Lost in La La Land(70)

“She never told me a thing until it was too late,” I defended myself weakly, like every villain did at some point.

“I know. And that’s why you’re still alive.” He sighed and got up, leaving me with that haunting threat. “We both know she wouldn't want to be in the ground, Dr. Hartley, and we will always share the blame in how she got there.” He walked away and I never saw him again. Not in the real world. In my mind’s eye, he would always be this: a long dark shadow eternally walking away from me after laying more guilt at my feet.

I turned and glanced back at her headstone. Almost smiling at the ridiculousness of her life and death and this moment. It played out like a movie, one that would eventually become a movie. She would have smiled and laughed at Marshall. She would have called him a bully and told him he was fucking insane with his possessiveness and how he smothered her.

It was harder to hear her voice here, even though I was right next to her and knew that was what she would’ve said. So I sat, recalling all our conversations at the table, eating and laughing and sharing about our secret lives.

I imagined her kids, wishing I’d gone into her world just once to see what she’d created. My images of them were older now, they were grown and living an amazing life. I spent a second on this, as if I was in the world and the lie I had made was making a truth. In this world, if I were the one in control, Lana would be alive and with Danny and I wouldn't be sitting here at this grave.

Instead, I would be with Jonathan.

But then I couldn't be with Mike.

One of those things was unacceptable and it canceled out my desire for the other. And here at her grave, I realized it meant she was also expendable.

The path that led to Mike, the one I’d stumbled down, clawing my way back up onto the banks of, was the one I wanted in the end.

I had the ending I wanted.

The story was bullshit and made up of lies I wished weren’t truths.

I glanced at the sky, having always assumed God lived up there, and nodded as a second dose of irony hit. I hadn’t just been looking for Jonathan, I’d been looking for a way to peek into heaven and hadn’t even realized it.

I wanted back something I didn't think should’ve been taken and so I had cheated the system to get it.

But what I got was this moment here.

I chuckled a bit. My cheating and sneaking into heaven to retrieve my heart, ended up sending me to hell. And the reward for surviving hell was the light that had brought my heart back to life. For like Marguerite had so poetically explained to me while the light of my life pissed in an alley, my heart had never been missing or broken off. I didn’t need to venture into heaven to get it back, or suffer the wrath of hell. I needed only to find the right person to fit and fill the space. But I had to go through all that to find him.

I got up, not necessarily forgiving myself for the sins but definitely unloading some of the blame.

Lana and I had both wanted into heaven and she was finally there. And I was finally free of the desire to go. I was done being the conflicted scientist who wanted to find heaven, even if she had to make it. Of course, I had made a hell, a place that gave you a drink but never quenched your thirst. I lacked the talent, ingenuity, and skill set God himself had. I was limited to math and science.

I turned to walk back to the hotel when I saw the smile I loved more than anything in the entire history of the world.

He sauntered over, hungover and wearing a tee shirt with a beer label on the front and a pair of jeans I’d picked out for him and snuck into his closet. He’d never looked sexier.

“You all done?” He sounded groggy.

“I am.” I sighed, so much lighter. “I am finally all done.”

“Thank Christ.” He slung an arm around my shoulders and turned us around, leading us back to the hotel. “I tried to eat my way out of this hangover, but I think I might have to go for some hair of the dog.” He rubbed his bearlike chest, wincing from what I had to assume was heartburn. “How’s the mayor?” He snuck a side-glance at me.

“Still an asshole.” I laughed.

“Am I allowed to kick his ass yet?”

“No, he’s suffered and like Marianne Dashwood once said, ‘If his present regrets are half as painful as mine, he will suffer enough.’”

“That is mighty poetic of whoever the hell Marianne Dashwood is.”

“Remember the Jane Austen movie I made you watch after I won the bet on the football game you made me watch?”

“Oh yeah, the one with Alan Rickman. I liked him.”

“Me too.” I laughed and snuggled into his chest.

“That movie was awful though. You cried through most of it. And always when that one chick was just looking out windows.” He chuckled and rubbed my shoulder.

“Elinor Dashwood is the woman I strive to be. Unfortunately, I’m much more of a combination of Anne Elliot and Emma Woodhouse, with a little bit of Catherine Morland thrown in for good measure. And then you take all that and make a smoothie with all the evil witches from Disney movies and voila!”

“That wouldn't even scratch the surface, Em. You’re complex and weird in ways Disney hasn't had a chance to make up yet.” He kissed the side of my head and walked us back to the hotel.

He was right, he was always right.





Chapter Thirty-Three