terribly disoriented, her head thick and fuzzy as though coming down with a cold. She tried to remember where she was or what she was doing there, but her mind refused to work. Her hand traveled over the surface of her favorite bedspread. Chenille. The spare room? What was she—
“Oh!” Cara’s memory flooded her mind with images of tears, hugs, and the most secure feeling she’d ever had in her life.
She snapped on the light and glanced at the bedside clock. Two a.m. He must have taken the children home. How embarrassing to fall asleep on him like that. She hadn’t realized, until that precise moment, just how physically draining their intense attraction had become.
The kitchen shone. Every single dish washed, dried, and put back in the cupboards. The leftovers sat on shelves in the refrigerator, and the garbage stood empty. No splatters of sauce on the stove, no half-empty wine glasses, and no traces of children’s project s anywhere. They’d vanished.
An envelope on the bar caught her attention. She pulled several sheets from it, settled down on her loveseat, legs curled beneath her, and read.
Cara mia,
You looked so peaceful sleeping; I had to leave you there. We keep dancing around the elephant that follows us everywhere we go, but eventually, we will have to tackle him. I am leaving, but I don’t want to go. I’m not ready to leave without knowing more about what I’m leaving behind.
Every morning I wake, and you are the first thing that comes to mind. For the first time in three years, I think of something other than how to get through another day without Lily. For the first time in eight years, my heart calls for someone other than her. That first day, at the wedding, I was confused. By Saturday, I was thankful. My Lily would be so happy. One of the last things she said to me was, “Jonathan, try to let another woman into your life. There’ll be women who are interested. Give them a chance. I want you to be happy.”
It killed me when she said it. It doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s like a gift she left me. You helped me unwrap that gift.
You know, I’ll always love Lily. I don’t think I need to tell you that. There is a part of my heart that has her irrevocably etched upon it, but she’s left the rest for you. I keep wondering if you can share a heart with someone else. Will knowing that her memories are always with me bother you? I can see how they could.
I’ve spent most of my children’s lives working hard to instill a love and understanding of who their mother is in them. Bryson remembers so much more than I ever imagined he would. He talks about things that I didn’t remember and thought he created in his own imagination and then later find that someone else knew or remembers. Date night. The last one was when he was two. He said Trevor, but I think he actually remembers—but how?
I am leaving on Monday. I’ve tried to talk myself out of going a dozen times an hour, but I can’t do it. I have a job, responsibilities to the company and my children. They have friends, school, and a life in Atlanta. Will you call and talk to me? Will you send me emails and letters? Will we ever have a chance or is this distance going to destroy something that is becoming much more cherished than anything I’ve ever dreamed of.
Cara, I loved my wife. I still love my wife. But, if current feelings are to be trusted, I’m becoming more attached and attracted to you than I’ve ever been to anyone. It is terrifying and wonderful. It is a gift and yet, thanks to the distance, feels like a curse.
I stare at these pages, and I am so tempted to toss them in the garbage. Will you read them as the desperate longings of a grieving and foolish man? Will I kill any chance of whatever it is we hope to accomplish by this amazing week we’ve had? Will you call me and tell me you’ve made a huge mistake and you never want to see me again?
Is it arrogant to admit that I can’t see you doing it? Is it proof of
“Oh!” Cara’s memory flooded her mind with images of tears, hugs, and the most secure feeling she’d ever had in her life.
She snapped on the light and glanced at the bedside clock. Two a.m. He must have taken the children home. How embarrassing to fall asleep on him like that. She hadn’t realized, until that precise moment, just how physically draining their intense attraction had become.
The kitchen shone. Every single dish washed, dried, and put back in the cupboards. The leftovers sat on shelves in the refrigerator, and the garbage stood empty. No splatters of sauce on the stove, no half-empty wine glasses, and no traces of children’s project s anywhere. They’d vanished.
An envelope on the bar caught her attention. She pulled several sheets from it, settled down on her loveseat, legs curled beneath her, and read.
Cara mia,
You looked so peaceful sleeping; I had to leave you there. We keep dancing around the elephant that follows us everywhere we go, but eventually, we will have to tackle him. I am leaving, but I don’t want to go. I’m not ready to leave without knowing more about what I’m leaving behind.
Every morning I wake, and you are the first thing that comes to mind. For the first time in three years, I think of something other than how to get through another day without Lily. For the first time in eight years, my heart calls for someone other than her. That first day, at the wedding, I was confused. By Saturday, I was thankful. My Lily would be so happy. One of the last things she said to me was, “Jonathan, try to let another woman into your life. There’ll be women who are interested. Give them a chance. I want you to be happy.”
It killed me when she said it. It doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s like a gift she left me. You helped me unwrap that gift.
You know, I’ll always love Lily. I don’t think I need to tell you that. There is a part of my heart that has her irrevocably etched upon it, but she’s left the rest for you. I keep wondering if you can share a heart with someone else. Will knowing that her memories are always with me bother you? I can see how they could.
I’ve spent most of my children’s lives working hard to instill a love and understanding of who their mother is in them. Bryson remembers so much more than I ever imagined he would. He talks about things that I didn’t remember and thought he created in his own imagination and then later find that someone else knew or remembers. Date night. The last one was when he was two. He said Trevor, but I think he actually remembers—but how?
I am leaving on Monday. I’ve tried to talk myself out of going a dozen times an hour, but I can’t do it. I have a job, responsibilities to the company and my children. They have friends, school, and a life in Atlanta. Will you call and talk to me? Will you send me emails and letters? Will we ever have a chance or is this distance going to destroy something that is becoming much more cherished than anything I’ve ever dreamed of.
Cara, I loved my wife. I still love my wife. But, if current feelings are to be trusted, I’m becoming more attached and attracted to you than I’ve ever been to anyone. It is terrifying and wonderful. It is a gift and yet, thanks to the distance, feels like a curse.
I stare at these pages, and I am so tempted to toss them in the garbage. Will you read them as the desperate longings of a grieving and foolish man? Will I kill any chance of whatever it is we hope to accomplish by this amazing week we’ve had? Will you call me and tell me you’ve made a huge mistake and you never want to see me again?
Is it arrogant to admit that I can’t see you doing it? Is it proof of
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