Page 76 of Chasing Clouds

“Reid.” She glances to the side, her eyes roaming and stopping on her tools outside.

“What, Camille?” My tone expresses my impatience for this to be over and done.

Her eyes slide back to mine and the sharp disinterest they radiated just a few moments ago has now thawed, leaving them dull and gray—thundercloud gray. Not once have I ever seen them this color, and my breath catches in my throat. She appears so calm, poised on the outside; it’s what she’s mastered, but her eyes are telling me she’s raining on the inside. Adrenaline sends waves of tiny sparks under my skin, and I brace myself for what’s to come.

She licks her lips, tips her chin up, and takes a deep breath. “Thank you, Reid. Thank you for all you did for me, and for all the time you spent with me.” Her words are slow, soft, but so heavy with meaning my heart rate picks up and pounds forcefully against my chest. “I want you to know you were the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and . . .” She pauses, swallows, and blinks, forcing the desolation to disappear from her eyes. “I will remember you for the rest of my life.”

Turning, she stoically makes her way to the kitchen, grabs her purse where she left it on the end of the counter, and walks to the front door, not stopping to pick up any of her things along the way. She slips on her shoes, and without looking back, she’s gone.

I’m not sure I even take one breath, but the second the door clicks shut, my heart splinters right down the middle, leaving me gasping for air.

DIVORCE PAPERS.

I didn’t think it would all happen this fast. Actually, I was hoping it wouldn’t happen at all, but I guess it did. He said he signed them, and now I’m just waiting.

It’s been two and a half weeks since I last spoke to or saw Reid, and every day my heart hurts exactly the same. I wish it wouldn’t, especially after the way he treated me, but it does. I’ve tried to think of him less and find a new normal for life now, but I haven’t succeeded yet. I get that he’s angry—I was angry for him. Football is his life and he came really close to losing it, but the way he talked to me seemed to go above and beyond that.

I regret not telling him about Clare. I should have, and it was wrong of me. Somehow he still found out, and his reaction was exactly what I was expecting—terrible. I would’ve liked to talk to him about her, but he’d made up his mind and I guess now I’ll never have that chance.

I know relationships come and go; that’s the nature of life. If we’re lucky we find someone who brings out the best in us, who understands us when we’re at our worst, and we get to spend an indefinite amount of time with them. That isn’t always the case, though—the time part—but for a brief period, with Reid, it sure felt like it, and I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

At this point, I can’t go back and change anything, and as heartbroken as I am about losing him, I’m trying to look on the bright side. After all, I did put myself out there, even after the last five years, and I’m proud of myself for that.

Hearing the back gate swing open, I look up and find Patrick walking toward the doorway to my workshop. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since he showed up outside Reid’s building, and I’m over fighting with him. Based on the defeated lines on his face, he looks over it with me too.

Turning away from him, I lower the volume of the music, and I take this moment to pull myself together and prepare for whatever it is he has to say. I mean, haven’t we been through enough? I know I sure have.

“Do you care if I come in and sit down?” he asks, waiting for me to invite him in.

“Nope.” I look at him over my shoulder. “Not at all.”

Quietly he walks in and drops down in one of the two lounge chairs I keep for company here in the coach house. I can only think of one other time he’s visited me here long enough to sit, stay, and watch, and he wasn’t himself that night; something was off. It was one of the most casual and easy nights we’ve ever had. He never said what was wrong, but he wanted to be near me, and that made me feel important. It made me feel like more than the arm candy I usually felt I was. It was a night like that one that had me thinking we could do this marriage thing, but it wasn’t enough.

Tonight, Patrick is wearing a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, navy blue slacks, a brown belt, and brown dress shoes. He looks every bit the part he was groomed for. Actually, he looks every bit like the man he wants to be.

Only, today he looks tired. There are deep purple shadows under his eyes, his skin is ashen, and his hair looks like he’s been running his hands through it all day. His perfect composure isn’t so perfect, and that has me feeling uneasy.

Putting the lid back on the can of dark wood stain I was working with, I walk to the sink to rinse and clean the brushes. He watches.

“Do you want something to drink?” I glance at him over my shoulder.

He hesitates and then says, “Beer.”

Patrick loves beer. Local craft IPAs are his favorite, but not a lot of people know that. In social settings, he reverts to scotch. After all, appearances are everything.

Pulling two from the refrigerator, I pass one over and take the chair across from him.

“You look like you,” he says, and a small smile tips my lips up. “Not that you didn’t before, uh . . .” His cheeks turn red and he looks away. “I just mean you look like the you you used to be, before everything changed. You look good.”

I think this is the first time in five years he’s complimented me for being me instead of scolding me for not being who he thinks I should be: Clare. Part of me wants to point this out, but watching him play with the label on his bottle, I can tell he already knows.

Birds from outside are chirping, and somewhere in the distance, church bells are ringing. The air between us is calm, exhausted, and I watch as he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His hair falls over his forehead and he lets out a deep sigh.

“Patrick, what happened to us?” I pull my legs up into the chair with me.

“I don’t know.” He shakes his head then lifts it to look at me. “I’ve thought about this so much over the last couple of weeks, and I can’t pinpoint when things changed, when they started to go wrong, how I changed . . . I am so sorry, Camille, I really am—for all of it.”

His eyes are pleading for me to believe him, so I do. In all the years I’ve known him, Patrick was never a bad guy. He was loyal, kind, and he cherished my sister. I think maybe deep down he knew we weren’t supposed to be together, and the pressure of it all finally got to him. That doesn’t excuse his behavior, but where he lashed out, I ran away. We each dealt with the situation differently.