Page 61 of Redeem

I didn’t know what that said about me, or more accurately, didn’t want to confront what that said about me. Something else I’d have to deal with later. For now, I fought to stay strong, and I let him walk away.

I strained, listening for the sound of his footfalls. They were barely there, again made me think about how lightly he treaded, wonder how that was possible for a person of his size.

Then, just as quickly, I thought about how he’d acquired that talent, how he had approached my husband, who knew how many others, got close to them, and then struck…

It was no different than what he had done to me, really.

He had come upon me, waited till I was unsuspecting, and then unleashed a hurt unlike any I had experienced, and I was no stranger to hurt.

That his move was emotional only made it that much worse. I could have withstood the physical pain, would have preferred it to the way my heart twisted in agony now.

Because I was stuck. Stuck between what I knew was right, and what I felt.

Stuck dealing with the fact that I still wanted him despite everything.

Still loved him despite everything.

I listened intently, focused on the light tread of his steps, the door opening.

The sound of it closing.

Hearing the door close didn’t give me the finality I had hoped for. It only confirmed that that hope was futile.

He was gone, but I remained, left to pick up the pieces.

I stayed where I was, still, frozen, but then moved quickly, driven by some impulse I didn’t understand. That impulse carried me to the window, the one that gave a perfect view of the front porch.

I didn’t see him, but I could imagine him standing there, that same serene, somewhat rueful expression on his face.

Again, I was hit by the need to go to him, to find a way to accept everything and forgive him.

I bit that feeling back.

I couldn’t do that, wouldn’t.

So instead I waited, my eyes glued to the spot on the front porch where he would emerge, my heart pounding, my fists clenched. I stared at that spot as though it might have the answer, as though, as the seconds ticked by, I might find a way to make this all okay.

Maybe if I stood here long enough, all that he had said, the hours that had passed might fade away, and I would be in the warmth of his arms. And he’d just be what he had been the day before, a stranger, one with secrets, but one that I loved nonetheless.

I shook my head, my attempt to ward the fantasy off. There was no use in wasting the energy, the effort. So I stood, waiting, looking at that spot, determined that I would watch each step, remind myself of what could never be.

Then I would get on with the business of putting my heart back together.

It felt like I stood there for hours, but I knew in reality it was only minutes. I saw his shadow first, then watched as he emerged, paused in just the spot I knew he would. He stood there for a moment, and I waited, hoping he would look back, afraid he would look back.

He didn’t.

Instead, he started walking, used his long stride to move down the porch, past my truck, and down the dusty drive. He didn’t break stride once, and he didn’t ever look back.

I stayed where I was, watched him as he got smaller, then smaller, each step that he took a tiny jab to my heart. Each jab filling me with shame. He’d done something unforgivable. Seeing him leave should have given me joy, or at least satisfaction. I felt anything but.

When he was gone, I took a deep breath, tried to ignore the way my stomach trembled, the way it felt like I would tremble until I fell apart. I couldn’t let that happen. There’d be no coming back if I did.

So instead of giving in to the heartbreak, I pulled on my jeans, my boots, and tugged on a flannel shirt. My shutters still needed to be primed.

I would finish them alone.

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