Page 94 of Everything We Left Unsaid

“Please don’t do this. Come back. We’ll stay somewhere else. We don’t have to ever come back here. Just please,” he continues, his voice pleading, “come back to me so we can figure this out.”

I sigh, tears stinging the backs of my eyes. It’s going to hurt to say this, but I have to. “I can’t,” I reply as tears slip down my cheeks. I have to make this quick and hurry him off the phone before my voice begins to crack, emotion clogging my throat like I know it will. “I just need some space and a little time to think.”

“You can have all the time you want,” he offers desperately, and I choke back a sob, “but the space,” his voice turns more demanding, “I can’t grant you. I need you, Abby. This doesn’t change the way we feel about each other. I know you’re hurting. I’m hurting, too. She did this to us, to me and you both. We can’t let that come between us.”

“I can’t right now,” I breathe. “I have to go. I love you, Jacob.”

“Abby, please!”

I pull the phone from my ear and tap the red button to end the call. Easing my foot off the gas, I engage my caution lights and pull onto the shoulder. As soon as my car is in park, I let it all out. Dropping my forehead to the steering wheel, I quietly release all the hurt and betrayal I’ve been feeling since that conversation I wasn’t supposed to hear. I cry until there are no more tears left and my lap is soaked.

When I arrive home several hours later, my mind is no clearer. My thoughts are no less jumbled, and though my body is exhausted and my soul weary, I’m too worked up to sleep. I have several missed calls and voicemails from Jacob, but I can’t listen to them. Not yet, at least. Chloe remains asleep, blissfully unaware of the turmoil this situation has wrought. I lay her in the crib and go to retrieve my bag from the car. When I return, my grandmother is standing in the hallway, her face etched with concern.

“Abigail, what are you doing coming home this time of night?” My eyes begin to water and she takes in my appearance – red, swollen eyes, disheveled hair, raw cheeks from staying wet for so long – and she knows something is wrong. “Oh, sweetie, what happened?” She opens her arms and I step into them gratefully, burying my face in her shoulder. She holds me as I cry, big, violent sobs shaking my entire body. Every time I suck in a breath to tell her, nothing ever comes out.

She moves us into the kitchen, easing me into a chair before putting a kettle full of water on the stove. We stay quiet as the water heats. When the teapot begins to whistle, she removes it and pours us both a cup of chamomile tea, pouring a healthy dollop of honey into each. I wrap my hands around the mug and blow on the hot liquid several times before taking a sip.

“Did you and Jacob have a fight?” she prompts as I remain silent, my gaze fixed on a spot on the kitchen table.

I shake my head, struggling to find my voice. I close my eyes and suck in a deep lungful of air, letting it out on a sigh.

“I overheard a conversation between Jacob and his parents,” I begin wearily. “One I’m certain I wasn’t meant to hear.” Her brow furrows and something primal flashes in her eyes. That protective instinct that seemed to have skipped my mother flares to life. Her back straightens a bit, preparing to hear how I’ve been wronged before going to battle for me.

I open my mouth to speak, but the words get caught in my throat. How do I tell her Jacob’s mother is the one who betrayed us? How do I tell her that she’s the one who pretended to be him while leading me to believe that Jacob didn’t want me or our child? This feels impossible. It feels like I’m suffocating, like I can’t draw in a breath past the words I can’t find the courage to say.

She comes over and takes the seat next to me, rubbing her hand over my back as I hyperventilate, whispering soothing words in my ear. “It’s okay, sweetie. Catch your breath and start from the beginning,” she encourages, and I follow her instructions.

Once I can breathe again, I start from the beginning, the moment I arrived at their estate. I tell her about Evelyn’s frosty reception and how detached she appeared. She bristles when I replay the events at the breakfast table when Chloe chipped her plate and threw a fit. I tell her about the party and what Diane Greyson said about Jacob and Maggie being destined to get married, and how upset and insecure it made me feel. When I tell her about the incident in Peyton’s room, she stands abruptly from her chair and begins to pace.

“What on earth is wrong with that woman?” she exclaims. “I can’t imagine what she went through, losing her child like that, but Chloe is her granddaughter, her flesh and blood! Why wouldn’t she jump at the opportunity to spend time with her, to love her?”

“Guilt,” I answer simply.

“Guilt? Over what? Surely not because of her daughter?” I shake my head slowly, my gaze never leaving hers. Her eyes harden with recognition. “What did she do?” She can feel it, that tension vibrating in the air. The charged electrical surge that happens before huge revelations and bombing raids. You can feel something bad heading your way, but you don’t know what it is or where it’s going to strike. This one hits you right in the center of your chest.

“She had Jacob’s phone while he was overseas. It was her the whole time.” My grandmother covers her mouth, her eyes widening into saucers. “She’s who I was communicating with, thinking it was Jacob texting me. She’s the one who sent that letter and the money. It was his mother.” My voice raises with every word, the rage boiling over and spilling out. I stand, unable to sit any longer. If I don’t move, I’ll explode. “It was his own damn mother who did this to us!” Angry tears prick my eyes and my hands ball into fists.

My grandmother starts mumbling in Cherokee. I can’t make out most of her words, but I can tell she’s livid, the curses falling freely from her lips. After a moment, she stops abruptly and turns her attention to me. “How did you find out.?”

“That’s the conversation I overheard. She was confessing to Jacob what she’d done.”

“What did he say? What did he do?” I wince, remembering the crashing sound that first caught my attention, drawing me to that closed door.

“He was angry. So angry. I heard him yelling and breaking things in his dad’s office, but I ran before he came out. I packed everything up and left before he could stop me,” I admit, feeling like a coward now. Should I have stayed and talked things through with him? Should I have made more of an effort? I don’t think I could have made a rational decision at that moment. It’s probably best that I left. I relay our brief phone conversation to her and await her insight.

“Oh, Abigail. You have to talk to him. This is not his fault. He was hurt just as much as you were.”

“I know, I know. But it’s his family. How will I ever get past that? What if he forgives her and insists I do the same? What if he wants to let her remain in Chloe’s life after what she did?” That thought terrifies me. What else is she capable of? I don’t want her around my child ever again.

“You’ll never know if you don’t talk to him.”

“It just makes me wonder,” I begin, my voice trailing off. It’s far too painful to grant this thought any merit.

“Wonder what?” she prompts.

“Maybe I’m not cut out for that life. Maybe we’re too different. I always knew we came from two very different worlds, but I didn’t think it would matter as long as we loved each other.”

“It doesn’t matter, sweetie. Love can conquer all your differences. Just look at your Pappy and me. We overcame a lot to be together,” she offers with a sad, reminiscent smile.

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