He looked at me as if he were taking in each one of my features for the very first time. He took the champagne glass out of my hand. “He loved you the best he could. Addicts have a hard time with real love. Addiction is selfish.” He paused. “Before you ask, yes, it is in the caretaker’s handbook, chapters one through three.” Without a champagne glass, I took his hand in mine and squeezed it hard. To my surprise, he let his hand rest in mine. “I really hated you for … ” he paused, “a long damn time.”

“I wasn’t too happy with you either.” I met his gaze, studying his features. He then returned my squeeze as if bestowing an act of benevolent forgiveness. “I feel so damaged. Like my heart made a fatal mistake. What’s wrong with me that I picked Elliott? I had a fifty-fifty chance of choosing a good man, and I chose the drug addict.”

“Nothing is wrong with your heart. It’s been through an ordeal. A trauma. Your heart needs to repair itself,” he said.

I lingered over the word he used. Repair. People had told me I needed time to heal, but no one had ever used the word repair. Maybe the heart was like a broken bone. It could be mended, but there would always be some tenderness where the brokenness once was. I let the word marinate. All good things benefit from a good marinade.

Our hands stayed connected as our bodies remained in repose. Firecrackers exploded far away in the evening air, announcing a new day and a brand-new year. He released my hand, turned to me, and took my face in between his hands and kissed me. Suddenly. Gently. Deeply. Tenderly. With a residue of stored-up passion. My insides crackled with emotion. Just as suddenly, he pulled away and stood up. He picked up the bottle of champagne. He kissed me on the top of my head and walked to his bedroom door.

“Happy New Year, Bae,” he said and closed the door.

The word repair means “restore to wholeness.” Right then, my heart felt so watery. Uncongealed, not solid. I was fixable, but it was up to me.

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty

It was fifteen minutes into the New Year. Good riddance to the old. Briefly I reflected on what I had been doing this time last year. Newly married, we were eating in that diner. I remembered the idea that swirled around in my brain while I was eating greasy hash browns. Another idea popped to the forefront.

I texted Mac: “You are probably engaged in a yuletide lip-lock with some beautiful woman in your orbit. Good for you. When you get back to business, do you mind sending me some bigger pictures of the space? I’m really interested in the molding and beams. Just give me the green light when you’re ready. Thank you, Mac. Happy New Year. Bailey.”