As the rolling surf soothed him, Jordan struggled to figure out what to do with the bag. Part of him thought it was meant for the trash. Part of him felt like it had become the last link to his father, so he just held it, took a few steps back from the ocean, and sat in the cool sand.
Farther down the beach, the man chased the woman, and the sound of their laughter echoed back to Jordan. Although he knew it wasn’t wise, he thought about Nicole and wondered if things had been different if that might've been the two of them instead of two strangers. The man caught the woman by her waist and swung her around until they both tumbled to the sand. Then they kissed as though Jordan didn’t exist, and maybe he didn’t, not to anyone besides his mom and sister. Maybe that was a part of what bothered him—not just the loss of his dad, but the feeling that he had ceased to matter, that he’d become a ghost of sorts, and that he was alone in a way he’d never in his life expected to be.
Stowing the bag beneath his leg, Jordan pulled out his cell. For a moment, his fingers just hovered over the buttons as though he’d suddenly frozen up and couldn’t remember the number he wanted to call. In truth, he was debating whether he should or shouldn’t call, and while shouldn’t was definitely winning, it didn’t mitigate his drive to push the buttons, anyway. In the end, he justified following through with it because his father had died and the emptiness was eating him alive. It was at best an excuse, but if that were all he had, he’d take it.
He punched her number from his speed dial and waited. It took three rings before she finally picked up and answered in a sleepy voice.