Take This Regret (24 page)

Sated and relaxed, Elizabeth and I sat in silence as Lizzie jogged back to her playthings, far enough away that she submerged herself in her own imaginary world of castles and dragons and princesses but not close enough to the water to cause us alarm. The sun washed over us, its heat the perfect contradiction to the coolness of the ocean breeze.

Elizabeth stared ahead, but I could almost hear the click, the quickening of her pulse, triggering the same reaction in my own, the rush of nerves as she hugged her knees to her chest.

“Did you think of us?” Her voice was pained, and her question hung in the air as a doorway to our past, one she final y asked me to step through. Up until now, every time I’d tried to talk to her, she’d shut me down; but now it came without provocation, her own instigation. As much relief as it brought me, I knew there was no way this conversation would be easy.

“Every day.” I looked over at her and watched the pain gather in the creases at the corner of her eyes.

She turned and rested the side of her face against her knees as tears pooled in the honeyed amber. “Why didn’t you come for us?” It was a solicitation for me to final y account for what I’d done.

No. There would be nothing easy about this.

I squirmed while I debated how to explain myself, knowing there would never be any justification. My conscience assaulted me, and I looked to my daughter for strength. I brought a knee to my chest and anchored myself to it as I dug my other hand in the sand, pul ing out a handful and watching it fal through my fist as an hourglass.

Exposed in al my shame, I turned back to Elizabeth in confession. “I did.”

I watched her as my words sank in. Her irises widened and a tremor shook her body. “What?” The word fel as a smal cry from her lips.

Exhaling some of the pressure in my chest, I focused on Lizzie, knowing I wouldn’t be strong enough to handle the disappointment on Elizabeth’s face while I described to her how I’d not only walked out on her once, but twice. “The night after Lizzie was born. I came to the hospital. I planned on apologizing to you, asking you to take me back.” I swal owed the lump in my throat and pressed on. “But Matthew was there . . . and I . . . left.” I mustered enough courage to look at her, to watch her have her heart broken al over again. She turned from me and buried her face in her knees, her body convulsing as she tried to stil her racking sobs. She jerked up, burning with anger, unable to speak, and then closed her eyes, tripped back into sadness.

“That’s how you knew about Matthew,” she said under her breath. She seemed disoriented as she tried to acclimate herself to this most dishonorable revelation.

I couldn’t stop now, even when I was certain my words would do more damage than good; but when I came back into this, I’d promised myself I would always be truthful with her. “That night I convinced myself I was doing the right thing . . . sacrificing for you so you could have a normal life with Matthew. I realize now it was just an excuse, Elizabeth.

I walked away from
my child
because I thought I couldn’t have
you
. I never even knew if she was a boy or a girl.” This admission flowed like poison from my mouth, vile in its offense.

“I regretted it every day. I’d always expected to hear from you with a request for child support or . . . something. I waited, but none ever came.” No apology could ever rectify this wrong, but stil I needed her to understand.

Elizabeth’s bottom lip quivered, and she shook her head, a clear dismissal of my reasoning. “That doesn’t make it any better, Christian.” She looked out upon Lizzie, and then leveled her eyes back on me. “Maybe it makes it worse. For so long I believed we never even crossed your mind, that the moment I’d walked out of your apartment we’d been forgotten, and to find out you . . . you waited for me to
come to you
”—she stressed the words—“. . . it’s just

. . . ,” she said at a loss for what to say as her voice trailed off.

“I thought you were happy.”

She sniffled and rocked herself. “How could you think that? Did you not believe that I
loved
you? That I wanted to spend my life with you?”

“Of course I knew you loved me.” My voice rose in frustration. “There’s nothing I can say that can make any sense of the decisions I made. Bottom line, I was a selfish asshole.” I splayed my hand through my hair, helpless, losing the grip I’d had on my control. I angled toward her, capturing her face with my eyes as I pled with her. “It doesn’t change anything, Elizabeth, but I
truly
am sorry. If I could, I’d take it back, right back to the moment I made you choose between me and our child. That was the worst decision I’ve ever made.”

She turned away and sat silent while she listened to my explanation, watching the waves race in against the sand, their constant ebb and flow but stil steady progress as they claimed a stake farther up the bank, just like us, the low necessary to reach the high.

I looked out at the horizon, unable to discern where the ocean met the sky, and settled into her quiet as I continued to speak. “My mother . . .”—I felt her eyes fal on me—“. . .

she always pushed me to find you, told me I was wrong in staying away. I never believed her until I saw Lizzie in that store.” I looked at Elizabeth who was staring at me as my words turned to desperation. “She means everything to me, Elizabeth.”

You mean everything to me.
I didn’t say it aloud. She wasn’t ready to hear it yet.

Even under the weight of the conversation, I saw in her expression that she at least understood this, accepted that I adored Lizzie. That expression shifted as if something had just occurred to her, her words flowing with the quiet shock of her realization. “You left your father’s firm because of her.”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t have to. I’d give up anything for my child.

Elizabeth glanced at Lizzie and then back at me. “I’m so sorry, Christian.”

“I’m not,” I said with complete conviction, because it was true. I couldn’t go on working for a man who would say such unfounded, disgusting words about Elizabeth and my child. I should have walked away six years ago.

She chuckled quietly, and I could tel by the softness that settled on her face that it was not at my expense, but in her own surprise with my actions. “You are a mystery, Christian Davison.”

I shook my head at her notion. “No, Elizabeth. I’ve just changed.”

She nodded almost imperceptibly, her lips parting as the idea seemed to penetrate her, her eyes setting in agreement. I hoped she believed that change was for the better.

Taking a col ective breath, we turned our attention back to Lizzie and watched while she fil ed bucketfuls of sand with a smal plastic shovel, tipped them over into towers that housed the captive of her fairytales, her mouth moving without voice as she played out the scene unfolding in her head. It was as if we had cal ed a time-out, a reprieve from the past, needing a moment to regain a measure of equilibrium before pressing forward.

Final y, I broached the topic I was sure neither of wanted to discuss. “Wil you tel me about Matthew?” She released a heavy breath, though didn’t seem surprised by my line of questioning. “Matthew.” She released an affectionate huff. “We tried so hard to fal in love. The first time I slept with him, I was four months pregnant with Lizzie.”

I flinched at her brutal honesty, but that’s exactly what the last six years had been—brutal.

Swal owing, she seemed to get lost in the memory. “I cried the whole time.” Her voice dropped in slow ruefulness. “Matthew was so good to me. He kissed away my tears and promised that it would be okay, that somehow we would make it work.”

She glanced at me askance, not meeting my face. I realized I was holding my breath. “But it was always forced.

We loved each other, but not like that. The day after we got to San Diego, Natalie showed up at our doorstep to meet my new daughter and boyfriend, and it was like . . . like . . .” She looked up at me as if she were wondering if I could understand. “Like they could touch each other from across the room.”

“I let him go that night.” She laughed without humor and shook her head. “Of course he tried to refuse, adamant that Lizzie and I were his family, and he’d never leave us like that.” We cringed at the same time, cutting words that hadn’t been her intention. Her eyes flashed to mine. “I’m sorry, Christian, I didn’t mean—”

I shook my head, stopping her. “It’s okay, Elizabeth.” She shouldn’t apologize for my deficiencies. The truth was that I’d left her.

“Anyway,” she went on, “We talked the entire night, and we both decided if he stayed, we were only prolonging the inevitable. He packed a smal bag and checked into a hotel down the street from my apartment. Within two weeks he had moved in with Natalie.” She sighed with a shrug. “When it didn’t hurt, I knew we’d made the right decision.” She looked at me with a grimace etched into her beautiful face.

“Al I felt was relief.”

I had no clue what to say—if I should say anything at al .

Al I knew was that I owed more gratitude to Matthew than I had ever imagined.

“But he continued to take care of you?” I inclined my head toward Lizzie while stil holding her gaze, unwil ing to break this free flow of trust.

She smiled, the warmth of her face the same as if it were directly focused on Matthew. “Yeah, he did everything he could for us. That first year after he and Natalie got together, I hated being a constant burden on him, so I tried to hide things from him.” From this came the first amount of regret I’d seen from Elizabeth when she talked of Matthew, and she shifted in discomfort. “Al it did was cause him more worry, so we ended up becoming this strange little family that we are.”

Running a hand through my windblown hair, I deliberated for a second before I decided that since we’d final y found ourselves being so candid, I should take it as far as it would go.

“Was there ever anyone else?” I asked, worried I might not be able to stomach her answer.

She bit her bottom lip, shaking off what must have been an involuntary shudder. “There was this guy . . .

Shawn”—she gulped for air—“he was an asshole.” She shook her head again and looked at me, almost pleading. “I real y don’t want to talk about him.”

Now
I
felt like the asshole, but stil I pushed. “Did you love him?”

“No,” she said, the word flying from her mouth before I could finish the sentence. From the look of disgust set deep at the core of her eyes, I knew she was speaking the truth.

While I wanted to ask more about him, I could see that it was a shut door, one that needn’t be pried open by my jealousy.

“And Scott?” I asked, again feeling guilty for digging so deep, but unable to stop myself when I found myself so close to Elizabeth’s heart, to her soul that been laid bare, taking just a little more.

She appeared to be amused by my prodding, embracing me in the warmth of her smal , knowing smile.

“No, Christian. Last night was”—the levity from seconds before was replaced with total resolution and a tinge of remorse—“a mistake.”

The relief that escaped me was audible, and I ducked my head, chuckling at just how obvious I was.

She nudged me with her elbow, the heat of her arm spurring a reaction in me that was becoming harder and harder to suppress. I hadn’t realized we’d gravitated to each other, our bodies now just inches apart. “So what about you?” It came out as almost a tease, though I could feel the pain simmering just below the surface.

I brought my face up to meet hers and saw the fear in the way her eyes, never at ease, skittered across my face, her sun-kissed skin blanching where she dug her nails into her legs.

“God, Elizabeth, do you real y want to know?” She averted her eyes, contemplative, before raising them back to mine and nodding.

“I think I do.” She seemed to resolve, her gaze becoming firm as she stared at me across the smal space.

There was a moment that I considered lying to her, sparing her the obscene, especial y in light of the divulgence of her not-so-scandalous past, but I just couldn’t bring myself to that type of dishonesty.

I searched for air and my voice. Final y, I just forced myself to speak. “That first year”—
when you were pregnant
and sick and needed me
—“I tried to forget you.” I snorted in revulsion at the memory. “I slept with any girl who’d let me.”

Elizabeth whimpered, and her eyes glistened, but she lifted her chin and waited for me to continue.

“Then after seeing you at the hospital . . . I just . . . I realized that who I’d become made me sick, and I couldn’t continue on that way.”

That brave chin quivered, but I didn’t stop. I just looked away and let the words bleed from my mouth, low and monotone. “I dated a little bit but pretty much fil ed my time with school. Then I met Brittany.” I felt Elizabeth tense at my side, heard the sharp intake of air. “We lived together for almost two years.”

I could sense that Elizabeth had begun to cry again, but I continued with my attention trained on the ground, wishing I could somehow find a way to bury my shame there. “She wanted to get married, and when I couldn’t make that commitment, she left me.”

While it had been sad to see my friend go, watching Brittany pack her things and leave had been so much like Elizabeth’s depiction of when Matthew had gone. The winning emotion had been one of intense relief.

winning emotion had been one of intense relief.

“You didn’t love her?” Elizabeth choked as she squeezed the words out one by one.

“Yes . . . in a way. I mean, I cared for her. She was kind and sweet but . . .”

But just like she and Matthew, I never loved Brittany that way.

“But what?”

Without hesitation, I looked up to meet Elizabeth’s face, her cheeks wet and blotchy, and answered, “She wasn’t you.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, sending more tears racing down her beautiful face.

The hurt she wore broke me, and I couldn’t stand the distance any longer. “Elizabeth . . . ,” I said so slowly, so softly as I reached out to cup her face to give her comfort for al the pain I had caused her, to show her how much I stil loved her.