The Lives Between Us (17 page)

Skye took a step backward. Refusing to look at him, she tugged on her hands. “I have to go.”

Slowly, Mark opened his grasp. “I’ll come with you.”

“No.” She spun around and put a hand on his chest. “You need to go back.”

“They don’t need me.”

Skye turned, shrugged out of his jacket and let it fall to the cobblestone. “Neither do I.”

Thanksgiving morning, Skye slipped into her favorite pair of worn jeans and a warm cotton sweater. She considered boots, then abandoned them for sneakers. She wanted no memories of Mark today. Skye collected her winter coat from the closet, slid her hand through the handles of a Macy’s shopping bag, and headed for her car. She parked down a residential side street across from the little cemetery on Moross Road. Taking the soft brown teddy bear from the bag, Skye crossed the street and entered the quiet graveyard.

She strolled down the familiar path. Stones crunched under her feet as she made her way around barren towering oaks, past dozens of tombstones to the small white marble headstone that marked Niki’s resting place. She crossed her legs and folded down to sit on the cold grass. Sighing, Skye crushed the teddy bear against her aching chest, then lifted her face to the crisp breeze that held more than a hint of winter’s bite.

“Hey, kiddo. I miss you so much.”

Brown, limp flowers slumped over the sides of the plastic vase embedded in the ground in front of Niki’s headstone. Next time she’d bring her bright silk flowers that would last through the cold winter—perhaps pansies. Pansies were happy flowers.

A gray squirrel scrambled headfirst down a nearby tree. In brief bursts, he galloped near, never taking his eyes from Skye, as if hoping she’d brought him a treat, too. “Sorry, buddy. I’m all out.”

As if he understood, the ground squirrel twitched his tail twice, and then scampered off to see what goodie he could uncover in a pile of leaves.

“It’s Thanksgiving today, and right now I’m having a little trouble mustering up any feelings of gratitude.” Skye bowed her head. “Though we miss you every day, I guess I’m grateful you’re not hurting anymore. I have to believe you’re happy and free of pain in heaven.

“You have lots of friends. You jump rope, jump on the trampoline, play baseball, basketball—even soccer for hours on end without running out of breath, and Grandma and Grandpa love you to distraction.”

Skye bit her lower lip, thinking about the turmoil of her love life. She cuddled the soft bear closer. “Actually, you might be the lucky one. Life’s hard.” Skye eased her chin down on the top of the bear’s head. “It just is.”

The sound of crunching leaves behind her left Skye conflicted; she wanted to be alone and hoped if she ignored the person he’d leave her in peace—yet strong self-preservation instincts shouted in alarm. Skye glanced over her shoulder and relaxed as Peter’s familiar figure neared.

He smiled and squatted. “Thought I might run into you here.”

She shrugged. “It’s a good place to think.”

Peter settled down. With his back supported by Niki’s headstone, he faced her, as comfortable as if they sat on the carpeted family room floor in front of a crackling fire. “What’s on your mind?”

Skye forced a smile to her lips. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

He nodded. “What’s the matter?”

Skye didn’t want to burden Peter with her problems. With his whole family in the hospital and bills quickly mounting, he had more than enough to worry about.

“Does it have to do with the boyfriend?”

Her head jerked up. “Faith told you about Mark?”

He nodded. Picking up a leaf, Peter twisted the stem between his thumb and index finger, making the leaf twirl in his grasp. “She likes him.”

“I did, too.”

“Until...” Peter listened silently as Skye told him about the way Mark had duped her. He’d always been a great listener. Peter thought about what she’d said, and then looked at her. “Is he sorry?”

Skye instantly nodded.

“Don’t answer so quickly. Think about it.” Peter paused. “Do you
really
think he’s genuinely sorry?”

Skye thought back through the past five days. Mark had called each day, leaving her messages ranging from apologies, to invitations, to chatty just-calling-to-make-sure-you’re-all right messages. He wasn’t giving up on her.

“I think
he
believes he’s sorry, but he made a fool of me. We were close.” Embarrassed, she ducked her head and didn’t look at her brother-in-law. “He lied.”

“Everybody makes mistakes. How’d you feel this past week without him?”

“Miserable.” Skye drew her knees up to her chest. “I miss him.” His laughter, his teasing, his love. “I don’t want to. I don’t want to be that pitiful woman who needs a man. But I do miss him.” She whispered the admission.

“And if you forgive him, would your life be better or worse?”

“I suppose it’d be better. But...”

Peter moved his hand over his daughter’s headstone as if reading the inscription by Braille. Lord knew Peter had the message memorized. The text remained a permanent etched scar on his heart—just as it was on hers.

Peter looked at Skye, his blue eyes so like Niki’s that she couldn’t look away. “Skye, so much happens in life that we have absolutely no control over, but this you do. Life’s too short to hold grudges, sweetheart.”

“This isn’t a grudge.” ‘Grudge’ sounded so petty and small. Skye wasn’t a small person. She knew Peter’s advice was couched in the framework of their losing Niki, but they weren’t the same at all.

“Other than this one time, has he been respectful toward you?”

Skye thought about the way Mark always held doors open for her, warmed her when he thought she was cold, listened to her work/family problems, helped out with his godson, and made her laugh. Other than this major lie, she had to admit that Mark was almost too good to be true. She nodded.

“All right then. This is really all about fear and power. You’re afraid that if you forgive him, you’ll be setting yourself up to get hurt again—yet you’re miserable without him.”

Skye reluctantly nodded again, not caring for his assessment. She sounded like those pitiful women who wrote to Dear Darlene.

“In reality, in refusing to forgive Mark, you’re giving him power over you. You’re
choosing
to be the victim here. You’re giving Mark the power to make you happy or to wound you. Power he may or may not even want, but still—you are gifting him that power.”

Peter bent his head and peered into her eyes as if reading the truth in her soul. “Skylar, you’re a strong, smart woman. You know better than to look to others to make you happy. It has to come from within.” He pointed an index finger at her chest. “Only you can make you happy, Squirt.

“If you think Mark is basically a good human being, then put yourself out of your misery and forgive the guy. I’m not perfect. You’re not perfect. Why should you expect him to be?”

Skye shrugged again. Words raced around her head, yet she couldn’t seem to articulate a defense. Lord, she hated it when Peter was logical. And right.

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

“He can hurt me again,” she mumbled, feeling silly and childish.

“He probably will.” Peter nodded. “Just as you’ll probably hurt him one day too. That’s part of relationships. That’s part of life.”

“I’m afraid, okay?” Skye lifted her defiant gaze to glare at Peter. “I admit it. I don’t want to get hurt.”

“Well who does? Nobody enters any relationship hoping to be hurt.” Peter stared off, his expression becoming blank, lost in the ghosts of the graveyard. “Loving someone’s risky, yet at the same time there are enormous rewards in it. You just have to believe that the good far outweighs the bad.”

With his wife almost dying twice, and losing his daughter, Peter was an expert at risking his heart. Now he had to face that risk all over again in loving his new little twins. If Peter could be brave enough to face that, she should be able to forgive Mark.

Peter sighed and plucked the fading grass at his feet. “Life without feeling is not worth living. Unfortunately, ya gotta take the good with the bad, Squirt. That’s just how it goes.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, each lost in thought. Skye got up and squeezed his shoulders. “Thanks.”

Peter stared straight ahead, yet his hand caressed the base of his daughter’s headstone, and he blinked back tears. He nodded.

“Gonna be okay?”

Peter swallowed hard and pinched the bridge of his nose before slowly nodding. “Ya gotta take the good with the bad.” Tears leaked out of the corners of Peter’s eyes and tracked down his cheeks.

Skye pressed the bear into his arms and kissed the top of his head, whispering, “Love you. Give him to Nik when you’re through.”

* * *

Skye hopped in the car and drove to the hospital to visit Faith, wondering what it was about holidays that made people so sentimental. She strolled through the empty lobby, past the reception desk decorated with colorful gourds and a horn of plenty at one end, and a darling trio of twig turkeys at the opposite side. Skye entered the elevator and pressed the third floor button.

As the doors whispered open, Skye hesitated, then allowed the doors to glide shut. She pressed number four.

Getting off the elevator on the fourth floor, Skye followed the signs around two corners to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. She passed a door with a sign identifying it as the NICU with visiting hours posted on a plastic plaque beneath it.

To the left, a large bulletin board boasted photos of children of all ages and sizes. Skye stared, fascinated by the scrawny babies the size of their dad’s hand. Then there were photos of toddlers and older children. These must be the survivors. Proof that they grew up just fine. This was their board of hope.

Skye continued walking, looking for a large window through which she could see the babies, like in the other nursery. When Skye circled around to the elevators without finding the windows, she backtracked to the NICU sign and hours. Beneath it was a doorbell.

Hmm. Skye peered through the glass and saw people in blue scrubs with stethoscopes looped around their necks moving around, but no signs of babies. She reached out and tried to turn the doorknob, but it wouldn’t open. Skye’s eyebrows shot up. What? The preemies were in a lock-down facility. Prison for being born too early?

Skye pressed her face closer to the glass. She just wanted a peek at the babies.

A wall of blue suddenly appeared right in front of Skye, and a nurse pushed the door open. “Can I help you?”

Skye stepped back and smiled. “Uh. I just hoped to drop in and sneak a quick look at my new niece and nephew—the Lynch twins.”

Her gaze settled on large metal scrub basins behind the nurse to the left. Skye’s smile faltered. It looked so cold and sterile. And official. Beyond the hall to the right, another nurse rushed into a darkened room where alarms shrieked and things beeped. A woman wrapped in a yellow gown left the room. Her eyes were glassy and red as if she’d been crying.

“And you are?”

Skye blinked at the nurse.
I am what?

“Your name?”

“Skylar Kendall. My sister, Faith, is the mother.”

“Wait here while I verify you’re on the visitation list, and then we’ll get you signed in.”

“I doubt I’m on a list. I just wanted to take a quick peek at them.”

“I can’t let you in if you’re not on the list. It’ll just take me a minute to check.”

Skye shifted and hitched her purse higher on her shoulder. “That’s okay. I know you’re busy, I’ll come back later.”

“It’ll only take a minute.”

Skye backed down the hall, shaking her head. “I don’t really have time to visit now. I... Have an appointment. Thank you.” Skye spun around and hurried to the elevator. Forget the elevator, she darted into the stairwell before the nurse could say anymore. Skye pressed her back against the cool wall and closed her eyes.

An appointment? On Thanksgiving Day? Great excuse, Skylar.

* * *

Over the next several days, Skye gave Peter’s advice about forgiving Mark a lot of thought. In all honesty, she had to acknowledge that part of her anger was directed at herself. Her reaction had made matters worse. The running. The near-hysterical sobbing. Her total lack of control was embarrassing.

Skye wished that she’d had the courage and class to mask her hurt that night. If she’d just pulled Mark aside and privately had it out with him, maybe things would have turned out differently. But she hadn’t, and Peter was right. Mark was a good guy. He made a mistake and was honestly sorry for the pain and embarrassment he’d cause her. Skye needed to forgive him and move on with her life, but the logistics stumped her.

Should she call him up and say, “I forgive you? Now let’s go out to dinner?” That seemed awkward. She could text him. Lame. Maybe she’d wait for him to apologize again and then accept? What if he didn’t apologize again? What if he gave up on her? Should
she
apologize for running away and for letting her emotions get the best of her? Kind of an “I’ll forgive you if you forgive me” thing?

This must be how Mark felt once he realized he should have told her that he and Edward were friends. As time went on and he found out about Niki, Skye could see how it got increasingly impossible. How could she tell Mark she forgave him?

* * *

“I’m sorry, Miss, but the senator’s booked until the beginning of March.”

“That’s ridiculous. It’s only the middle of December.” Skye stood behind the bar with her back to the dining room. Nobody’s booked up more than two months in advance—except maybe her gynecologist. “But he’s a senator. Isn’t he supposed to be a servant of the people?”

“He’s a servant to
a lot
of people, ma’am,” the senator’s admin said dryly. “I could give you that March seventh appointment at nine a.m. and then notify you if he has a cancellation.”

“Fine. I’ll take it. Thank you,” she added grudgingly. Skye tucked the cell in her back pocket.