Page 44 of Love What's Left
“Where are you off to?” He riffles through his bag, locates a small container of Kleenex and holds out two.
I hadn’t noticed my stupid eyes were leaking. I accept the tissues and wipe my face, eyeing him with suspicion.
He gestures to the left. “There’s a quiet little garden over there. Lots of shade and a waterfall. You can walk on the grass to get there so you don’t hurt your feet. I find, sometimes, if I sit and see how many constellations or species of plants I can name, by the time I’m done, I’m ready to come up with a plan.”
“I don’t want him . . . to find me.”
He nods. “Staying on the property does ruin the ‘Storming Off Dramatically’ aesthetic. Sometimes a shoe-less temper tantrum is exactly what a moment is missing.”
His words snap me out of the pain of disappointment and grief into shock. “Y-you’re rude.”
“When you remember me, you’ll love me. Probably. Honestly, it’s a coin toss. In the meantime, you could sit next to a waterfall—man-made, unfortunately, but it looks like it occurred naturally—and, while you do, you can let that adrenaline leave your system. And afterward, if you still want to storm off, you can pack a bag, call your husband a giant dildo, and go, but this time with shoes and money.”
“He’s not a g-giant dildo,” I say.
“How disappointing for both of you.”
I scowl, still sick and sad, and inexplicably exhausted.
“May Iwalk you to the bench? You look as though you could topple over at any moment.”
I could ignore him, but he’s right. I’ll have to go back inside to get my shoes, phone, and wallet, and I have no intention of doing that yet. I can see the bench from here, the air is sweet, and the guards are within earshot.
He places a hand under my elbow, and we walk. When we reach the seating area, he waits politely for me to sit before sprawling on the bench beside me, leaving a couple feet between us.
“I’m your brother-in-law, Henry, if you’re wondering.” He shoots me a sidelong glance. “Is Gabriel getting on your nerves? Who could blame you, really?”
I bristle. “I’m the one . . . I can’t remember how things are s-supposed . . . to be. I can’t think . . . a-anymore.” Not when it comes to my memories or my emotions.
The person I remember being wasn’t dramatic. I didn’t cry or have meltdowns like this as a teenager. I kept everything tamped down and only let loose on the soccer field. Even then, my emotions were under my control.
He pats me on the shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” he says dryly.
Scowling, I glare back at him and attempt to discern if he’s mocking me.
“I’ll admit, I’m worried about him.” He removes his hand from my shoulder, plucks a flower from a tree branch behind our heads, and examines the white-and-yellow blossom before letting it drift to the cool, pebbly sand beneath our feet. “I’m worried about you too. Of course. I’m merely pointing out that it’s notallabout you.”
“I’m leavingforhim. I’m . . . ruining his life.”
“Ah. The old ‘better off without me’ argument. Except he’s never been better off without you. Honestly, if you hadn’t come along, I think he’d probably be dead by now.”
Impossible to believe. All anyone has to do is look at him, and I never could have become someone who tried to “save” a man. I know better.
“In case you think I’m calling you two co-dependent, I’m not. He did the work himself. You didn’t fix him,” he says.
That, I do believe, regardless of whatever supposed problem he had. I watch the water as it pours over the rock and splashes into the pool below. Cool mist sprinkles the tops of my bare feet. I don’t know where I’ll go without McRae. Don’t know how I’ll heal from a broken heart when I can’t understand the injury in the first place. “He wants s-someone else.”
Henry leans toward me, his expression rapt. “Really?”
“Yes.”
He laughs, then sobers abruptly when my chin wobbles.
“Sorry. I’m not laughing at you, but Gabriel waited for you to give him a chance for years. You’re telling me he finally gets you, then screws around on you? That’s not my brother.”
I shrug.
“Did he tell you he wanted someone else?”
