Page 77 of Say You Love Me

There’s something freeing about being on the open road. It’s a good two-hour drive to the wellness center. I should have left ages ago, but it was harder to get into the car than I thought.

I’ve missed Finity with every ounce of my being. I hated coming home to a cold and empty house. I hated waking up in the morning without her by my side. Even though things had been strained between us ever since that fateful night, there was something calming about knowing she was there. Even when she acted as though nothing had happened, she was still there for me to yell and scream at, still there for me to vent my frustration on, even if she never answered.

I’ve missed the comfort of her body at nights, even though we haven’t shared a bed in a long time.

I’ve missed the way she’d watch me. The way I’d glance up from whatever it was I was doing to find her looking at me in a way that heated the lust in my veins.

I missed the way she missed me.

Something snapped within my wife the night we lost our baby girl. She froze, acting as though nothing had happened until she began to thaw. Then the flood of emotions was so overwhelming that she withdrew into herself. I doubt she’ll ever be the same.

She’s sitting alone when I first spot her. Her eyes are cast to the ground and her features are etched in sorrow. But even in sadness, she’s still the most captivating woman I’ve ever seen. When I pull to a stop, she gets to her feet. There’s a look of hope on her face and it sparks my rage. Part of me feels like she doesn’t deserve hope. She doesn’t deserve to be standing there, unaffected while our baby lies in the dirt. She doesn’t deserve to heal.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive my wife. I need to blame her. I need her to hold the responsibility of what happened.

Because if I don’t blame her, the guilt is too heavy.

If I don’t blame her, the only person left to blame is myself.

chapter thirty-seven

NOW

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FINITY

I rub the sandpaper back and forth, watching as the fine dust forms a pile on the concrete. I think I’ve found my passion in making old things new again. When this chest of drawers was dragged into the shop, the owner thought it would be good for nothing more than firewood. They stopped on a whim, hoping to make a few dollars rather than paying to dump it.

As soon as it was presented to me, I saw what it could become rather than what it was. The wood was old and faded with patches of varnish gone in places, some of the handles were missing and there was a large scratch down one side. It was nothing like the antiques that stocked the rest of the store, but I hardly noticed. All I could see was what it could look like with a little love and attention. I saw it in a nursery, painted white and pale pink. I saw a toddler with chubby rolls down her thighs clinging to it as she stands for the first time. I didn’t see the stains of its former life, the sins it had committed or the sins that had been committed against it. I only saw its future. One where it could forget the past, forget the memories that lay etched in its wood and become new again.

I would have never found this passion if Mr Woodward hadn’t given me a job. I’m working at a recently opened antique store called Bygone. Mr Woodward is new in town. He didn’t know me. Didn’t know what had happened. Didn’t know I was the girl who lost everything. So he was willing to give me a job. Now my days are filled with old things given new life. There’s something special about someone’s something old becoming someone else’s something new.

The door creaks open and the dust in the room swirls with the movement. “Are you still working on that?” Mr Woodward swipes his hand back and forth in the air, attempting to avoid the dust from being sucked into his lungs.

“Just about finished with the sanding.” I stop and sit back, admiring my handiwork.

Mr Woodward looks at it approvingly. “You’re doing a good job. Not many people have the patience for work like this. I’m pleased to see you’re excelling at it.”

I smile as though I’ve just been given an A on a class project. Mr Woodward was the one who first spotted my eye for forgetting the past and seeing a new future. At first, his shop was just meant to re-sell collectables, antiquities and heirlooms. It wasn’t until he let me loose on an old chair that he decided we would be a shop that also restored old furniture. And ever since, I’ve scoured the internet and magazines and books for inspiration.

It may have become somewhat of an obsession.

I turn back to my work, furiously scrubbing the sandpaper over the surface, determined to remove any evidence of its past life. I expect Mr Woodward to go back into the store, close the door to the workshop and leave me in peace. Instead, he chuckles and folds his arms over his chest.

“You realize it’s closing time, don’t you?”

I glance at the clock and am shocked. I was supposed to be home over an hour ago. Getting to my feet, I brush the dust off my clothing. “I can’t believe it’s that time already.”

Grabbing my bag, I sling it over my shoulder and walk out the door, calling my goodbyes to Mr Woodward over my shoulder. The store isn’t too far from home and I enjoy the daily walk back and forth.

This evening, the sun filters through the trees, alternating between shadows and golden light. I stroll along the street, turning so I can walk past Lori and Lance’s house. As soon as Lori sees me approaching out the kitchen window, she runs to the door and waits on the steps.

Grabbing my cheeks between her hands, she fixes those clear blue eyes on mine. “How are you, dear?”

This time I don’t need to look away when I answer. “Wonderful.”

She keeps staring at me, keeps holding my cheeks until a smile spreads over her face. “Yes, yes you are.” She lets go. “And Hudson? How are things between you two now? I know it was difficult there for a while with all that happened. That nonsense with that boy who was stalking you was horrible. You must have been terrified.”

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