Defining Moments (29 page)

Me: Here ya go. My ride to the hotel.

Seconds pass. Phone buzzes.

Claire: YUM

Eli: . . . and then Mom made it creepier.

I snort at Eli’s response, once again depositing my phone into my purse. I miss them all so much already.

The drive to the hotel is breathtaking. When we pass St. Peter’s Basilica, I can’t help but think of Cord and his siblings. My heart longs for him, and if I’m honest with myself, I miss everything about his family.

When we get to the hotel, I’m surprised at the luxury within.

I am thankful for the concierge’s insistence he escort me to my room since he is the one carrying my heavy luggage. The moment he’s gone, I jerk the curtains open in my room and stare out at the vast city in front of me and can’t help but smile like a lunatic. This place is so much more amazing than I ever could’ve hoped for.

I throw myself down on the huge king-sized bed and take in the beautiful art on the ceiling.

Buzz. Buzz.

I pull my phone from my purse and open the text before I even look at who it’s from.

Eli: Mom, I know you said not to text you and that you’d email as soon as you get settled at the hotel, but I can’t wait any longer. Please call Cord. He needs to talk to you.

I respond, because I know he will worry if I wait until I get my computer up and running.

Me: Please tell him to stop putting you in the middle of this. I will contact him sometime today.

Eli: Will do. Love you.

Me: I love you too, sweet boy.

The fact that Cord is continuing to talk to my boys pisses me off. I’m almost tempted to call him, but it’s now almost 9 a.m. here, so it’s 1 a.m. there. But then the thought of waking him up at 1 a.m. tickles me, so I call.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Hello,” an extremely sleepy, feminine voice answers. Confused, I pull the phone from my face, staring back at the profile picture of Cord in our field of wildflowers. Yep, right number.

“Don’t answer my phone,” I hear a groggy voice bark in the background.

“I’m sorry, I must have the wrong number,” I stammer quickly before hanging up.

Well, that answers that question. I put the phone down beside me and take a deep breath. That didn’t take long. I’m such an idiot.

I numbly put my clothes away in the dresser and closet, take a long hot shower, and then fire up my computer. I need to adjust to the time difference quickly since I have less than a week before I have to start my internship.

Ring. Ring.

I pick up my phone and see Cord’s name and picture staring back at me.

Decline.

It’s only 10 a.m. I should walk down to the nearest café and have breakfast. Although I’m not starving, I could definitely go for an Italian espresso.

Ring. Ring.

Cord.

Decline.

I don’t know how long I’ll actually be in Rome before I move on to the next place. I’d like to get in some sightseeing in the next few days.

Ring. Ring.

Cord.

Decline.

I sit at the little desk and make a list of the places I must see while I’m here.

St. Peters Basilica

The Pantheon

The Colosseum

The Vatican

Trevi Fountain

The Spanish Steps

The Roman Forum

Ring. Ring.

Cord.

Decline.

There are several restaurants I’ve heard of that I’d like to try out too.

La Porta Del Principe

Ciacco & Bacco

Elettroforno Frontini

Vincini Bistrot

Ring. Ring.

Cord.

Decline.

Today, I’ll rest. Walk around close to the hotel. Take in the scenery. Take some new pictures that don’t remind me of Cord.

Buzz.

Cord: And here is another instance where you are not allowing me to explain the situation.

I consider responding and giving him a piece of my mind because he was the one who didn’t want anything to do with me before I left Colorado, but the truth is, it doesn’t matter what the reasoning is behind a woman answering his phone at 1 a.m. with him in bed beside her. I don’t deserve second best to a dead wife, and I sure as shit don’t deserve second best to whoever is warming his bed. Unbeknownst to me up until a couple months ago, I was second best to Justin for more than twenty years. Just the woman at home, too dumb to realize what was really going on with my husband, too dumb to realize he was stepping out on me every chance he got. I won’t put myself in that position again. Ever. I deserve better. I demand better.

I spend an hour trying to calm down and wracking my brain on how to respond, I finally think I’ve come up with my response.

Me: First, you had almost a week to talk to me about what happened at Saint, but you waited until I was on the plane leaving to even express a desire to talk to me. I do not need an explanation for what just happened. The fact that a woman answered your phone, both of you sounding like you were asleep next to each other is explanation enough. I really do wish you happiness, Cord. You deserve it . . . and I truly hope that one day you’ll be able to let her and your guilt go, and you’ll move on with your life. Be Saint again. Goodbye.

I press Send and then bring up Cord’s contact, blocking him from responding.

As much as I care about him, I have to let him go to save my own sanity. I have to because I can’t go another day in this lifetime feeling like, or being treated like, I’m disposable. I refuse.

And then I cry like I’ve never cried before because the pain of knowing, once again, I just wasn’t enough literally shatters my heart. I cry until I can’t cry anymore . . . and then I promise myself I won’t do it again. I will not shed another tear over another man.

FOR WEEKS, MY
mornings and afternoons are filled with learning from the most amazing home cooks ever; some old enough to be my grandmother, others young enough to be my children. In the evenings, I sightsee and email my family and Claire.

A week after I got here, Detective Sampson called and let me know the guy who hit me confessed and was going to plead to a lesser charge. He let me know the plea bargain would require him to do a year in prison, followed by inpatient treatment since this was his third DUI in less than ten years, followed by seven years of supervised probation. It was a win-win for me because that meant I didn’t have to go home for any trial, and the guy obviously needed help for his addiction.

After a short consult with an orthopedic doctor here in Rome, the brace has finally come off and my wrist is adjusting well to the exercises he gave me to help with the mobility. It’s nice not having that damn thing on hindering everything I do.

I try like hell not to think about Cord, but every night when I lay my head down, his beautiful face creeps into my mind. I miss him horribly and I hate myself for it.

I’ve been enjoying my daily runs more than I ever thought I could enjoy exercise. It is the only time I ever feel like I can let go of everything in my life that is stressing me out or making me worry. Running has definitely become my therapy since I got here. It’s like I can turn my music on, turn off my brain, and just run. It has also been completely helpful with keeping my weight in check considering the amazing food around me at any given moment.

A couple of days ago, I put on a pair of jeans that I hadn’t worn since I got to Italy and they literally fell off me. I apparently need to go shopping.

Justin has texted me a few more times since I got here, but I’ve continued to ignore all of them. I always make sure they don’t have anything to do with the boys since he is there and I’m across an ocean, but I never respond. None of them have been about the boys, so what’s the point? He continues to tell me how sorry he is and that he’s continuing counseling. I don’t know why he thinks I care. I don’t.

Today is Sunday and the day I usually put in my long run. My right ankle has been bothering me a bit, so I decide to forego my run and let it rest. I’m a little behind on my emails and figure I might as well get that done since I’ll be off my feet all day.

I’m surprised to see all of the emails in my inbox, but my heart about jumps out of my throat when I see an email from Sami Cordero. It’s been almost six weeks since my last text to Cord, so I’m surprised she is writing to me. I’m not sure I want to know what she has to say. I figure I’ll read and respond to hers last.

Claire and Tyler are still together and doing better than ever. She talks minimally about work and a lot about Tyler. She tells me about a recent dinner she and Tyler had with my boys and how they basically threatened to kick his ass if he hurt her. Yeah, that sounds like my boys.

Destry is back in Colorado and happy about it. He is focusing on his studies at UC and enjoying not having the worries of football. When he transferred, he didn’t even attempt to play for UC. He wants to focus on his future and he keeps saying he knows football is not it. I’m proud of him. He used to love football. Something changed that, but I don’t know what, and I can only hope someday he’ll tell me.

Ben is good, although his emails and minimal phone calls are vague. He seems to be distancing himself from me and, although it breaks my heart, there is nothing I can do about it. I’ve tried asking him what is going on, but he just says everything is fine and skirts over it. I will get to the bottom of it when I go home.

Eli, on the other hand, emails me almost daily with the details of how he is doing. He has always been such a mama’s boy. He has mentioned a girl named Sara a few times, but hadn’t come out and said he is dating her until today . . . when he told me she is the nurse who took care of me when I was in the hospital. I liked her and now I almost want to kiss her for getting Eli to actually want to be in a relationship. She must be pretty special. I can’t wait to get home so I can meet her outside of the hospital walls.

It’s just a little bit past noon, and I know I’ll probably need a nice glass of wine in order to get through this email with Sami.

After I pour a slightly larger-than-normal glass of red, I sit back down at my computer and open Sami’s email. It doesn’t take long for the tears to come.

To: Ellie Harper

From: Sami Cordero

Re: Hi’ya

Hey Ellie! Long time no talk. I just figured I’d write and see how you are doing over there in Italy, enjoying all that wonderful food and wine . . . mmm.

Anyway, we are all doing well, minus my 24/7 pukefest. It seems Bishop and I are destined to repopulate the world. Baby number six coming this summer. Please say a prayer that it’s a boy. Bish is just beside himself wanting a boy. The girls are all growing like weeds, doing well in school and our little Amaya is finally up and walking like crazy now. She said her first curse word last week too, compliments of Uncle Cord.

Speaking of Cord . . .

.
. . and that’s my cue for a bathroom break and maybe a refill on the glass of wine I didn’t realize I had been devouring quickly.

I’m almost afraid to read what she has to say. Is he dating the woman who answered his phone? Is he just sleeping with random women to forget? Or does he miss me as much as I miss him?

. . . he’s miserable, Ellie. He has become a recluse basically, and now that his house is finished and he has moved in completely, the only time we see him is when he is at work, which he has cut back to twice a week. I know you two ended things on a bad note, but please, Ellie, if you ever cared about him at all, please at least email him. I’m not telling you all this to make you feel bad. I just think he could use a friend right now. He won’t really talk to us about what is going on with him. He’s shutting us out again. Please just consider emailing him and checking on him. Angelica basically threatened to strangle me if I didn’t tell you these exact words: You promised.

I would love to hear from you and get the details on how things are going there. Fill me in, girl!

Love Sami (aka Mrs. Pukesalot)

My throat constricts, but I refuse the tears. Why is he withdrawing from his family and his passion for his restaurant? Surely, it’s not because of me. A few months of friendship and less than a week of attempting to make it more isn’t enough to make him act this way . . . is it? I figured he’d just move on if he couldn’t get a hold of me. Why is he shutting down?

I reread the paragraph about Cord about ten times before I decide, in my wine guzzling state, to email him. Probably not my brightest moment, but I need to know he’s okay. Knowing he’s suffering alone is breaking my heart.

To: Saint Cordero

From: Ellie Harper

Re: Hi

I don’t really know what to say after six weeks. I just need to know you are okay.