Her marriage. Carlos. Her family life. So much loss. When she’d arrived home after Stephen’s parking-lot confrontation, she was determined to sign the papers. After all, wasn’t the move to Melbourne about starting over, carving out a life for herself?
How could she do it if she were chained tohim? She prayed for courage as she waited for him to knock on her door. But when he walked in, the idea about Carlos sparked and she couldn’t let it go.
Wiping her cheeks with the edge of her top, she had no regrets over her request. Her little speech to Stephen flowed straight from her heart, and it felt good to cleanse herself of her burden.
She didn’t need Stephen’s mercy. He needed hers. So what if her demand hitched her wagon to his for the next few weeks, months, or even years? Her family would finally have closure. Peace. The chance to betheDel Reys again. Always together, always laughing.
Corina eased down into the wooden Adirondack chair. In moments like these, she missed her brother’s wise, albeit saucy counsel. She missed his robust confidence. His booming laugh.
But tonight she also missed what should have been with Stephen. Carlos had always been her best friend. She never imagined anyone could take Carlos’s place. Until she met Stephen.
His bold, brash confidence won her over . . . Well, eventually. Corina smiled at the picture of Stephen sitting behind her in a postgraduate leadership class, leaning over her, whispering his questions in her ear. As if he sincerely needed her help. But he was a flirt. An unabashed, charming flirt.
When she relented to his persistent chase and agreed to a date, she lost a piece of herself to him. He became her soul mate, her true love. More than a best friend.
But life decided to have its way with her.
Corina pushed up from the Adirondack, leaving her thoughts on the balcony, and headed inside. Snatching her phone from her handbag, she dialed Daisy, her best friend since junior high, married with two gorgeous little girls.
But she hung up before the first ring. She didn’t feel much like talking. And conversations with Daisy were peppered with dialogue to her daughters.
Tossing her phone onto the bed, Corina walked over to her wardrobe in the corner of the bedroom, cutting through a mysterious, lingering scent of Stephen’s cologne. Or was her imagination playing tricks on her? When he was deployed, she’d keep his pillow case unwashed so she could breathe him in as she drifted off to sleep.
But that was a long time ago. A story from the fairy tales. Corina faced the antique wardrobe that had once belonged to her great-great-grandmother Thurman on her mama’s side, purchased in France in 1910.
Turning on the corner lamp, Corina opened the carved oak doors and shoved aside her sweaters, finding the iron ring on the back panel that let her into a secret compartment. Didn’t she put something in here after her last trip to Brighton? When Stephen had rejected her?
In the muted light, she found the envelope. The one she’d stuffed in there when she came home from Brighton that fateful January over five years ago.
A month before she’d been so happy, anticipating a joyous, happy Christmas at home, her secret of being a married woman adding a bit of private fun to the season.
Presents had been shipped to Carlos in plenty of time. And Corina’s private gifts had gone out to Stephen.
She was to Skype with him in the early hours of Christmas morning. Oh, how buoyant and warm she was with the treasure of their secret. A lovers’ dream.
But the Skype call went unanswered. As well as the family’s call to Carlos.
What seemed perhaps an innocuous, minor thing—after all, they’d missed calls before—became a heinous nightmare from which Corina thought she’d never wake up.
Reaching in, she took the envelope from the compartment and headed to the balcony, thinking she should throw the darn thing in the river. Never mind the water’s edge was about a quarter mile away. The toss would be symbolic. A metaphor for removing the last bit of Stephen from her heart and head.
She drew back her hand, wondering how far she could fling the lightweight envelope. Just her luck, it would get caught in the wind and fall to Mrs. Davenport’s balcony below.
Corina returned to her bed and dumped out the contents.
One greeting card. One newspaper clipping. One soda bottle cap. And one thin, silky red ribbon.
Corina picked up the card, tracing the image of a beautiful, demure 1900s bride wearing a gown with a high neck collar and a long, flowing veil. Her burnished ringlets curled about her porcelain cheek as she smiled at her dazzling, dark-haired groom with blue eyes.
And she slipped into the memory.
“He looks like me.” Stephen said, plucking the card from the rack.
“Yes, but she doesn’t look like me.”
“Perfect, this card is for you. To remember me.” He gathered her to himself and kissed her, passionate and loving, not caring one whit that the shop owner looked on. “I’ll have my own memories of you.” His wicked grin told her exactly what kind of memories he’d treasure, and she blushed.
“Stephen, shhh . . .”
