Page 77 of The Wondrous Life and Loves of Nella Carter
“What did you think would happen?”
“I don’t know,” I say, crumpling my tissue in my lap. “It made sense at the time.” And it did. It was far away from my problems, and if I’m honest, I was probably trying to tempt fate. I didn’t know if I’d survive a Luftwaffe drop, but I honestly wouldn’t have been mad. I was not in a good headspace. “I guess I wanted to go somewhere where my problems would seem small in comparison. With so much destruction, I could go there and be of some help. Or at least tell their stories.
“Look, all that matters is that I closed that chapter of my life. After Adam died, I didn’t care what happened to me, like something had broken on the inside. It was easier to let go, to float, Death almost having won our challenge.”
“I know a little of what that’s like,” Sebastian says quietly, eyes downcast.
I turn to him. In all his listening, Sebastian hasn’t volunteered much about himself. He has kept asking questions, taking notes—bearing witness to my pain.
A twinge plucks at my consciousness. I’ve been selfish, recounting my life and loves, and haven’t taken time to delve into his. I wait, letting the silence build, allowing space for his story to come through—his own loss. By the look on his face, it must have been a great one.
“Who was it?”
“Her name was Patricia, named for her grandmother. She went by Tricia, but I called her Pattie Cake. She hated it.” He lifts from the couch, digs into his pocket, and pulls out his black leather wallet. He flips it open and hands it to me.
A pretty woman with clear, tawny skin, almond eyes, and long black Senegalese twists smiles up from the photo, a red-and-white stole on her black graduation robes, diploma in hand.
“We met in our master’s program at Vanderbilt during a seminar. The only open seat was next to her, and I was so aware of her that I didn’t remember a word Dr. Lee said. I was completely distracted by her presence. She had that ability to light up a room. And it wasn’t just that she was beautiful. It was that she was brilliant. She was dynamic, singularly unique. She had been a teacher and returned to school to learn how to effect change. I felt flattered when she asked if I wanted to study and work on a presentation together.”
“Come on, Sebastian.” I gently elbow him. “You haven’t exactly been hit with the ugly stick.”
He chuckles softly. “I get that. But right away, I felt she could make life better—a person just for me.”
“It sounds wonderful.” I’m sincere when I say this. I know the feeling he’s describing well. As much as love can hurt, it’s glorious when it’s new and surrounding you. I glance at the picture again and can see what he means.
She’s radiant.
I also know that something did not go to plan. He’s using the past tense. She is no longer in this world.
“My friends would slap me on the back and tell me how lucky I was, that she was the total package. It was more than she was beautiful—shehad a beautiful soul. She volunteered with her sorority, mentoring young girls. Like your Adam, she saw me. Not only me but the man I could become. With her, I felt like Superman, like the strongest man in the world.”
Tears flow down his face as he gazes at a spot above the coffee table, in the present but seeing the past, unearthing his pain and sharing it with me.
I squeeze his hand, hoping I can do for him what he’s doing for me. Sharing the burden—lifting the weight of the pain that has kept you alone and apart for so long. Finding ease, knowing that you’re not the only person to whom life has been unkind.
He clears his throat and continues, “It all started with a stomachache. We were on vacation in Punta Cana, celebrating the end of our master’s program and the start of our PhD programs, when she started having cramps. Her cycle was on then, so we thought nothing of it. Honestly, I wasn’t focused because I was too nervous planning my proposal.”
He squeezes my hand and releases it, running his hands over his pant legs, jittery, slightly rocking back and forth, living in the memory. I sit back and picture it as he describes the scene. He takes a deep breath and continues.
“It was perfect. She’d told me years ago how much she liked the ocean—its enormity, that it had existed before anything else. She said that the water held time. I thought it would be the perfect place to confess my love, sure of the timelessness. So, as a surprise, I flew her parents and sister down, along with her eighty-one-year-old grandmother. Big Pat had just had a knee replacement and could hardly walk in the sand, but she was there for her grandbaby.
“After an early dinner, I invited her for a walk on the beach to see the sunset. She almost said no, but I insisted, saying who knew how many more sunsets she would see in Mexico.” He pauses for a moment. “I’ll never forget that, especially when I realized how true it was later.” He clears his throat again.
“So, she came with me, walking slower than usual. We hiked up a small hill of sand, and on the other side was a stand of palm trees. Her family was standing just underneath. I went all out, flowers and candles, the ‘Marry Me’ in big white letters, lit up against the reddish sky. It was perfect. It was honestly one of the best days of my life.”
A small smile lights his face as the memory plays.
“If that was the best day of my life, the worst one came three weeks later. It was in the middle of August, right before classes started for the semester. I had come back from errands and noticed she wasn’t home. It wasn’t strange—she was into fitness and often went for long runs. I didn’t even worry until it got late at night, and I hadn’t heard a thing. I called her parents and her best friend Meghan to check on her, but no one had heard from her. I was in the middle of calling her sister when the police knocked on the door.”
All the air in my lungs flew out at once, making me lightheaded, tears pricking at the back of my eyeballs. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
His expression’s so heartbreakingly mournful that “sorry” doesn’t seem adequate. I squeeze his hand and hope that he knows that he isn’t alone. “I, um—rushed to the hospital. Another runner saw her go down, where she cracked her head on the pavement, and called 911. They’d had to do surgery to relieve the pressure, and she was in a coma when we went in. When I finally saw her, her face was all bruised, and they had shaved off part of her braids.”
“Did she ever wake up?”
“She did. She woke up two days later. She was even herself—making jokes about a new hairstyle and how she would take up yoga instead. As scary as the hospital stay had been, she was still here, and I would take care of her. I looked forward to helping her, when the other test results came back.”
I swallow.
