I nod, my face twisting with emotion. “I almost didn’t make it. And that’s why I can’t …”
“You don’t have to explain. No one would blame you for not wanting to go through that hell again.”
Closing my eyes, I finally understand why people compare relief to being let off the hook. But my reprieve only lasts for a fraction of a second before Olive’s little face pops back into my mind. “I can’t, but when I think of Olive … fuck.”
She digs around in her purse and takes out a packet of tissues, holding one out for me and using one to blow her nose. “She’ll be okay. She must have grandparents or aunties and uncles who would take her in if the worst happens.”
I close my eyes and shake my head. “Not really. Her mom’s parents are going through their own tragedy—her grandpa has just been diagnosed with dementia.”
“What about Liam’s parents?”
“His dad’s dead and his mom sounds like the least patient, loving person in the world. His sister already has five kids, and she doesn’t sound much better than her mom.”
“Well, someone will step up, I’m sure of it,” my mom says, obviously needing to put it all out of her mind. “She’s a sweet little girl and there’s a village full of nice people there who would gladly take her in.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right.”
“And who knows? It seems like every week they come up with some new miracle drug. They might come up with something for him and he could be just fine.” She starts up the car again and backs out of the stall.
“Aren’t we going for coffee?”
“We need something much stronger than coffee. There’s a bottle of tequila in the liquor cabinet with our names on it.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Love don't make things nice - it ruins everything. It breaks your heart. It makes things a mess. We aren't here to make things perfect. The snowflakes are perfect. The stars are perfect. Not us. Not us! We are here to ruin ourselves and to break our hearts and love the wrong people and die.
~ Ronny Cammareri, Moonstruck
I’m driving back from the Sydney airport, my knuckles as white as the snow that blankets the island. The highway has been cleared, leaving treacherous patches of black ice. Each one reminds me of my mom’s warning about the winter tires. CBC radio is providing the soundtrack to my drive, and the announcer informs me that we’ve had a record-breaking snowfall for November, and another big dump will arrive by midnight. In honor of that, he’s decided to play Michael Bublé’s “Winter Wonderland,” and he hopes I sing along.
I glance at the frost-covered trees that sparkle when they’re lit up by the headlights. It’s both dangerous and incredibly beautiful at the same time. It’s almost seven in the evening and even though I haven’t eaten since breakfast, I’m too nervous to feel hungry. I’ve been riding an emotional roller coaster since I left Portland. Why did my mom have to ask me the ‘what if’ questions? It was all so much simpler in my mind before that. Now I can’t help but wonder if I might be walking away from the most magical, beautiful thing life has ever offered me. Each passing mile wakes me up to what I’m really giving up if I leave.
A call from Lauren interrupts Michael Bublé, and I press the button on my steering wheel to answer it. We’ve spoken each week since I left. She’s done a very good job of remaining neutral, and I love her for it.
“Hi, Lauren.”
“Hey, just wanted to see if you made it home safely.”
“Not yet. I’m currently being initiated into Canadian winter driving,” I say, gripping the wheel tightly with my left hand as the tires swerve to the right. “Actually, it’s more like a hazing.”
“God, is it bad?”
“They’ve had about twenty-eight inches of snow today and this stupid cast isn’t exactly making it easier.”
“Good thing you’ll be getting out of there soon.” And I think I now know how Lauren really feels.
“Yup,” I answer, the knot in my stomach twisting up even more than it already was.
“I know how hard this is going to be for you. You all right?”
Tears spring to my eyes. “Don’t ask me that, okay?”
“I thought you might start second-guessing your decision.”
“I am,” I say, my voice wavering. “My mom said something this morning that really got to me.”
“Uh-oh, Helen strikes again?”
