Page 118 of Ripple Effect
I hold out my hand, and Dr. Powell shakes it. “Your story helped more people than you know.”
“Even so, thank you for caring about more than just the story. Thank you for caring about us,” Libby whispers. She leans forward and gives him a quick hug.
“Be happy, Libby.”
She nods, too overwhelmed to talk. Guiding her away, we head back toward the green room to have our mics removed so we can head back to Akin Hill for the rest of our visit.
* * *
It’s done.
Eight hours after walking into the local Charleston TV studio, Libby and I exit the building just before sunset. We’re hand in hand, both of us surviving not only what we endured today but what happened five years ago. I squeeze her hand, still unable to believe that despite the millions of reasons I gave her in the early years of our marriage to give up and walk away, it happened only once.
And somehow, I found the path to bring her back home.
Love. Honesty. Trust.
Tucking Libby tightly against my side, I feel her stop in her tracks. Right in front of us is an amazing view of the Atlantic Ocean laid out in front of us. “And right there is the reason that calls to me each year why I should keep remembering the past. But now, I have a brand-new one that’s going to keep me focused on the future.” Her voice is almost serene as her hand drops to cover our child.
Carefully, I murmur, “Nothing we do will bring them back.”
“No, but it helped keep their spirit alive in the hearts and minds of those who forgot.” Even as I hold her, Libby’s mind goes to only places she can go. After a minute of doing exactly what she’s needed me to do from the very beginning of our relationship—just be there for her—she blinks. And smiles.
I turn her more fully into my arms. “Each time you smile, my heart falls in love with you all over again.”
“Aren’t you lucky I’ve been blessed with so much to smile about?” she teases.
But there isn’t anything resembling laughter in my voice when I choke out, “Yes. And I thank God every day you still consider me one of them.”
Libby presses against my chest tightly, her own wrapping around my back. Her head rests just over my heart. “And I thank God you were brought into my life.” I feel her warm breath through my shirt.
Each beat of our hearts is louder than the slap of the waves against the sea wall next to us.
After first speaking with Dr. Rhumed after Libby and I first reconciled, he reminded me about a quote attributed to Buddha—that the two mistakes we make when it comes to telling the truth are not doing it or only doing it partially. I shudder. I have little doubt my wife was able to come out as adjusted despite what happened on theSea Forcebecause she was in the middle of an alternate trauma all because of my arrogance and narcissism and my inability to recognize that the strength of convictions of the woman cradled in my arms.
I could have lost it all through my deception and half-truths. Instead, I found the right reason to go to battle—love. I wasn’t about to give up without the fight of my life.
“I love you, Libby. Always,” I conclude, my breath moving the fine pieces of her hair.
Libby’s head tips back. “And I love you, Cal. I always will.”
When our lips come together, I taste the salt air between them. Or are those my tears as the emotions overwhelm me?
In the years since we started over and rebuilt our lives on a foundation that will withstand the battering that life’s day-by-day will throw at it, I’ve learned life is precious; love is a miracle. And protecting it by lying is harming it from the inside out. And the harm will continue to spread just like a ripple effect.
Epilogue
Calhoun - Five Years Later
I’m sitting at my desk when the video comes through as a text to my phone. Pressing Play, the air rushes out of my lungs in a single whoosh. Her sweet voice comes through perfectly clear over the screeching laughter of the other children at the playground. “I love you, Daddy!”
Then, the camera pans over to where Libby’s pushing the swing in a ray of sunshine, her body gently ripe with our next child, who’s due in a couple of months.
Before I can send a text to thank Ali for sending me the video, my boss strolls through the door as if he owns the place. Well, since he and his best friend actually started the company and still own the majority of it, I can understand why his attitude wouldn’t necessarily change. It doesn’t mean I have to like it.
My counterpart in our Connecticut location tells me it’s worse for him. “At least you don’t have to deal with him stealing food on a regular basis just because he used to work in your office. You’ve got a sweet new one,” Colby grumbled good-naturedly.
“I didn’t, until Keene happened to be here for a routine visit last quarter,” I retorted.
