Page 66 of About Time

Hattie Past- Age 32

Despite all thepromises I made myself that I would make more of an effort to really live my life, I ended up falling into all the same patterns I had before Elisa and Martin died once I got back to Florida. With one major exception, I didn’t have anyone to pull me out of my dark moments.

I thought it was bad right after Charlie and I split the first time. To me, that was the definition of gut-wrenching loss. I’d lost my baby, my husband, and gave up my home town in the span of a couple of weeks. My isolation was self-imposed, and that didn’t sink in until I lost Elisa. I’d give anything to feel the sting of a broken heart again.

I work as many hours as my admin will let me, and then I sleep the rest of the time. Work keeps my mind targeted on a task. There’s no time in the ER to let your mind wander into the weeds. I don’t stray off into all the things I’ve lost in my thirty-two years. There’s no time to imagine how different my life would be if I were going home to a husband and children. I don’t feel the pang of longing for a house filled with noise and scattered toys when I’m dragging my body home at the end of atwelve hour shift. I’m only supposed to work three days a week, but with the nursing shortages we’ve had, I have been getting steady overtime. It’s great for me, because if I work myself down to the end of my endurance all there’s left is sleep.

Sleep can be a great escape, but only when my body is too tired to linger in the space between. When my body is slow to fall into slumber, my mind tends to wander. Those are the nights I toss and turn without peace. At this point I’ve just become someone who is killing time, and perhaps killing myself a little in the process. Burn out is constantly threatening me on the periphery. I can’t let it take me though. The most terrifying words a doctor could say to me at this point is that I need to rest.

The problem isn’t that I’m working too much, rather it’s the days I don’t work at all. Those hours last longer than all the others. Sometimes my friends make me get out of the house, but all too often I find myself walking along the beach replaying memories it would be best I forget. Maybe, if I could manage to pull the claws of the past out of my heart I would look forward to those hours of freedom.

There is one thing I do regret about how busy I keep myself, and it’s that I’ve done a really shitty job keeping my promise to my sister. After Wren turned eighteen and I left town, something broke between us. That’s all my fault.

The truth is, I’m a coward. I don’t know how to be the person Elisa was. I’m a few years younger than she was when she died, but I don’t have near the wisdom that she did. My education, travels, none of it bring me anywhere near the innate wisdom she was naturally graced with. I don’t know how to help Wren with the most basic of problems. How could I when I’ve done such a horrible job handling my own shit?

Before Elisa and Martin died we were in regular contact. The credit for that goes to my sister. She was the glue between all of us. Without her, the bonds between my niece and I havestretched until they are barely strong enough to keep pulling us back together.

We aren’t strangers. We call on each other’s birthday, and I call her on Elisa’s birthday. Outside of that we chat about once a month. The last few months have been pretty spotty. I can tell there’s something going on with her, but she won’t open up to me. I don’t push either. If I did, she’d get a first row seat to the failure I am as a person. I do everything I can to keep people from seeing the shell I am as a person. Our relationship has become superficial, but then again I’m a surface level person. Everything below that is a tangled web of sticky sadness. I’d be a horrible person to soil her with it.

It’s not that I’m still afraid that anyone will learn the truth about Charlie and me. I never was the one who wanted to keep it a secret. The reason I don’t want anyone to find out is because then I’d have to relive it. How am I supposed to forget him and move on if that happens?

I haven’t been able to come up with a good answer to that question, so I go with the wrong but easy answer. Avoidance. Anything that reminds me of the pain I felt losing my relationship gets shoved aside, even people I love. In truth, I push away everything that makes me feel anything other than exhaustion. Even those walks on the beach often turn into runs. I think I’ve been trying to speed past my heartache this whole time. The only thing passing me by is life itself. Turns out there’s no magic recipe for escaping the emotional toll of trauma.

Then one day out of the blue I see Wren’s name come across my caller ID. The first time I send her to voicemail. Not because I’m avoiding her, this time, but because nights in the ER can be harrowing. That night there was a major pileup on the 275 and all hands were needed to treat injuries. It was hours of rushing to save as many people as we could. My body is buzzing with anoverload of adrenaline by the time I finally catch a moment to breathe.

That’s when I remember sending Wren to voicemail. I pull it up and listen to her message. The first thing I notice is the sound of her voice. It’s the sound of someone trying desperately not to cry. “Hey, uhm, it’s Wren. You already know that though. Yeah, so my car broke down in Alabama. I am currently on a bus, and I’ll be in Tampa in about ten hours. I was hoping it would be okay if I come stay with you.” Her voice breaks at the end.

Immediately, I feel guilty for sending her to voicemail. There I was, holding the hand of a little girl who was in need of comfort after her parents were wheeled into surgery, when my sister’s daughter was out there alone and hurting. There were other nurses who could have helped the little girl, but Wren doesn’t have any other family but me. When I left her in Harriston, she had a bright future, and she was madly in love. Judging by the sound of her voice that’s changed, because I know that tone too well. That’s the sound of a heart breaking.

When my admin asks me to stay on for more hours after my twelve hour shift, I do something I’ve never done in my eight years working for this hospital, I say no. I’ve been a shitty aunt, and not even a full human being. For once I’m going to be present in my own life. When the bus pulls into the station I see myself reflected back at me. It’s like shoving through the layers of time and watching the past play out from a different perspective.

The woman in front of me has been worn down by life and her heart is shattered; a feeling I know all too well. I have always worried what would happen with her marrying Liam too young. Hypocritical, I know, but Liam isn’t Charlie. I didn’t worry Wren couldn’t handle the responsibility, but I never saw him rising to the commitment. I hate being right about this.

For two weeks she walks around like a ghost. She barely eats, sleeps, or talks. It doesn’t take a genius to know that some major shit has gone down. It’s my fault she keeps it to herself, because I’m the one that erected the walls between us in the first place. Finally, she starts to open up to me, and tells me about Liam’s affair, and that his mistress is pregnant.

Another week crawls by and I watch her fall deeper into depression. Even after talking to me she doesn’t seem to be pulling out of the hole she’s fallen into. Her mood swings make a lot more sense when a pregnancy test comes up positive. It’s a story I know all too well, being in love with a man who doesn’t love you back.

All of that changes when Griffin Hale shows up outside my condo instead of his son. My heart jumps into my throat when I see him on my doorstep. I’m home a lot more since Wren has been staying with me, otherwise I probably wouldn’t have been around to answer the door. My face broadcasts my confusion as I open the door to the six-foot plus, grumpy, god-like man, who will always pale in comparison to his much more laid back best friend in my eyes.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here, Hale? So your son is such a chicken shit that he knocks up my niece and lets his daddy come and fix things for him?” I didn’t plan to start berating him, but my anger at Charlie, Liam, and hell Griffin too, boils over.

Then it occurs to me that Wren only just found out, and she hasn’t told Liam yet. I slap my hand over my mouth as if that could possibly take back the words that I vomited all over him. Through my hand I say, “Uhm, forget that. He doesn’t know, because—shit, why are you here?”

It doesn’t immediately connect for me that he would be there for himself and not on behalf of his son. Being with Wren the last few weeks has me on edge like I haven’t been for years. Whenyou stop closing yourself off, you don’t get to choose which emotions come back.

He has his back to the road, so I see her before he does. It’s like he has some kind of sense that she’s nearby, and his head turns to her without her saying a word. Waves of intensity pour off of him, and I get a sinking feeling that Liam has nothing to do with Wren’s baby.

I can see the appeal. Griffin Hale is a painfully sexy man. Someone that could attract a woman nearly half his age. There’s something about a man who works with his hands. I’ve never been able to resist it. I guess she and I are tragically more alike than I realized. At least my older man was my brother-in-law’s friend, not my husband’s father. Then again Charlie and Griffin are best friends, so I’d say it’s another mark in the similarity column. I’m not sure that’s a good thing.

He stalks toward her, grabs her arm, and I can hear him making demands with a tone of barely leashed anger. “We need to talk, baby bird, now!”

“Wren!” I scream. It’s not like I think he’ll hurt her, but there’s more than physical pain.

I can see from her body language that she’s actually relieved to see him, which doesn’t make sense given how angry he seems. With that same level of ease, she waves me off. “It’s okay, Hattie,” she shouts to me and let’s him help her into his truck.

Even with her reassurance I find myself pacing my condo. The prospect of being alone again scares me. Then there’s the fact that Wren seems to be repeating my mistakes. Well, I guess this might not be a mistake. At least Griffin came for her, and he didn’t even seem to know about the baby. She seems to love him, only love can make you that miserable.

I’d be a hypocrite if I judged her for it. I can’t say I’m convinced they’re going to make it, but I won’t be rooting for them to fail. If Wren can take her broken heart handed to her byLiam and find something so much bigger, then I can stop hiding from life. It may blow up in her face, but at least she’s taking a chance.

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