The cot in the emergency room was thrust against the far wall. Rusty’s eyes were closed, his hair matted and moist against his skull. The pale blue gown was gathered and tucked under his left leg. I reached over and freed the fabric, then pulled it over his bare leg. Vulnerable and bruised, Rusty seemed a sudden-child, not a man to fear. I placed my hand on his forehead over the bandage; he groaned. As a body heals, maybe we could also.

There was relief that nothing was wrong but a broken arm and some bruises. The discharge nurse entered the room when Rusty opened his eyes. “This is what happens. You know that, right?” He spoke in a harsh voice through closed lips.

“What?” I was cut loose in a rapid and dizzying motion from the world I’d just built: the healing world.

“It’s what I told you from the beginning—breaking up a family destroys things, Ellie. You know that. I know that.”

“Wow, and I thought this was all because you drove drunk. But this is my fault?”

“Of course it is.” Rusty closed his eyes. “Could you please leave so I can get dressed and get the hell out of this place?”

I walked out of the room as the last and most fragile bones of our marriage broke inside me.

Excerpt from Unsent Letter Found in Lillian
Ashford Eddington’s Journal
THE LAST LOVE LETTER

I can no longer bear the missing of you; it is like a weight in my bones holding me down, keeping me from living the life I am sure I was meant to live. The desire and the missing are sewn into my soul with a dull needle, stitches of need that ache in my innermost parts. How does a girl live with this? How does she go on with this pain?

I was completely prepared to hurt, but not like this. No, definitely not like this … .

Twenty-four

Twenty-four

The deep voices coming from the kitchen confused me; there was the aroma of coffee and a cramp in my neck. Then I was fully awake—I’d slept on the chair in the sunroom. My cell phone rang on the side table and I fumbled, dropping it to the slate floor.

“Hello—” My voice cracked.

“Ellie.”

His voice. Hutch’s voice.

“Oh, you,” I said, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. My heart flipped over in delight, reminding me once again of the treasure of him.

“I shouldn’t have called. I know.”

“I am so glad you did.” I glanced at the clock, orienting myself to time and day and space. Ten A.M. My sunroom.

“I just wanted to see how you are; make sure you’re okay.”

“Where are you?”

The clang of metal against metal. “My kitchen.”

“I can’t talk now, Hutch. I … can’t.”

“I understand.”

“Can I see you?” I asked.

“No.”