The Color of Heaven - 09 - The Color of Time (11 page)

“I got your text,” Ethan said when I answered the phone a few minutes later.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” I replied, rising from the bed and putting my slippers on to wander around the house while we talked. “I probably shouldn’t have texted you so late. It’s just been one of those days.”

“What’s up?” he asked. “And geez, how are you, Sylvie? It’s been too long.”

“I know,” I replied, feeling guilty about that. We’d been such a big part of each other’s lives at one time. Then tragedy struck. Now we lived apart and rarely spoke.

“Life’s been busy,” I explained, “and you know me. I don’t like to call. I don’t want to intrude.”

“It wouldn’t be an intrusion,” Ethan said, making an effort to reassure me, and maybe it was true. Maybe his wife, Grace, wouldn’t mind if I called more regularly, but I couldn’t imagine that. I was Ethan’s ex-wife, and I would always be his first love. We’d been through a lot together. Our divorce had been exceedingly painful for both of us after the disintegration of our marriage, and I had put him through the wringer. It couldn’t be easy for Grace to watch me reappear in her husband’s life, even for a simple phone call.

But really, Grace should probably
thank
me. If I hadn’t become such an emotional wreck in those last few years of our marriage I might not have destroyed everything we had. If not for my melancholic tendency to dwell on the past, Ethan and I would probably still be married and she wouldn’t have him for her husband.

“So tell me about the dream,” Ethan said on the other end of the line. “It must have been a doozy if you’re still freaked out about it.”

“It was,” I replied. “First I dreamed about the summer we met and everything that happened between us, and that was all wonderful. It really took me back.” I paused, thinking it would be best not to expand on that. “But then I dreamed that you and your father got into a really bad fight here at the house. You refused to break up with me when he told you to, and he pushed you. You fell and hit your head on the fireplace in the front parlor and died.”

“Geez,” Ethan replied. “I hope that wasn’t wishful thinking on your part.”

He was referring, of course, to the reason why our relationship had broken down after eight years of marriage… I had been consumed by grief and I blamed him for the loss of our child.

Not our first child, whom we had never known.

Our second child.
Tyler
.

Our beautiful son had lived to be four years old, but he died when Ethan took him to the playground here in Cape Elizabeth, to give me a break on a Saturday afternoon. Ethan had taken a phone call from a client and hadn’t noticed when Tyler climbed too high on the monkey bars. He’d fallen and broken his neck.

“You can’t blame Ethan,” my sister Jenn had said at the time. “Accidents happen.”

But every time I looked at Ethan, all I saw was Tyler. All I did was wish I hadn’t let them go to the playground that day, or I wished I had insisted that Ethan leave his phone at home. I’d actually thought about that, too, but I hadn’t said anything.

After that, Ethan was a constant reminder of Tyler’s death. I felt a level of guilt and I was angry it happened. Later, when Ethan suggested we try and have another child, I’d said I couldn’t possibly. Not ever. Not with
him
.

“Of course it wasn’t wishful thinking,” I replied. “That’s in the past now, Ethan. I don’t blame you. I hope you know that.”

A few years ago, after many sessions of grief therapy following our divorce, I had called Ethan to tell him that I forgave him for what happened to Tyler, and that it hadn’t been his fault. I told him I was wrong to have blamed him because it could as easily have happened to me. It’s hard for anyone to be attentive all the time. If I’d been there, I could have looked away for a few seconds to chat with another mother or rifled through my purse for a snack, with the same result.

Ethan had wept uncontrollably as I’d spoken those words. I had wept, too. Then we both promised each other we would move on and try to be happy.

Ethan married Grace a year later. He’d met her on a blind date set up by a co-worker at his firm.

I went to work at The Old Stone Keep—an Irish pub in downtown Portland—where I’d been waiting on tables ever since.

Now Ethan was a father at last, with a two-year-old daughter named Emmeline.

Meanwhile I was dating a married man who I just realized was probably “killing time” with me before going back to his wife and kids.

“Why do you think you dreamed something like that?” Ethan asked.

I padded down the main staircase to the front parlor and turned on the lights. For a tense moment, I stared at the marble hearth in front of the fireplace and felt nauseous. “I don’t know. It seemed so real. It got me thinking about everything else… All the years we spent together and how it ended so differently from how we thought it would.”

Ethan was quiet for a moment. “Life throws curve balls at you. That’s for sure.”

I had a sudden, intense feeling of déjà vu as his words caused a shiver to run down my spine.

Ethan paused. “You said you wanted to make sure I was okay?”

I shut the lights off in the parlor and went to the kitchen to boil some water for tea. “I guess I was worried it might be a premonition, or that something bad happened to you. I was afraid I was sensing it.”

“Like a disturbance in
The Force
?”

I chuckled, because we had gone through an intense
Star Wars
phase when Tyler was a newborn and we were awake for feedings at all hours of the night. We figured we might as well put the time to good use.

“Yes, exactly like that,” I replied.

Another pause. “Well, I’m okay,” Ethan said. “Still breathing.”

“I’m glad. How are Grace and Emmeline?”

The mood lifted at the mention of them. “They’re both really good,” he told me. “Grace is thinking about going back to work part-time when Emmeline starts pre-school in the fall.”

“Will she go back to the same job she had before?” Grace was a radiation technologist.

“Probably.”

“That’s sounds great,” I said. “And listen, Ethan… I’m glad you found Grace. She’s a good woman. You deserve to be happy.”

“Thanks, Sylvie. I appreciate that.” There was an awkward silence. “What about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

Setting the red kettle on the stove and flicking the switch, I thought about how to answer that question. Part of me wanted to say no, I wasn’t, and avoid the whole subject, but another part of me wanted to pour out my heart to my ex-husband and ask his advice. He’d always been such a wise soul.

“I am seeing someone,” I finally explained, “but I’m not sure it’s going to work out.”

“Why not?”

I was embarrassed to explain, but I soldiered on nevertheless. “He’s married. Separated, actually, but he’s not divorced yet and that makes it a bit uncomfortable. His wife won’t let him introduce me to his kids. I don’t blame her, really. I’d probably feel the same way in her shoes.”

“How long have you been seeing each other?”

“Five months.”

“That’s not long,” Ethan replied. “Just try to be patient. If it’s meant to be, it’ll work itself out in time.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “You of all people know that patience isn’t my strongest suit.”

He laughed as well. “I remember.”

Neither of us spoke for a moment. The kettle began to whistle, so I removed it from the burner and filled my cup.

“I don’t have any regrets, you know,” Ethan softly said, and the sound of his voice in my ear gave me goosebumps. “Even though it didn’t work out for us, I wouldn’t change a thing. I really loved you, Sylvie. I hope you know that. I always will.”

Tears welled up in my eyes and a lump the size of a golf ball formed in my throat. “I loved you, too. That won’t ever change.”

He sighed heavily. “I hope
you
don’t have any regrets.”

I thought about the arguments we’d had after losing Tyler. I had said so many hurtful things I shouldn’t have.

“Well, you know me. I’m the Mayor of Regretsville. But I’ll never regret loving
you
. I’m just sorry for how I handled things those last few years. I couldn’t let go of the grief.”

Ethan sighed. “None of us can skate through life and do everything perfectly. Besides, what’s the point in living if you don’t at least learn something?”

I nodded. “Are you still learning things?”

“Every day. So listen, don’t beat yourself up about this guy you’re seeing. If he’s worthy of you, you’ll know it. If he’s not, you’ll know that, too.”

“Thanks, Ethan.”

I moved to the cupboard by the fridge and withdrew the box of tea.

“I should go,” he quietly said. “But it was good to hear your voice, Sylvie. Call anytime, all right?”

There was a quiet intimacy in his voice that moved me, almost to tears—but they were not tears of sadness. These were tears of joy.

I wanted Ethan to be happy too, and I believed in my heart, that he was. He’d found a good place. He was exactly where he was meant to be.

But was I?

Later that night, I fell asleep thinking of my little son, Tyler, and no matter how hard I tried to accept the past as it was, I did what I always did. I imagined that I had been there at the playground that day. I imagined watching over him while Ethan talked to his client on the phone.

How different my life might be today if Tyler hadn’t fallen from the monkey bars. I suspected Ethan and I would still be together, maybe with another child on the way.

When I finally fell asleep, I dreamed that my soul was floating up and out of my body, drifting like a phantom down the stairs and through the front door, across the moonlit green lawn to the sundial at the edge of the water, where I landed softly on my feet and gripped the dial plate with both hands. I squeezed it with all my might, and tried to shake it from its foundation.

I don’t know why I did that.

Another Fork in the Road

Chapter Twenty-six

August 6, 2015

I woke up in the hospital with a start. Confused and disoriented, I glanced around the room and discovered I was sitting at my grandmother’s bedside. She was hooked up to an IV, watching television, but the station suddenly blacked out.

She reached for the remote and began pressing buttons. “Darn cable.”

“What’s happening?” I asked, cupping my forehead in my hand, for my head was throbbing.

There was nothing but noisy static coming from the television, so Gram muted it. “My TV’s not working, and you fell asleep. No wonder. Sometimes I think you should refuse those late night shifts and ask for days only. But I suppose the tips are better at night.”

I blinked a few times, sat forward, gripped the armrests of the chair, and struggled to get my bearings. “I don’t understand. Are you okay, Gram? What happened to you?”

“What do you mean? You know what happened.”

I stared at her blankly and had a vague inkling that she’d fallen off a ladder in her backyard. “Were you cleaning your gutters?”

She regarded me with a look of confusion. “No, I had some polyps removed. But how can you not remember? You’ve taken me to all my appointments, and what are you going on about…cleaning my gutters? You’re not smoking that marijuana, I hope…or doing any of that crack cocaine. God help us all.”

“Of course not,” I replied, still feeling slightly dazed and lightheaded. My brain was in a fog and my nerve endings sizzled just under the surface of my skin. My fingertips especially were tingling.

“I don’t remember driving here,” I said, picking at my chipped red nail polish. “And I don’t remember you telling me that you were having an operation.” I rubbed my eyes and searched all the corners of my mind for a recollection of the day.

“They say I’ll be going home tomorrow,” Gram mentioned, tentatively.

I stared at her with wide eyes. “This is nuts. The last thing I remember, I was at home getting ready for bed. I’d just talked to Ethan on the phone.”

She frowned at me. “You must have been dreaming.”

“No, it wasn’t a dream,” I said, “but that’s why I called him—to tell him about a dream I’d had—which was a nightmare actually. I dreamed that he died.”

Gram shut off the TV and stared at me for a few tense seconds before she spoke very carefully. “Sylvie…Ethan
did
die.”

Her words sent a fireball of shock into my belly. I shook my head angrily. “No, that’s what happened in the
dream
. When I talked to him on the phone last night, I told him about it. He said he was fine, and that Grace and Emmaline were fine, too.”

“Who are Grace and Emmaline?” Gram asked with confusion.

“His wife and daughter.”

Gram’s eyebrows lifted. “
You
were Ethan’s wife, Sylvie. And you had a
son
, not a daughter. His name was Tyler.”

My heart began to pound. “I know that. But then Ethan married Grace.”

Gram inclined her head. “Are you feeling okay? Because there was no Grace. There was only you and Tyler in Ethan’s life.”