Page 48 of Hearts to Mend

“Talk about what?”

“How you feel about us. How you feel about me. The weather. Whatever you need to talk about, I’ll listen.”

She doesn’t say anything for a long time. We walk slowly up the hill under a blanket of stars. It’s probably too warm tonight for a leisurely stroll, but I’m enjoying this time alone with Dee nonetheless.

Her voice cuts through the night when she says, “I’ve always feared earthquakes.”

That’s random. Does an earthquake qualify as weather?

“The thought of having the earth shift beneath my feet seems terrifying. Life is full of shifting things. The earth should be solid, dependable, never move.

“That’s what your letter felt like to me. You were my rock, my constant. And then you were…gone. I tried to write to you after that, and you never wrote back. You vanished from my life, as if you had died. Except you didn’t die. You left intentionally, and that hurt worse.”

Fuck. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” she says wistfully.

“No, I don’t think you do know. I don’t think I’ve really told you.” I stop walking. Our tree is off to the left, a few paces through the field. It feels like as good a place as any for this to be said, so I take her hands in mine. “I love you, Dee. I’ve always loved you. But I was an idiot. I thought I needed to live a little before I settled into a small-town life. It wasn’t until that night, when I wrote the letter, that I realized how stupid I’d been. That I already had everything I was searching for, and I’d left it when I left you.

“But by then, it was too late. I was sure I couldn’t come back to this, certain I wouldn’t come back at all. It broke my heart to imagine I’d never get to see you again.” I raise my hand to stroke her cheek, needing that connection. “I thought I’d never be able to touch you again or feel your breath on my neck or taste your orgasms… All of it was over for me.

“I was miserable about it, so I started drinking—which was strictly forbidden for service members in Afghanistan, but we found a way, of course we found a way—and I fucked up a lot in those days, but especially when I fucked Theresa. That was the night when I broke my own heart. It felt like such a betrayal to you. Even though I’d already sent you that stupid letter, it wasn’t until that night that I knew there was no going back to the life I’d had before.

“But that night gave me a new life as Matty’s father. And suddenly, I had this incredibly important reason to survive, to stop fucking up. My whole existence became about him. He was the reason I fought. He was the reason I survived. And he was the reason I came home.”

I see the hurt in her eyes, like she’s wondering why she wasn’t reason enough to fight, survive, and come home. I try to explain better, but it’s hard to put this part into words. “You’re so strong. I knew you’d be okay without me. With Matty, it’s different. Fatherhood is a different kind of love. There’s a heavy weight to it, a terrifying responsibility that I’ve never known before. It is all consuming. My love for Matty replaced everything else, for years. And I have no regrets about that.”

She smiles, and it’s genuine, like she understands, even when I don’t completely understand it myself.

“But then, I moved back here, and on my first day at a new job, I got the call all parents dread—finding out my son was hurt. And when I walked into his hospital room, you were there.

“Seeing you that day—that was my earthquake. It shook me to my core because in an instant, I knew I’d never stopped loving you, and I never will. And every moment I’ve spent with you since then just strengthens my resolve.”

I wrap my arms around her waist and bring her closer, staring deep into her beautiful green eyes. “Dee, I loved the girl you were, so much. But this woman you’ve become—she’s amazing. You’re amazing. And I’m desperate to earn back your love and trust.”

Dee furrows her brow and purses her lips and, in a whisper nearly snatched away by the breeze, says, “I’m not as strong as you think. I fell apart without you.”

Fuck. Her words gut me. I press my forehead against hers and just start groveling. “I’m sorry. I’m beyond sorry. That word is too small to even begin to cover how sorry I am. Hurting you—I regret it…so much. I regret that I didn’t understand how special we were together. If I could change one thing in this life, it would be how I hurt you, how I ruined us.”

Dee sniffs and wipes her eyes.

I pull away, just enough to help wipe away some of the wetness from her cheeks. And the sight of her like this—crying in my arms, crying because of what I did—brings tears to my own eyes. I sniff and wipe them away before I finally ask the question I desperately need her to answer. “Do you think you can ever forgive me? I’ll understand if you can’t, but I hope—”

“I already did.” She blinks up at me, and the stars shine in her eyes.

I’m stunned, speechless.

Without another word, Dee turns away, wiping away the last of her tears as she stares across the dark field at our tree. And then she walks out toward it, traipsing into the brush and bramble to stand beneath the shelter of its wide branches.

I follow her into the wild scrub brush. It’s a little slow going for me as I’m extra careful where I put my feet. Despite some residual weakness on the left side, I haven’t fallen since the stroke. I don’t plan to start now.

“When did you forgive me?” I ask as I watch her trace the indentations I made years ago when I carved our initials into this old giant.

“In the hospital, after your stroke, I realized I don’t hate you. I never did. And there is a part of me that understands why you left.”

“You do?” Please tell me. I’d like to know.

“You were right. Our lives were small back then. And these days, it’s unusual to stay solid and true with the person you fell in love with in the third grade. Our lives aren’t small anymore, Rico. Even though I stayed in Krause, I’ve traveled. I’ve lived. You survived a war, and then you survived a stroke. Sitting in your hospital room got me thinking about how when someone matters to you and they fuck up, you have to decide if their fuckup is forgivable or not, and if it is forgivable, then fucking forgive them because life is too short to stay mad about the past. So anyways… I forgive you.”

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