There was a micro-pause. “Thanks.”
She disconnected before he could say anything else. His muscles tensed, talking to her hadn’t eased his concern at all. She was nervous. Why? He wanted her to tell him everything. To try again. He’d listen hard this time, try to help in whatever way she needed. He knew it wasn’t fair of him when he didn’t tell her everything. But there were things he told no one. Could never, ever tell.
So now he faced the prospect of who knew how long without her. All the next few nights alone. He could go away too. He could schedule in a work trip or something. But he didn’t move from the sofa. His apartment felt stupidly huge and cool and empty. He liked hers better. He missed the plants and the scent and the cramped delight.
Most of all he missed her.
Shit. He’d really fucked up.
Chelsea wiped her hands along the seams of her skirt before knocking on the door. It opened immediately. She’d rung ahead and made sure she was home alone. No way could she say this with Tom’s father present.
But Xander, for all his bluntness, had been right. She didn’t talk honestly to anyone. She didn’t explain what she needed or really how she felt. So she’d already been to see her mom and told her the full truth about that night. Told her that she needed understanding in learning to move on. That she needed more space—but at the same time more support in other ways. Initially her mother had wanted to come with her now, but Chelsea had refused. And then her mom got it and let her go. She needed to do this herself.
“Chelsea!” Helen, Tom’s mother, enveloped her in a hug. “It’s so good to see you. You’re looking so well.”
Chelsea couldn’t prevent the tears instantly stinging her eyes. This was going to be so hard. But she’d told one person the truth, she could tell another. It was too important not to. She had to—to try to find peace.
Helen looked at her and immediately moved back towards the open door. “Come in. Come on, we’ll have a drink. It’s been so long.”
She already had refreshments ready—a jug of iced tea on the table, as polite and perfect and kind as always. They talked for a couple of minutes—those easy icebreaker questions about Chelsea’s time in New York, what she was working on there. But neither went in depth in answering.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you more.” Chelsea put her untouched drink down. “I wanted to tell you what really happened.” She could hardly speak her throat was so painfully tight. She pressed her hands to her forehead, hiding her eyes from the older woman.
“What really happened?” The uncertainty and confusion in Helen’s voice nearly broke Chelsea’s resolve.
“I distracted him,” she whispered. “I was being an idiot. I was so happy about our engagement and I was acting up. I’m the reason he took his eyes off the road. It was my fault he veered. My fault we crashed.”
“Chelsea.”
She felt Helen’s hand touch her knee.
“I’ve read the police reports,” the older woman said. “I know he was going too fast—not crazily, but over the limit. And I know it was raining and that the road was even more slippery because a truck ahead of you had spilt some fuel. There were several factors at work that night.”
Chelsea knew all that too, but none of those things had been the primary factor. She had. “If I hadn’t distracted him.”
“He could still have veered.”
Chelsea shook her head. “You don’t understand—”
“I understand that he was so happy with you. He died happy.” Helen said firmly. “I still have that voice message you guys left when you were at the restaurant—the one telling us you’d just gotten engaged. That’s the last thing he said to me—how happy he was. He was so excited. And that was because of you.”
Chelsea covered her face with her hands. “I’m so sorry.”
The other woman wrapped her arms around her. “You loved him the way any mother wants her son to be loved. Wholly. That’s all I could ever want. I know he died happy—that brings me such comfort. It should to you too.”
Chelsea couldn’t speak anymore. Couldn’t.
“You poor thing. You’ve been feeling guilty all this time?” Helen sighed as she rubbed Chelsea’s back. “Of course you have. You’re sweet, Chelsea. Don’t shut away that warm heart. Love again. Love well. Live.”
Chelsea finally lifted her head and looked into the hazel eyes that reminded her so much of Tom’s. “You forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” Helen gave her a watery smile. “You tried so hard to save him. I know how much you loved him. So did he. I thank you for making my son so happy.” Tears trickled down her face. “He would want you to be happy. He wouldn’t want you beating yourself up, or not following through on things because of what happened. Let it go.”
She’d repeated words that Xander had said. That others had said before him. That Chelsea understood, but was still struggling to believe.
“He’d want you to be happy,” Helen added. “Just as you’d want him to be happy if your positions were reversed.”
Oh she would. She’d want him to have it all. Chelsea sighed deeply then slipped the ring off her finger and held it out. “You should have this.”
“No.” Helen shook her head. “He gave it to you. He loved you.” She reached out and curled Chelsea’s fingers around the ring, locking it into her fist. “But perhaps it’s time to put it on the other hand.”
“Thank you.” Chelsea whispered.
She’d never forget. But perhaps she could find solace. And maybe she could fix up some of the mistakes she’d made.
She went back to the small hotel she’d booked into, walked straight into the bathroom and flicked on the taps. She didn’t add bubbles or any scent. But she undressed, watching the water rise in the bath until it was deep. She dipped the tip of her fingers in to test the temperature.
Warm.
She drew a breath, released it and then breathed in again. Regularly counting, she kept breathing. Time to let it go. She had courage, right?
She put one foot in the water, refusing to act on the instinct that would see her pull out again in a heartbeat. She stepped the other foot in so she stood in the water. It came to just below her knees. She’d never forget those moments that cold, wet night almost two years ago. But maybe she could accept them.
“I’ll always love you, Tom,” she whispered. “You’ll always be in my heart.” He’d been her first love, a wonderful love. She’d been so lucky to have him. Because of him she knew how to love. “But there’s more room in there. More I need.” She drew a breath. “More I want. And I know that’s okay. I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”
He’d loved her. He’d want her to be happy—just as she would him. Because she had loved him so very much.
She sank right into the water, lying back and closing her eyes. It was so warm and so scary but at the same time, so good. She’d missed it so much. She’d always loved swimming. When she was little her mother had told her she had a few drops of mermaid in her. She’d dived and played in the local pool for hours and hours. She’d swum in a junior varsity swim team—until schoolwork became too much and she’d had to concentrate more on her studies. But swimming was her thing. Anything on or in the water. But she’d gotten so afraid. Associated it with those terrifying minutes.
The water washed away her tears the moment they left her eyes. She surfaced and took a deep breath. She thought about Tom. Remembered when she’d frantically dived for him. But he’d gone and he wasn’t coming back. And her life had to go on.
She rested her head on the edge of the bath and looked out the window at the vibrant blue sky. Her thoughts switched to that beautiful pool on top of the apartment building. To the color of the water at the polo pool. To Xander. The last knots of tension in her muscles eased.
Her heart still hurt, but maybe, just maybe it was starting to heal. Because it wanted to love again. She’d been such a fool about Xander. He’d asked her time and time again—what was in her head, what she wanted. Maybe it wasn’t just a line, he’d really wanted to know. Because she’d wanted to know about him too and she’d wanted to know because she was beginning to care for him.
But now she wondered what more she thought she needed to know when his actions told her all she needed. That he was loyal, strong, compassionate. That he was kind and good-humored. That he’d always try to help someone out. Why did she think she needed him to spill all his personal details like he was a can of beans? She already knew the kind of person he was from the way he treated her, the way he treated his friends. With kindness, loyalty and humor.
He was the kind of person she wanted to be with.
And he, like she, liked to play. He wanted a playmate. What was it he’d said to that old lady the night the alarm had gone off at the apartment?
“I like a woman who stands up to me.”
She finally got it. He mightn’t admit it, but he wanted a match—someone who could equal him. And he’d told her not to be afraid of expressing what she wanted.