Still Beating

I make it through the week, just barely.

I called into work on Monday because I hadn’t quite recovered from the bomb that was dropped on me Friday night. Now, after days of self-isolation and ignoring all of my texts and phone calls, I finally venture out and land on my parents’ doorstep that following Sunday afternoon.

My mother opens the door and I quite literally collapse into her arms.

“Cora… sweetheart,” she says in that familiar, soothing tone as she strokes my hair. “What happened?”Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

Oh, nothing much. Just suffered through the worst four months of my entire life, only to have my heart smashed to smithereens just when I finally see a break in the clouds.

I blubber like a sobbing idiot against her shoulder as she pulls me into the house and shuts the door.

“He left,” I croak.

I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be falling apart in front of the woman who was almost Dean’s mother-in-law—through Mandy. It’s twisted, and it just makes me cry harder.

But I really need my mom right now.

“Cora, honey, let’s go upstairs and talk.”

I collect myself enough to wobble up the staircase and dive beneath the covers of the bed in the guestroom. My mother slides in beside me, wrapping her arms around me and just letting me cry for a while. It feels good to be stripped down and comforted after a week of braving the storms alone.

Dean used to be those comforting arms, but he’s gone now.

My hair is damp from tears as she brushes it away from my face, whispering words of solace against my forehead. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I nod. I do, I really do—but I don’t know how. “I’m just not sure how to talk to you about this. I’ll sound like a huge hussy.”

“I’m your mother, Cora. I would never think of you like that. Dad and I are very aware of the situation that unfolded, and while it was an unexpected shock, we never judged you or thought any less of you.”

“How?” I glance at her through bloodshot eyes. “I judged me. I’m still judging me.”

“Because we love you… unconditionally.”

I swallow a sticky lump in my throat, nuzzling against her warmth. “None of this was supposed to happen. It’s not supposed to be like this.”

My mother continues to caress my hair, my cheek, all the way down my arm and back up again. The motions tame my erratic heart. She lets a few moments slide in silence as I soak up the temporary peace, and then she speaks. “This reminds me of your junior year of high school when you were bedridden for six days with mono,” she reminisces, her hand continuing its climb and descent. “You were so sick. You could hardly get out of bed.”

“You would hold me like this every night and sing me lullabies. I was so embarrassed and told you to leave because I wasn’t a baby anymore, but I secretly loved it.” A wistful smile washes over me. “It made me feel better.”

She nods. “And every day at dinner time, I’d bring homemade chicken noodle soup up to your bedroom.”

I still remember that soup. It was so good. I began to look forward to it every day. Even on the days I had no appetite, that soup warmed me up and made me smile. “I remember that. I loved it.”

My mother pulls back to find my eyes, a knowing smile stretching across her pretty face. She leans in to kiss my hairline, then whispers, “That soup was from Dean.”

My chest tightens, the air escaping me with a sharp gasp. “What?”

“He would come over every day after school to study with Mandy, and he’d bring you soup. He never made a big deal about it—he acted like it was nothing.” She squeezes my arm, noticing my watery, wide-eyed stare. “He’s always cared about you, Cora.”

My mind is spinning and reeling, careening back in time to our early days of teasing and loathing. The only things that stand out during my high school years with Dean are elaborate pranks, like when Dean stole the tarantula from the science lab and hid it in my gym shoe.

That was on my first day.

That was after sharing a sweet look with him across the room in Mr. Adilman’s class, thinking maybe he would become my friend.

Nope. Cue the hairy spider in my shoe that traumatized me so hard, I spent half the day in the nurse’s office recovering.

There were no heroic gestures or kind words.

There was no soup.

I slick my tongue along my dry lips, feeling confused. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

My mother glances up, leaning back onto the pillow with a sigh. “I’m not sure.” She turns her head to look at me and I’m still staring. Processing. “But I started noticing things after that. Little things. Just the way he’d look at you sometimes—his eyes held such… I don’t know. Admiration. Endearment. I don’t think he even realized it. Neither of you did.”

“You think… you think we’ve always had feelings for each other?”

No. That can’t be true. I hated him, and he hated me.

“Subconsciously, I think there has always been a special connection between you two,” she says with a thoughtful expression. “I never questioned his loyalty to Mandy—I know they cared about each other very much. But as the years went on, I noticed the differences between them. They grew into different people who were not as well-suited as they were in the beginning. Of course, I never expected anything like this, but… I can’t say I’m entirely surprised by the outcome.”

I blink, my stomach in ropes. “You don’t hate him?”

My mother tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t hate him, honey. Dean has always been like a son to me, and your father and I both know none of this was intentional. This wasn’t a nefarious plot to hurt your sister. It’s been a horrible situation for everyone, and we knew there would be tough roads ahead with even tougher choices. Your sister and I have had plenty of long talks, and it’s going to take time, but I’m confident you will all find your way.” She kisses my forehead. “We hurt for Mandy. We hurt for you. We hurt for Dean.”

Tears track my cheeks in quiet streams, and I roll onto my back with a deep breath. “He left, Mom. He said he was holding me back from healing, so he took a job transfer in Bloomington, just to get away from me. He claimed it was because he loved me, but that doesn’t make any sense…” Those quiet tears turn loud as reality hits me once again. “I don’t know how to get through this without him.”

Her arms tuck around me once more, pulling me in. “Cora, sweetheart… love doesn’t exist without sacrifice. Sometimes those sacrifices are waking up ten minutes early to make your partner coffee. Sometimes it’s taking on a second job to support your family. Sometimes it’s staying up all night with a newborn so your significant other can finally sleep. Sometimes it’s shoveling the other person’s car out of the driveway after a snowstorm.” She places her palm against my wet cheek and smiles softly. “And sometimes it’s making the ultimate sacrifice and walking away for the greater good.”

I shake my head through the gut wrenching sobs. “I don’t want to be the ultimate sacrifice. I want to be the coffee one.”

“Oh, honey.” My mother holds me tight, a chuckle slipping out. “You need to think of it as an act of love, and not as an act of betrayal. And I think you should take this time to do some soul searching and put the pieces of your life back together. I’m here to help with whatever you need, and so is your dad. This isn’t necessarily an end… think of it as your chance to start over.”

I sniffle, thinking back to my final conversation with Dean in my living room last Friday.

Thinking back to that look in his eyes when I returned the locket—the most precious gift I’ve ever received—and hurled my angry words at him. That was our final moment together. Our last dance. And I allowed my demons to take over and strike him down when he was hurting just as much as I was.

Maybe my mother is right. Maybe this is all about love.

Maybe love is singing her favorite song in the dark, just so she can sleep. Maybe love is giving away the shoes on your feet to help keep her warm. Maybe love is coming over in the middle of the night when the power goes out because you know she’s afraid of the dark.

And maybe love is walking away because it’s the only way she’ll find the light again.

I wanted to believe our situation was the reason our feelings changed—shifted and swayed like a high tide. But feelings like this cannot be built in the course of three weeks. They are created over time, blooming and growing, manifesting into something bigger than us both.

Our ordeal may have opened a door, but it opened a door that was already cracked. Dean and I have always had a connection—a unique chemistry. It was disguised with banter and jokes, hostile words and silly pranks, but there was always something. And if I were to play the last fifteen years out like a film reel in my mind, I’d see the signs. I’d notice the things I’d blatantly ignored due to circumstances, ignorance, and our battle of wills.

I’d recognize the look in his eyes in the rearview mirror after we rescued Blizzard in the middle of a snowy highway.

I’d see his mask of horror and guilt when he thought he’d hurt me with the cornstarch donut.

I’d pick apart his winks and smirks and the twinkle in his eyes whenever I was around.

I’d feel his careful arms around me at the animal hospital as he filled me up with hope.

I’d recall the way he came to pick me up that fateful night in November at almost two A.M.— no hesitation, no questions asked.

I’d hear his noble words in that basement: “Do what you want to me. Leave her alone.”

I’d go back to my living room on Friday and listen, truly hear him, and I’d do it all so much differently.

A desperate whimper escapes me and I sit up in bed, wiping both eyes with my wrist and facing my mother. “I-I have to go.”

She strokes her fingers through my hair one last time, giving my shoulder a tender squeeze as she pulls away. “I know.”

I lean in for a hug, holding her tight with both arms, burying my teary face into her neck and soaking up her vanilla perfume—a scent that is entirely my mother. “Thank you. I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through.”

“Oh, Corabelle…” She kisses my cheek before she lets me go. “Just get better. There’s no shame in the struggle, but you can’t stay there forever. We’re all here for you.”

We share a final hug before I race down the staircase, out the door, and hop into my car. It’s a little after one P.M. and there’s a chance he hasn’t left yet.

I want to say goodbye. A real goodbye.

I fly across town, likely breaking at least eleven traffic laws, and park in front of his townhouse, my car door left hanging open as I jump out. I run up the familiar walkway, peering in through the side window as I knock on the door. I squint my eyes through the dusty glass, but everything looks empty. It all looks vacant. Hollow and cleared out.

No.

I’m too late.

I turn around and slide my back down the door until my bottom hits the cement stoop. I think about calling him. Texting him.

But I don’t even know what I would say.

I’m afraid everything would come out sounding like,

I want you.

I need you.

Come back.

And I know now, I know… the one who really needs to come back is me.

I wander through my front yard fifteen minutes later like a zombie, drained and exhausted. I’m so distracted by my emotional distress, I almost miss the envelope taped to my turquoise door with my name scrawled across the front.

Corabelle.

I lose a breath as I reach for the white envelope, plucking it off the door and grazing my forefinger along my name written in black ink. I swallow hard as I tear open the seal, then a gasp squeaks out between my lips.

My locket is tucked inside, along with a handwritten note:

It’s still beating.

You’re still okay.

And I still love you.

—    Dean

The words blur through my tears as I choke on a sob. I reach into the envelope and pull out the familiar, golden chain with a trembling hand, pressing the envelope between my knees as I fasten the necklace behind my hair. The pendant falls between my breasts, heart to heart, and I smile at the feel of the tiny weight against my chest. Then I press my fingertips to my ribs and close my eyes, letting my heartbeat vibrate through me and fill me with peace.

Love is so many things I never thought about, never expected, never knew… and one of those things is being the best version of yourself you can possibly be, no matter how many obstacles stand in your way. No matter how dark, how hard, or how painful the road to recovery may be. No matter how many blows or setbacks try to drag you back down into the mud.

We can’t give our heart to another without loving our own first.

And that’s exactly what I plan to do.