But when anger takes over, I can’t see truth anymore. I only see my side. My feelings become the truth I’m fighting for. They justify my actions even when my actions are wrong.
That’s how anger destroys relationships. Like it did with my mom when I drove across country to return the thousand dollars she sent me on my eighteenth birthday. Like it did with my wife when she gave me the ultimatum of career or marriage. Like it did with Gemma.
I meet Harris’s eyes without using rage to shield him from seeing my fear. He knows I’m a coward, so what more do I have to hide?
As for Harris, he has every reason to be angry too. Maybe more. He’s been discriminated against as both a Black man and a cop. He watched friends die in the military at the hands of terrorists. His dad passed recently, and now he’s taking care of his mom. Yet he keeps on laughing and joking like the happiest man alive. “How do you keep from hating the world?”
He takes a few steps forward and grips my shoulder. “I put myself in other people’s shoes. And when I do, I see that all they want is to be loved. So I love them.”
He makes it sound so simple. “They maywantto be loved, but sometimes what theyneedis prison time.”
His teeth flash in one of his brilliant smiles. “And that’s where you come in, bro.”
Harris is good at his job because of his great love. We can learn from each other, and today I need to learn to let my anger go.
I blow out my breath. “I’ve got to go make a phone call.”
“All right.” He backs away and claps his hands. “Tell Gemma I said hi.”
Except it’s not Gemma I’m calling.
The wooden sign welcoming visitors to The Grotto is painted with evergreen trees and what I think is supposed to be a cross, though to me it looks more like crosshairs. Of course they aren’t crosshairs since the sign reads: A Place of Solitude, Peace, and Prayer.
This was always Amber’s favorite retreat. It’s an outdoor Catholic shrine built on over sixty acres in the 1920s. I’m personally not big on shrines, but the gardens, ponds, and caves are definitely a sanctuary. And I decided if I was going to invite my ex-wife to meet with me, I should make her feel as safe as possible.
Me, on the other hand? In spite of the birds chirping overhead and the golden sun streaming between giant trees, my guts are a jittery mess. I scan the asphalt walkway in search of a Hispanic woman so tiny she could disappear underneath her mass of fake blond curls. Though she might have changed in the past three years, I know I’d recognize her stance of one leg turned out and her hip popped to the other side.
The walkway opens to an outdoor seating area where I suppose they hold Mass. Wooden benches face the cliff with a cave in it. Steps lead up to the cave, so I head that way. It’s cool and damp and smells fresh like earth. Inside the cave is a stone table covered in flowers. Behind it, there are mossy piles of rocks that hold candelabras and statues. The biggest marble statue in the middle looks as though it could be Mary holding a dying Jesus.
I wonder if my mother ever looked at me with such love. Such sorrow. Could she be looking down on me from heaven like that right now?
She wasn’t much of a mother, but the fact that she sent me a gift on my eighteenth birthday meant she’d wanted to try. Maybe she’d wanted to ask for forgiveness. God would have given it to her even though I didn’t.
“Karson?” The warm voice holds a remnant of accent.
My stomach clenches at the sound of her rolling therin my name. I take a calming breath, then turn to face her.
Her hair is surprisingly dark. The way it was when we were kids, before she started bleaching it. The jolt of seeing it that way unlocks the good memories I’d stuffed away.
I saw her in court during the divorce, but I’d avoided all eye contact. Now I force myself to look into her chestnut eyes. They are free of the huge, spidery eyelashes she used to wear. She looks natural. It’s a good look for her.
I blink and look her up and down. She’s gained some weight, but in a healthy way. And she has a ring on her finger. Maybe it’s from the man she replaced me with. Maybe not. I’m surprisingly unaffected.
“You …” I swallow the lump of sorrow in my throat. “You look good.”
Her full lips turn up even as her thick lashes lower. “Thank you.” Her gaze lifts again to meet mine. “I used to dream of seeing you again. Sometimes it was with the hope of getting back together, and sometimes it was with the idea of flaunting my success in your face.”
I start to cross my arms, then choose to lower my defenses. I stuff my hands in my pockets instead. Just this change feels different. But I’m confused by one thing. “If you wanted to get back together, why did you start dating someone else?”
“I wanted someone to make me feel good about myself. I would have preferred it to be you, but …” She shrugs. “I was selfish and didn’t wait.”
I’m surprised she admits this. It’s okay if she has malice for me. What matters is that I don’t have to have it for her anymore. I can let my anger go.
“I want you to be happy.” Surprisingly, the words are true.
“Thank you.” She tucks a strand of dark hair behind an ear. “It’s been a hard journey. It got worse before it got better.”
I narrow my eyes. I’d figured she simply replaced me and went on with her life. “How so?”
