Page 115 of Ripple Effect
“On board theLassen. He came to see me shortly before we flew home.”
I’m incredulous when I ask, “What did he have to say?”
“He wanted to know if I’d managed to sleep yet. It was night three, and I still hadn’t closed my eyes for more than fifteen minutes at a time. I was terrified to.”
“What was it like when you tried?”
“Every time I tried, I’d wake up with my chest hurting—like I wanted to cry but didn’t feel safe enough to.”
“You were safe, Libby,” I remind her.
“My head was, but my heart and mind weren’t, Cal.” Her words are like a knife sliding through my ribs, swiftly and effectively removing all traces of air from my body.
“Thorn handed me a card and said to call the number when I was ready—that I’d know when I was ready.”
“So, what? He offered to be your sounding board?” Jealousy eats at me, bitter and acidic.
Libby whirls around, fire in her eyes. “If it weren’t for that moment, I’d be in a different place. I wouldn’t be able to have this conversation with you. I wouldn’t even be speaking to you after years of being lied to. You owe more to your friend Thorn than you can possibly imagine.”
“We’re not exactly friends,” I grudgingly admit.
“That’s not the way he tells it,” Libby says, shocking me with that before she says, “The card contained the direct line to the SEAL team psychiatrist, Dr. Rhumed. At first, our sessions were daily. Then we graduated to every other day. Now, I’m down to weekly. And I’ve worked through a lot. I am stronger. I’m not the same woman I was, Cal.”
“No one would expect you to be.” My voice is comforting.
“No, listen to me, Cal. I’m not the same woman I used to be.” She walks back to the bed. There’s a glow about her, but it’s from the fire that burns deep inside. The light of innocence that was once there has changed. It’s been affected by the lessons she learned. She’s right. She’s changed. I quickly learn how when she starts talking again.
“I wept for weeks over the lies, Cal. Flipping through my phone trying to pinpoint when it was you first lied to me and realizing there was never a time you spoke the truth. I cried because I allowed it, because I was done with it, done with you. And then I wondered what my life would be like without you.”
Is this why everyone warned me to tell Libby all along? Not so she didn’t get hurt but so I didn’t end up crumbling? Or, had I changed as well? “Libby,” I plead.
“The problem is, I can’t. I can’t blank out what I saw. And I’m left with so much conflict as a result.” Libby stalks out of the room.
I count to ten before I follow after her. As she promised, she hasn’t left the house. She’s just standing in the kitchen. I approach slowly. “I can’t say I didn’t do it deliberately, because I did. I thought I was protecting this core of light in you that would die out if you spent day after day, month after month, worrying about where I was.” I let out a ragged breath. “I was wrong.”
“So, now what?” She runs a hand through her hair. It’s her left one. It’s still ringless. And after four months, all I can do is pray I’ll see them back on her finger at some point.
“Can you forgive me? For so much, Libby.” I step closer.
“You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“For the lies, for the pain, for not being open to the one person I should have known would have accepted me no matter what.” I begin to pray in earnest.
She holds my life on tenterhooks while a million thoughts chase themselves across her face. I read the story of our marriage in a myriad of expressions: love, sadness, pain, hurt, love betrayal, defeat, and still love. “I forgave you before I left to come here.”
I’m confused. Reaching for her hand, I rub my thumb over her ring finger. “Then tell me what it is you want. I need to know you. If there’s one thing I’m certain about, it’s that I can’t live without you in my life.”
Libby contemplates our fingers before she whispers, “Are you ready to let me in—all the way in?”
I’m about to open my mouth to agree when Libby interjects. “Be very sure before you answer. Because you’re not obligated to stay.”
“I want to stay. I choose to be with you. You are my life.” And it hits me like a two-by-four that if I’d told her the truth, she’d have already known this. And never questioned it.
“I will always love you, Calhoun Sullivan. But my love isn’t an obligation,” she warns me. “I want it all—the good, the bad, the honesty I should have had from the first damn moment we stood here and you asked me out. If you can’t give it to me, then there’s the door.” She points at the door behind me.
Slipping my hand into the back pocket of my jeans, I pull out my cell phone. I tear my eyes away from Libby’s long enough to dial a number I have memorized by heart.
It rings once.
